i took this picture like a week ago on the first day of school and never posted it

Nerdy Virgin Luke

Pairing: Y/N/Luke

Rating: NC-17

Request: No

Words: 10.000+

Summary: I wrote a song preference once and wanted to continue a part out from it. Would appreciate feedback and request if you want the other boys as well! ~ #61 End Up Here - 5 Seconds Of Summer | High School AU | His P.O.V

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My Protector

Originally posted by roadtoriverdale

Paring: female reader x Sweet Pea

Word count: 1718

Warnings: Cursing, slight violence?

Season: 2

Request: none, just getting started :)

Short Note: you are Archie’s twin sister but went with your mom when they divorced, but when you came back after your dad got shot, you chose to stay with him and your Brother.

When my mom got the call from Archie we packed our bags and raced back to the small town as fast as we could.

The town used to be bright, people walking the streets, pops lit up and people constantly walking in and out, but not now.

The streets were empty, the color of the town seemed to have drained away and Pops was dark and abandoned. The clouds are a dark grey and rain slowly starts to drain out of them.

Riverdale has changed, I know I have. The last time I saw these streets I was a young and naïve girl, hell I hadn’t even gone through puberty.

When I walked through the hospital doors all eyes were on me. Instantly Archie saw me and took me in his arms.

“(Y/n) I’m so glad you’re here,” he spoke softly in my hair.

“I just can’t believe it took dad getting hurt for it to happen,” I whispered back.

When we broke apart and he went to talk to my mom I saw Betty and Jughead in the corner with a dark haired girl talking, wow they’ve changed. I walked over and tapped Betty on the shoulder, praying she’d remember me. As soon as she turned her eyes widened and embraced me, Jughead then doing the same. Before I could meet the girl that was with them Archie came over and grabbed me so we could see my dad, but left a kiss on the mystery girl’s cheek.

Decided to hold my questions until after we hurried along and saw my dad lying in the hospital bed, barely able to open his eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes as I rushed to his side and took his hand.

There is no way I could leave in a week.

-slight time skip-

After informing my mother of my decision to stay I enrolled to Riverdale High school and moved into the spare bedroom. It had been about a week but times were tough. I hung out with Archie’s friends but they all seemed off. Kevin had secret rendezvous in the woods, Betty was closed off and distant, and Archie was obsessed with finding the Black Hood, Veronica right beside him. I kept in touch with Jughead abs would sometimes escape to his trailer when Archie was in a mood, but other than that I was alone, but this soon changed.

I was walking to school, by myself, when suddenly I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I looked around, not finding anyone. I sped up and got to school as quick as I could. I was about to walk into the Blue and Gold when I overheard Betty talking to Archie, normally I would have just gone in but she mentioned the Black Hood so I stood outside and listened instead.

“You know when I told you he hadn’t called again, I lied. I tried to stop him but he’s making me cut everyone off. But.. I found something out. Archie, he has an obsession with (y/n). He is threatening me that he will take her if I don’t do what he asks now.” Betty sounds like she’s crying.

Archie said something back but I couldn’t focus. He had an obsession with me? I just moves back here, so how would he even know me? I slowly back down the hallway but ran into Veronica.

“Oh hey (y/n)! Do you know where- uh are you okay? What happened?” She worried.

“Oh nothing, just have something in my eye, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, see you at lunch” I questioned knowing damn well I won’t be there. I turned and she walked to opposite direction.

The tears were welling up in my eyes and I just took off down the hall, running out the doors of the school and towards my house. I got to my room before I finally took a breath and completely broke down.

My dad is at the hospital getting a check up so I was alone in the house and free to cry as loud as I wanted. How was this happening? How can the Black Hood know who I was?

My thoughts were interrupted by my doorbell ringing. Not thinking, I walked to the door but stopped right as I was about to turn the knob. No one was supposed to be home right now, so who’s at the door? I looked through the peephole to see nothing but an envelope sitting on the porch. I quickly retrieve it and then lock the door again.

Taking it back to my room I open it slowly, revealing the pictures inside. They were all of me, at pops, walking to school, with Betty. The last one was of me going into school the other day, but this one had a caption on the back.

“The schools not safe anymore, your friends and Brother can’t protect you, what are you going to do?”

Taking a deep breath, I pick up my phone and call everyone I could think of, none of them answer.

“Think (y/n), where could you go. Who can help? The school isn’t safe.. southside! Jughead will be at school and he can help me!” I thought out loud. I grab my coat and walk to the door, scared to open it. I check to make sure the pictures are in my pocket and then open the door. I start down the street towards South Side, so far so good.

I’m almost in thief territory when I feel eyes watching me again, I pick up my pace and start sprinting towards the Southside High. I hear a car behind me as I reach the school parking lot. Turning to see how close it was I trip and fall to my hands and knees, ripping my jeans and drawing blood in both places, as well as scraping my elbow. The car comes to a stop and all I can see is a man dressed in black before I am up and running again. This time through the front doors.

All eyes are on me and I freeze. I never thought about what my plan was once I got here.

“(Y/n)?” I look up and see a familiar pink haired girl looking at me. Toni was at Jughead’s alot when I would go over, we had gotten pretty close in the last few weeks

“Toni! Do you know where Jughead is? I need his help, like now.” I pant out.

She nods and I follow her to the cafeteria, where there are a bunch of serpents crowded around Jughead and a laptop. Toni runs ahead to see what’s going on while I make my way there a little slower. I catch the end of the video, it was Archie talking about the Red Circle.

A tall boy looks at Jughead and speaks, “what the hell is this?”

Before he can answer him I speak up.

“J-Jughead?” I squeak. He turns and I see his eyes widen

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here? Now is really not the best time, you should go.” He tries pushing me away but I stop him.

“No wait, Jug I need your help! Please!” I make my way to where Toni is sitting at the table before Jug speaks again,

“Look (y/n), after what your brother just posted, you really need to go.” He goes to grab me again but the tall boy from before beats him to it.

“You’re telling me that red headed Northsider is your brother? And then you had the audacity to come to my terf? You’ve got a lot of nerve!” His grip tightened and I cried out and ripped my arm away, he had grabbed right where it had gotten cut up from falling.

“Wait are you bleeding? What the hell happened?” Toni was the first to notice my wounded state and sat me down.

“This is why I need help, Jughead the Black Hood is after me, he tried to take me on my way here. Oh! And he left these at my door only an hour ago.” I pulled out the pictures and both Jughead and the Tall serpent boy grabbed them.

“I’m going to get a first aid kit, I’ll be back” Toni rushed away.

“I think he’s been following me, he said my school wasn’t safe and that he was going to get me one way or another.” Tears started to well up in my eyes and Jughead’s tough exterior started to fade.

“Does Archie know? Or any of the rest of them?”

“Arch does, sorta. Apparently the Hood has been in contact with Betty and he started threatening her with me, said if she stopped doing what he wanted then he was going to take me. I don’t know what was going through Archie’s head when he made and posted that video, he basically just made a bigger target on our backs,” I explained, “but they don’t know that I know. I just overheard their conversation and then went home. Jug i’m absolutely terrified, i’ve been back for a few weeks and bad things are happening.”

By this time Toni is back with bandages and starts to clean me up.

“Yeah,” the Tall boy speaks up, “that was pretty stupid of your brother to post that. Jug, would you say that you and, uh, sorry what’s you’re name?” He questioned me.

“Uh, (Y/N).” you speak up.

“Okay, Jug are you and (y/n) close? So close that you would say she’s, like, say family?” The Tall boy just stared at Jughead and then made eye contact with Toni, who was smirking.

“What the hell Sweat Pea? What does this have to do with anything?” Jughead quizzically asked.

“Oh my gosh Jug, just answer the damn question.” Toni looked up at him.

“Well yeah, yeah she’s like a sister. Now can someone tell me why the hell this matters?” Jughead looks around at the smiling faces of the people that have gathered around us.

The Tall boy, Sweet Pea I now know, then speaks with a smile.

“(Y/N), you are now an honorary member of the Southside Serpents. Welcome.”

A/N: I think i’m going to write a part two, but want to see what the responses are to this first, let me know what you think in my ask box! also i’ll do requests! :)  

Finding Closure (Part 3)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,809 (Jean-Ralphio voice: “I’m the wooooorst!”)

Warnings: angst, language, car trouble, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of bad home life, revisiting childhood home, tw: seizures (mention), medical emergency (mention)

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Originally posted by multi-fandom-imagines13

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Colors

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,008

Warnings: fluff, maybe a swear word? but really just entirely fluff

Prompt: AU. Painter reader and Mechanical engineer student Dean Winchester. Reader decides that Dean gets to be her canvas today.

A/N: Betad by @taste-of-dean like two weeks ago, this fic has just been sitting waiting for me to post it but I got sidetracked by phxcon.

Originally posted by deanwinchestar

Y/N was in her favorite button down - the one that was covered in oil and acrylic colors, flicked, smeared and dotted in all different places. It was previously her fathers, though she had stolen it from his closet when she took her first art class her freshman year of high school. Dean always knew what was happening when she wore it.

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casefile; sherry baby!

MSR; Rated R; Revival Era; Humor, Fluff, Horror Lite, Smut Lite; 7k; Mulder takes Scully out for a romantic evening on Halloween. It does not go as planned. 

A.N. Happy Halloween! Unbelievably sappy shit ahead. Prompts: Scully being jealous for no reason, a ghost watches M/S get it on. @fictober @today-in-fic


Men make houses. Women build homes.
–Proverb.  

Come come, come out tonight. Come come, come out tonight.
–Sherry, The Four Seasons

***

Oh, Halloween. How it coaxes all from their shells, a come-hither seduction of ghouls and their admirers. Whether one chooses to be a witch or a princess, a criminal or a cowboy – to paint their face and knock on doors, to drink until they are but pumpkins, mouths filled with their pumpkin guts – it is all done under the otherworldly spell of the undead, the souls that ascend from their place in the basement to play marionette games with the dolls who inhabit the first floor.

Fox Mulder has, over the years, made an exceptional doll. Spock, then Captain Kirk, then Spock again. Several years of him doing nothing but sitting alone and staring out the window, ignoring the pull of a fairy costume resting in a trunk in the attic. Even then he had been a prime target; Halloween souls feed on elation, but will take misery in a pinch. His misery tasted sweet like a tootsie pop. The saints love tootsie pops, all the waiting and the work. The sinners prefer Reeses.

There were others when the memories began to fade. Han Solo. Han Solo. Paul Stanley from KISS, though his first girlfriend ended up wearing most of the makeup. Han Solo. Doctor John Watson, although years later he would grit his teeth and mutter I should have been Holmes. Serpico at a Hoover party, the last one he went to. No one got it. Then Han Solo every year he chose to celebrate after, and by then he finally had Princess Leia at his side.

The halloween of 2016, he slips into his finest costume yet.

Fox Mulder. Hopeless romantic.

On one arm, he carries a bag that is filled with good wine, cheap wine glasses, and assorted fruits, cheeses, and fancy chocolate. He has convinced his partner that the actual contents are a P.K.E. meter (a psychokinetic energy meter, for those who have not seen the documentary Ghostbusters), a thermographic camera, an audio recorder, sage, a lighter, his gun.

On the other arm, or underneath it, is his partner. Who is unsure about such open gestures of affection while they are technically on the clock, even after all the years of steaming up their steakouts, but is not stopping him, and is possibly even snuggling back as the October chill descends.

“This is not a love story, Scully,” he warns, pulling her closer as they follow the long, winding pathway up their destination. Her body heat is his favorite temperature, even when it’s ice cold. “It is a story of lies, obsession, betrayal, and murder.”

“I think I’ve heard this one.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder and smiles up at him, her lips wine deep under the bright moon.

Their shoes are silent on the stone and disappear under the layers of fog that curl and cozy around them like amorous smoke. He tugs her closer still, filling his nose with the woodsy scent of her shampoo.

“The early 1960s, Scully. Free love was just a storm a’brewin in the air, and sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll were waiting on the doorsteps  of American counterculture, waiting to be invited in. Doo-wop was still a prominent feature on family radio stations. The Beatles had yet to write their own songs, and Paul McCartney wouldn’t smoke his first joint until 1964. It was a wholesome time, Scully. You would’ve loved it.”

“I loved Rubber Soul,” she argues.

He rubs her shoulder. “But it wasn’t all sock hops and sweet Jackie Kennedy. We were fighting a war with Russia, a war of discovery, and losing to the success of Sputnik. The U.S. invaded Cuba, got their asses kicked, and were the laughing stock of the world. In the veins of America, in the buses and lunch counters, the streets and in the schools, thrummed the blood of a movement. The Civil Rights movement. The early 1960s was a time of immense change.”

They were getting closer and closer to the scene where it all took place: a sprawling, overly-windowed ranch style home, its angular roof sloping into flatlands. In the quiet darkness, the cars and the rest of the world all celebrating miles behind them, the house appears white, almost bleached. But when the sun comes out it will reveal its truth: baby pink painted wood.

“And situated in all of this madness, this time between tumult and revolution, hatred and love, was a woman named Sherry Battersea.” She hmm’s. That means Mulder, I love your stories. Keep going.

He does.

They arrive at the front door – solid mahogany, undistressed. The steps leading up to the porch are made from brick, unhassled by the years of disuse. With the moon hanging overhead, vines creeping onto the roof, and the glare of (assumed) white bathed in midnight blue and the shadows of trees rustling above, it looks absolutely–

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mulder whispers, moving his hand to Scully’s waist.

Precisely.

***

It’s all a bunch of phooey, if you ask him.

Didn’t expect that, did you?

He spent weeks finding the right place. The runner ups were all either too far away, too haunted, or not haunted enough. He wanted something with history, something still alive in the hearts of believers – but nothing verifiable, and nothing with a real reputation.

He wanted a pretty lie. Most ghost stories, he will begrudgingly admit, are indeed pretty lies.

He found the Battersea house on a subreddit dedicated to paranormal encounters, and this one hadn’t even managed to get twenty upvotes. He was number twenty. The Battersea home is in Virginia, which heavily swayed his opinion in its favor, and from the pictures posted the years of abandonment had not left it dangerous, which put it above two other options off his list. Making love to Scully while the roof collapses over their heads is a fantasy he put to rest many moons ago, about the time he realized they could just do it on a bed.

They roam the house with their flashlights, Mulder’s low voice playing in her ear as he finishes his story. “Sherry’s husband returned from war, but he never returned to her. She made this home for him and he wouldn’t even grant her the decency of staying the night.”

The biggest draw of the place had been its pristine condition. No graffiti stains the wood-paneled walls; the rooms were all intact. The interior design is a certified blast from the past, from the richly carpeted floors and textured rugs to the lucite furniture, pops of neon that splash under their flashlights. It is colorfully but rather tastefully decorated. It reminds him a bit of a movie set, which is another place he has been thoroughly laid by this woman.

As they move through the house, however, he realizes with mild disappointment the utter lack of haunting thrill. Nothing shifts in the night to give them pause. No dirt or dust to brush away, no holes in the walls or rot in the furniture. It doesn’t even smell old. It all feels more like a vacation home, some sort of themed romantic getaway, and they’re wading behind the scenes with the power turned off.

It’s not what he planned, but he’ll take it.

“Miss Battersea was a fashionable lady, keeping up with the times faster than they could come to her. She had a leopard skin pill-box hat before Jackie O had a leopard skin pill-box hat, and was dead by the time Bob Dylan could think to write a song about it.” Oh, that long, mid-century sectional couch. It might be white or a gawdy turquoise color. Whatever it is, he’s going to have her there. “She was a smart woman, too. The head of all of her many bookclubs. All of the books you see in here are hers.” His runs his beam over behind the couch, where the entire back wall is lined with books, and they move along. “And there are more in the den.

“She did everything she could to make her husband love her. She danced to his favorite records. She cooked for him and did his laundry. She cut her skirt an inch shorter with each passing trend.” They stand side by side, halted in the kitchen doorway. He turns his head and lets his eyes dip into her blouse. “I’ve been very appreciative of your new work wardrobe, by the the way.”

“Mulder,” she chastises, pulling her shirt down for better access. He laughs loudly at that, places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the kitchen.

“She was driving herself crazy, trying to make him love her the way she loved him. And oh, did she love him, her sweet Maximus Battersea.” More wood paneling, and modular, pastel appliances that appear as if they haven’t aged a day since their prime. In the middle is a solid island with a geometric vase of dead flowers. This is where he’ll lay out all the food. Should’ve gotten flowers, he mopes to himself, but remembers that Scully doesn’t have a lot of patience for them. “They were high school sweethearts, and when he was 18 he was drafted off in the Korean War.

“Something was wrong when he came back. He got a job at some juicing plant working the machines, but showed a savvy for bossing people around that made itself known to the owners. He moved up quickly to supervisor and then warden. He and his little wife then bought this house, and Sherry made it her life’s work to take good care of it. Not a speck of dirt to be found.” Even to this day. They both marvel at the cleanliness.  “Dishes were done as soon as they were used. Food was on the table for when he got home, still hot enough to serve. But he never got home to her at night. He would spend his nights at the bar, and then he became a favored customer at the Grand Major Hotel.”

“Oooooh. I would’ve killed the bastard,” Scully whistles, opening up a cabinet and standing on her tiptoes to peer in. He steps in behind her and lifts her up, chuckling when she screams and elbows him in the chest.

“Hmm, I know you would,” he mumbles in her ear, smacking a little kiss underneath it. All the glassware in the cabinet, chipless and clean as a whistle, clinks and jingles while she moves her hand through it. “You’re a jealous monster. So was Sherry Battersea.”

He’s making some of this shit up. He doesn’t know if she liked to read or if she was all that beautiful a woman, but the details make the story. “I’m not jealous,” Scully snorts, and he bites her neck as punishment for her blatant lie while dropping her back on her feet.

He wonders, as he pins her against the counter, if she’s caught on to his plans. He sets the flashlight down in front of her and snakes his arms around her from behind. “One night, he did come back to this big old house. But he was with someone else.”

“Oh, I would’ve killed him,” she repeats, tilting her head to get his lips on her neck. His nose brushes her cheek and he grins; she definitely knows. “I would’ve killed her.”

“And that’s what she did,” he says, kneading her hips. “They were on the couch, still mostly in their clothes. She snuck up from behind, and with all the power of her rage, she pushed one of her many bookcases right on top of them, crushing them to death.”

“I would’ve waited until they were naked. More humiliating.”

“Jealous. Monster.” Mulder says fondly, breaking away to grab her arm. “Now they say that Sherry Battersea remains in this house, long after she was convicted and put to death. She gave her life to building a home. It’s fitting that she give it her death as well.”

“And that’s what we’re here to investigate?” She says, narrowing her eyes.

“We’re here to say hi to old Sherry,” Mulder lies, urging her along. Neither of them are scared, despite of their previous history with ghosts. He’s not sure if Scully even remembers. That house had not been a pretty lie. It had only been filled with ugly truths.

On their way up the stairs, pausing at each creak even though the foundation is craftful and sturdy, a tune plays in his head. “Sherry… Sherry baby…” he sings, letting his voice go comically high. It’s too loud in the quiet house surrounded by nothing, and Scully turns around to slap a palm over his mouth.

“That’s a bad Frankie Valli impression,” she says, arching her eyebrow. “Want me to make it better?”

He kisses her palm. She takes it away and continues her charge up the stairs. When she’s far away enough, he finishes the line in his ghastly falsetto, voice cracking.

“Sherry, won’t you come out tonight?”

Come come, come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

***

In the den on the other side of the house, a lightbulb flickers. The glow it casts under the lampshade is a soft, pinky red, the color of a deep blush. The winds caress the house with the sigh of a new lover. There is a soft scritching noise, a click of a record sliding into place. Static, and then…

Sherry, Sherry baby!
Sherry, Sherry baby!

***

“I was listening to particle physicist Brian Cox on the radio the other day, talking with Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Scully says, sipping coffee from her thermos. She shivers a little in her suede jacket and Mulder regrets not finding somewhere a little warmer. Temperatures are at an all time high this fall in Virginia, but it’s still uncomfortable. He plans on warming her up anyway. “He’s a Professor at the University of Manchester and works on the Large Hadron Collider at CERN. You’ve probably listened to him before on a podcast. He tackles a lot of different concepts in science fiction. Frankenstein, for instance.”

“Corpse reanimation is my favorite,” Mulder says. “I know a lot about it.” She pets his hair and hands him her mug. He drinks from it gratefully. Another thing to regret. He hadn’t brought his own mug.

“Specifically, he was saying that ghosts could not exist because of what the collider tells us. You know what it does. It essentially uses a network of very complex, high-powered magnets – the largest, most expensive machine in the world – that are continuously switched on and off to send particles flying at almost the speed of light. The purpose of it is to find out what everything is made if. The particles collide and emit smaller particles, which we can observe, along with their interactions with other particles.”

“We used it to discover the Higgs Boson particle, which tells us how particles get their mass. The God Particle. It was a discovery over half a century in the making.”

“Mostly, yes. The argument was that if ghosts were real, they would emit particles that should be detectable in the Large Hadron Collider, and those particles would be able interact with the particles that make us up.”

Mulder’s silent for a moment, thinking. “What if the LHC isn’t powerful enough to detect those particles?”

“Mulder.” She licks her lips and angles her body towards him on the couch, looking into his eyes. Incredulity is still her best look. “This machine has been able to reconstruct temperatures and states of matter that only existed a microsecond after the birth of the universe, before it changed states. It is a very powerful machine.”

“But it still hasn’t answered everything,” he points out, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, we still know nothing about dark matter. And dark matter is called dark matter because we know nothing about dark matter, only that it could explain why galaxies might contain less mass than what we’ve calculated.” He nods at her, taking another sip. “Maybe all that extra mass is a bunch of ghosts. Bet you never thought of that.”

“Mmm. Your souls in the starlight.” He scoots closer to her, slowly sliding his arm behind her on the back of the couch. When he leans forward, she says, “Mulder, maybe we should split up.”

“What?” He says, not pulling back. There’s enough light coming in from the windows that he can see her clearly, her noble profile shadowed and unshadowed as he moves towards her. He smells her perfume… and pine sol. “Now why would we do that? Last time we split up during a case like this you shot me.”

“I didn’t shoot you. You shot me.” So she does remember. She’s still talking when his lips are close enough to brush hers. “But how are we gonna catch this ghost sitting down?”

“Well, we don’t have to be sitting down.” He kisses her, a chaste, sweet little thing. He pulls back an inch and kisses her again. And again. And again. “We can.” Kiss. “Stop sitting.” Kiss. “Anytime you want.”

“Mulder.” Kiss. “Where’s the ghost?” Kiss. “Where’s Sherry?” Kiss. She’s folding under his body weight, falling back into the remarkably undusty cushions. She cups his jaw in her small hands and kisses him for real, chasing the flicker of his tongue with her own. She stretches one leg behind him, lets the other fall off the couch.

He groans and shifts so that he’s nestled between her thighs. There is – so much he loves about kissing Scully. In a lot of ways he’s learning her all over again after the time they’ve spent apart. Her face is thinner, he can trace her bones with his fingers, but not that sickly thin it had been the day she walked out. Her hair got its shine back. She tastes like a day at the office, her coffee and Cliff bars and the Burt’s Bees lipstick she wears during the cold weather.

But. Kiss. Her hands are bunched up in his shirt, very much like she’s prepared to rip it off of him. But this is is going too fast. Kiss. He forces himself to break away, taking his hand out from under her blouse.

Trying to control her breathing, pupils dilated, she lifts her chin and licks his lips. “So you want me to shoot you this time around?”

He laughs and moves off of her, giving her space her to sit back up and fix her wrinkled clothing. He winces and struggles to rearrange his wayward dick. Men’s pants are so tight now. He misses the freedom of the 90s.

“I uh. So here’s,” he pauses, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Here’s the thing. There is no ghost.”

She blinks slowly. He wants to move a lock of silky red hair out of her eye, but keeps his hands to himself as she thinks things through. “You brought me to an abandoned house to… what? Make out with me?”

“Well, no. I mean yes. But I have…” All these years and this stuff still makes him tongue tied. “Libations. And… mood music.”

She raises her eyebrows, but her eyes are softer. “The Monster Mash?”

“The Prince version, yeah.” He leers at her. “It was a graveyard smash.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, letting her head fall back on the cushions.

“Think about it. The way I see it, Halloween is our holiday, right? Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.”

“No one ever called me Mrs. Spooky.”

“I did. All the time.”

She smiles. “I guess it beats the time you set me on fire for Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t want to kill the adrenaline here,” he says, partially damning himself for ruining it so early. He lost a good amount of blood to that kiss. “There could absolutely be a ghost here. I’m just saying this isn’t my most reliably sourced case.”

“Are any of them?” She sighs, but she reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Go grab us some libations and make me forget this conversation.”

He ducks down to kiss her cheek. “Yes ma’am.”

Taking his bag of goodies to the kitchen, he pulls out the wooden cutting board he brought along to serve everything  and all of the bags of pre-cut cheese, crackers, fruit and meat. He hums while he works. Hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm. And it starts over, the notes twanging loudly in his mind. It is almost as if he could hear it being played through the walls – he feels it from the outside, rather than in his head. He blames it on his massive erection. He takes out the wine glasses and fills them up high enough to placate Scully and make his mother roll in her grave. Vineyard folk are serious about their wine.

He gets a good look at the kitchen as he works, transported back into a time he doesn’t know very well. The cottages on the Vineyard never kept up with any particular trend, opting instead for the timelessness of colonial whitewash and brown trim. They changed out maids and nannies like they’d change the air filters, and neither Teena nor Bill put effort into upkeep. Neither cared much for fidelity either he grimaces, and immediately feels bad for doing so.

If there is any truth to the tale, he aches for people like Sherry who gave their all and never knew when to take it back. He gets it. Sometimes you fixate on people. He had been a victim of it more than once, and now he’s the one waiting for the one he loves most to come back home.

He grabs the cutting board and the wine glasses, balancing them carefully, anchoring the stopped bottle in his armpit. The second bottle of wine and the dessert he’ll save for later are left on the counter. He hums his way back to the living room, his woman still sprawled out on the couch, waiting for him, and he forgets about Sherry.

Behind him, in the kitchen, there’s a flutter in the cabinets, sounds of gently moving ceramic. A pleasant, almost feminine noise, like tinkering laughter. Then there’s the pop of a cork.

The bottle moves, sliding to the end of the island. Then it rises into the air, bobbing up and down as if being carried by invisible hands.

Over the sink, the bottle upends. The glug-glug-glug of sweet red flows into the pipes. Just one glass’s worth.

The air is warmer, somehow.

Like a full body flush.

***

He sweeps her over the creaking floorboards, her cheek pressed to his chest. The cold has left them. His phone sits on the sleek, white coffee table, and his Elvis tunes play, his Dylan, some acoustic hits. She nuzzles in closer and hums along to Roberta Flack, Sinatra, that Cher song they both like so much.

“Why don’t you believe in the ghost, Mulder?” She murmurs, a little sad.

“I don’t know that I’m against the idea of her existing,” he says into her hair, closing his eyes. They turn. Sometimes he dips her, sometimes he spins her, but they spend most of the time just like this: as close as possible, eyes closed, careful not to bump into any of the furniture. “I just need more proof these days.”

“Well,” she says. “I’ll believe for the both of us then.”

He lifts his chin from her head, surprised. He pushes her away to search her face. “You believe in Sherry?”

“You had me with that dark matter point,” she shrugs. “If souls… did exist, they would most likely exist as a form of matter we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Dana Scully, but you are tipsy,” he chuckles, pulling her back to him. “If you believe, I believe. Sherry Battersea is alive and with us.”

“Why’d you bring us here if you didn’t think it was haunted?”

He thinks about this, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “We’ve got a long way to go, don’t we Scully?” She looks up at him, cocking her head. “You haven’t…. Moved back yet.” His thumbs caress her waist. “Into our home.”

Her face falls. “Mulder–” she tries to step away, but he holds onto her, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Scully. Scully, I’m not mad. I’m not asking you to do anything before you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, smoothing his hand down the length of her hair. She closes her eyes. “But I thought maybe… if I could recreate… not an exact replica of the good old days, because we were always getting our asses kicked, but something tonally similar, it might help. Show you that I appreciate you and that… I miss you, and that I’m so fucking grateful that…”

She saves him by wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a slow, mind-melting kiss.

There are none of the cobwebs that decorated all those places in their youth, not like he’d been hoping. The shadows that float across the room are all accounted for. There is no fear. It is not quite like the old days, but he remembers this: holding her hips as they move above him in the dark, the rise and fall of her upturned breasts, the underside of her chin when she tosses her head back and gasps. She rides him into the couch, the sweltering sheath of her body spreading warmth from his cock to the tips of his fingers and toes. He watches her face in the shadows again, how her expressions undulate in the moonlight. She still keeps her apartment, but she’s come back to him in every way that matters.

In the kitchen, a bottle breaks. A tray of dark chocolates hits the wall at full speed.

“Did you hear that?” Scully breathes, furrowing her brow but not stopping, refusing to stop their decades-old rhythm. His hands slip around to grip her rear and he shakes his head. Wind rattles the windows, a howling, devastated screech that neither Mulder nor Scully can relate to.

***

“…Mulder,” Scully frowns, her nude form wrapped up in a fleece blanket he’d brought in from the car. She sits on the floor in front of the middle bookcase, running her fingers over the titles. “You said this place was abandoned, right?”

He’s dozing on the couch, KO’d from sex and the little bit of wine they’d had. “Mmm,” he rubs his cheek and yawns. “Yep. No one lives here.”

“I just find it odd that a place that’s been abandoned for so long shows so few signs of disrepair. In fact…” she runs her hand over the books again. “This place is cleaner than my own. You’re absolutely sure no one lives here?”

“It’s condemned,” he says. “Government says it’s no longer fit to live in.”

“That’s… weird.” She pulls out an old pulp romance novel and flips through the pages. “It seems perfectly habitable.”

“It might have something to do with the plumbing. There are all sorts of strange, outdated Virginia laws that classify a place as livable –” he’s cut off by a sharp yelp and a thud. He sits straight up and peers over the couch. “Scully?”

“I’m okay,” she groans, massaging the back of her head. “A book fell and hit me from the top shelf. But it hit me hard. Jesus, it feels like I got pelted with it.”

He climbs over the back of the couch to join her on the floor, and she laughs when he pecks and pats the top of her head.

“I have just the thing to make it better,” he says, standing back up.

“Again? So fast?” She sounds impressed. Excited. He shoots her a look.

“I was offering more wine, Scully. But ouch.” Her cackling follows him into the kitchen.

The sight that greets him freezes him cold. That extra wine bottle rests in a million shiny pieces, and what was once a glaringly yellow wall bleeds dark red with the wine streaking down to the sideboards. “Scully?” he calls out hoarsely, approaching the scene with caution.

“Shit!” she screams. His stomach drops with fear and he darts back out into the living room to find her huddled under hundreds of fallen books. “What the hell?”

“Scully!” He drops to his knees beside her, throwing book after book off to the side and clutching her face in his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not bad, but I’m beginning to see why this place might be condemned. The bookshelf just rattled and all the books fell off. Maybe there’s something wrong with the foundation.” He helps her out of the pile and they both move away, far back from the shelf.

“Rattled?” he asks, alarmed. “Like it was being shaken?”

“I thought it might be coming from the walls,” she posits, but that doesn’t sit right with him. Anxiety begins to gnaw his stomach into pits.

“You don’t think,” he starts and stops, biting his lip. He wants to put his clothes back on. The chill is coming back. “You don’t think that…”

“Think what, Mulder?”

“That… something was trying to push the bookshelf? On purpose?”

She looks at him, startled. “What? Like a ghost?” He nods his head, shrugging, and she angrily clutches the blanket around herself, turning her back to him to pick up her clothes. “You just told me you didn’t believe there were any ghosts here.”

“You just told me you did,” he argues, following his own garment trail.

“Mulder,” she whines, pulling on her bra. “I don’t actually – I was just…”

“You were lying?” He asks, pausing with his shirt over his head. The hurt catches him off guard.

“I wasn’t lying, I just… I’m so…” she sighs, doing up her fly and buttoning up her shirt. “I never know how you’re feeling these days, and…” she doesn’t finish. He nods slowly, a hot wave of dejection flooding his cheeks. There are traces of ancient anger he wants to pull from, that’s the easier path, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I never needed you to lie to me, Scully, and I certainly never asked you to,” he says roughly. He turns away from her to pull on his underwear, jeans, and jacket. He ignores her attempts at  apologies and walks in long strides to the kitchen. “Come look at this,” he calls to her flatly.

Just when he thinks he’s pushed past the resentment of her leaving and the guilt at having made her leave, all of the other feelings are brought to the forefront. The shame. The fragility. He’s spent the last several months trying to prove to her that he can make it on his own – that his need for her doesn’t stem from an inability to function without her, but the irrefutable fact that they work so much better together – and the whole time she’s been… what?

Seeing him as a fucking child? Wearing kid-gloves in all of her interactions with him, holding back her opinions in fear of setting him off? Oh, Jesus. Is this why she won’t move back? She thinks he’s not ready?

“Here.” Side by side, they stand in front of the stain on the wall, mindful of the smushed chocolates and shards of glass.

“Maybe they fell?” Scully guesses weakly, at least having the decency to look contrite.

“They fell? At fifty miles an hour?” Maybe there is some anger he can pull from. “Unlikely. Didn’t you tell me you felt like that book had been pelted at you?”

“Yes but Mulder that could be anything. You said yourself the house was condemned.”

“Yeah, but–” he bends down to inspect the chocolate on the floor,  picking one crushed morsel up to show her. “This looks… this looks like it’s been stepped on, crushed by something. What kind of foundational issue would cause that?”

She looks at it and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s split up,” Mulder says. “Take the top floor. I’ll take the bottom. It’s what we came here for anyway, right?” And he leaves her alone in the kitchen.

***

The den drastically departs from the design ideal of the rest of the house. Under his flashlight he spots leather rock chairs, worn and overstuffed, plain walnut bookshelves and orange shag carpets. He looks through the books and the desk drawers, searching for anything personal. Photos, journals, receipts kept, anything that might give him any insight into Sherry Battersea and the lonely, lonely house she kept. No luck.

There is a large stack of records sitting next to a hefty Champion record player, dressed in supple red leatherette. He flips through them. The Big Bopper. Fats Domino.  The Lennon Sisters. More and more of the same ilk – an Elvis Christmas LP he’s pretty sure is the real deal, and which he shamefully considers sliding under his coat. He then inspects the player itself, lifts the arm to see the stack of singles underneath it. He lets the arm fall back into place.

It begins to play.

He yelps, stumbling backwards and collapsing onto the rock chair as the music plays loudly enough to fill the house.

Sherry! Sherry baby!
Sherry! Sherry baby!

Mulder clutches for the back of the chair and watches in terrified fascination as the entire den comes to life. The lamp flicks on and casts the room in its soft pink light, turning brown into different shades of red. Warmth trickles in from the air vent and all in his body he feels the electric hum of a machine coming to life. He knows instantly that means every other room in the house must be waking up in the same way. Scully he thinks, attempting to jump to his feet.

He’s knocked back on his ass.

“What the–” he tries again, and the shag rug slithers out from underneath the desk, coming at him like a cautious snake.

Sherry! Sherry baby!
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeerry bay-ay-by!
Sherry, can you come out tonight?

“Scullllllaaaay!” He shouts, but he’s no match against The Four Seasons bleating from the – not from the record machine, but from  – everywhere, what –

Why - don’t - you - come out? Come out!
To my twist party! Where the bright moon shines!

The rug does just that, rises up, twists back and forth like wringing water out from a cloth. Still moving slowly it comes up to his feet, and he brings his legs up and hugs his knees close to his body, expelling an embarrassing squeak that would give Frankie Valli a run for his money. The rug continues its ascent, sliding up his legs, like – like a caress - gentle – warm – not like a rug, but like –

Like a human.

Mulder kicks his legs out with as much force as he can muster and the rug drops to the floor with a muffled poof. Then he’s leaping out of the chair and throwing open the door, giggling crazily when – he swears he feels it – something invisible tugs at his shirt, at his pant legs and hands.

He runs out out of the den into the open hallway like a scene straight out A Hard Day’s Night, and it’s just as he suspected. All the lights are on, and the Battersea house is thrown into full technicolor, much more vivid than he could have imagined. The lucite chairs are the brightest reds and blues he’s ever seen on furniture in his life, the sofa and the tables and the cleanest, starkest white. The light from the bulbous chandelier sparkles and spins. That pine sol scent – and then something else – Shalimar? – the alien-looking Philco television set on its tall thin stand, some old Gunsmoke episode. Then the channels flip and flip and it’s the Twilight Zone, and he’s being shoved by the air over to the couch.

“Scully!” He yells again, laughing, merrily going along with the phantom guide. How is this for proof of a spirit world? This has got to be the single strongest case for the existence of poltergeists ever experienced. “Scully! Come here!”

“Mulder!” Scully screeches, straight from the gut.

Three gunshots go off.

His laughter corks in his throat, his heart drops to his stomach. Mulder races into the kitchen, faster than the grip that vies for him. The wine has been scrubbed from the walls, the glass swept from the floor. Something delicious simmers on the stove, and as he darts past the island he notices a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice pouring into a metal mixer. No body performs the action. They float in the air and the liquid comes out in steady, even streams.

That’s his drink. He shudders and hops up the stairs, taking two at a time. Scully’s voice has died out but he can still hear it pounding in his head, along with the never ceasing with your red dress on! Mmm you look so fine! and his ragged breath. “Scully!” He yells again, throwing open every door as he comes to it. The towels in the bathroom, the shower curtain, all rip themselves from their places and slither and slide after him, licking at his ankles and tripping him up. Gold and copper tubes of lipstick chase behind him, leaving behind perfect lip imprints on the walls.

When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Scully bound and gagged to the four poster bed, screaming into the pillowcase stuffed in mouth. “Scully,” he hisses, falling to his knees in front of her, pulling out the gag and deftly untying the knots around her ankles and wrists.

“That crazy–” she coughs and struggles underneath him, making it impossible to get her unbound. “That crazy bitch –”

“Stop moving–” but she won’t, she’s writhing and wrestling until he has to cover her with his weight, yelling at her all the way. “Crazy fucking bitch!” She screams. When she’s free from her ties she shoves Mulder off of her and hops to her feet, tearing through the bedroom like a hurricane. “Where the fuck did she put my gun–”

“She took your gun?” Mulder panics, ripping through the room with her. “Scully, did you–” he sees it, three bullet holes in the corner of the ceiling. “Did you shoot the house, Scully?”

“You bet I fucking shot the house!” She screams. “Aha!” She pulls out the gun from the nightstand, cocks it, and tries to run out of the room.

“Scully,” Mulder grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her to him, ignoring her struggling. “Scully, I’m thinking this is an extremely malevolent, extremely powerful poltergeist. You cannot shoot poltergeists–”

She whips around, turning on him and backing him into the wall. “Malevolent? Did she drag you by your hair into the bedroom and tie you to a bed, Mulder? You look suspiciously unharassed.”

He licks his lips and stutters. “Uh, no. That has not been – that has not been my experience.” She raises both eyebrows and crosses her arm, waiting for him to continue. He rushes on. “I think Sherry’s still here, trying to take care of her husband.”

Scully steps back, eyes widening in shock. Her mouth opens and closes. Slowly, quietly, she asks, “Are you saying… the… poltergeist… is trying to seduce you?”

“And kill my mistress? Yeah,” he huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around her stunned and silent frame, letting his body relax against hers for just a minute. He’s getting too old for this kind of exertion. “Oh, god. You scared the shit out of me, Scully.”

“Sorry to cause so much stress, Mr. Battersea,” she grumbles, burying her nose in his neck. He nuzzles her hair and she lifts her head, slotting their lips together in a sweet, relief-filled kiss. If she’ll forgive him his affair with the carpet, he’ll forgive her everything. She pulls back, shaking her hair out of her face and straightening out her shoulders. “Now how do we get rid of this thing? What’s all in that bag you brought?”

He freezes. Shit.

“Mulder, no,” she says, horrified.

***

They slink down the stairs, Scully first, gun first, just in case. The breath of the house is soft, deceivingly calm. The music has been shut off. No objects float in the kitchen, the stove is turned off. Nothing tries to pull Mulder out of his clothes, or Scully into a closet.

“I think our little display back there pissed her off,” Mulder says grimly, staying close behind Scully.

“You’re my husband,” she bites out, straightening her shooter’s stance. “I kiss you whenever I want.”

They pause before entering the living room, looking at each other.

“That’s where it all happened,” Mulder whispers, nodding his head at the door. “If we go out there…”

“Should we just make a run for it then?” Scully asks, biting her lip. He bites his lip, too, and they meet each other’s eyes. He nods slowly.

They take off, pounding their feet against the hardwood and running as fast as they can, Mulder’s hands barely grazing Scully’s shoulders, but they never stood a chance. Floorboards are snatched almost from under their feet; chairs and tables go hurtling through the air. They drop down, Mulder curling his body over hers and shielding his head when bronze ornaments chuck themselves off of their stands, decorative mirrors drop to the floor, sending their shards flying.

From every molecule of the house, Frankie Valli’s falsetto warps into a deep, unsettling baritone.

Come come. Come out tonight.
Come come. Come out tonight.
Come come. Come out tonight.

“Say a prayer, Scully,” Mulder groans, wincing when a piece of glass whizzes past his head and scrapes up the back of his hands. She begins to frantically mutter one under her breath, but it’s useless. The storm doesn’t stop.

“Sherry,” Mulder tries. “Sherry!” He says louder. The music ends, but the the violence doesn’t. “Sherry, I know you were hurt!”

A woosh of a sigh is expelled from all the air vents. Objectiles drop straight to the floor. Mulder takes a deep breath and rolls off of Scully, who chokes and coughs into her arm.

He keeps going, not exactly sure what he’s saying. “Your husband was a selfish man who didn’t treat you the way you deserved. You loved him. You gave him everything. You cleaned up every mess, you paid every bill, you did everything he asked of you and it still wasn’t enough.” He swallows, pressing his bleeding hand to his stomach. “He still wouldn’t come home to you.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sherry. People who love you don’t do that to you. People who love you know that you aren’t perfect and come home to you anyway.”

The house is so quiet it is almost as if his soft, soothing voice has lulled it to sleep, and for a moment he thinks it has. Water drips from the air vents, from the windows, single, silent tears of condensation.

Crumpled next to him, Scully is sniffing. He glances at her, worried, but she’s smiling through her tears, sliding her hand through debri and dust to wrap around his. He smiles back, surprised to discover that he’s crying, too.

But she’s suddenly yanked away, screaming as those invisible hands drag her by her ankles and toss her onto the couch. “Scully!” Mulder yells, getting up to run toward her.

He’s tripped by an orange shag carpet.

“It’s not you, Sherry, it’s me,” he whimpers, frantically wriggling as the carpet begins to roll up with him inside of it. He groans and drags himself across the floor with his hands, carpet and all. The Philco set buzzes past him in the air and he shouts. “Watch out, Scully!”

He doesn’t see where it lands, but it the sound it make is a sickening smack, a bludgeoning soundtrack. “Scully?” No response. “Scully?”

He groans, dragging himself with agonizing slowness until he’s at the couch. Propping himself up his arms, his legs still wrapped in the rug, his mouth waters in fear and his stomach tightens at the sight of her, pale and silent, with one patch of bloody red hair staining her temple.

He checks her pulse, is relieved to find it faint, but still there. He kicks and pounds inside his trap until it’s beaten slack and stupid, and lifts himself onto the couch.

“Scully?” He lightly touches the spot where she’s hurt and she jerks her head and groans. “Oh, thank god.”

“Take me to dinner next time,” she winces, feeling the wound for herself and hissing out when she brushes the most tender part. She sits up, he pulls her hair away to give her better access. “I probably need to go to the hospital for this.”

“Well let’s try and get you there, partner.” One hand on her back, the other on her shoulder, he tries to help her up, but is interrupted with the sound of… “Scully. Scully, shit.”

“What?”

“Scully, the bookca–” SLAM.

***

She hauls him out of the dead and empty house, panting with the exertion and the throbbing pain in her head.

“I think–I think she went back to sleep,” Mulder yaps manically. “I think that put her to sleep. Reenacting the – the crime.”

“We’re not dead, Mulder,” she grunts. Another foot down the driveway. “I just wish we were dead.”

“I think we better call an ambulance, Scully,” he says, resigned. “I don’t think either of us can drive.”

They call the ambulance and wait. Scully plops down beside him, wincing as the morning sun reflects off the ugly pink wood and cuts into her blurry vision. “This sucks, Mulder,” she sighs, squeezing her fists into her eyes.

“God, I know. This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How are you going to help me move with two broken ankles?” She sighs again, shaking her head. “I’ll have to hire somebody now.”

He beams at her.

***

All the spirits rejoice and return to their graves for their year long sleep.

***

Girl, you make me lose my mind!

The Lingerie Experiment

The Final Outcome

I was awake way before Harry was on Monday morning.  I couldn’t stop my brain from spitting out everything I needed to say in this article.  I was pretty much done by the time he woke up.  He scratched his tummy as he walked past, pushing a kiss to the top of my head on his way to the bathroom.  

His eyes squinted over my shoulder,

“What are you writing?”

“Article.”

I watched as he quirked his brows.  He turned towards the bathroom, still half asleep.  Just a few more words and I was done.  

My smile was a mile wide as I stared down at the words I’d just written.  I don’t think I had ever been more proud to have written something since I figured out I liked writing.  Writing about Harry and I and our relationship was like a drug.  Once I got started, I couldn’t stop.  He was quite the inspiration.

I stood up and walked to the printer, shaking my head and giggling while I heard Harry singing in the shower.  I couldn’t wait for him to read what I’d written.  I wanted him to know exactly how I felt and there was no better way than for him to read this article.  

I heard the bathroom door creak open a few minutes later.  The steam and moisture from the shower filled our bedroom.  Harry liked to take unusually hot showers.  He was wiping a towel down his face, another towel wrapped around his waist.  His ink looked especially good against his tanned, toned skin.  I smiled.  Damn, I was lucky.

Keep reading

Break A Little

Pairing: Tom Holland X Actress! Reader (I)

Warning: Some swearing

Songfic: Based on a song called ‘Break A Little’ by Kirstin.

I do not own Marvel, Ben & Jerry’s, the photos, etc. I only own the writing. (Because this was a plotline I came up with after listening to ‘Break A Little’ by Kirstin.) All rights go to their respectful owner. And I don’t think the tweet is real. I just made it up on the spot.

Keep reading

me-a-hopeless-romantic  asked:

Can you write the Connor x Internet friend! Reader as a fanfic. I would love it if you did.

Message Me || Connor Murphy x Reader (PART 1 OF 5)


requested : yep
prompt: n/a
pairing : connor murphy x reader
warnings : suicide plan mention
additional notes : reader is female, based off of a Connor X Internet friend reader headcanon by @watch-the-whole-world-disappear, they meet on tumblr, connor runs an Edgy™ Aesthetic Blog, WHICH I RUN BTW, NOT THAT THERES ANYTHING ON IT YET BUT YEAH FOLLOW ME AT @connor-fvckng-mvrphy lmao it’s a Connor roleplay blog


Bored. Bored. Bored.

Bored is such a boring word. In this moment, you’ve never heard a word that describes you so much.

You scroll listlessly through your tumblr, liking random images and quotes from this one aesthetic blog that you follow. Your eyes wander, not that you’re finding anything interesting, until you come across an interesting poem.   

dark-aesthetic🔃connor-fvckng-mvrphy 

I have to get this
off my chest before
I straighten every crooked object
offensive clutter distraction
OCD
nervous as fuck
I’ll pull out every hair
or tear my fingers off
If I don’t figure out how to look
in your eyes
without screaming

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I can’t remember anything before you
I can’t imagine anything without you
I want to live the rest of my life with you

But only if you think I’m cool
We should just kill ourselves

‘Interesting,‘ You think, 'Edgy, but very interesting.’

This guy (girl? other?) seems interesting. Relatable. You click on their name, intrigued.


At one click, you fall in love with the account. You follow on first sight.

According to his bio, his name is Connor and he’s seventeen. His posts consist of black-and-white photos of chipped nail-polish, of pale wrists with even paler scars zigzagged across the stick-thin appendage. Quotes by Poe, little poems like the first one you read. 

He’s tortured, you know. But you can’t bring yourself to message him, like the little stalker you are.

Hours of pouring over his account turn into days, days into weeks, until finally you have been an avid fan of his for a month. 

And then it all comes crashing down.

One day, you refresh your page, bored, and there’s a new post from him. Literally must have been posted not even a minute ago. 

connor-fvcking-mvrphy 

this is not going to be a great week
or year or life
or anything inbetween
i thought for a millisecond
that i had found a friend
a kindred spirit
but you fucking tore it up

fuck you, E.H.
your friend too
go ahead and laugh
laugh all you want
but will you be laughing when the school shooter is dead?

goodbye

You’re worried.

This poem…was not like the others.

This was angry. This was raw. This was…this was real.

You bite your lip. Your eyes flick down to the tags.

#suicide plan #goodbye

Shit. Your eyes widen and you click on your inbox, typing in a message frantically

you
hi I know you don’t know me but I just saw the tags on your newest poem and im freaking out
please please don’t kill yourself
I’m sorry it’s just your poems are really relatable and help me a lot and i feel like I’ve gotten to know you through them and oh my god you probably think I’m so creepy I’m so sorry

You wait, terrified, for a response.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three,

four,

five.

There is no answer, and you bury your head in your pillow and try not to cry. You can’t help it, your shoulders shake with wracking sobs. You probably failed at saving this guy, you failed so bad. You suck, oh god, you suck.

After another five minutes of sobbing, you hear a loud ding from your phone, and you blearily stare at the screen through unshed tears.

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
im flattered
I didn’t realise that somebody actually read my poems or my tags or cared or…

You gasp in relief, fingers tap-tap-tapping out a reply. 

you
OH thank god I thought that you had…
Are you okay??
thats a stupid question omg I'm sorry

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
im fine
actually…i feel much better.
thanks for, you know.
caring.

you
Anytime!
I’m [y/n] btw

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
connor

you
i know
thats creepy oh my god;sorry

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
it’s fine ig I mean it is in my bio so??? its chill

you
:)

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
so this might sound weird but ????
you’re…pretty cool.
i just looked over your account and wanted to know
well you know
want to talk more???

you
wow im??? Really???

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
yeah i mean you helped me there,,,like a lot,,,

you
id love to !!!!


You talked almost every day. When you got down to it…he was a sweetheart. He was kind. He got you.

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
do you think, like…
well ever get to meet each other??
imean you’re a really great friend now and???
id like to meet you.

you
i wish
but we live like eight hours away from each other…

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
ill drive to you!

you
calm down, connor…lmao
we don’t want you burning out on the way

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
:( I don’t even know what you look like…

you
i don’t know what you look like either! XD

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
shit well
if I send you a picture of me
will you do the same?

you
sure ig

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
me.jpg my sister took the photo so,,,

you
WHOA
YOU’RE SO PRETTY WTF I THINK IM IN LOVE

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
id prefer handsome but I’ll take it
your turn, missy.

you
hnnghhh okay
bewarnedIlooklikeapotato.jpg

connor-fvckng-mvrphy

holy shit

you
bad???

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
YOU’RE SO FUCKING CUTE???
WHAT THE FUCK THAT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL IM-

you
no no no I am definitely not wtf you need your eyes checked?

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
no way you’re fucking adorable
i think /I’m/ in love you cute lil motherfucker


 connor-fvckng-mvrphy
we should swap phone numbers

you
and skype??

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
fuck yeah

you
oKay !!! im [skype/name] and my number is [number]

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
my Skype is the same as my tumblr and my phone number is XXXX XXXXXX

you
saved and I just texted you too :)

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
'hi Connor!!!!’ with a bunch of happy emojis?
dude you’re just,,,
thats really fucking cute

you
wh y???? do you keep calling me cute I’m???

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
because, as it turns out, i have a really cute best friend

you
best friend??
awww connor!!!

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
yeah yeah
you’re literally all I have, [y/n]

you
you’re my best friend too!!
i really wish i could meet you…

connor-fvckng-mvrphy 
me too…hold on a sec

you
connor??? you okay???

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
my sister just walked in and was being a dick, being nosy about who I’m talking to and not believing that it was a friend. She thinks I’m talking to my dealer.
i fucking hate her sometimes

you
do you?

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
…no
but she thinks I do. It’s easier to let her.

you
*internet hug*

connor-fvckng-mvrphy
Fuck…that’s cute.


 As time went on, you found yourself more and more drawn to Connor. His photos could always make you smile, and nothing brightened up a shitty day more than clicking on his Skype name and watching him answer a video call, smiling dopily at the camera.

And also as time went on…you slowly began to realise why.

You were in love with him. 

Fuck, you were in love with a guy eight hours away. A guy that you had never met in real life. What do you do?

…You continue pining for him over a distance, of course.

You watch yourself in the screen, waiting for Connor to pick up the Skype call. Soon enough, he does, and his grinning face fills the screen.

“Hey, [y/n].” He greets sleepily - it’s like, midnight over there - and rests his chin on his hands.

“Heya.” You wave at the camera, grinning sheepishly and a little shyly. The thrill of actually seeing him rather than just a message still gets you.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day, huh?”

“Yep! Any special girl that you had in mind?” You ask, a hopeful smile plastered on your face.

“No, well…actually…” He furrows his brow, and your heart drops.

“Is she pretty?” You ask, concealing your jealousy. You could be there for him.

“She’s cute. Like, really fucking cute.” Connor says, watching you carefully.

Truth be told, Connor felt the same way. He was absolutely crazy about you, but he didn’t want to ruin this adorably heartwarming friendship you had.

To wake up and have no more *internet hug* messages or cute little reminders…it’d ruin his life. You were absolutely the only thing keeping him going.

You talked for ages, until it was about 2:30 on his end. Before long, he was getting tired. 

“I should go soon.” He says drowsily. 

“Mmmm.” You don’t want him to go. “Night, Con.”

“G'night.” He yawns. “Love you.”

You freeze. He freezes and hurriedly leaves the video chat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Connor slams his head on his desk, pissed off. “I fucked up. I fucked up.” He mumbles.

A small chime comes from his computer and he bites his lip, glancing reluctantly at the screen.

you
i love you too!!!!

The Hearts We Take, The Ice We Break (Jughead x Reader)

“Can you do a Jughead imagine where the reader and jug breakup and the gang take his side, and in loneliness she tries to kill herself ( like what Cheryl does in the finale ) and jughead saves her?“ –Anonymous

Warnings: Implied sexual abuse, suicide ideation, and suicide attempt.

Listen To: “All I Want”, Kodaline


You were the perfect girl, to the outsider’s eye. A River Vixen, a good student, a good friend, a beautiful girl. You didn’t have the vindictiveness of Cheryl, or the reputation of Veronica, or even the pretentiousness of Betty. You laughed at the right times, smiled just enough, and never showed up to school with smudged eyeliner or a hair out of place.

When you’d moved to Riverdale High, everyone had their eyes on you. When you suddenly asked Jughead Jones III, the boy who sat next to you in English class, to go to Pop’s with you, everyone was shocked. Including him.

Jughead quickly learned that there was more to you than meets the eye. You immediately delved into talking to him about deep philosophical topics, complicated film theories, and general snarking about the surrounding town. Combined with your beautiful appearance and kind nature, he was enthralled. He almost unconsciously uttered an invitation to go steady with him. You immediately said yes.

You’d been dating for a few months now. You were over the moon with happiness. Every day, you’d walk into school clinging to your boyfriend’s arm. You’d plant a kiss on his cheek before every class, and take pictures with him every chance you got. Your Instagram was plastered with selfies of the two of you, filled with comments of “#couplegoals” from classmates from your old school, more times than you could count.

While you were elated, Jughead felt differently. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the school following his back. Ever since his suspected involvement in Jason’s murder and his huge fight with Betty one year ago, he knew everyone thought he was a freak. Coupled with his newfound relationship to the new town sweetheart, he’d made you into a target, too.

It started out with whispered comments in the hallway, which you brushed off. “They’re just jealous of you, Juggie,” you said with a smile.

Then, things got physical.

“You need to step away from that Southside trash. I’ll show you what a real man is like, (Y/N),“ Reggie said, cornering you in the empty locker room. You tried to run, but he grabbed your arms and shoved you against a locker, mashing his lips into your hungrily.

“Jughead!“ You screamed. You knew Jughead waited for you every day after cheer practice to walk you home. Reggie plastered one hand over your mouth, another creeping up your skirt.

The door swung open, Jughead standing in the doorway.

Wordlessly, with a look that could kill, Jughead pulled Reggie off of you and punched his lights out. Being a star football player, it merely earned Reggie a reprimand from the coach, while Jughead earned slew of detentions.

Needless to say, Veronica and Betty were furious at what had happened to you, and got to work in earning your justice. Jughead had other things on his mind. He seemed more distant, more distracted.


One day, you couldn’t take it anymore. Jughead no longer returned your kisses. He avoided pictures. There wasn’t that same warmth in his eyes.

“Jug, we should talk,“ you said, crossing your legs on your bed.

“Yeah, we should.“ Jughead never met your eyes. “I… I think we should break up.“

Your eyes widened. “…what?”

Jughead gulped. He had been rehearsing this conversation with Archie for a week. Jughead no longer wanted you to suffer because of your relationship with him. “I’m not good for you, (Y/N). You deserve a lot better, and…” He took a breath, preparing to say the lie that Archie said was necessary for you to let go. “I… I don’t love you anymore.”

Jughead expected screaming, crying. Instead, your eyes went to your hands in your lap. “…okay, Jughead. Okay.”

Before he could change his mind. Jughead stood jerkily, and walked to the door.

With his back facing you, he said, voice steadied, “Be good, okay?”

Softly, you repeated, “Okay, Jughead. Okay.”

Keep reading

The History of Us

Fandom: Marvel
Ship: Peter Parker x Reader
Requested: Yes (I have a request for a prompt idea when you get the chance. If you could do 60. “Happy Birthday” and 37. “Can i kiss you?” where the reader’s birthday is today but the one person they thought would remember (peter) forgot because of avenger stuff. The reader ends up getting into a situation and Spider-Man saves them. You can reword or change anything you like. Also im requesting this cause my birthday is Sep. 23rd)
Genre: Neutral??
Warnings: Mentions of Food, Break-Ins, Kissing
A/N: This was requested by @frappichino23 a few days ago so I pushed it up on my request list to post it today!! Happy Birthday, my dude!!

Originally posted by tom-hollcnd

You were always one of those kids who looked forward to their birthday– what kid wasn’t like that? You would prepare days in advance for the day, planning out your outfit and your plans for the day. You would give your parents a list of what gifts you wanted nearly months beforehand, and you even added the flavor cake you wanted onto it as well.

It stuck with you as you grew up. You turned ten, and you knew exactly what outfit you would be wearing a week before the day even came. You turned fourteen, and you began to plan your sixteenth birthday party. And when the day came two years later, it was perfect. All that planning had paid off. 

And still at eighteen, you were excited. It was your senior year of high school, and having to go to school on your birthday wasn’t the greatest option, but you stuck through it. You knew your friends would be waiting for you to wish you a ‘happy birthday’, and they would surely have a cupcake for you at lunch, just like they did every year. 

You were most excited to see Peter. He was always so enthusiastic about your birthday, possibly even more so than you were. On your sixteenth, he had made you dozens of cupcakes to spell out ‘Sweet Sixteen’ for you when you got home from school. Shortly after that day, he told you his secret. And on your seventeenth birthday, he let you wrap your arms tightly around him as he swung the two of you from skyscraper to skyscraper. He had landed on the top of one where you found a picnic already set up. 

It was by far the best birthday you had ever had. And you were looking forward to see how Peter would help you celebrate this year.

So when you walked into the cafeteria that day to your normal table to see your friends there without Peter, well, you could say you were a bit disappointed.

“Where’s Peter?” You asked as you sat down to a cupcakeless table in front of you. (You knew Peter was always the one to supply the cupcake.)

“Happy birthday!” Ned, Michelle, and Gwen all shouted at you, smiling. They ignored your question, but you smiled lightly in response.

“Thanks, guys,” you said, digging your phone from your bag to text Peter.

“He hasn’t answered any of our texts,” Ned said as you saw you do this, and you immediately frowned. You texted him nevertheless and waited for his response. The lunch bell rang for you to go back to class, and his response never came. Neither did the cupcake.

You pretended to be okay with it. It was fine; he was only one person. All your other friends had been there, had wished you a ‘happy birthday.’ It was fine, and you were fine. So why were you feeling so upset as you walked home later in the day?

You couldn’t help but hope to see Peter standing inside your house with something, like  tower of cupcakes, when you opened the door. But it wasn’t the image you were met with. You gasped as you saw your furniture flipped in every which way, glass shattered on the ground from vases and mirrors around the living room. You closed the door silently behind you, taking out your phone and dialing the police with one hand. You hovered your finger over the call button as you took another step into the house. 

You turned into the hallway towards the stairs where you saw picture frames knocked onto the ground, the frames broken in half. You bit your lip, looking at the photo of you and Peter on your sixteenth birthday. The two of you were kneeling in back of the cupcake-made words, smiling brightly with your arms around each other.

You would have to buy a new frame. 

A clattering upstairs made you jump. You weren’t sure if you should’ve just called the police right then and there, or if you should’ve gone to investigate the noise. But wanting to take the safer road, you quietly made your way back down the stairs and back outside as you pressed the call button.

The police arrived almost ten minutes later, and you had been watching your front door from across the street with wide eyes the entire time. You waited for someone to come out, or for something to happen, but nothing did. You called Peter as you stared, begging for him to pick up, but your heart dropped when you heard his voicemail begin.

“Hey, Pete,” you sighed into the phone shakily. “I called the police first because I figured that was the logical thing to do, and you haven’t picked up your phone today, so.”

You heard the sirens in the background and hurried your words. “I think someone’s in my house. The whole place is wrecked; everything is knocked over and shattered. I’m waiting across the street for someone to come. I’m okay, though, so don’t worry. Bye, Peter.”

The police cruisers parked in front of you, and the officers jumped out of their cars seconds after. “Which house is it, Miss?” One asked as they stared at you, leaning against the concrete sidewalk.

You pointed across the street to your home, and you wondered what they would find as they ran across the street and into the house. You saw a few of them pull out their guns, making you more worried. A few minutes later, you could hear yelling. You weren’t sure what they were saying. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard someone yell, and you jumped, turning your head in the direction of the voice. You felt the relief flood into you as you saw the red suit make its way towards you. 

“Hi,” you breathed out, looking up at him from where he stood in front of you. “The police are inside now.”

He nodded and looked towards the house, taking a step towards it. He looked at you once more before running to the house. “I’ll just be a minute.”

And he was right, when only a short minute later, the police were leading a mask-clad man out of your house. There were webs all over him. Spiderman followed behind them, walking nonchalantly with his arms crossed. You snorted when the police officers thanked him, and he nodded stiffly. 

You stood up from the sidewalk when the officers gave you the go-ahead, and you walked up to Peter across the street. “Wanna come inside with me?”

“Yeah,” he responded quickly, and you knew he was blushing under the mask when you rose an eyebrow at him. The two of you made it into your house again, and you sighed when you looked at the damage once more.

“Where were you today?” You asked, trying to distract yourself as you examined the now empty walls.

“Avenger stuff,” he mumbled, looking around, just as distraught as you. This was a second home to him; you knew he hated to see it torn up. “Some alien people, I don’t even know. Mr. Stark needed my help. It was a tough one, but we got them all in the end.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, and you looked over at him. “Did you get hurt?”

He shrugged, slipping the mask off of his face. He didn’t seem to have any bruises on his face, rendering you surprised. It was unordinary for him to have an injury-free face. “I got thrown around a bit, but I’m fine. I always am.”

You nodded once more as you walked up the stairs, keeping your eyes away from the damaged picture of you and Peter. You silently wondered when he would remember. You were almost afraid to walk into your bedroom as you opened the door slowly, holding your breath. You pushed the door open, peeking your head in slightly. You sighed in relief when you saw everything intact; the thief must have planned to go into your room last.

You moved to sit on your bed, slouching and putting your face into your hands. This wasn’t at all how you imagined your day going. You heard Peter take a seat next to you, and he softly rested a hand on your back, rubbing circles onto it. It barely calmed you.

“Today’s my birthday,” you finally said, voice cracking. You felt Peter’s hand stiffen on your back. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, so you looked up from your hands; his face crumpled.

“What?” He asked, although you knew he heard you. “That’s not- what’s today’s date? I swear-”

“It’s today, Peter,” you cut him off, and he bit his lip, shaking his head.

“(Y/N)-”

“Can you leave?” You asked, looking away from him. You heard the hitch in his breath, and worked harder to keep your gaze off of him. “I know I called you, but I just want to be alone right now.”

He stayed beside you for a few more moments before standing up. “Okay,” he whispered, and he moved towards the door. He stopped before he closed the door behind him.

Happy birthday, (Y/N),” he said. 

You curled into yourself when you heard the click of the lock.

It wasn’t a happy birthday at all.


You didn’t go to school the next day. You were too exhausted from the day before to talk to anyone, or to have to deal with seeing Peter’s face. You knew he didn’t mean to do anything wrong, but in your eyes, the person you were looking forward to seeing most on your birthday was the one who didn’t even remember.

Your phone rang with a text at five o’clock in the evening, and you hesitated on looking at it. You didn’t want it to be Peter, but in some odd way, you hoped he would be the one reaching out. You grabbed the phone from your nightstand before you could second-guess yourself.

Peter:
Meet me at the park in a half an hour. Please come.

You bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see him. You wanted to stay in bed for the rest of the day. But your heart got the best of you, and you got up to change into more presentable clothes. 

As you walked out of your front door, you took your phone out of your pocket and dialed the police. You hovered your finger over the call button; you had gotten so much more paranoid than usual after yesterday’s events. Arriving at the park a few short minutes later, you were met with darkness.

“Peter?” You called out hesitantly, holding your finger closer over your phone. 

All of a sudden, the whole park lit up in front of you. The trees were covered in white lights, lanterns hanging from a few branches. There were arches of webs hanging from tree to tree, and you laughed lightly. They were glowing, and you wondered if Peter had made a new web concoction just for you. 

And standing under one of the arches, there he was. He wore a suit, a striking opposite to his usual one, with a dress shirt and a bowtie. You felt the smile light up your face just as much as the lights around you glimmered.

“Hi,” he spoke shyly, and both of you took a few steps towards each other.

“Hi,” you responded, just as shy. “What is all this?”

“I, um,” he looked around, cheeks growing red. “I owed you this.”

You shook your head, letting out a breath. “Peter-”

“Don’t talk yet,” he interrupted you, looking back into your eyes. “I had a plan, for your birthday,” he broke out into a bashful smile. “I would do this, hang all the lights around and some flowers that I had bought a few days ago. But the flowers are all wilted now, so I obviously had to improvise.”

He motioned to the webs above you, and you laughed softly again at the sight of them. They may have looked ridiculous, but they made your heart warm. It showed how much he cared about this, about you

“And then we’d sit under the gazebo in the middle of the park,” you looked towards it, but it was hard to see. It wasn’t lit up like the rest of your surroundings. “I didn’t have enough time to go get more lights for it, sorry.”

He looked bashful again, and you shook your head once more. “Don’t be. This is beautiful, Peter.”

“I’m not done,” he said, a smile to his lips, and an eyebrow raised on his forehead. 

“Okay, okay, go on,” you laughed. 

“Um,” he stopped smiling to look nervous, and you tilted your head slightly. “And then I’d take your hand in mine,” he took more steps towards you, stopping with only a small amount of space between you. 

You held your breath as he slowly, softly put his hand in yours. You let him slide his fingers between yours, and you felt the warmth in your chest grow. You wondered where he was going with this, and you tried not to let your hope get the best of you.

“And then I’d tell you,” he hesitated after he spoke, nervously looking at you. He took a deep breath before speaking again, and you felt your heart beat rapidly inside your chest. “And then I’d tell you that I love you.”

You breathed in deeply after he said the words, and for some reason, tears crowded in your eyes. You couldn’t believe he had just spoken the words, the words that you had been begging to hear from him for ages. 

“You love me,” you asked, although it didn’t sound like a question.

“I love you,” he breathed out, looking relieved to finally say it, but at the same time, he looked immensely nervous for your response. “And not like, as a friend, like in-”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, laughing as you did so. And somehow, you didn’t feel nerves as you waited for his answer. You saw his nerves disappear as well as he smiled. 

“Yes,” he said eagerly, taking your other hand in his. And then you leaned forward as he did, and your lips touched. You felt the relief seep into you as you pressed yourself closer to him. 

And maybe your birthday wasn’t the greatest this year, but this day would forever go down in your history.

******************
I hope you like it, @frappichino23!! I was writing it quickly to get it done by today, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit messy!! Requests are open :)

~e

Tag List: @quokkatrash @avengersgirllorianna @gdmora @sachiparker @chocolatekittys @thumper-darling @deans-angel-of-thursdays @vegeterianbassist @itsssmichelleee @frappichino23 @themilkface @shannonxbarnes @watchitburr @captain-sherlockomg @superwholockian5ever @teacher-crushed @duquesarosa @peter-my-parker @buckysberrie @neverlands-outcast @thespidersman @andreagracing @ketterdame @cat-in-a-hoodie @galacticamidala @kassidydem @radicalstars @lilyannez @a-bit-of-alot 

“Guilty As Charged.”

Requested by an anon. A babe. 

Originally posted by bbyeskimo

Hyuk loved you, you loved him. The two of you always talked about marriage and children. His fmily was tired of Hyuk waiting to propose to you. After all you’ve been together for almost five years.

Keep reading

Because Adam Parrish’s bisexuality is very important to me and I felt the need to write down the Feelings I was having. This has no plot, just so you know.        

AO3


It’s really you on my mind

He’s fifteen years old and tired. Sitting in front of the trailer he calls home, he lets himself feel it for just a second. Allows himself to acknowledge the heaviness pulling at his limbs, his drooping eyelids getting pulled down by some invisible power; allows himself a moment of anger and exhaustion. Feeling sorry for himself and letting his misery take over his senses isn’t something he necessarily likes to do. He knows his life sucks, there’s no use dwelling on that. He also knows there are people who have it worse and that he will get out of here. One day one day one day. It’s a song that replays itself inside his head when things get rough, when he feels alone and his father tells him he’s worthless, with his fists and words alike, when his mom looks at it all with pursed lips or ignores it altogether. When the trailer park is suffocating and the dust invades his lungs, makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes doubt creeps in and then it’s almost impossible for him to believe it will ever happen; he’ll be stuck here for the rest of his days, become a copy of Robert Parrish because it’s his fate, it’s in his blood and he’ll have a son sitting in the exact same position, singing to himself one day one day one day.

Snapping out of that depressing train of thought, he suddenly remembers the free magazine he picked up at the grocery store earlier. From the rack next to the entry, filled with daily news and picked up by the busy fingers of housewives and old people taking their weekly stroll. He’s passed it numerous times and never felt the need to take one with him, until today. He doesn’t know what came over him, just that he desperately wanted to pretend to do something normal. And why not?

He takes it out now, from under his thin jacket, unfolds it and looks at the picture of some actress he vaguely recognizes posing on the front.

It’s been so long since he read something just for him. He used to go the library when he was younger, used to spend full days there, befriending the old, sweet lady behind the desk, reading everything he could get his hands on. But when he realized there’s a way to escape this, that the world is so much wider than the name double-wide suggest, that maybe there’s a way for him to not only read about magical places and people going on adventures, but actually live those things and see them for himself, the library turned into the last item on his list of things to do. He picked up several jobs and poured all his remaining time and energy into studying and getting A’s; the library was forgotten. At times, when the night is too heavy to sleep and the walls are too thin to not hear what’s playing in the bedroom next to his, he thinks of the old lady with her white hair that gave him pieces of her chocolate sometimes and wonders what happened to her. If she still works there, if maybe at times she wonders about him too after he abruptly stopped coming, if she’s even still alive.

Now he opens his magazine and pictures the one his father reads and notices the stark difference between the two. He rifles through it, not particularly caring about the content or finding it exceptionally captivating, but enjoying himself nonetheless. Skimming through it, he abruptly lets it fall open on some ad, perfume he thinks, featuring a man, a car and the gray sky above. The man is leaning against his expensive, fast car, wearing expensive designer clothes. Adam’s enthralled by how casually powerful the man looks and by the quiet authority he radiates. Like nothing can hurt him, like he’s above pain. At first, it’s just the power that evokes Adam’s wonder, then he pays closer attention to the guy’s face; zooms in on his high cheekbones, the strand of dark hair falling on his forehead, his pronounced jawline. The way his clothes fit him just right, accentuating the right things, the right way and Adam is in awe.

There’s a mixture of several things going through Adam’s head, the most prominent being want. Which he shuts down immediately without realizing why and replaces with one day one day one day. He looks at the car again. Without giving it second thought, he rips the picture from the magazine and folds it carefully, stuffs it into his pocket.

The picture is burned in his memory now and he thinks he’ll use it as motivation, to try to become that person one day. Because that’s what he wants. That’s the want overpowering his thoughts. Being that man, radiating the same power, being able to dress like that, owning a car like that and doing it all as effortlessly as if he’d been born into it.

He takes it out sometimes, from under his mattress. He’s not sure why he feels the need to hide it like that, it’s not like there’s something bad on there. He just doesn’t want his dad to find it and realize that Adam wants to be that man, he tells himself. He doesn’t want his parents to know that that is his goal in life, he tells himself. And he tries not to think of the why’s to much. Why he decided on that picture, why he hides it, why it makes him want.

Years later he’ll realize that maybe it wasn’t just the power the man radiated and the effortless way he looked like money and success and was everything Adam wanted to be but wasn’t. He’ll think that maybe it was a mixture of those things, combined with the fact that he was extremely attracted to the guy, but just didn’t realize it. That the want to be him, could’ve easily also been the want to be with him among other things. He’ll think that there have been so many more instances in his life where he interpreted his own feelings wrong, or simply repressed them and twisted them so that he didn’t have to face the real thing. Subconsciously of course, until Ronan started looking at him and the pieces all fell in their place and he realized something about himself that had been there for a long time, but was never allowed out.

When he gets together with Ronan, he analyzes the feelings he had for Blue and he realizes they were just as real as the one he has for Ronan. Maybe they weren’t as strong, but they were there. And something clicks inside him, because he knows now that Ronan wasn’t the first boy he was ever attracted to, which is what he thought in the beginning, and he knows that he’s still very much into girls too, but that it’s all fine. He’s got time to find himself and figure out what that means for him. Which he does in great detail. Adam Parrish, a man of science, likes to understand things, approaches this objectively, eyes on his goal.

He doesn’t doubt his attraction or love for Ronan because he is absolutely sure that those things are there. He does not doubt his feelings for Ronan once. He just wonders whether he’s the only boy he’s ever liked or if there were others.

When he was younger, he didn’t give his sexuality much thought. He always thought he was straight so there was no real reason to think about it and anyway, living under his parents’ roof, the possibility of being something else than straight, stepping out of line of what his dad thought was right, wasn’t much of an option. He liked Blue, he had a girlfriend before that, when he was fourteen. She gave him his first kiss, but other than that it wasn’t anything exceptional. She was a girl from his school he had to work with one day. She was pretty and she smelled nice. She had a gap between her teeth and he remembers finding that charming. They worked on the chemistry project in the library, she kissed him one day, he liked it, she asked him to be her girlfriend and eventually she broke it off, no doubt expecting dates and time spent together, but Adam simply did not have the money or time to spare. He didn’t like her that much that it really hurt or anything, but it stung a little. Knowing dating just wasn’t for him, yet another thing on his seemingly endless list of one day, something he’d do when he got out of here.

If he was being honest with himself, he was a little disappointed. It’s not like he expected butterflies to fly around and the sun to start shining just for them, but the couple kisses they shared didn’t really do anything to him. That didn’t stop him from wanting more of them, though. Her lips were soft and brought him affection he had missed his whole life. The feeling of her hands on his hips warmed his skin in a way he was not familiar with, so even if real feelings were missing, he also definitely didn’t want her to break up with him .

He figured it was better anyway. He put her out of his head and forget about her quickly enough, only sometimes allowing her to open the doors in his mind and wondering that if he could’ve been able to show her a little more attention, she’d have stayed longer.

Then he met Blue and he really liked her too. Her originality and fire drew him in and did things to his head. It was easier with her somehow because he saw her in the company of Gansey, because she was pretty affectionate herself and wasn’t afraid to say what she thought or let him know what she wanted or didn’t want. She took his hand and it was easy to lay his head in her lap. It was nice and he knew that if he were to kiss her, it’d be different than the kisses he shared with his former girlfriend. He thought maybe he’d feel something else than simply that’s nice.

It was good. While it lasted.

Because of course it didn’t last. He was Adam Parrish, why would he be able to love someone the right way? Maybe love was a big word, but why would he be able to – to be enough? Because that was exactly what it was. He was not enough.

The words it’s not going to be you echoed through his mind for days on end and the fear that he would end up exactly like his father encased him, held him captive. When those words came out of her mouth, he knew. He just knew that if it wasn’t him, it’d be Gansey. Because of course. Of fucking course.

When he gets together with Ronan, everything is great and his anger doesn’t matter because Ronan has his own anger inside to match Adam’s. They get together and every touch, every word shared between them leaves a trace in his skin, strikes a match until his insides are burning with want and need and love. Finally he can feed his hunger. Ronan doesn’t mind if Adam kisses him fiercely, barely giving him space to breathe, all but attacks his mouth with his own. He doesn’t mind Adam taking of his shirt and tracing the warm skin, following the trail of his tattoo with his mouth. Doesn’t mind the hickies on his neck, the scratches on his back.

The physical aspects of the relationship is explosive and wonderful. But that’s not all. Ronan is the first person to ever be truly gentle with him, the first person that looks at him as if he deserves everything.

He makes Adam laugh harder than anything ever has, sometimes so much he literally cannot breathe, until he has tears in his eyes. Ronan knows when to crack a joke, make fun of Gansey, draw out a grin with force if he has to after a shitty day at work. But also knows when to leave it alone and simply let Adam lay his head on his lap on the couch and gently run his fingers through his hair when he’s feeling down. Because the truth is, while Adam Parrish has always thought of himself as unknowable, somehow Ronan Lynch has managed to know him.

He knows him. He understands him. Like no one ever has. And Adam realizes that, even if he didn’t notice before, he had always understood Ronan the same way. Back when he couldn’t stand being in the same room with him for more than five minutes before one of them made a biting remark. Even then, they’d understood each other on some level.

So, no. If there is one thing in the world he is absolutely sure of, it’s his love for Ronan. While figuring out his sexuality is definitely confusing, that is not. It’s the surest and realist thing in his life at the moment.

Once, when Adam was about ten, he had a friend. Called Jason. The boy had curly black hair, dark skin and piercing brown eyes that glittered in the sun and made Adam feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was the first real friend he’d ever had, or as real as fleeting friendship at that age can be anyway and Adam cared for him deeply. When Jason smiled, he had a dimple and for some reason having it directed at him, filled Adam with an indescribable pride. There was something about him that made Adam want to be around him as much as possible and never let go. Seen as Jason was his first friend, he didn’t think much of it and figured that’s just what friendship was.

The whole thing was over pretty quickly, Jason moved away. Adam is pretty sure he never even knew his last name.

When he thinks back to that now, he wonders if it wasn’t something other than just friendship. And then he thinks back to the first time Gansey had laid his charming eyes on him and shown Adam his electric smile and the feeling that had evoked inside him and wow. That’s a whole other realization.

Now lying on his small mattress above the church that’s his home, next to the boy he thinks of when he thinks of home, he wonders how he never noticed what really, was there all along. He thinks it’s probably a mixture of wanting to survive and homophobic bullshit shoved in his head by the people that raised him.

Now, lying on his small mattress above the church that’s his home, next to the boy he thinks of when he thinks of home, he lets himself feel and think and understand something about himself.

‘Why the fuck are you thinking this hard? It’s two in the morning’, Ronan mumbles into the crook of his shoulder, sleep already pulling at his senses, one hand wrapped around Adam’s waist.

‘I’m not.’ It’s a lie, automatically leaving his mouth. Adam spends his life thinking too hard, over analyzing every little thing. He’s never had to share the inner workings of his mind with anyone.

‘Yes, you are. You’ve got that little crunch between your eyebrows. That means you’re thinking too hard.’ But this is Ronan and, again, Adam is taken aback by how good Ronan knows him. The inner workings of his mind may be a mystery to most people, but Ronan has never been like most people.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while, lets the silence fill the room. Ronan kisses his shoulder and Adam can feel his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Soft as a confession whispered in the dead of the night.

‘I’m bisexual’, he says then, finally, shattering the quiet.

And it’s out there. The nervous flutter in his stomach has nothing to do with fear or dread. He feels most comfortable around Ronan and this is nothing new really. It’s just that it’s the first time he’s ever said those words aloud, the first time he knows with a certainty they’re real. And that sensation is new to him, it flutters in his stomach, but a good kind of fluttering. One that’s as pleasant as the spring sun warming his skin after winter has gone to sleep.

Ronan makes a noise that could be interpreted in many different ways, but the way he pulls Adam closer to him and nuzzles his nose to his temple and drops a kiss on his ear, indicates it’s most likely one of encouragement and support. The gesture fills Adam’s body with warmth and his heart beats with the incredible love he has for this boy.

‘What brought this on?’

‘I don’t know. Just thinking back on my life. I have this ad in my car, for perfume or something. And I always convinced myself I kept it because one day I wanted to be the guy. But now I think I kept it because I was ridiculously attracted to him even though I didn’t realize it.’

Ronan lets out a small laugh. ‘Well, I’m fucking gay. I think I always sort of knew though.’

Adam wonders if Ronan has ever admitted to that before and he’s pretty sure he never has. He simply got together with Adam and that was enough for them. But here, in the safety and comfort of this room and each other, it’s okay.

He thinks of how Ronan used to hate himself so much and that, some of it at least, was tied to his sexuality. How he used to be so angry and scared and hidden from everyone. How self acceptance was a long and painful process for him. He thinks of how proud he is of Ronan, of how strong he is and of how far he’s come. To say those words without shame above the church he visits every Sunday. The church where he belongs but for a long time felt like an intruder, like he was wrong.

Ronan shouldn’t have to give up parts of himself because others won’t accept him. He shouldn’t have to hide. He’s gay, but he also believe in god with an intensity that Adam saw reflected in his eyes the few times he has accompanied him to church.

Adam himself is not religious, but he respects it and can see the beauty of it in certain things. But more importantly, he’s aware of how deeply rooted it is in Ronan’s life and how it’s a part of him. Adam loves all parts of Ronan, wants him to be able to love all parts of himself too. He’s glad Ronan feels comfortable enough saying those words above his church.

‘I’m glad you finally figured it out. ‘M proud of you,’ Ronan mumbles then, almost asleep, saying things he maybe wouldn’t have said wide awake, but that Adam would’ve gotten anyway.

Adam plants a kiss on the top of his head and closes his head. ‘I’m proud of you too.’

And that’s how they fall asleep, entwined like vines and trusting someone, finally, to accept them for who they are.

They’re growing still. And discovering themselves, but now that they’re safe and relatively happy, most of the time, it’s a process Adam actually is kind of looking forward to. Maybe he doesn’t have to be unknowable. Maybe he can just be Adam Parrish, loved by his friends and boyfriend, safe, attending Harvard in the fall, bisexual, in love and proud. Of who he is.

Proud of being Adam Parrish. He decides he rather likes that thought.


Thanks for reading! Title from Chanel by Frank Ocean, because that song is almost as Bi™ as Adam Parrish is 

Okay antis, read the whole thing

So, I joined TCC like week ago (Ive been stalking yall for way longer tho lmaoo) and I decided to make my own post to antis. 

Ok so, first of all, this ain’t a serial killer fandom, thank you. TCC ain’t a fandom, bless you. 

Anyway, I’ll start with a little background alright ? So, I have been on tumblr maybe like 3 years, with different blogs. When I joined tumblr, I had an eating disorder and I used to have just a regular beauty blog, I saw pictures of other beautiful, skinny, anorectic, girls and compared myself to them daily. I posted my face there, my body, just everything, and I got a lot of compliments, mostly from men, adult men(I was a minor) and I started to feel like I need their acceptance and I need to be skinny and pretty in order to get it. I was well liked, I seemed happy and I made myself seem perfect, I was skinny, I took pictures with tons of makeup and filters. But in order to maintain that, I didn’t eat, I was really depressed, I had suicidal thoughts and shit. But I kept it going, really, those skinny girls you see on tumblr, they haven’t eaten in days to get those ribs showing, and in order to look so perfect they took tons of pictures, pushing their body in the weirdest positions, that are not normal, and it hurts to take those pictures. But that was all that I had, I thought I needed to be pretty, in order to be liked and happy. I thought I needed to be skinny or all the people would leave. 

Then, one day I was listening to one song from Roope, he rapped about Jokela’s school massacre, I was really depressed back then, I had never been interested in any fictional characters, shows and such, I had always loved to read real stories and news about violent crimes, murders, etc since I was a little, I don’t know why, they excited me, but I just thought I was weird and that there weren’t any other people like me. Well, I went to read about the massacre, and there I found my way to read about columbine as well, I got really interested in it. I read everything about it and on some page the word “columbiners” catched my eye. I was like “omg, school shooter fandom, so gross, terrible, sick kids omg lolol they prolly planning a school shooting!!!!!111!! CALL THE POLICE !!!111!”, yea, just like you anti guys, I was one of yall too.

But I couldn’t help myself, and I went to tumblr and hit the search. I was shocked, I found people just like me, I found people who were also interested in violent crimes and murderers, I found people who didn’t say I was sick or weird for finding interest in those things. I found TCC. I felt like here I can talk about everything that fascinates me.

Then I joined TCC, people werent throwing their skinny bodies and makeup caked faces everywhere, I didn’t need to stress, everyone was just being themselves, making memes and jokes about dylann roof forgetting his damn age, no one was planning a fucking mass murder, I didnt need to be skinny, pretty and perfect, I didn’t need to fake anymore. I was able to openly talk about my interests and not just keep all my thoughts inside, because if I had kept all them inside, I would’ve definitely exploded at some point. Before TCC I thought I didnt belong, I thought no one understood me, I thought I was sick and something was wrong with me and everyone else was normal. But here, if I feel suicidal I can just hit someone up and they will talk me through it, I need advice? Literally anyones ready to help you. Violent thoughts ? EVERYONES READY TO TALK WITH YOU AND HELP YOU TO GET RID OF THEM, NO ONE IS COURAGING YOU TO SHOOT UP A SCHOOL U FUCKING DUMB CORNDOGS. 

 Theres much higher chance for those people with violent thoughts and interest in this kind of stuff to commit something if they feel like there is no one like them and they are left outside. But if you actually find people like you, community like TCC, you feel like you are not alone, there are people who understand you, you feel accepted somewhere. The fact TCC doesnt fail to also put a little fun in the mix w all the serious stuff also, is really amazing too. Now your thoughts must be that “you need therapy u sick fuck, kill yourself” thank you for your concern love, I do go to therapy ! And many people in the TCC do ! Telling us to kill ourselves will definitely not help us, or make us want to leave TCC, the community, that actually supports us and doesnt want us to go and take our life. It just makes us to feel more like outsiders and that we dont belong anywhere but TCC, so jot that down.

Next point, is that the ones here interested in Columbine ARE NOT FUCKING HAPPY ABOUT THE SHOOTING, THEY WISH THEY COULDVE BEEN THERE FOR THE BOYS AND SHOWED THEM THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE LIKE THEM, AND THAT THEY DONT NEED TO DO IT. There are people out there just like Dylan and Eric, some of them have found TCC, and have found people who accept them, bullied kids have found a safe place where they can talk about their thoughts and dont have to keep them inside. The teenagers, interested in Columbine, have found friends here that get them up in the morning when the bullies are trying to push them down.

 And if you are gonna say now that u aim your shit at the kids who say they condone, then just think about yourself, or some of your friends, when you were 13, I was a fucking edgy emo kid too, they get over it okay ? Dont tell them to kill themselves for it, they will understand it eventually, they are rebelling teenagers, just chill the fuck out. If you need to do something, try to calmly talk to them about it and tell that you understand how they feel right now, but things get better and why its not okay to say that. Just, calm, the, fuck, down. Jesus.

 Also if you are gon say “u sick fucks serial killer worshippers omg”, then you are on the wrong lane honey. On the serial killer side of the TCC people are mostly just writing down facts, traits to spot a serial killer, how abusive parents and such are usually related to these things, how to avoid these things from happening again, or making jokes and editing pictures to make the killers look dumb as fuck. And then about that some people find the killers attractive? So fucking what? Pretty sure that doesnt affect your fucking day in any way, and also, Richard Ramirez had really nice cheeckbones no matter is he a murderer or not, thats a fucking fact, amen. 

 If you are mad about that kid who said that tcc should be part of the pride: THE WHOLE FUCKING TCC IS DISAGREEING WITH THEM, LIKE LITERALLY ONE PERSON DOESNT REPRESENT THE WHOLE COMMUNITY, IT DOESNT WORK LIKE THAT, YOU CANT JUST PICK SOME DUMB KID AND SAY THAT EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD IS LIKE THEM.

Then last, may I ask, dont you ever get tired of being so angry? Like do yall eat salt for breakfast? Jesus.

fuckboiii ! BAM BAM

-fucking triggers everyone

-thinks he has everyone wrapped around his pinky

- would read a texts and then text the person back two weeks later

- shows off his abs ALL THE TIME

-thinks he’s the best @ everything when he looks like a little piece of shit 

- HE wOULD LET HIS HAIR STICK TO HIS FOREHEAD WHEN HE SWEATS so HE CAN SILK IT BACK AND WINK AT THE GIRLS

-would play with girl’s emotions

- GOT EVERYONE ALL THE WAY FUCKED UP

-knows all the fuckboii dance moves

- WOULD LICK HIS ICE CREAM SLOWLY AND MAKING GIRLS MELT AND SHIT

- best friends with Yoongi

- Hates Jackson and Jaebum

- he’s best friend with his gym teacher

- but has beef with his english teacher

- dick in pussic

- “NO BREAST NO SEX”

- says “gang shit gang shit” a lot

- he would come to school with a cut up lip and bruises on his face and body

- HE FITeS EVERYTHING

- is aesthetic pleasing

- he usually starts fites

- HE STILLS LOOK LIKE A FINE PIECE OF GRIL CHEESE

- also he loves grill cheese

- like he would marry some

-he’s lowkey a boss of his school room

-turns into some tokyo ghoul shit when he fighting

- like he has this mask with blood and little hooks on them 

- loves scary movies

- hates chick flicks 

- has a new pair of fuckboii shoes the everyday 

- is a cocky shit

- poses at times cause he knows girls be taking pictures

- makes shitty muscal.ys

- “ hold up, i gotta makes a musical.y of that song”

-he a sc freak

- snapchats everything and i mean everything

- taking a shit

- sleeping 

- eating

- fighting 

- dancing

- breathing 

- blinking

- started a youtube on being “hot” 

- had a lot OF SUBS

- that’s how he came across your page

- stalked the fuck out of your intagram 

- likes one of your pictures from 1941389035 weeks ago

- you did the same

- SLIDES IN DEM DMS

- jokes and light flirting

- sc LOVERS

-lol Nah son 

- BAMBAM ENDED IN THE FRIENDZONE

- you two would make videos together

- your fan shipping you two 

- LOL MAKING A VIDEOS AND REACTING FAN FICTIONS

- you would bring up his ugly ass musical.ys all the time to embarrass him

- he would call you just to fight you 

- you would call him bamba when you want something

- you would call him tree legs when you mad at him

- a year went by

- bambam  in love ya with your cute ass

- he would call you all the time

- “kiss me through the phone baby “

- “Ew”

- you two facetiming everywhere

- in the bathroom

- in the hospital

- at school

- you two slapping each other

- you two basically own each other

- like he gets mad jealous when you talk about your friend namjoon

- or any male 

- you coming to korean to kick it with him when it was his birthday

- you meeting his best friend

- “ oh you’re the chick that bam-”

- you two went drinking and shit

- got hella drunk 

- saw a side you’ve never seen in your life

- he was hella cute yet annoying

- he took you to the beach

- you two drank, listen to songs on soundcloud 

- you two would be wrapped int each other’s body for heat cause of the rash weather 

- you turned your head ans gave him the smile he fell so deeply in love with and said

-” happy birthday bamba”

- he grabbed into your chin and gave you a deep, passion kiss 

-” you know you’re my baby”

- you dashi run run

- you leave the dam country

- bambam crying 

- more crying like a bitch

- deletes his musical.y

-  you not calling him for like 2 weeks

- stalks your social media 

- bambam couldnt take it

- flies all the way TO YOUR COUNTRY

- HE KNOCKED ON EVERY DOOR AT YOUR APARTMENT UNTIL HE FOUND YOURS

- he had tears slipping from his eyes, letting them trickle down his puffy cheeks and slide right off his chin. his dusty bags feel from his hands, letting them fall with aloud thump, as he bangs his knocks shakily. losing hope in what was he was doing. Yet his surprise he found you, there, wearing your favorite hello kitty pj and your beautiful hair was a mess as usual.

- “ bambam what are-”

-bamba fell onto his knees as let himself break. He let his throat break out into loud screams of relief. he let his tears flow become heavier. He let himself become a mess in front you because he knew he could.

- he looked up at you before saying

- “ i know we’ve been friends for over a year now but the first time i met you i knew i didnt want to become your friend. The moment i saw the light in your eyes, i was under a spell and i found myself finding everything about you so lovable and i was scared. I was so fucking scared, i was scared you were going to notice one day how fucked up i am. I was scared that you were going to get sick of me and leave me. I was scared that you were going to disappear into thin air. I was scared that i-”

- you grabbed onto his chin and gave him a kiss 

-” i love you so shut up”

- WOAHS DATING

-going on dates everyday

- different places every time

- he would make you call him sugar daddi when he buys you everysyhhh

- you making jokes about his abs and calling them little ants cause they so small you cant see them

-kissing everywhere

- in the shower

- while taking shits

- at school

- at the mall

- while drinking soap

- the guys hating your relationship cause it so fluffy

- he would punch you in the face when he sleeps

- you two would share jeans CAUSE HE FITS THEM SOME HOW

-you stalking all his clothes cause they better than yours

-eating his food

- he would make meme and ugly videos and post them on your youtube 

- you two become this aesthetic looking couple AND EVERYONE LOVES IT

-you two become models

- HOT ASS COUPLE

- love this love that

- Bambam is just a puppy in love

Originally posted by chattyang


A:N: OKAY SO HI AND BYE

I’m Here » Minhyun X Reader

Characters: Hwang Minhyun X Reader

Word Count: 837

Summary: After seven years of being pen pals, you finally decide to take your graduation trip to South Korea to explore the country, self reflect, and meet your penpal in person.

*Didn’t really proof read and may contain terrible grammatical / sentence structure errors LMAO 

The flicker sounds of the cameras were only getting louder. There you were, sitting in seat number 50 and continued to glance over at Hwang Minhyun who was a part of the hottest idol group in South Korea, Wanna One. Your heart was beating rapidly as you watched him interact with other Wannables during the fan sign. It was a rather small and intimate meeting, which only made you feel more nervous. With the extreme luck of being chosen for the fan sign, you were finally able to meet your penpal after seven years of communicating only through a piece of paper and pen.

You took out the white envelope an hour before while riding in the taxi to get to the venue. The thought of finally being able to meet Minhyun after writing to each other for the past seven years was actually going to happen. The both of you were part of a special bridge program back in high school that allowed people to connect all over the world and become writing pen pals through the language course the student decided to take to fulfill their mandatory graduating requirement. As you were from the United States, you were quite interested in the Korean culture and music, and through a random selection, the respective schools through the program would pair you up with another individual with a personality test and interest sheet.

Many pen pal pairs would have cut off all communication years back, but 2017 marked the seventh year of communicating with Minhyun. You always refused to share your SNS accounts and the only thing Minhyun really knew about was your first and last name, the high school and college you went to, age, and the address (aka your parents) that he was receiving your letters from. You made all of your accounts private. You never posted any profile pictures online and kept it that way due to personal preference and hence, only you knew how he looked like and was well aware of how handsome he was through YouTube videos and pictures. He respected your privacy and eventually stopped asking after so many tries.

Letter #571

Hey there (Y/N),

Sorry for the late response. I hope you understand and that I’ll always make sure to write back eventually. By the time you get this, we’ve probably wrapped up promotions and I’m very happy to hear that you enjoyed the album! I honestly don’t have any life updates besides losing a lot of sleep and becoming 10x busier. Also, congrats on graduating! Wish I could have flown over to finally meet you and to see you walk to get your diploma. Hope you’re getting job call backs and make sure to let me know if you’ve accepted any offers! Take care of yourself and stop getting sick so often. Write back soon!

Your favorite,
Hwang Minhyun

So why were you in South Korea? Your parents gifted you the opportunity to travel and you decided to go on this trip by yourself since you had a good grasp of the language (bless for paying attention in high school). You wanted to explore the country, self-reflect and find a way to meet your friend after so many letter exchanges. How were you going to do it? Bulk buy Wanna One’s album and pray that you get into a fan meeting.

And that’s exactly what happened. Luck came onto your side and there you were, sitting inside Wanna One’s fan sign wondering what Minhyun’s reaction would be after appearing before him so abruptly.

“Number 45-50, please come up and be on standby.”

You began to move through the members one by one. Each member was extremely sweet and rather than acting overly excited, you casually had a calm and good chat about your day and that you were an international fan. “Thank you so much. Hopefully, I’ll be able to see you guys soon, Jinyoung!” And here we go.

He pulled the album over and waited for you to take the seat in front of him. Your heart was pounding so rapidly, you barely had the courage to look into his eyes. You slipped your hand into your purse and pulled out a letter that was a response to his he wrote two weeks ago.

“Hi there. What’s your name?” “(Y/N). It’s n-nice to meet you, Minhyun. I’m a huge fan.” His eyes widened slightly before smiling and began to sign your album. “Ah, that’s a really pretty name. Are you from Korea?” He peered up again before going back to signing his name. “Ah no. I’m from the USA. Los Angeles to be exact.”

That’s when Minhyun completely stopped what he was doing and peered up to take a good look at you. You couldn’t help but smile at his flustered face and proceeded to place your response letter in front of him. “I wanted to hand this to you personally. I’m here, Min.”

The Misha Slip

Pairing: Misha x Reader (of course)

Summary: A look back on yours and Misha’s relationship and all the little secrets he’s given away.

Word Count: 2136

Warning: Fluffy cuteness, language, Misha being Misha

A/N: This was a memo on my phone. Then sat half written on my computer. Finally finished and here we are. Let the cuteness ensue. Also gifs and pictures are not mine. No hate towards Vicki. I love her and Misha. This is fiction.                             And if you ever want to be tagged just let me know

Originally posted by nealcassatiel

 You loved working on Supernatural. You were an up and coming actress with a few other shows on your resume. When you got the chance to audition as a love interest you went for it but got a completely different part instead. The casting director loved your sass and witticism. So, instead they cast you as a new hunter that was being introduced in the tenth season of the show. Harley, was a strong willed, hunter who was raised like Sam and Dean; no nonsense, raised in the life, and tough as nails.

 You loved her. Your first day on set you got to punch Jensen in the face, Jared cracked jokes with you and you soon became a regular on the show. The Supernatural fans loved having another strong, female character that could handle the Winchesters and lay down the law. Everything was great until one Misha Collins slipped into your life.

Keep reading

A promise twice kept

So, part two, not sure how much better this will be considering I mostly make up as I go along but thinking of me it might likely have an almost happy ending. Let’s see…

Also, if anyone is actually reading my work or deciding to follow me i have figured out how to schedule posts so until further notice i will be having a new post pop up every two days (Currently using Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday) And it should post about ten am. I think it’s really cool to be honest. I really don’t think i’ll run short any time soon as i am incredibly imaginative when i want to be and boring days on the second week of school holdays is one of the times i want to be. Anyway, read on.


You almost hadn’t functioned for a long time. It was lucky when one of your friends had come over to check on your place while she thought you were gone. She found you around a day and a half later, according to the last time she’d been around, and you still had yet to move from your spot below the window in darkness. Your few friends from before the Doctor all gathered for you and watched over you, making sure you ate and drank and looked after yourself until you had managed to tell them what had happened several days later.

It was because of those friends that you were alive today and living a relatively normal life. As normal as your life could be a year after the events on Mars. You still thought of him every day. Still regretted what you had done. Every single day until you were walking through a department store one Saturday and happened to spot a strange man in a bow tie who seemed to be watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

After deciding enough was enough, you left the store earlier than you had planned. You noticed the man follow you at a distance as you left and stopped just around one corner of an empty street. You had been a long time companion, knowing at least you’d outlasted Donna’s stay and, as far as you could tell, Martha’s. You had been bound to pick up a thing or two. Needless to say the man seemed very surprised when you turned the tables on him.

The second he rounded the corner you had slammed him into the wall before he could process what was happening. You held him by the lapels of his brown tweed jacket as you tried your best to look threatening. Not very hard when you’d been thoroughly fed up with being stalked. Your mind flashed back to the one other time someone had tried to follow you home and you had to quickly shake the thought from your head before it reached the end of that story.

“Who are you and why are you following me?” You growled, all the while trying to focus your thoughts on the present.

“(Y/N)?” The man questioned fearfully. Your eyes narrowed further.

“I said, who are you” You repeated quieter, pushing him harder against the wall behind him. Suddenly his hands were on yours and you paused, something inside you seeming to recognise the gentle touch, although you couldn’t figure out how.

“Trust me” Was all he said. Quiet and calm and simple, that’s all it was. But those two words were enough to make your eyes widen and loosen your grip to step back. You let go of his jacket, stepping back even as he moved forward, his hands still holding yours.

“Oh, (Y/N), I am so sorry” He told you softly, closing the space between you and resting his forehead against yours. His eyes fell closed and after a moment you felt yourself do the same. “You were everything to me. I don’t know how I said the things I did, I really don’t. Just please, please, please, forgive me” He begged. You nodded, his head still against your as you opened your eyes.

“Yes” Was all your said. He smiled, albeit hesitantly at first, and you found yourself smiling back. “I forgave you a long time ago”

“I love you too” He said then. You found yourself laughing at that.

“Took you long enough”


That was around a week ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you thought how you couldn’t be sure. Life on the TARDIS never left much room to remember what the time or date was. You had missed the timelessness, and she had apparently missed you too. Your room was exactly the same as it was when you left. Although you could swear those pictures you had left on your desk were out of place. Like someone had picked them up and placed them back down. That and the picture you had drawn of your first adventure was gone. It was small but very precious, and now it was gone.

You now sat under the TARDIS console in the Doctor’s repair swing, moving slowly back and forth, lost in thought. The same thought that had driven you for around three years and one that never was.

Him

He was certainly the Doctor, you know that, but he was different. Not in the way he had been to make you leave, not in a bad way. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to think of it in a good way. Here, on the TARDIS, with the Doctor likely to rush in any minute and declare he take you somewhere ‘but it has to be amazing’, you missed your Doctor. Your TARDIS that you had started your first brilliant adventures with.

The new Doctor was brilliant in his own way. He made you smile, made you laugh and even for a minute take away the pain of how you had failed the other him.

“What’s wrong?”

You turned at the voice, watching as he moved to stand in front of you.

“I’m fine” You said absently.

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been since I picked you up. What’s the matter?” He pressed, kneeling down to look up at you as he talked. You smiled sadly, tears coming to your eyes as you picture you Doctor doing the same. You found yourself lifting a hand to the side of his face, your thumb moving absently over his cheek. He simply let you, watching you closely as the tears began to fall.

“You’re not him” You said without thinking. His eyes widened in understanding and he shifted slightly closer, placing a hand on your face as you had done to him, wiping away the falling tears.

“I know” He whispered in understanding. “I might never truly be him again. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here. I won’t leave you (Y/N), I swear to you, this time around I will not leave” You nodded, offering a sad smile which he returned. “(Y/N), I love you now and you know that, but I loved you then too. Not everything has changed. Not everything ever has to, if you just look” He all but pleaded. You listened carefully to his words and thought about what he said even as silence fell around the two of you.

“Let’s see” You muttered, a smile forming on your face as you pushed his hair back from his eyes. “Hair of an idiot” He laughed at that. Your hand returned back to the side of his face. “Old eyes. Sadness and loss, but love and wonder all at the same time” Your hand moved lower, settling on his chest between his hearts. He kept his gaze locked on you as you remained silent a moment, feeling his hearts beat beneath your hand. “Two hearts” You thought for another moment, but weren’t able to think of much else. The Doctor seemed to realise this and pulled you forward to hug you tightly.

“You’re not him” You whispered in his ear. “But you’re you. And that’s perfect the way it is” You could swear you felt him smile into your shoulder.


You laughed at the Doctor’s antics as he rushed back inside his box. You followed, freezing as you turned to close the door. There, he stood, watching you. Your Doctor. Tears formed in your eyes as he gave a small hesitant wave. You smiled back at him to show you had forgiven him and waved back. He smiled slightly but you didn’t miss the grimace of pain that flashed across his features. Time was running short for him. The two of you simply watched one another for a moment before the older Doctor called for you to close the door. You looked back over your shoulder before giving your Doctor one last smile.

You closed the door, frowning as you stuck your hands in your pockets to find something inside that you were sure you hadn’t put there. You pulled out a piece of folded paper, gasping as you unfolded it to show a sunset over an apple grass hill. There were two figures standing on the hill, holding hands. Simple silhouettes on a black and white drawing, but precious all the same. You turned as you folded it carefully and placed it back in your pocket, finding the Doctor smiling softly at you from the console.

“Thank you”

“It was him, not me”

“Same thing, Doctor”

star-crossed lovers

JILY CHALLENGE | @siriuslysnuffles vs  @nottellingu (October 2017)

@jilychallenge:  social media au + youtuber lily films a challenge video with her boyfriend james and the internet loses its shit over how cute they are together–or close enough.

Read it on FF.

It all started two nights ago when Lily Evans posted a new challenge video with Puddlemere United’s James Potter–her boyfriend and the father to her three-year-old son Harry. While James and Lily were often seen in public–when James wasn’t at practice or at far away games Lily couldn’t accompany him to or when Lily wasn’t away due to Youtube or when they made sure to be extra careful when Harry was out with them (not wanting to expose him too much to the media)–the internet seemed to explode whenever they filmed a video together for Lily’s channel. She’s seen edits on tumblr based on her and James’ relationship. Although not just edits shipping her and James but her and Sirius as well with the occasional Remus or Peter. The edits always made them laugh and James scowl stating that he’d pummel them if they even dared to hold her hand. Lily would then kiss each of them on the cheek to prove a point to him; he would pout all night.

He was the love of her, and she’d often wondered whether his earlier offer was still on the table for them. He’d asked once before, and she had said no, she could tell he’d been disappointed at the time. They had fought when it happened, on the verge of breaking up–she was ashamed to admit that half of those were caused by her–when he had told her he’d been offered a position on his favourite football team. She hadn’t known what that meant for them–she was two and a half months pregnant at that point. She remembered leaving the flat James had shared with Sirius. She remembered crying in her own flat all night. She had thought of Petunia’s taunts of Lily being a whore when she’d found out from their parents, her taunts that YouTube wasn’t a real job, and she’d never be able to maintain a child on James’ amateur career nor on her profession (Petunia had scoffed here). She hadn’t cared at the time, why would she? She had James. Because she’d never even considered that she wouldn’t have James–they were each other’s first (first love, first serious relationship, first time). She had been a wreck and refused to speak to him despite how much she really wanted to. In the end, he had used the extra key she’d given to him. He had kissed her and told her he loved her even if she never wanted to marry him–which she had never said but found no reason to bring up the topic again so soon. He told her they would find a way to make it work–for their child and for them. He kissed her again before looking into her eyes, begging her in the way that often ended with their clothes on the ground and tongues in each other’s mouth, ‘Please, no more fighting.’ His voice had sound as if he were on the verge of breaking. 'No more fighting,’ she had heard herself saying. No talk of marriage had arisen since and reading through the retweets of her latest video hadn’t helped.

Keep reading

We’re coming for all of you - TEEN WOLF IMAGINE

I do not own the pictures or the gifs here posted. I found them on Google. All credits go to the owners.

Requested: No. I’m trying to write a series of imagines inspired by the clues we’ve got for 6B and Ruelle’s songs, especially “Monsters.”

Warning: Swearing. Forgive my errors. 


Your phone started ringing, again, for the fifth time. You ran to pick it up and rushed down the stairs to leave your house to meet the pack and, as you answered the call, you opened the door and Malia was standing right outside with her phone in her hand.

“Finally! What took you so long? We’re you skyping Stiles or something?” She asked quite annoyed as she was the one who called you five times.

“Hey! No, I was getting ready to see you. Sorry.” You smiled at her and latched yourself onto her arm as you walked together to Lydia’s car.

“Well you look pretty.”

“Thank you!”

Still no Stiles uh?” She asked.

“Nop. He’s busy again.” You let out, sad. Stiles left for police academy two weeks ago and had been too busy to talk to all of you, even you. It hurt because you missed him and not talking to him that often scared you. You got in the car and kissed Lydia’s forehead as she smiled, happy to see you. You drove off to meet the pack for a fun night out to enjoy your last days around Beacon Hills all together. You met at a bowling house that opened recently and you met up with Scott, Isaac, Liam, Mason, Corey and Hayden. School was about to start and you, Scott and Lydia were going for college soon. You were all going to stay pretty close to each other and you were even sticking into Stiles’s original plan and you were going to move in, all together, into an apartment that Derek found. Isaac and Malia decided to take a year off to decide what they wanted to do with their life but they were still moving in with you. Liam, Mason, Corey and Hayden were going to stay in Beacon Hills and start their senior year. Stiles was the one who had already left while Kira was on vacation with her family. Even though you were all having so much fun, you couldn’t help but miss both Stiles and Kira and wish they were there with you. Having the pack all together without them didn’t feel quite right, especially seeing Scott without both of his soulmates. You texted Stiles “I miss you” while Scott took a selfie and sent it to them.

You split into two teams, guys versus girls, and it was absolutely hilarious. Liam was a disaster and kept slipping everytime he threw the bowling ball while Hayden kick his butt and teased him. Isaac, Malia and Lydia were taking it more seriously than the rest of you, mocking each other while you sat there, staring at them, with a soft smile on your face.

 “You ok?” Scott sat next to you. He knew exactly when you needed help in any way and that made you feel so fortunate to have a friend like him.

“Yeah. How about you? Are you?” 

“I think so, yeah. I don’t know. It’s hard and weird not having them here with us.” You glanced at him and he was staring at the floor with a sad expression on his face.

“It really is.” You mumbled. “At least Kira is still going to be with us. And answers our texts and calls.”

“The Sherriff said the first three weeks are pretty hard down there in the academy. So I think that’s why Stiles is so distant. Not because he doesn’t love you.” Scott’s last words made you stare at him. You flinched in pain at the thought of losing Stiles. “I know you’ve been thinking that.”

“But what if he stops, Scott? I love him so, so much. I don’t want to live without him.” Your eyes swelled with tears.

“That’s not going to happen. As soon as he is done down there he will come back. We will be all together again. Everything will be ok. We won’t lose him.” Scott reassured you, holding your hand. You smiled at him and whispered “thank you” as he blinked at you. Your sweet moment with Scott was interrupted by an angry Malia arguing with Isaac. Scott got up to calm them down as the others laughed at them and messed with them.In the middle of all the fun you noticed a group of teenagers walk by you and settle on the lane besides yours. Two guys stood out as they stared at each of you with a smirk on their faces while gossiping about you.

“Who are they?” Malia asked as she noticed them too.

“I don’t really know but I know they are new here. I’ve never seen them.” Liam pointed out.

“I’ve seen them recently and they always look at us like that. It makes me uncomfortable.” You confessed as you’ve been crossing paths with them quite often.

“Me too! I think they were in the mall the other day, when we went there.” Malia remembered and you nodded, confirming it. Both Scott and Isaac stared at them as they kept staring back.

“I’ve seen them around and I’ve noticed that too.” Isaac mumbled to Scott.

“Me too. But they’re not supernatural.” Scott mumbled back.

“Trouble.” Lydia whispered. You all turned around to look at her.

“What do you mean Lyds?” Hayden asked Lydia with a soft tone in her voice, like she was trying not to scare her.

“I can sense trouble.” You stared at each other and back to the guys. You continued playing all together despite what Lydia said and despite their presence. After a while you got hungry so you got up and went to the bar to pick up some burguers for everyone with Isaac and Mason. While walking towards the bar, Mason seemed to be bothered by something.

“Are you ok Mason?” You asked.

“What do you think Lydia meant with what she said?”

“We need to keep an eye on those fuckers.” Isaac made you laugh by the way he just said it. “In this case, YOU need to keep an eye on those fuckers.” He pointed to Mason and then back to where Liam, Corey and Hayden were.

“You’re not really leaving us right? Like you’re still going to talk to us almost everyday and help us with the mistery solving and you will visit right?”

“Of course Mason.” Isaac reassured him. “Do you miss us already?” He joked but Mason didn’t laugh this time.

“I just don’t know how we will survive without you. I can’t imagine the gang all together saving lives without you.”

“Ohhhh Masy! We’re just a phone call away. Of course we’re going to help. Always!” You stopped and hugged him.

“Shhhh don’t make this a big deal!” He begged.

“Ohhhhh Masyyyyyyy!” Isaac yelled out, making you laugh again.

“SHHH!!!! Keep it down!!!” Mason waved his hands uncontrollably at Isaac.

“Masy is a cute nickname!” You defended.

“For a pet!” He cried out.

“Oh, quiet you!” You pushed him.

“You can always count on us, Masy.” Isaac reassured again, still with his joking tone.

“Oh my God you’re not going to let that go, will you?”

“Nope.” He smiled while Mason rolled his eyes at him. Suddenly you heard a loud scream – Lydia screaming – and the lights went out.

“Oh, shit!” You yelled.

“Aria! Mason!” You heard Isaac yell, in the dark, in the middle of all the screaming and all of the chaos around you. You confirmed it was you and so did Mason and you were all close to each other. As you tried reaching out to them, by following their voices, you felt someone grab you from behind and pull you back, whispering in your ear and causing shivers down your spine.

“We’re coming for ALL of you.”