love every inch of this boy

Trying to figure out if you’re ace or aro can be so goddamn hard because it’s like, trying to find the absence of something. Imagine you’re at a pond and you want to know if there are any turtles, or fish. Say you find a turtle and you’re like “great! Now I know there are turtles.” Or a fish, now you know for sure there are fish. Or you find both, and now you know for a fact there are both turtles and fish in the pond.

But like, if you don’t find any turtles it might be that there are no turtles or maybe you’re just really shitty at looking for turtles and maybe you THINK you saw a turtle over there or maybe it was just a stick. Maybe there are only a few turtles. Maybe you need to do something special to find the turtles. Maybe a bunch of these rocks are actually turtles but you couldn’t tell them apart. Maybe there are no turtles. You have no idea. Meanwhile some people are saying “Oh there have to be turtles! You’ll find them eventually ;)” or “How many turtles have you found in your pond?” or “Try planting some vegetables at the shore to attract the turtles.” Or “Oh no! What disaster happened to your pond that there are no turtles?” And you’re just standing there wet with an empty net and a tired expression.

But whatever because whether there are turtles or fish or not your pond’s ecology works just fine without them because that’s what eco-communities do they form a system around what they have. You aren’t missing anything if you don’t have turtles you just have a pond system without turtles. If someone tried to change you by pouring a bunch of turtles into your pond it would probably fuck something up.

So you don’t have to be entirely sure. You don’t have to search every inch of the damn pond before you can decide there are probably no turtles. If you want to take the aro or ace label because you think it fits go for it. And if you do find your turtles you can rename the pond. That’s fine.

Boku no Hero Academia Fiction Recommendation Master Post

I have decided my new favorite anime and its fandom deserves some appreciation. Every work I recommend are - in my personal opinion - beautiful and I want everyone to read them. If you see your work up here that’s cause I loved it to the moon and back! I welcome suggestions too!  

♥ - ultimate fav

★ - they do the do

(★) - implied sexual activities

ロ - unfinished

■ - finished

✿ - multi chapters


TodoDeku (Todoroki x Midoriya)

Sumary:  Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.

Summary:  [02:13 AM] todoroki: Are you awake?

Summary:  U.A.’s Heroics Division’s Class A was graduating. Moving on. Never coming back. And Izuku is going to be left behind, solidly trapped in a prison of his own making. There might be a few things that could make it more bearable, though.

Summary:  Todoroki is bad at presents, and worse at confessions.

Summary:  I wrote some silly fluff for Izuku’s birthday. Happy bday, little hero egg!

Summary: Todoroki felt his own breath drop in temperature as the nerves settled in, steam rising with each steady exhale. He continued to stare, as if expecting the same to happen to Midoriya when he caught a whiff of cool mint as the boy spoke, face inches from his. In which Midoriya has a better grasp on the changes happening in Todoroki than Todoroki himself.

Summary: There was no magical moment that played a part in Midoriya’s realization that he liked Todoroki. The thin red string that greeted him every time he looked down at his hand was an obvious factor, yes, but it wasn’t love at first sight either. It sorta just… happened over time.

Summary:  In which Todoroki Shouto is trying to ask Midoriya out and the whole class is in on it.

Summary: The law is clear: whoever correctly answers three riddles will marry the prince, while all who fail are to be executed. The people live in fear as more challengers try and fail, and the throne grows bloodier with every passing year. But a young prince, nameless and in exile from his home, believes there may be more to this brutal challenge than meets the eye. Of course, there’s only one way to find out: ring the gong, and take the trial.

Summary:  It’s been judged safe to send the students of UA home to their families for the first three weeks of summer, much to the relief of everyone whose name isn’t Todoroki Shouto. Luckily, Midoriya has a solution for him, and Midoriya Inko has a lot of love to give.

Note: Part 6 of Send Endeavor to the Shadow Realm series. First part: Spring Cleaning

Summary: Izuku has never been one to curse but the only way to describe himself as his mother hugs him goodbye that morning, is royally fucked.He’s really, truly glad no one in their class has a mind-reading quirk because from the minute his feet touched warm sand, his mind has been screaming in tune to the same famous classical overtures Tenya listens to when they study together. Occasionally, the music pauses just long enough for his brain to point out observations about Shouto that make Izuku want to stick his head under the waves and just breathe in.

Summary:  Note to self: don’t accidentally fall in love with a prince who’s in an arranged marriage keeping your kingdoms from declaring war against each other. Especially when you’re spying on him as his manservant.

Note: Part 1 of the kings & queens of promise series.

Summary: It starts —like all ideas that inevitably lead to one’s downfall do— with something akin to this: Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku and a five-story house by the beach, completely devoid of any entry-fee –save for the one where Todoroki has to pretend to be Deku’s boyfriend. All-in-all though, not an awful price to pay for the vacation of their dreams, right? Right?

Summary:  It’s Wednesday morning when Izuku’s mother texts him to remind him about his cousin’s wedding coming up the following weekend, and it’s Wednesday evening, when Izuku’s back in his room after classes and has time to call her, that she tells him she can’t go to the wedding with him.

Summary: Todoroki and Midoriya are pro heroes. They’re also dating.These two aspects clash when they’re outed to the entire world as Japan’s first officially gay heroes.

Summary: In his third year at UA, Todoroki Shouto works in a burger place, catches on fire and falls in love. Only two of those things are on purpose. Or…Todoroki Shouto’s exciting adventures in customer service.

Note: First part of the extra-salty/twitter-verse series! The next TodoDeku part of the series: get in loser, we’re going heroing

Summary:  Shouto Todoroki is a cold Pro Hero who never uses his fire side. He refuses to be like his father, Endeavor, but every day it seems like he’s becoming more like him. Shouto meets up with Izuku Midoriya, a quirkless Pro Hero counselor and discovers that his power is his own. Also… he might be falling in love with his counselor. // AU where Deku never received One for All and became a quirk counselor instead!

Summary: Shouto has his first sleepover.

Summary:  In the wake of All Might’s death, Izuku grieves. (Post-Graduation/Future Fic)

Summary: It was a mistake, Shouto thinks, to fall in love with a hero. (Or the one where Todoroki is a Quirkless school nurse and Hero Deku’s longsuffering boyfriend.)

Note: Part 1 of the demolition lovers series.



KiriBaku (Kirishima x Bakugou) 

Summary: … It wasn’t that he was annoyed. Okay, maybe he was a little annoyed, but that was just the lack of sleep talking. Because a certain explosive punk thought it was a good idea to test the flammability of his sheets at 2 in the morning. Every single morning. (In which Bakugou’s quirk wakes Kirishima up, and Kirishima gets way too invested in his bro’s well-being.)

Summary:  The summer training camp of Bakugou’s second year at UA descends upon him with all the untamed fury of- well, himself, honestly.

Summary: "Hey! Wake up you piece of shit! Are you alive?!“ The man winces and scrunches his face in pain but Bakugou continued to hold him in place. Good, he’s alive- Piercing red eyes flutter open and gaze lazily straight at Bakugou’s face and Bakugou feels his heart skip a beat. Oh, Fuck- AKA merman! Kirishima au

Summary: Bakugou sleeping in the common areas like it’s no big deal seems to give everyone else permission to be just as bizarre, and little by little Kirishima starts learning things about his classmates he never knew.  

Summary:  Bakugou Katsuki and Kirishima Eijirou are paired together for a winter survival assignment! It’s inevitable that the two clash, but neither of them could have predicted an accident at the height of their tension. Trapped in the wilderness at the mercy of the environment, how will the two cope with finding help and mending what was broken?

Summary:  Before going into battle, it’s only proper to make an offering to the god of war. But Kirishima’s run out of things to give. AKA God of War! Bakugou au

Summary: “You’re a popsicle biter, you fucking animal,” Bakugou says. “You’re not?” Kirishima says around a mouthful of ice cream. “No,” Bakugou says. “I prefer my teeth unfrozen, thanks.” He wraps his mouth around the popsicle and Kirishima realizes his mistake very, very quickly.

Summary:  Kirishima has always made things easy for Bakugou. But that doesn’t mean that Bakugou’s gotten any better at these things, even after all of these years.

Summary: Bakugou works at a convenience store, flirts like a loser, blows up nineteen aprons, gets a hashtag trending for all the wrong reasons and maybe manages to make a friend. Or…being Bakugou Katsuki is suffering.

Note: Part two of the extra-salty/twitter-verse series

Summary: With phone, money, and keys in his pocket, Kirishima wandered around the city for an age. With his legs on auto-pilot his mind wandered too. To the new movie that peppered the streets in posters and trailers, a new move he wanted to practise for another basketball play, wondering about how the current arcs for his favourite manga would turn out in the next issue of Jump. And, of course, he thought about how many of those things he could see and do with Bakugou.

Summary: Once upon a time a lonely beast lived in a manor deep in the forest. He dreamed of the day his true love appeared to break his curse… When a beauty finally appears in his life, it is not quite as he imagined. For who could have thought a beauty would be more of a beast. Or the beauty and the beast AU nobody asked for but here it is.

morning after their ‘i love you’s

They had held each other the entire night. Neither of them had let the other out of their sight… or arms. The warmth and safety that Alec and Magnus had most definitely missed after their most recent dispute, after the attack on the Institute, was now more intense than ever.

Neither had slept a tonne that night. They couldn’t bare the thought of losing each other again. Instead, the night was spent squeezing each other tight, an abundance of kisses, and whisperings of ‘I love you’.

Alec had thrown all caution to the wind when he had confessed his feelings to Magnus, completely unaware whether Magnus felt the same but he couldn’t keep it bottled up. Alec had never known love that intensely before, not even when he believed he was in love with Jace. And Magnus, he couldn’t risk losing such a connection that he had spent over a century avoiding.

Alec stroked Magnus’ face, his thumb grazing over every feature as softly as possible. Magnus traced every rune on Alec’s body, reminding himself that the boy laying just inches from him was here to stay. Alec was about to say something when his phone began to ring. He reached for it past Magnus but stopped when it stopped ringing. Magnus rolled over to look at the screen. “It’s Izzy,” he whispered, reading the message. “She says they need you at the Institute.”

Alec groaned in protest but began to get up. He really should’ve made sure to get some rest. Alec propped himself onto his elbows so he could look at Magnus. They both just smiled at each other, content with where they were. Magnus reached a hand over and curled his fingers around Alec’s naked bicep. “Don’t go…” Magnus whispered against Alec’s arm, leaving a trail of kisses that made Alec weak. Magnus looked up at him and pouted.

Alec brought his hand over to Magnus’ cheek, stroking him and bringing him up to kiss him softly. “I don’t want to either,” he murmured, their lips still brushing against each other. Magnus smiled into the kiss and pulled on Alec’s arm, bringing him closer and onto him. They pulled apart but Alec remained hovering over Magnus. “Can I see them again?” he asked staring straight into Magnus’ eyes.

Magnus felt his stomach churn. Never had someone asked to see his cat eyes willingly before. He blinked once in order to reveal them and stared at Alec’s face with them. He searched the boy’s face for a reaction, any reaction. But all he received was a slight parting of Alec’s lips. Magnus always felt uncomfortable when someone looked straight at them. But Alec made him feel safe, like there was nothing to hide. Still, Magnus hastily blinked away and brought up his glamour once again. “I really wish I could see them more,” Alec said with a small smile. Magnus’ heart ached for him. Alec curled an arm under Magnus’ back and lay back down to rest his head on Magnus’ chest. Their toes played together under the covers. “I love you so much.”

Magnus’ heart, the same that had not felt anything for God knows how long, stammered loudly. Magnus could feel Alec smile against him. “I love you with every fibre of my being, Alexander.”


what i wish they showed us after the party

magnus waking lazy alec

magnus and alec prepare breakfast for the gang

magnus makes alec dance with him

anonymous asked:

Can you do a twitter prompt where the russian skate fam make yakov a twitter and he just talks about how yuuri is the only skater that listens to him and he is not even coaching him and vik gets jealous? Love this AU

Yakov On Twitter

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
I do not understand the point of this Twit-ter

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Mila, how does one work the Twit-ter

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
What? I’m doing it right?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
I don’t understand

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Why am I getting hearts? I don’t want hearts?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Where is the Japanese Yuri when you need him?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
He would explain the Twit-ter

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Japanese Yuri is my favourite skater.

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
I don’t care if he isn’t really my skater, he may as well be

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Victor can’t coach. That boy is just too in love with the Japanese Yuri to coach him

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
You should have seen them the other day, it was horrible

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Japanese Yuri failed a jump and instead of telling him off, Victor kissed every inch of exposed skin

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Everyone gets it, you two are in love. But coach the poor boy and make out with him later

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Japanese Yuri makes me these little lunch boxes

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
He puts this little hot dog things that are shaped like octopuses

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
And he shapes the eggs like bunnies

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
And he shaped the rice like pandas with seaweed as the markings

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Victor does not deserve this man

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Someone convince the Japanese Yuri to be my skater

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
What do you mean everyone can read this, Mila?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Why didn’t you tell me earlier?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
What? You did?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
What? I’m not responding privately?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
I don’t understand

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman 
Where is Japanese Yuri when you need him?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Why is Victor crying now?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
What do you mean it is because of me?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
Well of course Japanese Yuri is better than Victor. Do you know the stress Victor has put me through for all these years?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman 
Do you know how much hair I have lost because of that boy?

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman 
Would I give Victor up? Never.

Yakov Feltsman @Yakov-Feltsman
He is basically my son. That and I doubt anyone one else would put up with him.

Twitter War AU

AO3 Twitter War

KAIROS. 1

Originally posted by yoongichii


  • Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
  • Genre: Sugar!Daddy AU, Fake!GF AU
  • Warnings: angst, smut, degrading names, mentions of cheating, dom themes, asshole hoseok
  • Words: 10k
  • Summary: Jung Hoseok is the devil in Armani. Self-entitled, rich, with striking good looks, there’s nothing he wants for with his parents’ money backing up his extravagant lifestyle. Yet when suddenly he’s forced to find himself a humble girlfriend or say goodbye to his monthly paycheck, he runs into you, lacking everything he possibly looks for in a girl. But he’s desperate, and being desperate makes a man do crazy things.

a/n: tysm to my irl bff @garbageeking for beta-ing for me and providing me with endless sugar!daddy hobi inspo to help me finish this chapter!!! ily!


The high chime of yet another eager customer ricocheted off of pale yellow walls, leather booths, and tiled flooring that was worn down with age. The quaint little shop lacked elegance, yet made up for it with charm. Watercolor paintings of sea cliffs, dipping waves, and golden sand hung from every corner of the small cafe, each dated and signed by a unique signature in the far left corner.

“Table three!” Your father’s gruff voice reminded from the back storage room, your attention once again redirected to the easily recognizable and overgrown mop of dusty brown hair, belonging to your best friend, who wore a forlorn frown, looking especially distressed as he sat himself into his regular booth. Red leather squeaked under the weight of his body as he threw himself down onto it, leaning his head against the cool glass of the large window that overlooked the crowded sidewalks and busy streets, a long horizon of blue easily noticeable in the distance.

“You look like you need some pie.”

Keep reading

raise yo hand if yo significant other is a damn radiant glowing human being that deserves all things good in the world

neil’s friendships with the other foxes aren’t talked about enough…honestly. like, andrew is neil’s everything and nothing can ever change that, but how neil’s trust expands to the rest of them is so precious.

dan adores neil. she wishes he’d listen more in practice and on the court, but she wouldn’t change him for anything. not a trophy, not hundred of trophies, and she’d never go back to a time when life was simpler, when the foxhole court wasn’t a burrow for a skittish fox to hide in, when neil was all bad news and a grenade waiting to go off. when they were all close to being collateral damage in the explosion that followed neil’s truths. she loves him, truly, without failure. she loves his smile and the way he plays, like he wants to win it all for them. she loves how happy he is, despite his monster being a constant shadow at his side, she loves that neil has found someone to take comfort inc someone to make him stronger, and she’s proud of him for that

allison likes to sit beside neil and play with his hair. the first time he let her do it, her chest nearly exploded with the amount of adoration and affection that was swirling there, too powerful to be contained. she knows what trusting looks like, because it’s the the same way renee is with her, and she feels so privileged that neil trusts her too. now they sit and watch shitty movies together when they’re tired and even when her fingers cramp up, allison can’t bear to remove them from twirling lightly at his curls

matt and neil, bros. matt has loved neil since the moment he first laid his eyes on him, and he’s never stopped since. sure, neil can be an asshole and he sometimes avoids talking about how he really feels still, but matt loves him. and when he can peel neil away from andrew long enough, they talk about deep stuff, with neil and matt both opening up to each other. they play mario cart, because neil has never played and matt feels like he has a little brother. he feels so protective towards neil, like he wants to shelter him from the world, but he knows neil has to explore it all for himself, and he’ll always be there to offer a hand if neil stumbles

renee and neil do spend time alone, but mostly she tags along with both andrew and neil. and renee is very observant, she notices the way that neil — this broken boy who came to them every inch a mystery, every scar a story to be told, one foot out the door and his lips sewn shut — flourishes around andrew. he blooms like a flower, mid-spring, bright and breathtaking and she remembers thinking that neil wouldn’t be with them for long, but here he is, living and loving, all thanks to andrew and the rest of the foxes. she’s proud of herself, for that one

kevin may push neil hard sometimes, but he knows neil’s limits better than neil himself does. there are days where he knows neil can be pushed further, can be yelled at for longer, can be threatened with the weight of his deal with the moriyamas, you’ll never make court if you don’t get better. and there are days when he knows neil can’t take it, where he knows that any mention of his unknown future will snap neil in half, so he doesn’t push. he makes neil do the laps, the drills, the target practice and then he calls it off. days like these, neil gets rowdy, complains because he wants to blow off some steam, but kevin tunes him out and throws him a bottle of water, sitting on the court floor and waiting for neil to join him. when he does, they sit in silence. sometimes they talk, but mostly kevin waits for their breathing to slow before he gathers their things and drags neil back to andrew for the night

neil is able to forgive nicky for that first night at edens. nicky will always feel guilty, will always want to make it up to neil, but he’s smart enough to know that it’s alright, nicky. i forgive you is enough to say it’s over, don’t bring it up again and so he never does. he and neil form a nice, distant friendship. nicky doesn’t touch neil and neil doesn’t touch nicky in return, but there are days where neil will sit with him in the columbia house and they’ll laugh and joke and nicky will swear he didn’t know neil would have such an impact on his life, he’ll never remember what life was like before him, and he doesn’t want to. life without neil, even for a short time, felt cold and tasteless and the look on andrew’s face when baltimore happened told him he felt it too. he never wants to experience that again

neil and aaron tolerate each other, at best. and that’s all there is to say on that. they poke at each other and make sly remarks and sometimes they fight, and that’s the extent of their interactions

the beauty of it all is that people say you can’t choose your family but neil knows, you definitely can
An Ode to the Venus Signs

Aries: The primal lust for power that drives you fuels the spark in your eye and the deceiving lilt in your voice that rears just as you go in for the kill. You will eventually give up being the ever-brave knight and the same cold knife that pierces his heart in exchange for the purity you braved oceans of passion and battles of ferocious kisses in the thundering moonlight for. You will lay down your helmet not in defeat but to unleash a fierce tenderness that no other could ever match. 

 Taurus: You grant your body its right to speak for itself, you’re a lover of few words and infinite complexities. The burgundy wine that pumps through your heart and veins and out through your mouth intoxicates its ever-fortunate victim within minutes. The kisses you allow are accompanied by your luxurious velvet touch that, on its own, is a treasure worthy of an ancient and haunting sea borne melody of lust, deceit, and riches beyond measure. 

Gemini: Yours is an epic poem of magic and thermals thrusting you beyond the clouds and the stars in one flap of your winged self. An intense emotional threshold is accompanied by lighthearted joviality that lets itself be heard through your tinkling laugh late into the night. You are the adventure in any fantasy and the spirit of any angelic presence we have all felt when our wheels of fortune are on their way to the top. 

Cancer: Your gentle caress is the joy finally bubbling up from an exhausted heart. You’re the flower in the gun, the lover that hit the universe. The Valentine’s Day you imagined all those years that finally happened, the ribbon on an exquisite present you almost feel guilty untying. Your quiet devotion is emotional and romantic, crystalline perfection in a tarnished, stone world. 

Leo: The mischievous grin you unveil to the masses is nothing to the intense and yet… Exciting gleam in your eye when you unmask your bad boy disguise and become the gold-hearted danger we all secretly desire. You are the protector of the queen of hearts, jealous though your undying love may be. Somehow with you, the world is perfectly in sync with every breath that is shared, each movement a rhythm of unyielding devotion. 

Virgo: The crease in your brow changes ever so slightly for every different small emotion you allow to the surface. The perfection of each conscious movement and considerate placement of every inch of you is not unnoticed. The free spirit you unleash in your blessed vulnerable moments is the thunder of a rainstorm in a drought, a love with you is one of reincarnation of your lover’s prized memories and dreams plucked from careful observation and secretly tender moments of thought. 

Libra: Your youthful exuberance is open minded with a bright and surprising wisdom. The element of surprise is always packed neatly up your sleeve for when inspiration strikes your wandering mind. Though with light footsteps your travel this road, each movement is meaningful and not as wasteful as it appears to the ignorant eye. Your sweet intentions never turn bitter even in adversity, as your every move matches the most romantic of ideals with ease. 

Scorpio: Trust doesn’t fall into your rigid nature, as you decided it can’t. But how you long for it, to let go of a little control into trustworthy arms that feel of your pillow after a long, hard day. You have the loyalty of the best friend trope and the love of the heroine all contained in the body of what can only be a hero. You do not move quickly, but each stroke of the brush is one of intensity and saturation made with steady hands. The bouts of rash action do not last long, as you already know deep in your soul where you belong. 

Sagittarius: Worldly, exciting, fast and learned are your ways of rash and heated passion. You are jagged bottles wielded by the wild, but each cut of the blade is done out of fun and poisoned only by the cowardly. The jolt of sunshine and fall weather, the fall that tastes golden and slightly crisp, is only the instantaneous reward given before the ride. 

Capricorn: You are the everything you determined they deserve; the want and the need alike. Allowing yourself the pleasure of being the mouse in the game for once, with an ever protective grip on reality all the while. Your intensity is a quiet one, one that doesn’t speak but radiates. It is unyielding and wooden, but alive all the same. Your branches bear fruit that, for once, are willingly plucked with a silent thank you and perhaps a passing smile. Your roots will never cease to grow until the soil is gone and your stomach barren, but until then you are permanent and, most importantly, ever standing.

Aquarius: You take flight without warning, but how any would worship simply seeing you go. A disguised predator in a world of the unwise. But from you comes the pleasure of shrewd sport in the face of those simply surviving. To let your guard down sounds obscene until you allow yourself to understand the truth; the truth that allows you to shed your old and tired skin. Like the snake you are blind before your fresh skin, and you can roll with it or forge a fresh path. 

Pisces: The mysteries of the universe lie within your magnetic eyes and wry smile. Your every move fascinates and alienates and is left for only the dedicated to make sense of. You create a new world for your person, with exquisite detail and an unparalleled sense of wonder. But danger looms in the back of your incredible mind and with the shift of your thoughts you can press the tempting button of self-destruction. Burning bridges is a staple of your watery magic, and you the lone arsonist. Perhaps you could put down the matches, but who’s to say you ever will decide it’s worth it?

Okay, but...bisexual Lee Jordan?
  • Lee Jordan flirting with anyone and everyone because it’s fun and he sees the beauty in everyone
  • Lee Jordan flirting with Slytherins (especially Flint) just because it makes them angry and slightly confused
  • Tiny first year Lee Jordan knowing he’s attracted to both men and women and being scared to tell his best friends, Fred and George, because he thinks they won’t want to be friends with him any more
  • Tiny first year Fred and George being super supportive of Lee because “we’re pretty sure Charlie’s attracted to dragons, so really it’s not that weird in comparison and you’re our friend!”
  • 3rd year and up Lee Jordan being super open about his sexuality because we all know that by then he doesn’t care what other people think of him
  • Lee Jordan talking to and helping LGBTQ+ kids at Hogwarts and standing up to anyone who dares bully them for it
  • Lee Jordan starting Hogwarts’ first LGBTQ+ club
  • Lee Jordan asking Professor McGonagall to supervise the club because he knows she won’t let anything bad happen to these kids who are looking for a safe environment to figure themselves out
  • Lee Jordan helping kids - both muggleborns and purebloods - with unsupportive parents and sending kids in extra bad situations to the Weasleys’ (because we all know Molly would be all over taking care of these kids the moment she hears what’s happened to them)
  • Grown up Lee Jordan starting up a shop in Diagon Alley with magical binders that completely flatten someone’s chest without hurting them, robes for all genders (not limited to the gender binary, of course!), and all sorts of pride paraphernalia
  • Bisexual Aromantic Lee Jordan enjoying flirting with everyone, but never wanting a relationship
  • Lee Jordan angering Umbridge by very enthusiastically making out with the nearest guy to him (usually Fred or George) every time she walks by because “the rules say nothing about two boys being within 8 inches of each other”
  • Lee Jordan’s quidditch commentary becoming 1000 times funnier 
  • “And Angelina Johnson has the quaffle…and a nice pair of legs too!” “JORDAN! IF YOU KEEP USING THAT MIC TO PICK UP GIRLS, I’M GOING TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM YOU!” “Sorry professor! And George Weasley hits the bludger…look at those sexy arms! I’d love to-” “JORDAN!” “What? I’m not hitting on any girls!”

When I think of him, I think of warm bed sheets tangled in a maze on our bodies and the taste of cigarettes that lingered on his lips when we kissed. I remember I had a habit of tracing my fingers on the crevices of his body, lingering at certain tattoos and scars that may have defined the history of him. Looking back, I realize I hadn’t asked too many questions. I simply accepted his presence, like welcoming the dark night at the end of the day because it simply was supposed to be that way. I didn’t feel the need to probe and he never made me wonder. For all the mystery of him, he never evoked a curiosity in me. And that made me realize, there are just some people you love for who they are, because changing them would take the beauty of them away, like chipping off pieces of a glass window. You never ruin art.

That first night, I wanted to be different, to be someone else, someone besides that prim girl with a tight chignon and an equally tight impression. I wanted to be free and light and raw. I wore my hair down, like a cascading stream of gold, as if by doing so would loosen me up. But two minutes into that rave, I felt like an outsider, a lost puppy amidst the sea of people whose bodies were so used to alcohol and the smell of smoke. Looking down at that bottle of beer in my hand I contemplated my exit options when I felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked up and there he was, so disheveled and rugged and everything that screamed danger even at a distance. He had those piercing blue eyes and that smirk that made you think of libertines and rakes and Casanovas. He stopped a few inches from me and grasped a few strands of my hair between his fingers leisurely, as if he had all the time in world, and said,

“I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful – a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.”

God, I fell so hard for that boy. His music collection contained of ear splitting music and unintelligible screams, but he had a corner bookstand full of John Keats and Robert Frost. He had a body that spoke of every nuance of strength yet he loved mine with a gentle passion and a fragile hold. I held him tight, afraid that he was going to slip from my fingers. At night I laid in his chest and felt every beat of his heart and every air he expelled. I loved him in fear of losing him. Every minute was tattooed in every tiny space of my young heart. I took all of him and held it in. I guess even then, I knew. A soul like that was never meant to be held for long. He had a gypsy spirit and even my innocent devotion and the gentle gaze of my love couldn’t make him stay.

So I let him go.

As gently as I loved him, I gently let him go. He slipped away in the middle of the night but not before he fluttered a single soft kiss on my forehead. I willed my eyes shut close and when I heard the soft lock of the door I broke down and let the tears fall.

When I think of him, I think of the musky smell of sweat-stained sheets, of ashes of cigarettes on the floor, of a hard body and a soft heart. I think of silent nights with nothing but the whisper of his breath. I think of the boy who loved poetry, who spoke those words in random, during moments when you least expect them. Even now, sometimes I would wake up and as soon as I open my eyes, I would remember the way his brown hair glinted under the morning sun, and how the first thing I would see is that tattoo at the back of his ear. I miss the way my hand would reach out and hold him closer, and how he would stir and hold me tighter.

Most of all, I miss that flutter of a kiss he left when he slipped into the night, leaving only a shadow of his beautiful soul for me to grasp.

I wonder how he is. Sometimes I see him tangled with another girl in different sheets, in a different place. Would he have loved her more? Would he touch her differently? Yet there are times that I would imagine him sitting down with a copy of “Poems 1817” on his lap and maybe he would skim by the page of “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” and think of me…

—  i loved him in fear of losing him, and alas, I did // Stories Series | Genefe Navilon
BTS reaction to your curvy and tan body

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT!!!!!

Everyone please note that these types of requests are aimed for very specific people and of course not everyone has this type of body type.
My aim in making these reactions are to create fun and fictional writings that are able to entertain fellow ARMYS.

This reaction is not definite.

BTS will love you no matter your body type & skin colour.

Thank you for requesting~

Jungkook

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

this boy and his damn tendency to touch other people’s butts… Jungkook would definitely love your body type. But dating this boy would mean being prepared for all the butt touching and slapping, he wouldn’t really show his love for your body in public though.

Taehyung

Originally posted by xxtaetaexx

Taehyung would be slightly low-key turned on by your body, of course he would try to hide this at first as a way to show you some respect but when you two were close enough he would just be constantly complimenting you. This boy would develop a praising kink just for you.

Jimin

Originally posted by kths

Jimin would slowly come to learn to love it. Curvy and tan body types aren’t as often seen in Korea and so you had definitely caught his eye the moment you walked into the room, Jimin admired you not only for your beautiful body type but also the confidence that you bring with you.

Even after dating for a while, Jimin would have grown a tendency to just unconsciously stare when you walked past him.

Namjoon

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Namjoon would love not only your body but the air of confidence that you bring about it, he loved that you referred to your own body as “beautifully curvy” because he knew it was just as true as you had said it to be. Namjoon would be the type to constantly kiss you compliments just to reassure himself that you never had a day in which you feel uncomfortable with the way your body looked.

Hoseok

Originally posted by gotjimin

Hoseok is a mix of all the boys in one body, he can be both extremely fluffy or smutty when it comes to your body. When he feels like it, he would playfully comment on how good you look in a certain outfit with his tongue stuck out and other times he just feels like laying in the couch and pecking every inch of your body.

Yoongi

Originally posted by bangtanboysloves

High-key turned on as fuck. And honestly, Yoongi wouldn’t even try to hide it.

He loved your body and didn’t care to hide it. He’d compliment you out of the blue on some days, even in public. Roam his hands around your body as a comforting habit and lick his lips when he watched you change from outfit to outfit when you both go shopping.

Seokjin

Originally posted by jinkooks

I’m going to be completely honest, Seokjin would definitely not be used to itat first.
Jin was raised with traditional Korean standards, this means that most of the girls that are viewed as beautiful there are thinner and have more petite body types (this is not fact).
But don’t fear, Jin is a total sweetheart and a “personality over looks” type of guy, when he falls in love with you, falling in love with your body will just automatically be included when dating.

                                                  -bangtan angels-

What if I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved? Maybe that’s why we should go our separate ways and that this is a good thing, maybe that’s the silver lining.

You deserve someone who can give you more than you could ever know, more than this world could ever offer. You carry a very beautiful soul that should be cherished with every inch of love that exists, even if you don’t believe that.

And maybe I can’t do any of that.

Maybe it’s just not me.

—  c.f. // “I guess this time it was me”
Sanctuary

Request: “How about Draco x reader, where she loses her virginity to him? love your writing ♥”

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: SMUT!!! BEST FRIENDS TURNED LOVERS!!! DO I HAVE TO SAY ANY MORE?

Originally posted by mistakeoftheconstellation

You couldn’t sleep tonight. It was just one of those nights, where the shadows of trees blowing in the breeze danced across the wall, their movement as restless as your being. You had pulled your wand out, practicing light charms. The beams of light bounced on the chilly Autumn air, the wind billowing your curtains as you had forgotten to close your window.

The white bunny of light that had been hopping around your room instantly faded at the sound of sobs. Frowning, you slipped out of the warmth of your bed, following the sound to your window. Poking your head out, below you could spot a flash of white-blonde hair under the moonlight, a face wet with tears and reddened eyes. He was pacing, as if contemplating coming up.

“Draco?” Your voice was quiet, heart already clenching at the sight of him. “What’s wrong? Come up.”

You took a seat on the sill, watching as he scaled the scaffolding under your window. Thank Merlin your mother had decided she wanted climbing Ivy on this side of the house, since a month ago the walls had been bare and there would be no direct way for Draco to come up. You helped pull him in as he reached your window.

There was a moment of silence as you both shared concerned looks, your hands immediately cupping his face and wiping his tears. Draco’s cheeks were freezing, but trailing your fingers down to his neck you found his body to be muggy. You collapsed into him, head pressed to his chest and listening to the unsteadiness of his heartbeat as he wrapped around you. You tilted your head up, pressing short kisses all over his face, covering him with affection. You did so until you too were in tears.

Keep reading

Boxes and Lemniscates

Title: Boxes and Lemniscates

Summary: Logan stumbles across something called a comfort box and decides to make one for Virgil. However, he quickly discovers that he’ll need Patton and Roman’s help to make anything worthwhile—because it’s not like he can make anything good on his own, after all.

Word Count: 3,481

Warnings: minor self-loathing

Ship: polyamsanders

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst, @pippa-frost, @cup-of-blue, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @prplzorua, @notallpotatoesarefrenchfries, @madelynnaa, @sanderships, @ace-anxiety-sanders, @frustratedwaffle, @the-diaries-of-a-nerd

beta’d by the exceptional @randomslasher and @thuriweaver!

Logan is scrolling through Tumblr (an act which, he has discovered, greatly assists him in learning modern slang vocabulary) when he stumbles upon a post regarding boxes. Ordinarily, he would scroll right past it, but as he does a word catches his eye—anxiety. His curiosity is immediately piqued. Any information about the other sides is useful.

This, while perhaps not about Thomas’ sides directly, may allow him further insight into others’ dealings with anxiety, which might in turn offer him a greater grasp on what Virgil deals with. Perhaps it’s a long shot, but he’s willing to try. No time spent trying to understand one of his boyfriends can be considered wasted.

Besides, cubes are his favorite shape, after lemniscates, and a box is basically a cube.

The post, however, turns out to be less about boxes and more about what’s inside of them. It details a thing called a comfort box, which it insists can help ease anxiety if used appropriately. Suggested contents of said box are objects that appear to engage as many senses as possible in a soothing way. By doing this, the post declares, the box can serve as both a distraction and a comfort for those who suffer from heightened anxiety.

Logan is, to say the least, skeptical. He has often found that the best way to calm Virgil—and thus anxiety—is by talking their way through whatever troubles him. Patton’s hugs and cookies (snickerdoodles, specifically, although the peanut butter ones will suffice as well) also seem to help. Roman’s boisterous stories and jokes, too, usually serve to make Virgil relax—sometimes they even get him to laugh.

But, Logan supposes, extra comfort can never hurt—and he knows himself well enough to know that he won’t stop thinking about the possibilities of this box until he’s run an appropriate experiment.

That night, he excuses himself from his boyfriends’ movie-watching extravaganza, and they let him go without much of a fuss. For a moment, he allows himself to feel immensely grateful for them. They’ve begun to understand—he needs to focus, he needs to work, and if he needs to do that instead of watching a movie with them (not that that’s not fun, it’s just not his idea of mentally stimulating) they’ll let him. Of course, if he begins skipping every night, he’s certain that they’ll question him. They’ll let him exercise his mind, but they won’t let him run himself into the ground and oh, how he loves them for it.

The first thing he does when he slips into his room is conjure up a box. Its dimensions are 16x16x16 (all in inches), leaving it with a volume of 4,096 cubic inches, which Logan thinks is suitable for the items he’s selected. The first things to go in are a DVD copy of The Black Cauldron, followed closely by an MP3 player with several My Chemical Romance, Fallout Boy, and Gorillaz albums on it. Next is a jigsaw puzzle of the galaxy with one hundred pieces—simple enough that Virgil shouldn’t become frustrated putting it together, but complex enough that it should encourage him to focus.

After that, he slips in a package of peppermints—the kind that make Logan’s tongue burn and the air feel cold when he breathes through his mouth, sharp and piquant. A pair of noise-cancelling headphones go in next, along with a small box of Logan’s favorite herbal teas. Finally, he puts in a small card with crisis hotlines on it. His gut clenches as he does, and he hopes that Virgil never has to use them, but—but just in case, they’ll be there.

Once he’s done, he crouches in front of the box and takes a moment to study it. It seems much emptier than he had envisioned—perhaps he had miscalculated the volume he would need to fit everything inside. Unlikely, but possible. So maybe if he conjures up another one, but smaller—

A sudden hammering knock at his door startles Logan from his thoughts. “Logan, Patton is making cake and he wants to know if you want any. Do you want any? Logan? Are you listening to me? Do you have headphones on? Are you listening to that silly piano guy again? What’s his name? Bait oven? Whatever. That’s nerd stuff. But hey—hey, Logan. Logan, do you want any cak—”

Letting his breath out in an enormous whoosh, Logan crosses to the door and opens it to reveal Roman. “No, I do not want cake, and for your information, it’s Beethoven, and he’s not just a piano guy, he was one of the most important and influential composers of the—”

“What’s that?” Roman peers curiously over his shoulder.

“It’s a box.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. I meant why do you have a box?”

“If you meant ‘why do you have a box?’ then why didn’t you just say ‘why do you have a box?’ instead of ‘what’s that?’ Really, your communication ability leaves something to be desired. It—”

Roman waves him off. “Quit deflecting. If you don’t wanna say, don’t say.”

Logan pauses and frowns. Deflecting? He’s not deflecting. He’s merely attempting to eradicate Roman’s ignorance (an everlasting and thankless job) but, well, he supposes he is avoiding the question. And why? It’s not like the box has to be a secret. Secrets are irrational.

Still, he wishes that maybe, just this once, he could’ve done something nice for someone without help. It seems as though he always needs help to be kind, and he dislikes it—extremely.

Looking back at his bare, empty little box however, he knows that perhaps (the facts have added up, over the years) he simply cannot be kind on his own. Certainly he can try, but he must be missing something—some essential thing that the other three have, a thing that enables them to create and love and protect.

Something better than mere intelligence.

“It’s a comfort box for Virgil,” Logan says, sighing. He’s not selfish enough to try to do something on his own when the blatant fact that he can’t is clear. His box isn’t good enough for Virgil, but maybe with Roman’s help, and perhaps Patton’s, it can be.

“A what?”

“A comfort box. It’s supposed to soothe feelings of anxiety by stimulating the senses and allowing an individual to distract themselves, although I’ve no idea how accurate that statement is, as I’ve yet to test it myself.”

“The box does that?”

“Well, more specifically, the contents of the box. You can look, if you want.”

Roman goes to sit on Logan’s bed, picking the box up and rifling through it—although he is, Logan is pleased to notice, putting everything back where it belongs once he’s examined it. “This is cool,” he says. “A little minimalist, but—”

“Yes, exactly, that’s the problem,” Logan says. “So you should help me.”

“Help you what?”

“Fix the box.”

“I mean, there’s really nothing to fix.”

Logan stares pointedly at the box in Roman’s arms, plain and unassuming and minimalist. “That was sarcasm, correct?”

“No, I’m serious. I think it’s really—”

“Can’t you just—oh, I don’t know, add something?”

“Like what?”

“Be creative.”

Roman snorts. “If you insist. First things first—we’re looking for comforting things, right? Like self-care stuff?”

“That sounds adequate, yes.”

“Great. In that case—” Roman twirls his hand and an array of items materialize on Logan’s bed. There are bath bombs (lavender and lemon and mint, if Logan is recognizing the colors correctly) along with vanilla-scented lotion, small candles in a variety of soothing scents, and a bar of milk chocolate. “How’s that?”

Logan stacks the items neatly into the box, and now it’s more than halfway full. “Good,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Oh, wait—one more thing.” Roman conjures up a coloring book of intricate patterns and a box of colored pencils. “Here. And then maybe we could put something on the outside of the box, too.”

“Hm, that’s—not a bad idea, actually.”

“Okay, here. Take this and draw something on that side. I’ll work on this one.”

“Like what?” Logan asks, critically examining the navy marker that Roman hands him.

“I dunno, math equations or something, whatever. Just make it seem like you.”

Logan does not think that he is very comforting, and thus nothing he makes will be, but he’s willing to entertain the idea if it’s Roman’s. Despite the fact that many of Roman’s ideas are completely ridiculous, the few that aren’t are often impeccable. After a long moment of contemplation, Logan sketches a graph on his side of the box and plots a lemniscate on it.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Roman says, when he finishes his side—it’s an intricate picture of himself in a crown. Well, it’s the thought that counts, Logan supposes. “An infinity sign.”

“A lemniscate.”

“What language is that?”

“English,” Logan says, baffled. “The shape is called a lemniscate.”

“No, that’s an infinity sign.”

“Perhaps in the common vernacular it can be addressed as such, but its true name is lemniscate.”

Roman holds his hands up. “Okay, okay, fine. Your box, your weird lemniscate.”

Logan nods, satisfied, and hands his marker back to Roman. “Very well. Thank you. Go and fetch Patton now, please.”

“You don’t think that’s suspicious?”

“Why would it be suspicious?”

“This is Virgil we’re talking about. Everything is suspicious to him. I was supposed to come down, like, ten minutes ago, and now I’m sending Patton up to your room? Sounds sketch.”

Logan waves him off. “Let it be sketch, then, just don’t let him come up here.”

“You got it.”

Roman slips out of his room, and Patton comes bounding in not two minutes later. “Heya, Teach, what’s up?” he asks.

“I need you to help me with this box.”

“You need my help? Oh, golly gee willikers, I thought this day would never come.”

“Yes, yes, enough gloating. It’s a comfort box for Virgil, so put comforting things inside of it, please.”

“Oh my goodness that is such a cute idea—you’re just the nicest guy, Lo—”

Logan shakes his head—he’s not nice or he would’ve been able to do this by himself. All he can do is nudge the others in the right direction. They’re the ones that actually do the nice thing. “Come on, before Virgil decides to come and investigate what we’re doing.”

Into the box Patton puts bubble wrap, stickers, a small stuffed dog, a fluffy black blanket, and a glitter jar that even Logan concedes looks fascinating when it’s shaken. On his side of the box he draws hearts and stars, puppies and kittens, and a large smiley face. “There,” he says, once he’s done. “How’s that?”

Logan looks contemplatively at it. One side of the box is still plain, but perhaps Virgil can color on it to make it more his. It’s quite full now, too, and Logan feels something untwist in his chest. He has done a good thing—albeit not alone (he can never do good things alone) but the point remains. “It’s adequate,” he says. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart. Do you want me to go get Virgil?”

Logan hesitates—but he doubts he can make the box any better than it is. If Roman and Patton are finished with it, then there’s nothing more for him to contribute. “Yes, please.”

Patton practically skips down the hall, calling, “Virgil, Virgil, Logan has a surprise for you, you’re gonna love it, c’mere c’mere c’mere—”

Virgil appears grudgingly in his doorway several seconds later, flanked by a bright-eyed Roman, and a Patton who is nearly trembling with excitement. Before he can speak, Logan holds the box out to him. “What’s that?” Virgil asks, making no move to take it.

“It’s a comfort box,” Logan says. He doesn’t meet Virgil’s eyes, but it’s not because he’s scared, of all things. It’s only—only, well, he really hopes he hasn’t overstepped his boundaries and made Virgil embarrassed or made himself look like a fool or—

“A what?” Virgil says, accepting the box from Logan and setting it on the desk to open.

“A comfort box. It’s supposed to help with feelings of anxiety by—” Logan stops, his words momentarily rendered unimportant upon seeing Virgil’s face as he begins looking through the box. Logan, having studied body language quite intently during Thomas’ acting lessons, thinks that his expression hovers somewhere between wondering and stunned.

“This is for me?” Virgil asks quietly.

“Yes,” Logan says. “Do you…like it?”

The smile that Virgil bestows upon him then is one of his rarest—bright and open and adoring, his eyes crinkled at the corners and dimples showing. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I like it just a little bit.”

Patton squeals and wraps Virgil up in a joyful hug. “Oh, I’m so glad. You deserve it, kiddo.”

“I, too, am pleased that you find our labor of love to be satisfactory,” Roman says, straightening his shoulders a tad arrogantly, Logan thinks.

“It was Logan’s idea,” Patton says. “Isn’t he just the sweetest thing, oh my goodness—c’mere, Lo, pretty please.”

Logan crosses the room to stand before Virgil, back straight and eyes averted. Patton latches onto his arm and does his emotions thing, nuzzling his face against Logan’s and making happy sounds. “It was nothing, really. I merely found the idea on Tumblr—”

“You’re on Tumblr?” Virgil asks, startled.

“Never mind that. I gave the others the idea—which, mind you, was not technically mine in the first place—and they did most of the work. Patton is over-exaggerating the role that I played, but I do find myself pleased that you enjoy it.”

“Patton? Over-exaggerate? Why, always,” Roman says. “However, inexplicably enough, not this time. It was Logan who motivated us to make the box—although I shall take credit where credit is due and say that I clearly drew the best picture.”

“Thank you, Lo,” Virgil says, and when Logan finally meets his eyes they’re wide and unbearably fond.

“I didn’t do all the work,” Logan protests, glancing away again. “It was primarily Patton and Roman. I merely gave them direction, as per usual.”

“Hey, come over here.” Virgil holds an arm out and Logan slides under it, fitting himself to Virgil’s side. At least this way Virgil won’t try to catch his gaze anymore. “I know you didn’t do everything—and thank you, Patton, Roman, very much. But you are the one who gave them direction, Logan, so don’t think any less of yourself for that.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” Logan says, his frustration with—with himself, with this whole ordeal, finally boiling over. “Anyone could have seen the post on Tumblr, anyone could have said ‘why don’t we make a comfort box for Virgil?’ and it would have been just as well constructed without my help. It may even have been better. When it comes to doing nice things, that’s not—that’s not me. That’s them. I just tell them what to do. They’re the ones who get it done.”

The other three fall completely silent. Patton and Roman both fix him with shocked gazes and Virgil’s arm drops off of his shoulders. For a moment, vulnerability is a quivering and terrified thing in the center of Logan’s chest. He shouldn’t have said that. He should be celebrating the gift they’ve given Virgil, not complaining about what he can and cannot do. That was self-centered. He’ll have to apologize. Patton says apologies are polite and necessary if you’ve done something wrong. So—

“I’m sorry,” Logan says. “That was a poorly-timed outburst. Please disregard—”

“No,” Virgil says, and suddenly his arms are back around Logan, pulling him into a tight embrace. “No way in hell am I disregarding that.”

“Oh, honey,” Patton says, stepping closer and running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “Of course you can do things by yourself.”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Logan says, his voice muffled by confusion and Virgil’s shoulder. “But I cannot do anything good by myself.”

Roman takes one of his hands, unlatching it from its death grip on Virgil’s hoodie (when had he begun to clutch that?) and lacing their fingers together. “You certainly can. Whatever makes you think otherwise?”

“Now is not an appropriate time for such introspection. We should be allowing Virgil to examine and appreciate his box, or at least—”

“Now is the perfect time for such introspection,” Virgil says, fingers scratching gently over his spine. A shiver twists its way through Logan as he does. “You’re more important than fussing about a box—however lovely that box may be. So—what makes you think you can’t do anything good alone?”

Logan sighs and relents—his boyfriends, whilst endearing, are also hellishly stubborn. (And oh, how he wishes he could believe them. Maybe, technically, they are right, and he can do good things by himself, but—but he just doesn’t know how, and that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?) “I was going to make the box alone, at first, but I wasn’t creative or emotional enough to obtain a satisfactory end product. It’s the same with most everything I do. Certainly, I can do some things—many things—but they will never be as nice as they could be when I have all of your help.”

“But that’s the same for all of us,” Patton says. “We can all make things on our own, but they’ll never be as good as they are when we work together.”

“I know, but—you see, the things that you and Roman and Virgil create alone will always be better than what I create alone. Patton, the things you make are full of—of love or joy or sadness, and they’re always brilliant. They have the ability to move others emotionally.”

“Aww, Lo.” Patton’s voice sounds suspiciously wobbly. “Thank you.”

“And what Roman creates is always, naturally, creative. He’s an artist, that’s what he does, and he does it well. He can create something out of nothing, and it’s rather incredible.”

“True,” Roman says, “and thank you. But—”

“And Virgil, the things he creates are—well, negative, yes, but they manage to be both creative and emotional. Some of the things he thinks up terrify me, and I, rationally, know that they are not real and cannot harm me.”

“Thank you, I think?” Virgil says.

“But the things I create are—are boring,” Logan says, hunching his shoulders. “There’s nothing admirable about them, save perhaps that they can be useful, from time to time, and encourage the three of you to do something even better.”

“Logan, you—hey, look at us, please,” Roman says, and Logan reluctantly lifts his face from the safety of Virgil’s shoulder. “The stuff you create is awesome. Like patterns! I use patterns all the time when I’m creating things, but I wouldn’t be able to use them without you. Like—like you literally made an infinity sign out of a mathematical equation.”

Logan glances at the box and his lemnsicate—boring, plain, unnecessarily complex. “I’m glad you like them, but—”

“And routines,” Virgil adds. “You make routines that work for us, which helps me feel a lot better. It’s comforting. You’re comforting.”

Well—well, perhaps that’s one way to look at it. (Another is that he’s a control freak.) “I’m happy that you think so, although—”

“And body language,” Patton says. “The way you understand what people are feeling just by analyzing how they stand, or how they move, it’s fantastic—and it’s really helpful when I’m trying to decide how to respond.”

Maybe. “Okay, so I may possibly—”

“There’s no possibly about it,” Roman says. “The things you create alone are just as good as any of the things the rest of us do. Okay?”

Logan drops his head and sighs into Virgil’s shoulder.

“Logan, okay?” Roman says, cupping the back of Logan’s neck. “Understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Logan says—and he does understand. Even if he does not believe it, he understands what they’re saying, and maybe—maybe they’re right. Maybe. “Maybe you are correct.”

“I know we are,” Roman says.

“You’re wonderful with us or on your own, sweetheart,” Patton says, pressing a kiss to Logan’s temple.

“And Logan?” Virgil says.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. I really like the box. The infinity sign is a nice touch.”

“It’s a lemniscate.”

“A what?”

“The shape is called a lemniscate.”

Virgil laughs and brings a hand up to cup the back of Logan’s head, ruffling his hair. “Okay. I really like your lemniscate.”

A smile tugs at Logan’s mouth, although he’s careful to keep it hidden against Virgil’s hoodie. “Thank you. I—I like it too, I think.”

“Good.” Virgil pulls back enough to give him a crooked smile. “You should.”

“I hate to interrupt this emotional moment,” Roman says, glancing towards the doorway, “but does anyone else smell something burning?”

Logan pauses, sniffing the air and yes, that smells like smoke. “Oh. Was it—perhaps—Patton, did you ever take your cake out of the oven?”

Patton freezes for only a moment, his eyes widening in horror—and then he bolts for the stairs, shrieking, “My cake!”

Gift Of Privacy

Seth Clearwater imagine requested by anon! “hello!! i was wondering if you were up for writing a seth clearwater smut? it would start off with him and y/n dating for a few months now, and seth finally tells her he loves her, and they make out and stuff in his house, then it builds into the sex? if you can, please make the beginning super fluff. thank you!!” Hope you like it!

WARNING: SMUT

You clung to Emily’s shoulders as she hugged you goodbye, the scent of her chamomile shampoo perfuming your senses as she repeated your plans for the next couple of days (lest you forget); you’d be staying with her and Kim while the wolves were off fighting the newborn army out for Bella Swan’s blood. It was the safest option for you; Emily’s house would be guarded by Colin and Brady in shifts (the other would be running border control to ensure the rest of La Push was safeguarded), which put you in the best possible position to avoid any stray vampires that might run through the Olympic Peninsula en route to tear at the Cullens… and your boyfriend. Sam, Jared, and Seth were aggressively on-board with the safehouse idea; not only would they worry less about their imprints being targets, but they would be able to keep a steady eye on you through the minds of their younger pack-mates. Also, they knew you’d all be well-fed, a perk none of the wolves thought lightly of. Seth’s hand closed around your own with a comfortable familiarity as Emily’s scarred lips pressed a parting kiss to your cheek, her slender fingers guiding you gently to Seth’s side as you both began your departure from the pack’s bonfire amidst a chorus of happy farewells. The heat of his fingers interlaced with your own, his temperature burning brighter than the fire sending amber sparks floating towards the night sky. His pace was shortened to match your own, his impossible growth spurt somehow still raging on, his warmth seeping from his uncovered skin to melt against your side. His eyes, so bright in such all-encompassing darkness, glowed from within as if they had harvested flames from the fire, his smile warm enough to match his overwhelming heat. His hand sent a happy pulse through to your palm, his fingers squeezing gently in the spaces between yours.

“You tired?” he inquired, his husky voice a mere whisper on the salted wind that blew in from the sea. You shook your head, focusing intently on the ground before you; you weren’t blessed with the supernatural grace your boyfriend possessed, and the darkness only made it more difficult to keep vertical… but more than your desperation in the department of remaining upright, you couldn’t bear to meet his eye for fear you would break down. Seth wiggled his fingers between yours, unbothered by the coming storm, leaning gently against your frame, his eyes all but begging for your attention. After finding you unresponsive, he quickened his pace, turning quickly before you, his hands smoothing over your shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” he breathed, his fingers delicately tilting your chin upward to meet his stare. “Y/n, talk to me,” he begged, an easy smile painting his features with a sense of ease you had to admire under such frightening circumstances. You sighed, expelling breath carelessly from your lungs, glancing behind you to ensure you were out of distance and far enough from the fire before you responded.

“I’m just… Seth, I’m just… worried about you, okay? And before you tell me it’s going to be an easy run and “you’ve done this before,” I have every right to be worried when you’re facing-off with a bunch of indestructible, immortal vampires while we’re all sat here with nothing better to do than make muffins.” Seth rolled his eyes, biting his lip to keep from smiling at your comical choice of words. Your hands smoothed over the planes of his chest, drawing his attention back to your face, his eyes alight beneath the electric touch of your skin on his. “Seth, I’m serious. I’m really, really scared. I don’t want to think about the possibility of you not coming back.” Seth’s grin was genuine and unhindered as it spread across his face, his eyes sparkling brightly as he brought his lips to your forehead, his arms winding around your body, holding you to the warmth of his chest. You sighed into his embrace, trying to memorize the scent that rose from his skin, the softness of his upper body beneath your fingertips, the rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek.

“Believe me, Y/n, I’ve got plenty of reasons to come home.” His palm smoothed over your hair once before shifting easily to your side, extending his hand for you to hold, winking when you accepted. “For example,” he began, stepping off the gravel of the road in favour of the street that lead to his home. “Those muffins you mentioned?” you rocked your body against his, stifling your laughter as he groaned with admiration. “Those alone would have me running back. My mom made me promise to come back in one piece, so I owe it to her,” he rambled, his thumb smoothing circles on the backside of your palm as you both approached the front door of Sue Clearwater’s single-story home. The weathered blue siding was visible only in the halo of light emanating from front porch’s lamp, the rest of the house melting to an inky black in the shadow of the night. He parted from your side, if only briefly, to swipe his hand beneath the welcome mat, returning with a key he used to unlock the deadbolt, holding the door open as his unoccupied hand ushered you inside. You stood in the darkness of his living room, your eyes searching blindly for evidence of the furniture you knew occupied the floorspace, kicking your shoes from your feet, hearing Seth do the same. Seth hit the lights, illuminating the vacant space, his hand snaking around your waist as he angled you in the direction of his bedroom. “Mom and Leah are coming back in an hour or two. She’s gotta talk with Billy, Sam, and Old Quil about the defense, and Leah said something about running perimeter with Colin, Brady, and Jared before she came back, but just in case that’s soon… I mean, every chance at privacy, right?” he laughed, watching your eyes roll as you recalled the many, many times Leah had complained about your “public displays of affection” in their shared family spaces. You waltzed forward, Seth’s hand extending to open his door before you could think to touch the doorknob, his laughter in your ear when he saw your surprise. You stepped into the familiar room, flicking on the light switch, Seth’s hand clapping over yours as you both raced to be the first to shed light on the minimal furnishings within. He backed you against the wall, kicking the door closed as he moved, his arm lingering by your face as your spine melted into the aged nay paint of his bedroom.

“You sure those are the only reasons you’re coming back? Muffins and your mom?” you breathed, Seth’s eyes burning intently on your own, his lips upturned in the corners to hear the sarcastic lilt in your voice. “Because if that’s the case I can head home right no-” his lips were on yours in an instant, his body inching towards your own until your chests were pressed together, you weight lifted onto your toes as his hands found your waist. He separated from you, too quickly for your liking, his exhale rushing over your face, his smile carrying the confident ease you’d come to recognize as a staple in the boy. His hands tangled in your hair, his forehead resting gently against your own, his eyes occupying every inch of your field of vision.

“You already know you’re the first and most important,” he emphasized, his eyes widening as he stressed his words, “reason I’m coming back. I thought that was a given,” he chuckled, his laughter increasing in volume to see your smile. “But since I see I need to remind the woman I love how important she is to me…” he separated from you, his forehead no longer spreading heat through yours, though still he moved closer, his lips hovering a breath away from your own, the both of you stalled in the aftermath of so simple a confession. Your hands stilled on his chest, his heart thrumming beneath the pads of your fingertips, his breath pushing and deflating against your palms. His eyes, so warm, so honest, bored into your very soul, your breath flowing as if between you was shared only a single pair of lungs. You breathed as one, neither one of you willing to break the silence, Seth’s heat flowing freely from the exposed skin of his chest to warm the limited space between you. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Seth shook his head a fraction of an inch, his eyes full of adoration. “I love you,” he whispered, an oath on his lips as they pressed to yours. Your fingertips lifted to graze the hardened line of his jaw, feeling him shudder beneath your touch as his hands dropped to spread along your waist. Though you had found yourself in many a similar situation within the same walls of Seth’s bedroom, you felt yourself alight with sensations foreign to you before this moment. Suddenly, Sue and Leah’s absence seemed more a gift than an inevitable interruption.

Your hands reached along the bare expanse of his back, your fingertips trailing over the even bands of his muscles, feeling his body tighten and relax beneath your silken touch. You ran your palms over the ridge of his spine before retracting your touch, Seth’s groan audible even when his lips were otherwise occupied against your mouth. His hands tightened on your waist as your fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair, tugging gently at the nape of his neck, his lips separating from yours, his eyes clouded, the heat fogging his vision somehow visible in the deep chocolate of his irises. His tongue darted over his lips, a hesitation your proximity could not bar from your notice, his eyelashes fluttering as his gaze devoured your face. You ran your fingertips through his hair like a ghost, stroking his neck where the smoothness of his skin met his hairline, his eyes rolling back as his body quivered.

“Hey,” you whispered, breathlessly forcing your whisper to life, Seth’s eyes opening to meet your own. You smiled easily, his lips mirroring your expression as you spoke, heat radiating from one body to the other, untethered and owned by neither of you… or perhaps by both of you. “I love you too.” His lips were on yours in an instant, his smile obvious even when his face was concealed from your view by the blank expanse of the inside of your eyelids. His mouth traveled to the corner of your lips, his hands roaming up along the sides of your rib cage, tickling as he went. You giggled openly, aware of the emptiness of the house around you, your laughter transitioning to gasps as his lips pressed against the underside of your jaw. You collapsed slightly into his arms, his hands on your waist holding you firmly to his chest, backing you against the wall once more. “Seth,” you breathed, feeling the heat of his hands traveling upward once more. He hummed his acknowledgment into the skin of your neck, your pulse racing under his touch. “Seth, I…” your voice trailed off rather pathetically as Seth’s hands ravished your waist, his lips at your ear, his chuckle a breath against your hair. “H-how long did you say we had before your mom comes home?” He paused then, his eyes wide on yours, his hands squeezing against your hips.

“You don’t mean…?” you returned his stare, your eyes burning through the modest space that separated you. “Don’t get me wrong, Y/n, I want to, but it’s… I mean, the pack will know as soon as I phase, and they’re not going to stop talking about it for…” He exhaled slowly, reading your unwavering expression, his eyes never once leaving your face. “Are you sure?” he inquired, his voice stronger now, his hands lighter against your skin. You nodded, your body pressing ever tighter against his.

“They’re going to have other things to worry about, right? As long as you want this…” he grinned, his eyes all but smoking with the intensity of his heated stare. You breathed steadily, though your heart was hammering wildly within the confines of your chest. “Good.”

“Good,” Seth mirrored, his hands on your waist tightening, his lips diving for yours once again, the tempo of his embrace somewhat altered, though it lost none of its former passion. You returned the quiet fervor of his lips, losing yourself in the thrill of his skin against yours, uninhibited for the first time in his arms. Your fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder, the plains of his chest, the smooth valleys of his abdomen… stalling at the waistband of his shorts. His breath hitched in your ear, his lips parting from yours momentarily, his hands looping beneath your legs as his body dipped. He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs wrapping around his torso easily, your ankles locking behind his back, your lips crashing against his as if your time together were far more limited than your reality had graciously allowed. He turned, one hand molding to the curve of your bottom, the other feeling blindly along the wall until his fingers struck the light switch, enveloping your world in darkness. Seth walked almost aimlessly towards his bed, his hands winding up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue darted over yours, the soft sounds of your kisses seeming to echo in the hazy air of his bedroom. Seth’s steps stopped abruptly as his knees struck the cushion of his mattress, his body bending slowly to rest you atop his bedspread, his lips ducking to your neck as he moved his body to hover over you. “Wait,” he breathed, his speech hindered by his lack of breath. He winced visibly, seeming to curse himself internally. “I don’t have any… I don’t have a-” he began, your thumb smoothing over his lower lip as his voice trailed off.

“It’s fine, Seth. I think it’s safe to say there hasn’t been anyone else, and there isn’t going to be anyone else for the both of us. Just… you know, when you’re done, just…” Seth chuckled breathlessly, his cheeks burning even in the darkness of his bedroom. He dipped his lips to yours, his body meeting yours in strange new ways, a hardness pressing against your center through your clothing. His hands inched towards the hem of your shirt, your back arching to allow Seth to remove your shirt with ease, slipping the garment over your head. You brought yourself up to meet his lips, pushing against the mattress until you were sat in his lap, your hands between your bodies untying the drawstring that held his shorts to his body, his breath hissing from between his lips as your fingers brushed against his growing erection. He unclipped your bra behind your back, your hands rushing the fabric from your shoulders. He slipped from beneath you to stand by the bed, removing his shorts and standing before you in his undergarments, his hands hovering by his hips, unsure what to do. You knelt atop the bedspread, your hands hovering beside his until he dropped his arms, your palms spreading over his waist. You ducked your fingers beneath his waistband and eased the fabric toward his knees, revealing the full sight of him. He sighed, the tenor of his breath an anxious note in the air as he stood, bare, beside his bed. He stepped free of his last remaining article of clothing, your fingers trailing along the sides of his thighs. His hands found your face, cradling your cheeks as his lips met yours, his body once more leaning over yours until the both of you were laying on the bed. His palms smoothed over your neck and stalled at your chest, his hands exploring the softness of your breasts, your breath releasing in quiet bursts of sound bearing striking resemblance to Seth’s name. He kissed further down your body, his mouth following his hands as he worked towards your underwear, his eyes lifting to yours as he slid the garment from your body, your hips lifting and falling as he removed your clothing. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes raked over your body, his head shaking.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his hands ghosting over your hips. You reached for his shoulders, pulling him over you, his erection prodding your entrance, your breathing hiking in time with his. “You’re sure?” he asked once more, your confirmation vocalized on a breathless whimper. His hand fell to the level of his waist, and suddenly the contact was so much more… secure. He lifted his eyes to yours, his bottom lip bitten mercilessly as he eased himself inside of you. Your breath rushed from your lungs, the tightness radiating throughout your entire body. You felt… almost claustrophobic, in a way, as if there weren’t enough space in the world to make you feel vacant again. Seth slowed, his movement stalled, his voice low and fragile. “Y/n,” he breathed, your eyes finding his again through the darkness. He moved once more, filling you with ease. You lifted your head from his pillows, your lips hungry for the taste of his mouth as he began to move within. His thrusts were slow to begin, setting a patient, steady pace. You couldn’t help but feel as though he were milking every moment in fear of never again finding so much time, the battle the morning would bring lingering on the horizon of your mind as he moved with you. His hands lifted you from the mattress, winding your legs around his waist, his palms aiding your rise and fall as his lips explored the edge of your collarbones. Your fingers ran gently through his hair, pulling his face from your chest and reassigning his lips to meet with yours. “Y/n…” he trembled, his brow knotted as he moved, his pace quickening, his hands guiding you with less and less intent. He bent forward, resting you against the mattress once more, his thrusts more erratic than before, your breathing hiking as the pleasure within your core grew.

You breathed his name, a low oath on your lips, your hands clasped tightly to his back as he thrust deep within you, holding onto his body for dear life lest a lack of contact send you hurtling off some great precipice. He slowed again, his breathing coarse in the space between you, his kisses becoming blissfully sloppier, the tension in your abdomen growing as heat spread throughout your limbs, your mind growing fuzzy. He rocked into you, his hips moving like liquid, his mouth pressing blindly into your neck as you felt your body begin to convulse around him. You exhaled lowly, your eyes painting the darkness with brilliant white you knew existed only in your mind, your mouth open over a breathless exclamation of Seth’s name. You were separated, suddenly and without warning, as Seth pulled himself away from your body, his head tilting backwards as he came undone before you, the evidence of his release unseen in the black of night. He collapsed beside you, your bodies tangling immediately, your leg slinging over his thigh to better cement yourself to his side. His fingers swept a strand of sweat-slick hair away from your forehead, the pad of his forefinger lingering against your temple. His smile was peaceful, easy, and warmer than you had ever seen it. His breath, still ragged, coursed over your face as he chuckled. You joined him, giddy in the aftermath of your intimate embrace, your hand smoothing over his chest as you settled against his pillows. You were quiet, then, the crickets beyond his walls singing sweetly into the crisp night air, the chill of which you were immune to with Seth by your side. You traced mindless patterns against his skin, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch, your mind rallying back to the dangers that await the man you loved in the early hours of the morning.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” you whispered, your words falling calmly against the heated skin of his chest, his breath rising and falling in steady swells, his arm pulling you closer to his side. Seth pressed his lips firmly to your hair, inhaling deeply before whispering his response into the darkness of the empty house.

“I promise.”

It’s so hard to write about love in a world where heartbreak is what we all can relate to.
But I want to try.
I want to try because you make me brave and daring.
I entered this thinking love was a scam I wanted to be played by, I entered this thinking you’d break my heart so bad I’d finally become the writer everyone says I’ll be. But boy did you prove me wrong. You took in all my crazy, weird, random and total lameness and loved every inch of it. And it’s not perfect. God knows it’s not. But it’s so worth it. Every second of everyday. You’ve taught me so much; about myself, about what it means to love selflessly and I’ll admit I’m still working on the later, but you’re so patient. I know this isn’t much in the way of artistic poetry, I know this isn’t bled ink but this is love, you know? This is our love story and I’m going to start learning to write about it more. I’m done romanticizing heartache, because of you, I don’t have to.
Everything about you is lovely.

Your hair (or lack thereof)
Your belly (chubby or flat)
Your eyes (dark or bright)
Your stretch marks (a few or a lot)
Your scars (from accidents or self-harm)
Your moles (big or little)
Your acne (a few pimples or a major breakout)
Your freckles (little ones on your nose or ones all over every single inch of your body)
Your birth marks (small light brown ones or huge dark ones)
Your height (short or tall)
Your weight (a smaller number or a larger number)

All of it.

All of you.

YOU are lovely.

(This goes for girls AND boys. I don’t know where this came from in my mind, it just seemed like something I should share because maybe somebody needed to read it.)

“You’re not allowed to want me.”
“I’m not planning on it.”


I lied, I lied, couldn’t you tell? I wanted you, the heat and flicker of your hands devouring me, the way every inch of my body seemed to melt when you pressed your lips between my shoulder blades. I wanted you, oh how desperately I wanted you. Boy made of fire, made of want that burned like a quickly dying flame. I would have donned wings and flown to you again for even the chance to feel you break me open.


“You can’t fall in love.”
“You’re not my type.”


I lied, again and again. I was enthralled with you, the way you tasted like summer days and one night stands. There was something so addictive about you, about the way your hands were rough tugging on my hair, my skin, nails digging moons and shooting stars into my flesh. I would have become a galaxy at your fingertips if you wanted me to.


“You’ll have to leave eventually.”
“Only if you ask me to.”


I’ve learned, since then, that it was never meant to be. Fate wrote our stories, threw us together as a warning: don’t give up your life for the boy who burns so bright. But I would live this life again just to feel your gasp of breath like a warm wind on my neck. just to feel your fingers graze my hips. We were destined to collide and tear each other apart, destined to crash and sink and destroy ourselves. Or maybe that was just me, I can’t remember.


“I don’t want you anymore.”
“Please don’t do this.”


Don’t forget about me. For all the angels and stars that find their way to you, for the centuries to pass and lives to decay, don’t forget about the boy who only wanted to kiss the sun one last time.

—  fates written like a tragedy