#im so sorry please take this as artistic liberty

[qaletheian]

Now you understand, mechanical hands / Are the ruler of everything

You could say he's got him wrapped around his finger(s). I really love the puppet motif ... and @donniipao's design is the best, for sure.

[putyourreddresson]

'unwinding of the fall (BLACK SWAN AU BABY)' 'the ripple of tenderness (a corrupted tide)'

— i would like to know intimately about both of these things please and please 🌺💛🌹

oh i love you and i am SO sorry for what i am about to unleash on you

unwinding of the fall

(lovingly shortened to just black swan by a friend of mine) is my magnum opus that i have been slaving over for more than 7 months now. it's my first too-ambitious writing project that now spans upwards of 60K words, 14 chapters, a lot of mental breakdowns and is unfortunately nowhere close to being finished.

the premise is pretty simple – the 2022 formula 1 season reimagined through the lens of the obsessed artist; the fatality of devotion and the intricacies of how ambition can deteriorate into fanaticism. i borrow a few plot points, themes and dialogue from the movie black swan but it all takes place in the f1 cinematic universe.

in terms of plot, i am keeping all the results the same until summer break (it's like ferrari did all that clownery specifically for my sadistic streak) and then afterwards i am taking some hefty artistic liberties in order to self-serve my agenda and accompany charles' even bigger spiral into insanity (he's my final girl and my fav literary lab rat). all of this is accompanied by a lot of surrealistic elements, manipulation, hallucinations, disordered behaviour and a bunch of other things i will probably have to tw.

in terms of characters, i envision charles as the white swan and max as the black swan. however, i don't want them to have the same kind of jagged rivalry as nina and lily in the beginning – it doesn't make sense with their personalities now and i think it's going to be even more devastating if max is genuinely trying to get close to charles and charles is a bit hesitant but he starts to lean towards the freely given affections until Something (if you've watched the movie, i think you know what im referring to) happens and he gets a rude awakening, gets stuck in his head and start to twist things. this is where their rivalry starts to lean towards something more tense, an amalgamation of internal strife and becoming a victim to the turbulent flow of events and expectations that start to control you.

(of course, it doesn't help that he hallucinates a more volatile and cunning version of max, which pushes him in the wrong direction. that's neither here nor there.)

this is already too long i am SO SORRY, i will try to keep this brief

silverstone

"Perfection is not just about precision, it’s not always about predetermination,” starts Max, his eyes boring into him with the intensity of nuclear fission. His thumb brushes gently over Charles’ jaw, back and forth for a moment until it settles underneath the bone. The calming movement coaxes Charles to exhale some leftover dregs, softly so as to not obscure Max’s face. The calm before the storm.

Max takes Charles in, kneeling before him and teetering on the edge of something. Max’s gaze maps him out, trying to find the stray thread and pull. “You cannot save yourself from this if you stifle your driver instincts in the process,” he continues. “You’re not here because you can do calculations in your head. You’re here because you can feel the car better than most, because you can find that golden balance between sending it and staying in control, between holding on and letting go.”

His thumb digs further, hand almost painfully grasping his chin and bringing Charles’ face even closer. “You’re so afraid of not having a contingency plan that you con yourself into believing you can account for all of it. And when something goes astray, like it always does—” Max’s voice catches on the exit, barely louder than a whisper at this point, aimed directly at his lips “—you shatter to pieces because you still cannot bear the fact that some things are bound to be out of your control."

france

He looks up, lets his head fall back listlessly and pull on the pain in his neck, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t seek guidance or explanation or a sign because he knows this is all on him. He doesn’t deserve any consolation and it’s not like he will get any. The gods above have forsaken him, the ivory of their statues crumbled into remnants he can brush off of his shoulders like lint. There are only the gods on earth who he is accountable to, who will weigh his guilt on the unbalanced scale of justice and demand their pound of flesh. He feels the hairline fractures on his skull proliferate. He feels the anger, thick and heavy, seeping from his ears and staining the car at his feet. He feels pure unadulterated rage, something disfigured and depraved squeezing the nerves from his limbs like wet rags.

He opens his eyes and sees only the sun and the blue sky. He wants to swallow them up like Chronos.

zandvoort

“Let go, Charles,” barely a breath but it resonates like a church bell, a clandestine command. His lips the belladonna petals, his tongue the dagger at his jugular.

Charles listens to his – their – skin whisper and he lets himself go.

Charles drags Max back to him and plunges into this, into Max’s mouth and his iron-clad embrace with an iron-willed determination, metal scraping against metal a siren call that clogs his ears and brain with cotton. He doesn’t grow pliant – he meets Max blow for blow, bruise for bruise. He doesn’t extinguish the fight but leans into it, sinks into the embrace of violence and rejoices.

He feels Max’s teeth in his neck, in his heart and Charles hopes the bite hurts, hopes that Max’s teeth reach bone and everything shatters

the ripple of tenderness (a corrupted tide)

i cannot for the life of me write normal people romance and this silly little story exists solely bc of a friend of mine who incites all kinds of gooey feelings in me. in the beginning i thought it's going to be a nice break from the seriousness of my longer wip but now it's sitting there at 15K and still unfinished.

it's a very standard magical realism trope aka charles falls under a love spell that makes him fall in love with the first person he sees, which surprise surprise, is max, who has been in love with him for ages! wow, who would've thought.

however, i wanted to subvert this take a little bit by making charles not completely lose his mind. i want him to be freely affectionate but with enough rational thoughts online that he feels very disconcerted about not being in control, about potentially making max uncomfortable, about showing so much vulnerability against his own volition. and max, who is such a sweetheart, tries to reassure charles at the cost of his sanity and slowly fraying heart since all of charles' affections are obviously fabricated. i think the slight angst with the inescapable tenderness of their interactions will make for a good combination! but what do i know

snippy snip

Just when he starts to focus a bit too much on all of this, he feels Charles envelop the hand resting on his cheek with his own and push further into it in a complete act of heatstroke-induced insanity. He turns his face back around where Max’s palm doesn’t obfuscate it and finally, painstakingly, opens his eyes.

Max stops breathing for a second.

In Max’s opinion, he hasn’t spent nearly enough time looking into Charles’ eyes. Eye contact has always been a painstaking affair, trying to find an optimal balance between looking into Charles’ eyes and away during their talks in such a way that it would not allude to anything more. Charles’ eyes can look vastly different under different lights – striking green in direct sunlight, molten hazel on rainy days, overtaken by specs of yellow under fireworks. But there is always a simmering warmth there, which can either reach the fiery heights of ambition or the honeyed flames of attentiveness.

Max looks into Charles’ eyes now and feels like Charles is looking through Max’s eyes and into him as a whole. It feels innocently invasive, like a caress that catches on a hangnail. His eyes sparkle with something unnatural and the blush across his cheeks unfurls and fans out until it reaches his neck. The rosy colour of it looks almost sickly. Max unclasps the tunnel visions from his eyesight and realises that Charles’ features as a whole are glossed over with a sheen of misplaced sentiment, spelling something resembling foreboding.

“Max,” Charles whispers, spilling the breaths incasing his name almost into Max’s mouth. His voice is soft like gossamer, his gaze a gentle brushstroke on the contours of Max’s face and Max knows something is undeniably wrong.

Fuck.

so yeah! (lame ass concluding sentence again) thank you so much for asking ! and i will send you your bereavement damages check for dealing with all of this in the mail in 3-5 business days!

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

(@friendball-irl) OOC: No pressure or anything, especially since we haven't interacted much, but if you'd be willing to write a ficlet about an interaction between Brandy and Gray, I'd be thrilled! It probably could be about purchasing a custom Poke Ball or something, since that's a pretty reasonable excuse for the two of them to get in contact! Preferably the interaction would be digital, seeing as Gray hasn't been to Paldea yet, if that's alright. Again, no pressure, but I thought I'd at least send in the request!

[The following is a transcript of an IM conversation between Brandy Grovehurst and @friendball-irl]

Monday, June 3

Brandy: Hey there, stranger. I know we haven’t ever really met, but I hear you’re the guy to talk to for custom pokeballs. Gray: Hey! Nice to meet you. You heard correct – what kind of pokeball are you looking for? Brandy: Great, glad the rumor mill came through on this one. I just hatched a poochyena puppy, and she’s got a lot of health issues that are going to be an ongoing thing for her. She’s a rescue from a very unethical breeder.

Brandy: The vet suggested having a ball custom made for her to help support her. Most of her issues seem to be in her bone and muscle mass, so something to stop her from deteriorating as she gets older. Brandy: Idk, they said something about a heal ball? I’m not and have never been a trainer, so I’m really kind of out of my depth with this one. Gray: Oh jeez, I’m sorry to hear that. Caring for a pokemon that has those types of long term health issues can be really difficult. I’ll do what I can to make a supportive pokeball for her. I find a mix of timer ball and heal ball properties are best for these kinds of pokemon, to provide that long-term, low-grade healing effect. Brandy: That sounds perfect. Gray: Great. Are you also going to want any sort of visual customization? Brandy: Visual customization? Gray: Yeah, like any sort of special designs. I’m going to have to put some sort of design on the ball, so I like to check if there’s any kind of look that you would prefer. Brandy: Oh, that’s sick actually. Well, I looked up what a heal ball looks like and…definitely not that. No pink please. Red and black are my colours. Um, is that enough?  Gray: Haha, no. But I can go through your blog for a bit of inspiration. Are you alright with me taking some artistic liberties? Brandy: Yeah man, absolutely go for it. Gray: Great. Can I grab your email to send you the invoice? I’ll start working on it once I get the deposit. Brandy: For sure, send it to bgrovehurst@paldeanrangeru.co.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, June 8

Gray: Hey there, just about done with your order. Mind if I send you a picture of the design for your approval before sealing it all in? Brandy: Oh, great! Yeah man, let’s see it.

<Alt text: a picture of a custom-made pokeball. The bottom is black, and the background of the top half is red. Along the sides of the top half is a jagged black pattern, not unlike the black fur of a mightyena. A black and red band separates the two halves, and circles the button in the middle. The release button is red. A few centimeters above the button is a small, black heart.>

Brandy: Holy shit that’s so COOL Brandy: Aw you got my little 🖤 on there. I love using 🖤 Brandy: This looks amazing. So glad I don’t have to carry around a pink n yellow ball for my special little lady.

Gray: I’m glad you like it! It should have better specs to support your little poochyena as well. I’ll get the design sealed and sent over to you within the next few days. Brandy: Hell yeah, I’m excited. Thank you! Would happily recommend to anyone. If ever you need a ranger favour or like…idk, tree advice, just hit me up. Gray: Ha, will do. Best to you and your puppy! Brandy: Thanks!

[horce-divorce]

ok sorry to be Like This but this caption did not sit well with me. "rescued" how? to where? by whom? when? what was their use to a cartel? I had too many questions, so I googled "Steve winter jaguar photo" and immediately found the original Instagram post and caption. And now this caption sits with me even worse, because the photographer is correct, but the caption is otherwise totally false.

These jaguars were not 'rescued' from 'mexican cartels.' These jaguars are, currently, in this image, chained up in a boat for tourists to take pictures with. They ARE in Cancun, Mexico and this photograph is indeed by Steve Winter for National Geographic. that much is accurate.

Here is his original caption.

[image ID: an Instagram post from stevewinterphoto showing two jaguars chained in a wooden boat. His post description reads:

"two jaguars sit chained on a boat in Cancun, Mexico. Wildlife exploration practices like these are common around the world and it is important for us to be on the lookout for dodgy tourism operations that promote animal selfies! This must stop and it is our responsibility as tourists to not engage in taking pictures with animals. I always ask myself why we do this? It may be a seemingly cool thing to do (take a selfie with a tiger or a leopard or elephant) but there is so much pain, trauma and animal abuse that goes into keeping these animals human friendly. Big cats did not evolve to be "friends" with people, to be cuddled and touched. My new story with @/sharon.guynup shows how captive tigers are being explored across the USA and selfies with tigers are leading to more and more cubs being bred in facilities in places like Florida and Texas. Please be on the lookout for animal photo tourism operations in the USA and abroad (especially in South Africa) and know that there is a very high likelihood that the (p)laces offering you big cat selfies are linked to dubious breeding operations and even commercial trophy hunting operations. Join hands with me in the fight against this malpractice!" End ID.]

Idk like I will give op props for actually crediting the proper artist, that's something that doesn't happen often enough.

But this is still pretty disrespectful imho? This photographer was using his platform to tell the true story and bring awareness to a very serious conservation issue. why you gotta make it about jaguars "rescued from Mexican cartels" instead. If I was this photographer I'd be pissed to see this post going around, on a blog called "peace photography" and tagged with #cute no less.

Frankly, I think the argument could be made that this type of post actually plays right into the industry that is actually exploiting these animals-- when you call images like this "cute" and make up happy stories about it, surely that encourages tourists to go pay money to get their cute little picture taken, too? The WHOLE POINT of sharing the original image was to show how not cute this is...

I mean to be clear, you're free to make up stories about images on the internet. Whatever. but when you present it this way it veers way too close to outright misinformation for my liking. I think as a viewer Im equally at liberty to ask why someone might choose to tell a particular story with a particular image, and I encourage you all to do the same.

If you ever see a post that isn't sitting right with you and you can't quite figure out why, it's really a good practice to follow that train of thought and just see what happens. You might be surprised by what you find.

Jaguars rescued from Mexican cartels Photograph: Steve Winter

[reidsconverse]

memories • spencer reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none! just 4000 words of pure angst

This was an old fic reworked to be about around spencer so its taking a lottt of creative/artistic liberty with the character, so it kinda sucks im sorry! 😁

Every moment you had with him was one to be remembered and cherished for better or worse.

It had been a few weeks since Spencer had officially ended things, he had moved all of his stuff out of your apartment and now it seemed as if he had never even existed in the same place as you, as though you two were strangers. That is had it not been for the images of memories the two of you held. So, here you were sat alone in your room, your only company the half-empty bottle of wine and photographs of the two of you which sat strewn carelessly across your floor.

You picked up a picture and stared at it realising you both looked so happy. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, a cup in his hand and his signature grin sitting across his face. Your head was leaning against his shoulder, the smile on your face reminding you of how free you had felt that night, you had never felt happier and you recognised that night as the night you realised...you were so in love.

"We should have a party," Spencer yelled despite there being no one else other than the two of you in the room.

"Right now?" You looked at him as if he was insane, not only was it completely out of character for your boyfriend but also, it was 1 am on a Wednesday and although your friends weren't those with a regular schedule you presumed most of them would decline a house party in the middle of the week.

"Yeah right now, c'mon doll I'll call Derek and some of the others and you call your friends." His hand was already on his phone texting Derek before you could protest so you followed his instructions and went ahead and invited your friends before getting up and preparing for this impromptu party.

It had only been 10 minutes when you heard Derek and some others open the door shouting for Spencer and you walked over with a grin on your face, "Hey D, Spencers being a diva and redoing his hair, he'll be right down." You said, rolling your eyes as Derek pulled you into a hug, he may have been Spencer's best friend but he thought of you as a sister and always treated you as such.

"Well I have look good for my girl," You heard Spencer say from behind you quickly placing a kiss on your cheek before doing his weird handshake with Derek, "Hey, thanks for coming'."

The three of you made your way to the kitchen to grab some drinks and greet some more guests who had congregated in that area and before you knew it, you were 4 shots in, feeling way past tipsy and in the mood to dance.

"Hey Spence," You said walking over to where he was now sat, a cup in his hand as he held a conversation with JJ and Emily about something that you didn't care too much about. You waved a quick hello to the girls so as not to be rude and then placed your head on his shoulder to let him know of your presence.

"Hey darling, you feeling good?" He turned his face and flashed you a wide grin before wrapping an arm around you to pull you close to him. He enjoyed being near you whenever he could, when he was away he would long for the days where all he did was sit and hold you close to him regardless of what the two of you were doing, so now whenever he had the chance he would hold you close.

"Feelin' great Spence.. wanna dance with you..."  You said pulling out of his hold and grabbing his hand leading him onto the 'dance floor', which was just the open space in your living room. He laughed and quickly finished his drink, discarding the cup somewhere in the room and held you as you both danced to the music playing through the speakers.

After a couple of songs, you both made your way to get another drink and get a break from the crowd, you sat at the kitchen island and passed him a drink."You know, considering you're a genius, I would've thought you'd be able to coordinate a bit better."  You said teasing him about his choice of moves which had essentially been him waving his arms in the air attempting to be in tune with the music.

He looked at you in fake shock and scoffed, "Yeah well it was still better than whatever you were trying to do." Referring to your horrendous attempt at trying to be sexy which in truth was never going to be anything but embarrassing. You stuck your tongue out in a childish manner causing him to laugh and quickly move to place his lips against yours giving you a soft kiss.

You jumped down from the counter after pulling back as a couple of your friends walked in and struck up a conversation about nothing interesting yet you made the effort to look engaged as Spencers's arm slipped over your shoulders and you placed your head against his shoulder.

"Hey guys, look here." You both turned to see your friend Harry, as always with a polaroid camera in his hand. You and Spencer gave each other a quick smile before grinning wide for the camera, both your faces full of love and happiness.

You sat there thinking about how quickly things can change, the people in the image you held so young and naive to the struggles the future would hold. Taking another sip of your wine you skimmed through some more pictures before stopping at one that held a bittersweet meaning. A picture that was taken a few days after what had been your worst fight, you both looked happy but all you could think about the events leading up to the image being taken.

It was your and Spencers 5th anniversary and he had promised he would make it to dinner. You hadn't seen each other in weeks because he was away on a case but he had promised he wouldn't miss this day, he had asked for permission from Hotch to leave for a couple of days so he would be there. "No excuses, No ifs and buts...I'll be there babe. I promise."

But there you were, alone at a table for two. The look on the waiters face held nothing but pity as he walked over for the fourth time to ask if someone would be joining you. Finally, you gave up and shook your head to let him know you would be leaving and would like the cheque. You had never felt so humiliated walking out of the restaurant head held high but tears building up in your eyes and so you cried. You felt so broken, almost as broken as all those promises Spencer had made you. The word promise and sorry had lost all meaning in the last 5 years, simply a courtesy rather than meaningful.

The minute you got home your phone began ringing, it was Spencer.

"Hey doll, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it, the team wanted to go out last night and I kind of missed my -." He began to explain causing you to scoff, 'no ifs or buts' my ass.

"How could you?" Your voice cracking as you tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill for the second time that night. "I waited for 2 fucking hours Spencer, I felt like a fucking idiot."  

"What? What are you talking about?" His voice was full of confusion. "Didn't you get my text?"

"No, I fucking didn't. I didn't get a fucking text. But that's not the fucking point, You should've been here, you promised you would be here."

"Babe, I'm so -," He began but you knew what he was gonna say. The only conversations you seemed to have were stuck on a loop like a broken record.

"Save it. Don't say you're sorry when you don't mean it, stop saying sorry and show it instead."

"Look, I'll get on the first flight out. I'll see you in a few hours, I'll make it up to you I prom-." You hung up the phone before he could continue, his promise worth nothing to you anymore. Walking over to the couch, you fell asleep the minute your head rested against one of the many cushions populating the seat.

You woke up to keys jingling in the door, yet you made no effort to move from where you were. The sound of his footsteps got louder as he approached.

"Babe? I know you're up." He said, kneeling beside you making you sigh and sit up. "Babe, I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

You just stared at him, it might have been petty but you didn't want to give in to his apologies just yet, he had to understand just how much he had hurt you first.

"I couldn't care less anymore, Spencer. I just need to remember that I'll always come second to work and that's fine, it's important to you and I understand that." You got up and walked over to the kitchen to gather yourself.

"Babe you are the most important thing to me, I'm sorry-."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. "Here we go again, Spencer there's only so many times you can say you're sorry before it loses all meaning. I'm sick and tired of this, I don't know if I can do this anymore. You're never here, you make promises you can never keep and I'm pretty sure you've told me you're sorry more times than you've told me you love me."

"Please don't do this. I love you." His voice was shaking, breaking down at the thought of you leaving him. He moved over to you and turned you so you were facing him. "I know this means nothing to you but I am so sorry. I've been so shitty to you and I know it."

"Spencer, I deserve better than this and I'm sick of forgiving you and acting like I'm fine with how you treat me, you might not mean it but it fucking hurts. I love you so much and I know you love me but would it kill you to put me first for once in your fucking life."

This annoyed him, the lack of sleep and being overworked leaving him less patient and more irritable, "That's not fucking fair, you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating me, I'm doing my fucking best. I go to work for US, to support US. If I could devote all of my time to you if I could, but I can't and it fucking kills me. You can't understand how much I miss you when I'm not here."

Tears welled in your eyes seeing him breakdown, unable to keep up the unbothered facade you had on, "I just...Spence, I miss you too. It hurts not being able to be near you and so when you're not there when you promise you will be, it hurts it really fucking hurts not to mention it's terrifying, how am I supposed to know you're ok if you do shit like that."

He pulled you into his arms as you sobbed into his chest, all the emotions you'd kept bottled up during the argument letting go. "I know baby, I'm so sorry I hurt you. I promise, and I mean it this time, I won't let you down again. I love you." He mumbled into your hair, slowly kissing your forehead whilst consoling you and holding you like he never wanted to let go.

The two of you went to bed that night in silence, not a word was spoken until the next day wherein Spencer switched off his phone and dedicated the whole weekend to you and only you. He kept his word once he had to leave, always fulfiling his promises, never pushing you to the side and communicating with you always. The two of you felt strong again, you were happy.

You put your glass down and walked out of your room and began pacing around the living room, pictures of you and him still up on your walls, the walls that no longer belonged to the both of you. You thought back to when he asked you to move him, how nervous he was and how excited you were.

It was movie night at Spencers house. Each week he invited everyone over to watch a film, everyone taking it in turns to select a film. This week Emily had chosen Midsommar, a film you were yet to see so you were excited. You were sat beside Spencer on the loveseat, his arm around you and your face resting against his chest, a blanket covering you both for extra comfort. You looked up and saw Derek and Penelope lay spread across the floor whilst JJ and Emily sat on the sofa. Bowls of popcorn and sweets were scattered around the room and beer bottles were piling up. It was nights like this that you wanted to treasure forever, for the first time you felt like you had a family, people to call your own, people you could trust.

"Watcha thinking about?" Spencer asked, glancing at you and realising your mind wasn't directed at the movie anymore.

"Nothing, just really lucky to have you in my life," You reached your hand up to hold his face and gave him a soft kiss. "I love you."

He pulled you in closer if that was even possible, "I love you too."

"Ugh, get a room." Derek groaned making you both chuckle.

Spencer responded by throwing some popcorn at him, "Aw is someone jealous, don't worry you'll find someone soon enough."

Derek murmured a quiet, "Fuck off" before turning his attention back to the movie, making everyone laugh.

The movie ended shortly and everyone was discussing what to watch next, you were in the mood for a comedy but Derek wanted to watch Die Hard for the millionth time. After several minutes of slight arguing, you finally decided on rewatching Moana for the 12th time.

Everyone was pretty much settled, drinks refilled, popcorn replenished and everyone back in their positions. Emily was about to press play before JJ stopped her, "Wait before you start I'm kinda cold can I borrow a sweater?" She asked Spencer.

"Yeah sure, take one from our room." He said casually like it was normal but it made your breath hitch in your throat, did he just say our room? As in, yours and his. Unofficially he wasn't wrong, it was your room as much as his, you spent pretty much every night here making having your own apartment redundant, but he hadn't yet asked you to move in with him. You couldn't help the small blush on your face and the way your lips turned upwards at his words. It made you happy knowing he thought of it as something for both of you.

"What has you so happy?" Penelope asked in a teasing tone, she'd picked up on Spencer words and knew exactly why you were smiling.

You just stuck your tongue out at her and looked up at Spencer, "Our room huh?" You asked making him smile.

"Yeah I mean, you're here every day, maybe more than I am. You should just move in at this point." He let out a little laugh after he said leaving you confused as to whether he was being serious, so you just laughed along and waited for JJ to come back so you could start the movie.

A couple of hours later almost everyone was half asleep, everyone apart from you and Spencer. You began making your way to his room followed by him carrying the blanket he had taken from his bed. The two of you went about your night routine, Spencer had insisted on keeping at least half of your things at his place hence why you never had to leave. You quickly changed into one of his shirts which fit you just right and climbed into bed where he was already sitting, reading a book.

"Spence, were you being serious...earlier when you said I should move in?" You asked him, making him put down his book and look at you.

"Would you like that? You don't have to say yes but I would love it if you moved in. The mornings when I wake up and you're still next to me, are the best mornings. Honestly, knowing I'm going to wake up next to you makes falling asleep easier. Plus Tesla and Edison love you, maybe even more than they loves me." He asked, the mention of his fish making you laugh despite the fact your eyes were welling up, what had you done to deserve the sweetest man to walk the earth.

You shifted yourself so you were straddling him and held his face in your hands, "I would love to move in with you." You answered placing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you so much," He said as you moved back to laying down next him. "You make me the happiest man alive and I'm so lucky to have you."

"God, Spence you gotta stop before I start crying, I love you too." You said, as he laughed and pulled you into a comfortable sleeping position.

"Goodnight love." He mumbled, already falling asleep.

"Goodnight Spence." You responded, closing your eyes and beginning to drift off but not before saying, "By the way, the fishies definitely love me more."

You hadn't realised you were crying until a tear fell onto the frame you were holding. The image just as blurred as the memories it held. You carefully placed the image face down onto the table rather than placing it back up. Making your way to the sofa, you got your phone out and glanced at the image that had left you in this state. A picture of him and her, his hands holding hers as tight as they once held yours, the grin on both of their faces wide. He was happy, only it wasn't because of you anymore. You closed your eyes again, remembering how it all ended.

He had been distant since he had come back from this last case, he had been away for almost two months trying to catch this unsub and you had thought he'd be more excited to come back to you and finally be home. But he hadn't spent more than 10 minutes with you, the only time the two of you were in the same room for longer than that was when you fell asleep. Recently that had also stopped, he spent more nights away from home and at clubs with Derek and Emily , only coming back once he knew you weren't there. It was killing you but every time you questioned it he shrugged you off, telling you he loved you.

You wanted to scream at him if he loved you why isn't he showing it, why does he refuse to acknowledge you. You knew he was lying to you, he didn't love you anymore, you could see it in his eyes, how he never looked at you as he used to, he never held you like he used to. It was killing you and you knew you should ask him but you also knew that would lead to conversation you didn't want to have, an ending you didn't want to happen. So you kept quiet, went about your day and didn't question his actions, you had decided you would rather have the worst of him than not have him at all.

But that didn't last long. A few weeks later something happened, something you could ignore. Spencer had barely been home, only coming back to grab new clothes and leaving again often returning at 4 am or not all. The nights you spent alone, his side of the bed going cold broke your heart bit by bit. But you weren't ready for it to completely shatter, the images Penelope sent you of him holding that girl, a little too close, a little too tight, a little too much, start to fill your screen causing a lump in your throat and tears threatening to spill. You walked to the kitchen, surprised to see him there, he was sat at the counter head in his hands and a coffee in front of him.

"Spencer, what fuck is going on?" You all but shouted.

"Shh, my heads killing me." He said, burying his head in his hands attempting to block you out.

"You fucking asshole." You screamed at him, the pain and hurt evident in your broken voice as you tried your best not to cry.

This made him look up, far quicker than he should've causing his head to fill with pain and throb, but he didn't care, the memories of last night were coming back he knew he had fucked up. "I-I'm sorry, I was drunk and she was just there, nothing happened.

"You're sorry? Are you fucking kidding me?" You said, moving away from him as he got up to come closer to you. "No, don't fucking touch me. I'm done."

"What? No look I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I love you." The words were said, but the tone held so much uncertainty you couldn't tell if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"No you don't Spencer, not anymore. I know you don't and I've been lying to myself, saying that I'm ok with it when I'm not. I love you so much but I can't keep hurting myself by pretending like we're fine, We're not fine, we haven't been for a long time. Yes that fucking hurts, I thought we were forever, I thought we were going to grow old together and have kids and show them that we were soulmates. I thought we were perfect but we aren't."

"I never wanted to hurt you, I love you so much but-" He started with a sigh.

"You're not in love with me anymore..." You finished for him

"I'm so sorry. I wish things were different, I wish I could control how I felt. You were everything to me, I really did picture a future for us but things changed, I don't know why and I don't know how. You don't deserve this, I'm so sorry."

"I know Spence, I know." You moved closer to him and he held you like it was the last time... because it was. "I'm sorry too."

You pulled away from him."I'll grab some stuff and go stay at my mom's for a few days. I just need to find a new place to move my stuff to." You said, trying to brush some tears away but failing as they kept falling.

"No, it's fine. I'll go, this is just as much your home as it is mine. I'll stay with Derek for a bit, you take your time sorting stuff out ok?" He said, using his thumbs to attempt to wipe away your tears. You sighed but nodded knowing he wouldn't take no for an answer.

You sat down as he went to the room to gather some things, your mind reeling from the last half hour. How could so much change in such a short period of time, years spent together thrown away so quick.

"I'm done, I'll get going ok?" He said placing his duffel bag down beside by the door.

"So this is it huh?" You said, with a sigh. You felt him walk towards you and take a seat next to you.

"The last 10 years have been the most incredible time of my life, you put up with so much of my shit and loved me unconditionally and I can't thank you enough for giving the eager 25-year-old who wanted nothing more than to impress you a chance. I'm never going to stop loving you, you know that. I'm never gonna forget about you, my first love, the first woman to capture my heart. I'm so sorry things didn't work out like how we'd imagined them. If I could change how I feel I would, I wanted nothing more than for this to be a silly phase, for me to wake up one day and feel how I felt again. But it didn't happen and it fucking sucks."

"I get it, Spence, you have to do what makes you happy and I'm not gonna stop you. I'm just sorry it wasn't me that could give you want and need, but you're gonna make some girl out there very happy if you're even half the man you were when you were with me." You gave him a soft smile as he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead.

He stood up and walked to the door. "Call me when you're ready ok? I love you." He turned and gave you a soft smile before picking up his bag and walking out the door.

You just broke down, you don't know how long you sat there sobbing your heart out but it felt like forever. Everything hurt so bad you didn't think you'd ever feel any emotion other than heartbreak for as long as you lived.

You took a deep breath as your hand hovered over the delete button on your phone, it was time to move on just as he had. As you released the breath you were holding, your finger pressed against the button, deleting all the pictures you had with him and you felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and the realisation sunk in.

You loved him so much, but he wasn't yours to love anymore.

He was just a memory.

-

tagged: @gcblers​ @187-reid​ @mgg-theprettiestboy​ @mggbler​ @snitchthewitch​

[amazingorangedangantrash]

This is probably out of the blue but could you imagine the THH gang in Sdr2 or ndr3 location??? I’m pretty sure at least half of them would be dead in sdr2 because of their hot-ass clothes but I think they would do fairly in ndr3 hopes peak.

That's true! For the most part, temperature-wise, I was more concerned about the cold! Every single female in the games wears a skirt! (Except for Asahina- but she still has those short shorts!) I don't dislike skirts, and I understand it's for an 'aesthetic'- but,,, like,,,, girls can wear pants too. Ajdshsj it wouldn't bug me so badly if it wasn't literally every female.

Ok, except for Chihiro- and hell, all he had to do was present as a girl and they immediately slapped a skirt on 'im!

(Hell, when I was reading dr IF, I imagined Mukuro in combat trousers before realising. Now, ok fair enough she might wear a skirt if she was still in Junko disguise, but in the official art?? Seriously? You mean she goes out into battle in a freaking skirt )

(Wait that's kinda badass... a-and hot)

Oh yeah- none of the boys wear shorts either (i believe). Not even long shorts too- they all wear full trousers.

This probably isn't how or what you wanted to find out- but I have a um- thing for legs. (I just,,, find them really aesthetically pleasing okay-! they're like the best part of the body, next to eyes and hair) so the lack of Boy Leg in danganronpa makes me big sad :(

THH takes place in the real, physical world too, so how they don't freeze is beyond me.

I was going to make a comment about how insane the variance of clothing is in sdr2- Gundham wears that heavy ass coat and scarf, whereas Hajime only has a short sleeve shirt-

In sdr2's defense, though, most of it does take place in a virtual reality. So things like temperature regulation probably aren't quite as extreme as, for example, real life. They can still feel cold and warmth, pain, and hunger and stuff (since the simulation was intended to mimic real life as closely as possible since there was no reason to cause them suspect of being in a simulation at all-), but it's like-? To an extent. So they can have such wildly varied clothing and yet not be bothered by the temperature.

It makes me wonder what was up with Peko's stomach problems in chapter 1... like... why did that even happen? I mean- i uh- guess I understand Nekomaru- he probably already had um- digestive issues beforehand so that already would subconsciously translate into the program (bro i feel you it's that ibs life).

Notice how no one gets ill? Aside from the despair disease- which was a literal virus (computer virus, but still). I'd assume things like germs don't... exist. There weren't animals on the island either. And there wasn't any weather change except for that terrifying blood red sky at the end. (Which seems kinda redundant I mean you'd think they'd start to notice after a while hey why hasn't it rained in like a month-). Maybe that's too hard to code for?

Oh sorry sorry! I got really off track- (the virtual world is so interesting. I guess this is fiction after all, it gets an artistic liberty pass).

I mean, assumably Makoto and the others were already at the island, because they were overlooking the killing game. They would have been at the real island. I don't know how long they stayed there, but I assumed whatever was happening in the simulation was doing so in real time. I think the events look just a little over 3 weeks? And that's not counting everything beforehand with getting everyone in the pods(?) and after, getting them out.

In those snazzy suits too! They must have some impressive heat resistance, or some really good air conditioning!

You're probably right about V3 tbh. I mean- i had assumed it took place in another virtual simulation (hence why i HOPE they'd be able to 'wake up' their dead friends once they escaped), but I've seen some call it a 'set'. Ah, but costume is designed beforehand isn't it? So I doubt the producers would but them in something too uncomfortable for what temperature range they're used to.

[flandesuka]

                                  💜 WHAT IF WE KISSED                                   AND WE R BOTH GIRLS 💜

                                        ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*(*❦ω❦)*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

okay okay so i got inspired by a those gay and wholesome redraws of 'r/notliketheothergirls' images and decided to make one myself!!! these two are gfs now sorry i do in fact make the rules...they support each others music tastes and even do karaoke sometimes bc they care each other!!! hell yeah!!!

anyway, the top image is the original, and the bottom ones my interpretation!!! (listen ik they look a lot different but theyre literally stick figures in the og pic so u know i had to take some artistic liberties djfkjdndkjn)

i think my anatomys a lot better than the last drawing i posted and im just rlly proud of this in general!!! waa                                             ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

                        (PLEASE feel free to rb if u likey!!! thank u!!!)

[fangirlingatstuff]

Ultrogon meet v. 1

(So I have multiple versions of how Rogon and Ultron meet, and Im bored so Im gonna post the first one here)

That night was hard.

Rogon could barely feel her legs as she dropped herself onto the floor of her cabin, hidden from the rest of the world.

Her spines shivered as she crawled, closer and closer to the couch in the middle of the room. The blood leaking from her side smeared on the wood floors, staining the carpet.

She finally clawed her way to the sofa. With a grunt, she pulled herself up to it.

Pain flared in her side. How stupid. How stupid was she to be caught in a storm, of all things?

Derecho had her laid out on a butchers block.

The pain nearly faded away the longer she sat still. Her tail was stiff from the fight, burning from the jerk on her spine.

How did she get into this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t on the field, she wasn’t even in enemy territory.

She was just trying to relax for a while, while her body heals from her prior...episode.

And yet, they followed her here. To the middle of nowhere Eastern Europe, in the middle of winter.

A tear slipped past her eye.

Her aching back made her grind her teeth, and for two hours, she sat on the couch, without moving.

She hasn’t responded to any reports. Hasnt responded to any messages, hasnt responded to any notes or letters or questions.

Where are you?

Rogon, where did you go?

Are you okay? Are you safe?

Please tell me you’re safe.

Ro, come home, please.

It killed her not to answer. It killed her to take a breath and look away from the screens.

But now, at this moment, she couldn’t risk her cover being blown. Her location leaking out to the rest of the Brood.

She rolled onto her side, tail flexing in pain. “Ow...” she groaned. Did she really have to be thrown into a tree? Hm? Was that necessary?

Tink.

Her ears shot up. Immediately, every scale, spine and hair stood on end. Something moved.

She shoved herself up and looked behind her. The back door was open, just slightly.

She always locked her doors, always kept every window sealed shut, but she did leave one door unlocked in case she needed to get away.

There were some tracks leading away from the door. They seemed human enough, thank Hell, but still. Any kind of compromise could spoil her location.

So, she rolled off the couch and landed on the ground without making any noise.

She sniffed the air. The smell of metal and smoke wafted through the air, so faint, yet still recent enough. She frowned and followed the prints to the stairs.

Was someone trying to escape the cold? If so, this was the worst place to be. She had no heaters, only surviving off of her own warmth, her millions of sweaters and blankets, and the fire that blazed in her throat. Everything smoldered to an ash the moment she left the house.

Her steps barely made a creak on the wood. Her tail slowly retreated and melted away, spines digging under her skin.

If it was a human, she’d hate to be caught.

Or, she could have a fresh meal. Grilled lumberjack sounded good, just about now.

Rogon made it up the stairs and slowly creeped down the hall.

There was a door open.

A door she didn’t remember opening earlier.

Her hand pressed against the door. “Alright,” her voice snarled out in a choked static, “alright...if you’re in here to kill me, clap your hands!”

Clap clap

“Oh bullshit,” her feet left the floor and she nearly jumped the entire staircase.

“Wait wait! I was joking!” She stopped, glancing at the door. It was a masculine voice. Rich, but glitchy.

Rogon took a few steps back to the door, and lightly pushed it open. The creak did nothing to calm her nerves, and neither did the bright red eyes staring at her.

Her face fell, “Holy shit.”

In the darkness, she could see a broken yet complicated frame. Sparks flew off of its side, metal plating its body.

A machine.

No, she thought, a robot.

“I’m sorry for the lack of lights,” it waved a servo around. Its voice was fuzzy, like it was being projected from a speaker. “But this house is horribly equipped.”

She sneered, “What are you doing in my house?” Her hands clawed in her gloves.

It must have noticed her reaching for the pistol on her belt, because it quickly raised its hands. “Please please! I promise, I don’t mean any harm!”

She scoffed and looked it in its blank red eyes. It looked very much like one of the Stark’s drones, but with some artistic liberties added to it. Its face was one single plate, with the same basic concept of Stark’s helmet, but an open jaw, and more narrowed optics.

“And what’s one of Stark’s drones doing with an AI attached to it?” She lifted her head up, looking down at the drone with enough malice to tackle an elephant.

It stood up quickly. “I am not one of Stark’s drones!” It snapped.

“No, but you are controlling one,” she snapped right back.

“...fair enough,” it relaxed, and she could get a better look at it as it was standing before her.

One leg was nearly completely locked up, with all that’s left of its right arm being a bunch of dangling wires. The side of its body was blown up and burnt, its shoulder plate torn off.

“Woah,” she snorted, “what kind of hell did you crawl out of?” She entered the room entirely, looking the machine up and down.

It shifted its weight, the floor creaking as it did so. “I didn’t know any one lived here.”

“Well, someone does,” she raised a brow. Her sides tightened as she crossed her arms.

“I just need a place to stay, to regroup,” it said. “I will not cause any damage—“

“You broke into my house.”

“It wasn’t that hard. The door knobs are broken.”

Rogon narrowed her eyes and cursed just as the chill of ice cold wind broke through the window. “You opened a window?!” She yelped and rushed over. The slam shut rattled the entire house. “Are you mad?! It’s cold as hell out there!”

“It was open when I came in,” it snarked. “The wind must have blown it open.”

Rogon breathed out. This was going to get her killed, wasn’t it? Oh well. Curse her pitying heart.

She looked over her shoulder. “Do you...have a name?”

She heard the sound of whirring machinery as it shifted again, “...Ultron.”

“Ultron? That’s a typical robot name.”

“Wait, do you not recognize it?” It sounded incredulous, like she had to have heard it before. “Do you not watch the news?”

“Do you see a tv anywhere?” She asked, gesturing around.

“No phone? No computer?”

“No. I use radio services,” she pulled out a walkie talkie from her waist clip.

The robot looked at her in what she deemed to be surprise.

She never heard of it before. “Okay, Ultron,” she turned around and sighed, putting her hands together. “I’ll let you stay here. But you have to promise me you aren’t some kind of, oh, I don’t know, spy software or some shit.”

It tilted its head at her, “Are you one of those government conspiracy fanatics?”

She scoffed, “No. I’m from Russia.”

He made a sound like he was clicking his tongue, “Ah.” Yes, that always makes total sense. “No, I am not any government intelligence software. I promise you that.”

Rogon nodded with a hum and started to walk out the door. “I hope you don’t need to eat,” she said with a laugh, “because I do not hunt for others.”

It chuckled lightly. “Oh no, I prefer my rabbit without fur. Or meat. Or bones. Really, I don’t want anything on my rabbit.”

She almost laughed at that. As she went down the stairs with a very visible limp, she heard it walk out of the room. The heavy clunks would have to take getting used to. But she wouldn’t be staying for long. “Are you hurt?” It asked.

“No, I walk like this for fun,” she grunted. With her entire weight on one side of her body, she was stretching her limits out thin. Usually, she’d be walking on her wings.

But she couldn’t risk that kind of exposure.

“Are your legs always like that?” She heard it begin walking down the stairs.

“I was thrown into a tree,” she quipped, walking to the couch. “Now, if it please you, Ultron, Imma fall asleep.”

The walking stopped. “Now, how rude would it be if a host didn’t give her guest her name?”

She stopped and looked at it. Did she give him her real name? She supposed it wouldn’t hurt. She technically didn’t exist to humans, anyways.

“My name’s Rogon,” she said and lied down. Her spines stretched against her back, and she was completely uncomfortable all throughout the night.

[fallout-snippets]

Hello it me again, I L O V E your longer reacts and ur writing is just amazing. I would die if u did the interested! companions (+Deacon) reacting to sole almost dying but barely surviving like they get knocked out or have a really bad injury and go into surgery and wake up alright (totally up to u!) And it just being real angsty and sad. Sorry if this is a lil confusing I hope you have fun with this prompt and thank u for reading anyway. 💕

(sorry if im taking too many liberties and artistic choices with the replies but i want to make them unique, also kinda lost wind at the end cause theyre kinda long)

Cait is a furious mess in the waiting room, refusing to leave until she can see Sole again. It had just been a lucky shot by a lucking fucking raider but it’s enough to turn everything upside down and Cait wishes she hadn’t had to pick up Sole and run the hell out of there and instead could give that raider the beating of a lifetime. To soothe her nerve she plans out how to track them down and imagines what she’ll do to them.

It takes a few hours of silence from the operating room until the doctor finally emerges and she’s close to wrestling the poor guy down to ask what took so long but she keeps her cool, the way Sole told her to. It seems that Sole will recover without any lasting injuries but he requests that she lets them rest which she scoffs at, and pushes back the man so she can see them.

The doctor obviously can’t convince her to leave and instead resigns to at least getting her a chair. Cait spends the rest of the night and day sitting next to Sole, sobbing into their sheets when she knows they won’t notice. She holds their hand, feels their warmth and lets that be the thing that calms her down.

Once Sole wakes up though, she won’t be so vulnerable. They’re going to get an earful from her about being so careless and she’ll make sure they know that’s not going to fucking happen again.

Curie regrets becoming a human when she’s alone in the field with a Sole that might be bleeding out infront of her. She hates how her hands shake, how sickly cold she feels and how warm their blood feels on her hands as she tries to put pressure on the wound.

Her brain switches from a logical approach to a terrified one, between what she can do and has to do and what might happen if she does it wrong and she wishes she still had a stone cold approach to an injured patient. Instead it’s Sole. She might lose them for real and she feels a lump in her throat grow.

Thankfully Sole has passed out, for better or worse, and Curie puts a cloth over their face to make them anonymous. She brings out an emergency toolkit and some stimpaks and forces a deep breath. It takes a great mental strength to force her fear away so that she can get to work but soon she focuses only on the wound. She makes sure it’s clean, nothings stuck inside and she carefully administers the stimpak inside to out, letting the cellular regeneration slowly close the wound from inside.

Once she’s done she sits down, removes the cloth from their face to wipe her hands but she can’t bring herself to move. She feels sick and nauseous, something she never thought she’d feel doing something as natural as that. When Sole wakes up she’ll force herself to come back but for now she just sits and tries not to think about her hands inside Soles abdomen with their life hanging on a thread.

Danse doesn’t notice anything wrong at first. He’s been trained to take the situation seriously and never celebrate until they’re safe home again but it’s been a while since he’s been a soldier and it’s hard not to celebrate around Sole. So he doesn’t notice that not everyone is dead.

Sole makes a remark about the awful outfit the dead man infront of them has on and Danse chuckles and turns around to relieve the other man of his ammunition. He doesn’t hear the grunts of a survivor and he doesn’t hear them approaching but he hears the crunch of a blunt object connecting with Soles scalp. It echoes for weeks afterwards.

He quickly eliminates the threat but Sole has already slumped together on the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath them and he has never been this scared before. He does what he can to… keep the pieces together and he picks them up to bring them back somewhere safe. They don’t wake up for a while.

It’s not until Sole slowly blinks their eyes open in the safety of their home that he finally allows himself to cry. He sobs through an apology, begs them to please forgive him, while they softly comb his hair with their fingers, waiting to figure out what happened.

Deacon is the king of pranking and is pleased to have finally found a worthy opponent in Sole. It can range from placing a whopee cushion under their seat to staging a lovers spat in a full bar and he is living for it. So when Sole is dramatically complaining about the burning heat he just laughs and tells them to cool off.

With a smirk they toss him their jacket and pack and dive into the waters they’ve been travelling next to and he laughs louder for the sheer drama of it. What a match made in heaven. He waits for Sole to reemerge to splash him down but they dont and instead the surface grows still. Until their body slowly floats to the surface and he prays it’s just another prank.

It could be. Sole knows how to get under his skin. But there’s red leaking into the water from their head and he takes a look into the murky water and finds it filled with large rocks hidden just below. Quickly he throws himself in to pull them out, dragging them onto the dusty road.

The cut on their head isn’t deep and won’t be lethal but they’re unconscious and he’s struggling with what to do. He vaguely remembers how to do CPR and gets started, trying not to lose his shit in the process. He ends up getting water spat in his face but Sole coughing is music to his ears. He allows himself to hold on to their shoulder for a second longer than he needs to before he forces out a laugh.

“Did you cool down?”

Hancock likes being a little reckless, it’s good for the soul. Gets you out of your comfort zone and helps you sharpen up. Plus it’s fun. So Hancock’s not exactly complaining when he takes up with Sole who isn’t afraid of a fight, on the contrary; he downright loves it.

It can range from switching from guns to a fistfight just for the hell of it or batting baseball grenades into a super mutan stronghold just because they can. So when Sole suggests a shortcut from the roof of a three story building to the bus below he doesn’t think much of it. He declines it himself, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to do it but Sole has survived much worse with barely a scratch.

Except he sees them get ready and they leap like a bird ready to take flight but instead of a thud of them landing on the roof he hears glass breaking. He hurries to the ledge and finds Sole in a pile of broken glass and blood, staring at their bloodsoaked hands in shock. Somehow they landed on the sunroof window and fell through the bus.

Suddenly he can’t breathe and he feels ants crawling all over him and he doesn’t care that it’s not even reckless, it’s just stupid, but he throws himself off the edge onto the bus as well. Luckily the wounds are only superficial and Sole recovers quickly with carefully placed stimpaks but he shakes for hours afterwards with the image of a slashed Sole below him. It could’ve been worse, it looked worse, and sometimes he can’t shake the feeling that it was worse and he’s living in a comfort high to cope with it.

MacCready has always been afraid of ferals, even before that happened. It’s knowing they used to be people that terrifies him the most, the idea that there used to be a person inside and now there’s nothing but rot. That they’re just creatures, full of rage and hunger.

Usually when there’s a group of them Sole allows him to fall back and let them deal with it, much to his relief. The sounds they make, the shuffling of their feet on their ground. Everything comes back in vivid detail and he feels sick to his stomach. But this time it’s different. Maybe there’s one too many or maybe Sole is having an off day but they overwhelm them.

He hears Sole screaming as they’re wrestled to the ground, ferals biting and scratching through their clothes to get to their skin. He barely remembers what comes next, in his mind he’s trapped back with Lucy trying to save Duncan but when he comes to again his hands are bloody and torn.

The whole thing comes flooding back and he assumes the worst, reliving his nightmare again but he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sole is behind him, standing behind the couch he’s suddenly in, and they’re clearly wounded but alright. He sees bitemarks on them and fights the urge to cry but the tears come anyway. At least this time he could save Sole before they got them.

Piper knows she’s not winning any popularity contests in Diamond City but she’s surprised at how many people seem opposed to Sole specifically. On a good night they’ll be left alone, maybe swap some stories with some random passerby, but more often than not someone has to voice their opinion.

Sole is used to it by now and tries to take it in stride. Theres plenty of drunk idiots at the Dugout Inn and there’s no reason to deal with all of them. This time, however, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Sole turns around to ask them to please leave but the person in question brings out a knife and stabs them in the abdomen.

Piper can’t help but to scream and rush to catch Sole who clutches their stomach and stumbles backwards with blood gushing out from their fingers. The person quickly scatters in the crowd but Piper doesn’t care. She screams for help and luckily people may dislike Sole but not that many dislike them enough to want to see them dead and someone gets a cloth to press on the wound.

Soles spends a few weeks in bed, resting and moaning everytime they turn around in bed and everytime Piper feels a sickening guilt spill over. It could’ve been worse. A knife in your stomach is more often than not lethal. She has to pay more attention, she owes that to Sole. Piper keeps thinking what life would be like if Sole died and everytime it makes her sob into her scarf.

Preston believes in the best of people and that no one is above another. Luckily Sole believes the same. They almost feel like a reward for all the horrible things he’s had to endure and he can’t tell them enough how glad he is they’re with him.

He doesn’t want to imagine the place he’d be in if it hadn’t been for them saving him. But when Sole neglects to tend to a minor wound that ends up infected, it’s all he thinks about. What if this is it? What if the universe is taking back his one good thing, the one glowing ember in the ashes?

Preston doesn’t know how to act. Things seem to move on in the rest of the world, people take care of themselves in the settlements that Sole built, but for Preston nothing is moving. He barely breathes. He sits by their bed and wipes the feversweat from their forehead, he talks to them when they’re in such deep sleep it looks like death.

Will he sit by their grave like this too?

Gage has seen Sole do some pretty fucked up things and come out of it more or less unharmed. It seems like nothing really cuts them deep enough to make a dent which seems perfect for a troublemaker.

Who would’ve known a simple antbite would be enough to make them fall deathly ill and lie in bed for several weeks? Their leg swells up to twice its size and it turns an awful purple shade while a fever rages in their body, making him think for sure that’s that. No coming back from that one.

He doesn’t really know how to feel about it. He hasn’t really cared enough about someone else before and the way he’s feeling now he doesn’t think he ever will. Gage is more angry than anything, but not at Sole. He’s furious that something as inane as a bugbite might take them out when they’ve done so many incredible things normal humans shouldn’t be able to.

But more than that he’s angry to think he might end up alone again. As pathetic as it makes him sound, he needs them. Their comfort, their company… their laughter. He sits outside their room most of the time, unable to face them but unable to leave. All he can do is hope that the chems he’s scavenged are enough.

[chwesolai]

Would love a Taron x Reader where the reader is studying/working in France but is actually American and Taron is traveling there but is struggling miserably and the reader steps in to translate and he offers to buy a coffee or something as a thank you Hope this makes sense (feel free to take artistic liberties where it doesn’t)

A/N: omg i love this and so for the reference im gonna use google for the french so literally pardon my french,,, and this is during Rocketman shooting hehe AND this got longer the more i wrote bc i loved this idea omg

Fem!Reader’s POV

The constant mumble of the busy Paris streets almost calm your nerves as a local. With the school term nearly over, I find myself studying in my favorite cafe, A. Lacroix where at this point every worker knows me and greets me with a warm smile, “Hey Y/N!” or a “bonjour mademoiselle!” It’s become home since I haven’t been in the U.S for awhile, Paris is home.

After Albert took my usual order of an iced Vanilla latte and blueberry scones, I sat in this little corner by the large windows of this tiny coffee shop. Pulling out my laptop, notebook and my glorious pen collection, I write down my agenda of what I needed to study and how long I wanted to stay in the shop. Earbuds in, I began to write.

———

About an hour passed and I’m interrupted by Albert coming to in pure panic, “Y/N, permettez-moi d’aider à traduire l’ordre de cet homme, il parle anglais et je ne comprends pas et il commence à être impatient avec moi!”

[translation: Y/N may you please help translate this man’s order he’s speaking in english and I cannot understand and he’s beginning to be impatient with me!]

“Bien sur Albert!” [of course, Albert!] I get up from my chair and follow Albert back to register where I’m met with possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, “Hello, I’m Y/N, Albert was telling me he needed some translation help,” I laugh softly.

Taron’s POV

I don’t know why I agreed to grab the coffee when Richard is the only one that speaks French. Absolutely disastrous. I made a poor French panic and run away and now I have Richard texting me where is his coffee.

I calm my nerves as I see the server come back with this gorgeous girl trailing behind him, oh god I made him call his manager. This is the worst day of my life and she’s cute GOD!

“Hello, I’m Y/N, Albert was telling me he needed some translation help,” She softly chuckles, oh my god she’s adorable.

“Uh hi. I’m Taron. Sorry for the inconvenience I don’t speak any French and sorry for having him call you to help.”

She smiles, “its nothing really, just helping a fellow native English speaker.” She’s definitely not French, but thank goodness someone understands me.

“I really appreciate it,” I smile back, “So I want to order an iced Americano with cream and an iced vanilla lattee.”

“You got it,” She’s definitely American. She turns back to the server and speaks the most beautiful French I’ve heard in my life.

Reader’s POV

God, staring at this man is hypnotizing. He tells me his order and I do my duty and be the translator I was meant to be, “il aimerait commander un americano glacé à la crème et un café au lait glacé à la vanille.”

Albert nods and begins to make Taron’s drinks. “Taron right?”

“Yeah,” he nervously laughs, “oh wait how much did he say it was?”

I laugh, “it was no worries I paid for it.”

“Oh,” he rubbed the back of neck, “I could’ve gotten it I feel awful.”

I laugh again, “hmm you can pay me back by giving me your number.”

“Hmmm how do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“Well, take me to dinner and find out?”

He laughs, “you are a sly girl, 7:30 tonight? I’ll paid you back.”

Taron’s POV

Wow T, you really asked this random stranger to dinner and now she’s gone silent you made it awkward oh my god.

“Here’s my number,” She hands me a napkin with purple ink written on it with her name, “Y/N, the coffee shop translator.”

I smile, “Y/N. So I’ll be seeing you at 7:30?”

“Oui,” She flashes her smile once again.

The server calls my order and she hands me the drinks.

“See you later, Taron,” She gives me a little wink.

“See you later,” I wink back.

I think I just found the girl for me.

[hongism]

Hello again! Quick update about my bum arm! I got a spinal fusion done in my cervical spine (c4-c5) and everything went smoothly. There's a chance I'll never regain mobility in my arm but there's a chance I might So! Anyway just wanted to share with you that it went well.

I also wanted to ask what you had in mind for the symbols sirens bear(bare?) Between their shoulder blades! Do you picture them to be more straight to the point like a fire symbol you'd see on a flammable product? Or more intricate like eluding to the idea of a flame? OR. realistic? And would it also be black or would it have colors like red maybe? Sorry for all the questions I just wanna get it to a point that you'll be excited when you see it and not like "Well it's cool but this is not how I picture the tattoo" lmao but also if you want me to just take a little bit of artistic liberty and surprise you I'm cool with that too!! (If we go this route I'll still use all the ideas you've already explained to me so no worries about that part!) Thanks for taking the time to go over this with me <3

-rolypoly

oh my goodness my beloved that sounds so intense !!! holy shit i hope everything heals smoothly and i’m so so glad it went smoothly and hoping extra that that chance for it to regain mobility pulls thru! i believe it can and will >:D

as for what i had in mind for the symbols! heh pls i love the questions sm you don’t have to apologize i adore answering questions bc im a rambler ksksksksk honestly!! i don’t have much of a set idea for the symbols themselves i would say i picture them to be somewhat abstract-ish but not enough to NOT be recognizable so please please please feel free to take all the artistic liberty you want, to me it’s special and precious to even hear that you wanna do fanart for moc T^T

[spxderman-s]

royal fate

requested: @ironspiderling

summary: you’re next in line for your family’s throne--but only on one condition: accepting the arranged marriage you were completely unaware of with a pretentious prince from the neighboring kingdom.

pairings: royal!tom holland x reader 

word count: 3k 

warnings: swearing, sensuality

a/n: this took forever im so sorry omfg, i hope it’s good!! i worked on it for a long time and this is the first fic i’ve posted in a long time so hopefully it comes through. xx 

“You--you--” you seethed, balling your fists and surging to your feet in anger. “You egotistical, insufferable--arrogant--”

“At least I know how to run a kingdom, princess.”

“Oh, I’m not your princess,” you snarled, stabbing a finger to the center of his chest. “You’re a narcissistic tyrant.”

“A tyrant?” he repeated the words, rubbing his chest. “I’ll have to add that one to the list--no one’s ever called me that before.”

“There’s a first for everything,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “Get. Out.”

With that cocky, arrogant grin of his, Thomas Holland--the prince of the kingdom neighboring your own, and your newly betrothed--turned on his heel, and strolled casually from your parlor and out of sight. You gripped the nearest embroidered pillow and pressed your face into it, letting out a muffled scream of frustration.

Three days earlier

“Darling?” you heard your mother call out to you. “Darling--are you in here?”

“I’m here, Mother,” you replied, setting down your palette and wiping the paint from your hands on the dirty apron you wore over your dress.

“Oh, is this the still life you’ve been pouring endlessly over?”

You nodded, pushing your hair back from your face. “I can’t quite get the composition right.”

The queen mused silently for a moment over your portrait, and gently squeezed your arm. “It’s lovely, darling. We must hang it up once you’ve finished it.”

You untied your apron and set it down, noticing the tone in your mother’s voice. She did her best to hide it well, but you recognized it in an instant. “Is something wrong?”

“Your father and I have a small matter to discuss with you, love,” she replied vaguely, but guiding you from your studio and towards the parlor. As the two of you entered through the ornate double doors, you first saw your father seated peacefully by the fireplace, a glass of brandy in hand.

“Papa?” It came out as a question.

“Sit down, my dove,” was his reply.

You obeyed, wringing your hands in your lap. The queen took a seat beside you.

“You’ve blossomed into a fine woman,” she said to you, taking one of your hands into her own. “And we are so proud--but it’s time for you to take a husband to marry.”

“Marry,” you repeated the foreign word. “Who?”

“You’ve had quite the number of suitors,” your father answered, swirling his glass of brandy. “But we’ve decided that it’s best to align with the neighboring kingdom.”

You knew this day was coming, ever since you were old enough to understand the importance of politics. Your parents informed you that in order to ascend the crown, you needed to wed and form an alliance--or forfeit the throne.

“Who is my newly betrothed?” you asked, a hint of bitterness lacing your words.

“Prince Thomas,” the queen took the liberty of answering you. “He’s quite a charming young man, I think you’ll--”

“Everything has been arranged,” the king interrupted, cutting her off. “We’ve already sent a formal invitation for them to stay with us for the remainder of the week.”

Swallowing nervously, you looked down at your fingers fiddling with a button on your dress and nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to keep a watch on my manners?” you joked.

“Just watch that foul mouth of yours,” your mother chided with affection, placing a kiss to your temple. “Everything will work itself out.”

As if on cue, you heard the butler announce their arrival. Your father smiled, and left to welcome your guests. Your mother placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“Announcing King Dominic and Prince Thomas,” the butler called into the room, and you stood politely as they entered. 

The first thing you noticed about Thomas were his eyes. They had a sense of wonder to them, wandering over the many paintings of yours that hung on the walls. 

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance,” you offered to both of them, curtsying delicately. “Welcome to our palace.” 

“Ours is bigger,” Thomas sniffed, ignoring your greeting. 

You bit back the curse on your tongue, noticing your mother’s warning glance. “You must be well off, then.” Your mother disappeared from your side and joined your father and King Dominic, who left you and the pretentious prince alone in the parlor.

“We’re quite well off,” he replied, finally looking at you. For a moment, his standoffish manner seemed to be replaced with surprise, but it was gone as quickly as it came. His brow furrowed. “Can’t say the same about you.” 

“Is everything a contest with you?” you spoke through gritted teeth, feeling your fists ball at your sides. 

“Not really--if I’m always the one who’s winning, is it ever a contest?” 

“You--you--” you seethed, balling your fists and surging to your feet in anger. “You egotistical, insufferable--arrogant--”

“At least I know how to run a kingdom, princess.”

“Oh, I’m not your princess,” you snarled, stabbing a finger to the center of his chest. “You’re a narcissistic tyrant.”

“A tyrant?” he repeated the words, rubbing his chest. “I’ll have to add that one to the list--no one’s ever called me that before.”

“There’s a first for everything,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “Get. Out.”

With that cocky, arrogant grin of his, Thomas Holland--the prince of the kingdom neighboring your own, and your newly betrothed--turned on his heel, and strolled casually from your parlor and out of sight. You gripped the nearest embroidered pillow and pressed your face into it, letting out a muffled scream of frustration.

Three days later

It was the afternoon; the rains came and doused the castle in gloom. Lighting a candle and carrying it to your studio, you donned your apron and picked up your palette--intent on finally finishing the still life.

In the quiet hours, you silently stroked your paintbrush over the canvas with expertise, the lull of the raindrops falling against the window pane and the crackling of the flames in the fireplace putting you at ease. You tried not to dwell on the events of earlier that week, knowing that you greatly disappointed your parents. But--your mind kept wandering to Tom, and that grin of his. The look in his eyes before as he left you had sent a bolt of electricity through you, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hated the feeling. You wanted to hate him.

But you found that, no matter what you did, you couldn’t.

Your grip on the paintbrush tightened as you swept it over the canvas, thinking about the way his eyes felt like they had penetrated your soul. You couldn’t relax; your skin prickled and your teeth ground together.

“What are you painting?” a voice cut through the silence.

Startled, your hand faltered and your brush dropped--a thick red streak of paint cutting across the depiction of the vase of roses. You stared at it, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. All of those months of work--ruined. Fuming, you angrily tore the canvas from the easel and threw it into the fireplace.

“Never….mind,” Tom drew out, taking a step back towards the door.

“What do you want?” you spat at him, ripping the apron off of your waist and shoving it into a drawer.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he spoke softly, and you immediately regretted your harsh tone. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, his eyes regarding you with wariness. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”

You blinked, and looked away while you bit your lip. “I apologize for calling you--ah, a tyrant.”

“I lied earlier,” he chuckled, stepping closer to you. “That wasn’t the first time I’ve been called that.”

You reached down and picked up the fallen paintbrush, the red pigment staining the marble floor. “I suppose we should be cordial to each other, seeing as we’re to be partners.”

“I think that would be wise.”

A heavy silence fell between you. He awkwardly ran a hand through his hair and shoved his other into the pocket of his slacks as you suddenly felt very sad at destroying your painting. Your eyes found themselves wandering over to the burning canvas, and Tom took that opportunity to close the distance between you.

“How long have you been an artist?” he asked, running a finger down the side of the easel.

“Ever since I could hold a brush,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I don’t know why I got so angry….but I had been working on that piece for months now, not quite able to achieve the right composition.”

“It’s a shame, I would have like to see it.”

“Maybe I’ll paint something for you one day,” you offered nonchalantly, still looking into the fireplace. Tom shifted beside you, a blush rising into his cheeks.

“I would--I would like that very much.”

Silence again, but it was different this time. Comfortable.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked suddenly, prompting you to look at him. “It might please our parents.”

You glanced at the rain drizzling in the gardens. “I’m not sure if this is the right weather for a walk.”

He held out his arm for you to take. “It’s only a little rain, love.”

“Do you have any siblings?” you asked as you listened to the sound of your steps upon the gravel path.

“I have three--technically four, if you include my best mate,” Tom replied, holding the umbrella up above the two of you to shield the light shower of rain. “All younger….what about you?”

“I haven’t got any brothers or sisters,” you admitted. “I had my mother and my maidens.”

Tom was quiet for a moment, and then guided you to a secluded spot beneath a willow tree that hung sadly over the vast pond in the gardens. The leaves hid the two of you from view, and he set the umbrella down, turning to you. “I have something to tell you,” he spoke, his voice low.

“What is it?”

He let out a breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s about our marriage.”

You frowned. “What about it?”

“If I don’t gain your hand, I sacrifice my lineage to one of my brothers,” Tom rushed out, turning away from you--almost shamefully. The afternoon rains seemed to fluctuate as he spoke the words, the drops pelting violently against the drooping leaves of the willow tree. “My father negotiated a deal with yours, hence why forming this alliance was so simple.”

“That’s quite a lot of pressure,” you reached out your fingers towards him, but you hesitated--torn between your compassionate nature and maintaining your distance. “It seems as if we’re both caught in the crossfire of politics--our sovereign law requires I have a husband in order to rule.”

You heard his heavy sigh, but he still refused to face you again. Your fingers still outstretched, trembling with the cold seeping into your bones, you closed the gap between them and his arm, wrapping them around his bicep and giving him a reassuring squeeze. You felt the tense muscles relax beneath your touch.

“I know this has all been predetermined,” he finally said, shifting out of your grasp and turning back to you. Your hand fell limp at your side, and you regarded him with an inquisitive frown. His eyes met yours, burning with alluring desire, and he sank to one knee. “But, for cordial purposes, will you do me the honor of taking my hand in marriage?”

“I will,” you accepted, your voice tender. “We’ll bear our burdens together.”

“Together,” he repeated. Getting to his feet, he offered his arm once more and opened the umbrella. “Your lips are blue, love. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

“Darling, you look positively radiant,” your mother commented as you entered the grand dining room for supper. After your afternoon walk with Tom, you could feel your cheeks glowing with affection, still feeling his touch lingering on your skin.

“Thank you, Mother,” you replied graciously, seating yourself delicately at the table. “I had quite a pleasant afternoon with--”

“There’s been a change in plan, my dove,” your father cut you off before you could finish your sentence. “After the events regarding your behavior with Prince Thomas earlier this week, your mother and I decided that we would search elsewhere for a suitor.”

Your throat constricted and a cold grip tightened on your heart as your mind processed his words. “That was just--we didn’t--we’ve reconciled, Papa.”

He went about eating the roast chicken in front of him, seemingly ignoring your protests. You turned your attention to your mother, who sat silently and stared at her glass of wine without saying a word.

You turned back to look at your father. “I know why you chose him first--his father proposed a compromise for my hand in marriage.”

The king stopped eating, his eyes cold and sharp. “Do not presume to speak down to me on matters you do not understand.”

“What did he offer you?” you accused, gripping the edge of the table so tightly that your knuckles were pale. “Money? Men for the army?”

“Darling?” the queen’s voice cut through, staring at your father with a withering look on her face. “Is this true?”

He slammed his fork to the table, his rage coiling off of him in thick tendrils. Standing abruptly, he stabbed a finger to you and shouted, “If you are unable to make difficult decisions, you are unfit to rule this kingdom. Unless you start showing me some more respect, I hereby forbid you from ascending the throne.” And with those cruel words hanging in the air, he shoved himself away from the dinner table and exited the room.

“Tom confessed that he would lose his crown to his brothers if he couldn’t form our alliance,” you muttered to your mother, who sat unmoving in her chair. She lifted her wineglass to her lips, took a tentative sip, and set it softly back down. Without another word, she stood up, and left the dining room.

You needed to find Tom.

“Agnes!” you called for your housemaid as you walked briskly down the corridor, searching for her. “Agnes, where are you?”

“I’m right here, little bird.” The old woman hobbled out of the broom closet, dusting her hands off. “What are you going on about?”

“Where is Tom?” you pleaded, grasping her hands. “Please.”

“He and his father should still be in their chambers--”

That was enough. You gathered up your skirts and took off down the hall, feeling the urgency burning in your chest like wildfire, hoping it wasn’t too late. Rounding the corners and turns, you skidded to a stop in front of the entrance to the guest’s quarters: two enormous mahogany doors. Without bothering to knock like you were taught, you shoved one of the doors open and barreled into a cold and empty room. The candles had been snuffed, the linens had been washed. There was no sign of anyone living here at all.

It felt as if everything was colliding at once, and you were at the very center. Sinking into the cushioned seat in front of the large bay window, you wrapped your arms around your knees and rested your forehead atop them. No tears fell, but there was a dull ache blooming in your bones as it became absolute that you would not bear your burden with a man you were certain you could begin to fall in love with--someone who came from a similar background, someone you forgave and sacrificed your pride for.

The rains returned, the drops racing each other as they slid down the glass in front of you. Lifting your head and staring at your reflection, you came to the realization that this was not the end, only an obstacle in the infinite labyrinth of your life.

You had been waiting a long while, and you dwelled on a change of mind--maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But before you could escape, you heard someone open the heavy wooden door and enter. A candle flickered to life in the dark room, illuminating you seated on the prince’s bed, the hood of your cloak pulled up to obscure your face.

“Before you say anything,” you whispered, observing his startled expression at you sitting in his private chambers in his family’s palace. “Listen to me, carefully.”

Tom slowly closed the heavy wooden door behind him and pushed the deadbolt in place. “How did you get in here?”

“I can be persuasive.”

“What are you doing here? Does your father know about this?”

You shook your head, unclasping your cloak and slipping it off. “Neither of them know….but I--I had to see you. To explain.”

He remained unmoved, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t know what you were told,” you began, moving to stand in front of him. “But my father was the one to call the arrangement off--something in him changed, but that doesn’t mean my vow has changed.”

Tom’s expression persisted to stay empty, but you recognized the pain and heartache that hid behind it. “They’ll find you an appropriate suitor,” he stated bluntly. “One that will do well for your kingdom.”

“He won’t be you,” you begged. “Please--”

“I’ve already lost the crown to my brother,” he cried, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. “There isn’t anything I have left to offer you.”

“Don’t marry me for politics,” you whispered, reaching out and placing your palm against his cheek. His hands dropped to his sides, leaning into your touch. “Marry me for love.”

Very slowly, you leaned in, feeling his warm breath exhale from his parted lips. He stood very still, but as your hands slid from his cheeks to the nape of his neck, you felt a shudder rush through him. You rested your forehead against his.

“Even though I have no political gain to give you,” he murmured, “you would still have me?”

“We bear the burden together,” you softly replied.

“Together.”

Without missing a second, your lips and his were suddenly crashing together in liberation. He tasted of freedom, and you wanted to immerse yourself within him. Your fingers gripped at the collar of his shirt, feeling the heat radiate from his skin beneath it, and that excited you in a way that nothing else ever could. One of his hands made its way down to your waist, grasping you tightly, his other hand snaking up to cradle your cheek.

Kissing him was like honey dripping. It felt slow, golden, and the sweetest thing you had ever tasted. It sent tremors through your very soul, and when he parted his lips to push his tongue against your own, you felt as if the earth itself gave way and you were falling, falling in love with him.

“By the sight of God and all that He is, with the power vested in me, I now pronounce Queen [Y/N] [Y/L/N] and Sir Thomas Holland husband and wife,” the holy priest raised his right hand in blessing. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Tom wasted no time in doing so, kissing you with gentle sweetness as the audience before you began applauding. In the middle of kissing your new husband, you felt your golden crown atop your head slide askew. Tom reached up and moved it back into place, grinning at you with pride. 

You were a queen--all on your own. After returning from Tom’s palace, you pronounced to your father that you were more than capable of ruling without a king. When questioned about your sovereign law, you stood proud and proposed an amendment.

And in that moment that you were seated proudly on your throne, your eyes met your new husband’s as he stood down below next to your parents. He beamed with absolute pride, and he blew a soft kiss to you.

You were capable of ruling without a king, but you knew in that moment, you would always need Tom.

tagging: @tronnoristheotp @i-saved-me @nedthegay @theweirdowithablogo @skymoonandstardust @timemngmtoptimisationproblems @thumper-darling @holywinchesterness @ketterdame @tonight-couldbeforgettable @dimplesandcutesmiles @terrashrone @leorai-lemony-lewa @yoinkpeter @spider-boo-5 @elizzabeth21 @multi-parker @rvrdxle @gaiasambuci @bisexualmomfriend @1022bridgetp @erule @tommysdarlin @penguinlover-7 @dangerousluv1 @stephie-senpai @emmaamalie @fairydustparker @5shadesofcool @shooting-stvr @tessa-herondale-carstairs1 @chinalois 

[mrdelgatz-blog]

25 Insane Remarks to DT.. Feb., 2017

As if George Washington himself asked you. Or whomever you pillow talk with, not #Ivanka. I first wish to commend you for navigating this concrete jungle to the point of being in a position of leadership, for Government.. Therefore, I only ask for empathetical responses should any be made fit to respond without any rhetorical, or redundant questions making you think I am being bias. Men have pride, but I bow my head to you: await the attack knowing the best method is to defend these liberties which we stand upon.. The 1st, I ask how many times have you said this will be and come to realize otherwise? 2nd Can you elaborate on the 1st Amendement? Who's on 3rd? #YoureAHashtag #LOVE 5th grade for you guys how can and do you interpret THE sandbox theory?.. 6th Canada has free health care, would you support ObamaCare after consideration?.. 7th Heaven, a good show, no? 8th Grade I was incarcerated, yet 7 high schools has me asking why the controlled chaos instead of a Utopian approach?.. 9 times out of ten do you find yourself doing the same thing?.. Expand your horizons.. 10th grade was probably my best, worst years, can you remember yours? (I hope to one day make your age) But time, energy, and emotion are priceless, so listen to Bob Marley's dying words to Ziggy, "Money cant buy you happiness." 11th grade was when I mastered French, how many languages do you speak?.. 12 it takes to relate, I only received a G.E.D. and an honorary HS diploma, from the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, but salutes to Lowell for standing strong. #Taxachusetts #NewBalance.. 13th I know you can manage checks, but do support balances through again empatheical approaches?.. 14th I know many that didnt make it to sophmore year in college, would you derive influence from Portrugal from their 2001 results proven approach?.. #EndTheDrugWar #WaronUS #ImSorry #LaFamilia #WeAreOne 15th Quinzeañeras I missed at home to institutions, I may be a manchild but as described in the Bible, #LOVEISTHEKEY, love thy neighbor. #HomeComing Wigglesworth dorms are jumpin (jump around, jump up, jump up, and get down)[paraphrased]' -#Harvard And for medical neccessities #Tufts #BUT here in #Worcester we gave 14 centrally located^* at least post high school programs.. 16-20, why not openly recant statements regardless of the opposition?.. "THEY" dont want you to be happy, Be happy. #BillyVoice 21 Where, and how did you celebrate your 21st, alcohol became legal for you, and gambling, and what was your gift?.. @CNNLmfao 22nd Please understand calibers of weapons are meant to cover all distances, so keep your finger #off the button and ALWAYS answer the Red phone with Blue collar callers, plus White lines that cant even be imagined controlling the atmosphere.. #23rd Without Bias, who did Michael Jordan derive more influence from: Bird or Magic? In your opinion.. 24hrs in a day: how often do you get sleep?.. #Empathy And last, but not least, 25th, "Most people live until their 25, and don't die until their 75." -Bejamin Franklin So, here goes: will you hire me as a Social Networking Entrepeneur openly knowing I have derived influence from all the greats: and still love learning but am who gets paid to maintain just like you?.. #EqualVote So, sorry for the delay; the question is: And Fuck You for not allowing Univision to get answers: I beg for #Grace #LOVE #TheWriteStuff #PassionMonth #FebruaryFlowers #IExpectAnAnswer No more tresspassing charges for me.. #CivilizedCitizen #CID "Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom? Cuz all I ever known, is redemption songs." -Bob Marley (the ArtisT) These songs of Freedom" Answer with no #FakeNews plz & thnx.. Tweet, tweet, Im out to deal with this pounding heartbeat.. 🤔🤗😇😉🤓😎😂🤐🤒😔😲😇😇😇😇