#im so sorry please take this as artistic liberty
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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.
#gravity falls#billford#bill cipher#stanford pines#puppet bill cipher#human bill cipher#donniipao#sorry for tagging you again#i realized an entire month later that your design only has 4 fingers#im so sorry please take this as artistic liberty#my art
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"LIVE"
A short comic based on "A Wonderful Attraction' by @rainykthebroken
i hope you enjoyed it!!! it gets a little rough around the edges towards the end-- but i hope that can be forgiven LOL. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the original fanfic by the wonderful Rainyk (@rainykthebroken)!!! it's a fantastic work that i couldn't hope to capture with this little comic of mine :) to rainyk: i hope this comic was able to instill in you even a fraction of the joy that i got reading not just AWA, but your other Kirby works as well!! im sorry if i couldn't fully capture it as you envisioned, drawing is hard and i had to take a few creative liberties for a comic (>n< '') !! i wanted to put this short footnote for you because as someone who is not just an artist but a writer, i find that written works are often gone less noticed / less praised, and i wanted to make sure to share mine with you!! while reading AWA, i was deeply captured by your extremely beautiful and descriptive writing style- i could almost picture the scenes you were painting down to details, and your use of metaphors throughout the story had me genuinely close to tears a couple of times LOL. your characterizations of the entire kirby cast show such a deep understanding of the characters, especially within the main 4 (+lor...) that genuinely helped shape how i view them myself. they are by and large my favourite characterizations of them period-- theyre filled with such nuance and interesting development, and most importantly you gave time for all of them to develop with the other characters, instead of just focusing on the ship!! when i first read that your native language wasn't english, i was so shocked!! you honestly could have fooled me LOL. your writing showed such a deep understanding of the language art i found myself mulling over some of my favorite lines for way too long (><''). to end this long note off, i just wanted to say that since AWA is coming to an end- for my own selfish purposes, i honestly hope you'll continue with more Kirby works, or more works in this 'timeline' even, since i fell in love with these characters so deeply i'm almost broken to have to let them go -- BWAHAH. but i also believe you have a great talent that i know you can take very far from reading what i have- so i will be excited for whatever it is you decide to write next, even if that isn't kirby!! àŽŠà”àŽŠàŽż(Ë” âąÌ Ꭰ- Ë” ) ⧠i hope that you enjoyed my little work in tribute of yours!! (and that it isn't too incomprehensible because it got super scribbly LMFAO.)
#kirby#kirby art#kirby fanart#magolor#taranza#magoranza#taranzolor#art#ship art#short comic#mini comic#comic art#kirby comic#a wonderful attraction#fanart#i hope you enjoy!!!!!#queen sectonia#kirby sectonia#soul of sectonia#joronia#sectonia#sectaranza
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'unwinding of the fall (BLACK SWAN AU BABY)' 'the ripple of tenderness (a corrupted tide)'
â i would like to know intimately about both of these things please and please đșđđč
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 â 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 â 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, itâs not always about predetermination,â starts Max, his eyes boring into him with the intensity of nuclear fission. His thumb brushes gently over Charlesâ 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 Maxâs face. The calm before the storm.
Max takes Charles in, kneeling before him and teetering on the edge of something. Maxâs gaze maps him out, trying to find the stray thread and pull. âYou cannot save yourself from this if you stifle your driver instincts in the process,â he continues. âYouâre not here because you can do calculations in your head. Youâre 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.â
His thumb digs further, hand almost painfully grasping his chin and bringing Charlesâ face even closer. âYouâre 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 doesââ Maxâs voice catches on the exit, barely louder than a whisper at this point, aimed directly at his lips ââyou 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 doesnât seek guidance or explanation or a sign because he knows this is all on him. He doesnât deserve any consolation and itâs 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
âLet go, Charles,â 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 â their â skin whisper and he lets himself go.
Charles drags Max back to him and plunges into this, into Maxâs 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 doesnât grow pliant â he meets Max blow for blow, bruise for bruise. He doesnât extinguish the fight but leans into it, sinks into the embrace of violence and rejoices.
He feels Maxâs teeth in his neck, in his heart and Charles hopes the bite hurts, hopes that Maxâs 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 Maxâs palm doesnât obfuscate it and finally, painstakingly, opens his eyes.
Max stops breathing for a second.
In Maxâs opinion, he hasnât spent nearly enough time looking into Charlesâ eyes. Eye contact has always been a painstaking affair, trying to find an optimal balance between looking into Charlesâ eyes and away during their talks in such a way that it would not allude to anything more. Charlesâ eyes can look vastly different under different lights â 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 Charlesâ eyes now and feels like Charles is looking through Maxâs 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 Charlesâ features as a whole are glossed over with a sheen of misplaced sentiment, spelling something resembling foreboding.
âMax,â Charles whispers, spilling the breaths incasing his name almost into Maxâs mouth. His voice is soft like gossamer, his gaze a gentle brushstroke on the contours of Maxâs 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!
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(@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 havenât ever really met, but I hear youâre the guy to talk to for custom pokeballs. Gray: Hey! Nice to meet you. You heard correct â 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 sheâs got a lot of health issues that are going to be an ongoing thing for her. Sheâs 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? Iâm not and have never been a trainer, so Iâm really kind of out of my depth with this one. Gray: Oh jeez, Iâm sorry to hear that. Caring for a pokemon that has those types of long term health issues can be really difficult. Iâll 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. Iâm going to have to put some sort of design on the ball, so I like to check if thereâs any kind of look that you would prefer. Brandy: Oh, thatâs sick actually. Well, I looked up what a heal ball looks like andâŠdefinitely 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? Iâll start working on it once I get the deposit. Brandy: For sure, send it to [email protected].
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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, letâs 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 thatâs so COOL Brandy: Aw you got my little đ€ on there. I love using đ€ Brandy: This looks amazing. So glad I donât have to carry around a pink n yellow ball for my special little lady.
Gray: Iâm glad you like it! It should have better specs to support your little poochyena as well. Iâll get the design sealed and sent over to you within the next few days. Brandy: Hell yeah, Iâm excited. Thank you! Would happily recommend to anyone. If ever you need a ranger favour or likeâŠidk, tree advice, just hit me up. Gray: Ha, will do. Best to you and your puppy! Brandy: Thanks!
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memories âą 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! đ
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..." Â 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." Â 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." Â
"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: @gcblersâ @187-reidâ @mgg-theprettiestboyâ @mggblerâ @snitchthewitchâ
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer fluff#my works!
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This is probably out of the blue but could you imagine the THH gang in Sdr2 or ndr3 location??? Iâm 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.
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                 đ WHAT IF WE KISSED                  AND WE R BOTH GIRLS đ
                    â§ïœ„ïŸ: *â§ïœ„ïŸ:*(*âŠÏâŠ)*:ïŸâ§*:ïŸâ§
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                        â§ïœ„ïŸ: *â§ïœ„ïŸ:*:ïŸâ§*:ïŸâ§Â
            (PLEASE feel free to rb if u likey!!! thank u!!!)
#WAAAAAA i care them#my art#not like the other girls#r/notlikeothergirls#wholesome art#wholesome#(im the ceo of being a sucker for cranking out gay content okay)#rbs > likes#oh god what now jasu
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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 wasnât supposed to happen. She wasnât on the field, she wasnât 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 hasnât 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 youâre 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 couldnât risk her cover being blown. Her location leaking out to the rest of the Brood.
She rolled onto her side, tail flexing in pain. âOw...â 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, sheâd 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 didnât remember opening earlier.
Her hand pressed against the door. âAlright,â her voice snarled out in a choked static, âalright...if youâre in here to kill me, clap your hands!â
Clap clap
âOh bullshit,â her feet left the floor and she nearly jumped the entire staircase.
âWait wait! I was joking!â 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, âHoly shit.â
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.
âIâm sorry for the lack of lights,â it waved a servo around. Its voice was fuzzy, like it was being projected from a speaker. âBut this house is horribly equipped.â
She sneered, âWhat are you doing in my house?â Her hands clawed in her gloves.
It must have noticed her reaching for the pistol on her belt, because it quickly raised its hands. âPlease please! I promise, I donât mean any harm!â
She scoffed and looked it in its blank red eyes. It looked very much like one of the Starkâs drones, but with some artistic liberties added to it. Its face was one single plate, with the same basic concept of Starkâs helmet, but an open jaw, and more narrowed optics.
âAnd whatâs one of Starkâs drones doing with an AI attached to it?â She lifted her head up, looking down at the drone with enough malice to tackle an elephant.
It stood up quickly. âI am not one of Starkâs drones!â It snapped.
âNo, but you are controlling one,â she snapped right back.
â...fair enough,â 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 thatâs 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.
âWoah,â she snorted, âwhat kind of hell did you crawl out of?â She entered the room entirely, looking the machine up and down.
It shifted its weight, the floor creaking as it did so. âI didnât know any one lived here.â
âWell, someone does,â she raised a brow. Her sides tightened as she crossed her arms.
âI just need a place to stay, to regroup,â it said. âI will not cause any damageââ
âYou broke into my house.â
âIt wasnât that hard. The door knobs are broken.â
Rogon narrowed her eyes and cursed just as the chill of ice cold wind broke through the window. âYou opened a window?!â She yelped and rushed over. The slam shut rattled the entire house. âAre you mad?! Itâs cold as hell out there!â
âIt was open when I came in,â it snarked. âThe wind must have blown it open.â
Rogon breathed out. This was going to get her killed, wasnât it? Oh well. Curse her pitying heart.
She looked over her shoulder. âDo you...have a name?â
She heard the sound of whirring machinery as it shifted again, â...Ultron.â
âUltron? Thatâs a typical robot name.â
âWait, do you not recognize it?â It sounded incredulous, like she had to have heard it before. âDo you not watch the news?â
âDo you see a tv anywhere?â She asked, gesturing around.
âNo phone? No computer?â
âNo. I use radio services,â 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. âOkay, Ultron,â she turned around and sighed, putting her hands together. âIâll let you stay here. But you have to promise me you arenât some kind of, oh, I donât know, spy software or some shit.â
It tilted its head at her, âAre you one of those government conspiracy fanatics?â
She scoffed, âNo. Iâm from Russia.â
He made a sound like he was clicking his tongue, âAh.â Yes, that always makes total sense. âNo, I am not any government intelligence software. I promise you that.â
Rogon nodded with a hum and started to walk out the door. âI hope you donât need to eat,â she said with a laugh, âbecause I do not hunt for others.â
It chuckled lightly. âOh no, I prefer my rabbit without fur. Or meat. Or bones. Really, I donât want anything on my rabbit.â
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 wouldnât be staying for long. âAre you hurt?â It asked.
âNo, I walk like this for fun,â she grunted. With her entire weight on one side of her body, she was stretching her limits out thin. Usually, sheâd be walking on her wings.
But she couldnât risk that kind of exposure.
âAre your legs always like that?â She heard it begin walking down the stairs.
âI was thrown into a tree,â she quipped, walking to the couch. âNow, if it please you, Ultron, Imma fall asleep.â
The walking stopped. âNow, how rude would it be if a host didnât give her guest her name?â
She stopped and looked at it. Did she give him her real name? She supposed it wouldnât hurt. She technically didnât exist to humans, anyways.
âMy nameâs Rogon,â she said and lied down. Her spines stretched against her back, and she was completely uncomfortable all throughout the night.
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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. đ
(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 itâs enough to turn everything upside down and Cait wishes she hadnât 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 sheâll do to them.
It takes a few hours of silence from the operating room until the doctor finally emerges and sheâs 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 canât 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 wonât notice. She holds their hand, feels their warmth and lets that be the thing that calms her down.
Once Sole wakes up though, she wonât be so vulnerable. Theyâre going to get an earful from her about being so careless and sheâll make sure they know thatâs not going to fucking happen again.
Curie regrets becoming a human when sheâs 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 itâs 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 itâs clean, nothings stuck inside and she carefully administers the stimpak inside to out, letting the cellular regeneration slowly close the wound from inside.
Once sheâs done she sits down, removes the cloth from their face to wipe her hands but she canât bring herself to move. She feels sick and nauseous, something she never thought sheâd feel doing something as natural as that. When Sole wakes up sheâll 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 doesnât notice anything wrong at first. Heâs been trained to take the situation seriously and never celebrate until theyâre safe home again but itâs been a while since heâs been a soldier and itâs hard not to celebrate around Sole. So he doesnât 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 doesnât hear the grunts of a survivor and he doesnât 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 donât wake up for a while.
Itâs 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 theyâve 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 itâs just another prank.
It could be. Sole knows how to get under his skin. But thereâs 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 isnât deep and wonïżœïżœïżœt be lethal but theyâre unconscious and heâs 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.
âDid you cool down?â
Hancock likes being a little reckless, itâs good for the soul. Gets you out of your comfort zone and helps you sharpen up. Plus itâs fun. So Hancockâs not exactly complaining when he takes up with Sole who isnât 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 doesnât think much of it. He declines it himself, knowing he doesnât 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 canât breathe and he feels ants crawling all over him and he doesnât care that itâs not even reckless, itâs 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 couldâve been worse, it looked worse, and sometimes he canât shake the feeling that it was worse and heâs living in a comfort high to cope with it.
MacCready has always been afraid of ferals, even before that happened. Itâs knowing they used to be people that terrifies him the most, the idea that there used to be a person inside and now thereâs nothing but rot. That theyâre just creatures, full of rage and hunger.
Usually when thereâs 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 itâs different. Maybe thereâs one too many or maybe Sole is having an off day but they overwhelm them.
He hears Sole screaming as theyâre 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 heâs 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 heâs suddenly in, and theyâre 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 sheâs not winning any popularity contests in Diamond City but sheâs surprised at how many people seem opposed to Sole specifically. On a good night theyâll 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 thereâs no reason to deal with all of them. This time, however, it doesnât 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 canât 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 doesnât 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 couldâve 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 heâs had to endure and he canât tell them enough how glad he is theyâre with him.
He doesnât want to imagine the place heâd be in if it hadnât been for them saving him. But when Sole neglects to tend to a minor wound that ends up infected, itâs 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 doesnât 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 theyâre 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 wouldâve 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 thatâs that. No coming back from that one.
He doesnât really know how to feel about it. He hasnât really cared enough about someone else before and the way heâs feeling now he doesnât think he ever will. Gage is more angry than anything, but not at Sole. Heâs furious that something as inane as a bugbite might take them out when theyâve done so many incredible things normal humans shouldnât be able to.
But more than that heâs 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 heâs scavenged are enough.
#fallout#fallout 4#fo4#react#ask#snippet#da3dralord80085#cait#curie#danse#paladin danse#deacon#hancock#john hancock#maccready#piper#piper wright#preston garvey#gage#porter gage#sfw#long post#angst
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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 doesnât)
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!Readerâs 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, âHey Y/N!â or a âbonjour mademoiselle!â Itâs become home since I havenât 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.
âââ
About an hour passed and Iâm interrupted by Albert coming to in pure panic, âY/N, permettez-moi dâaider Ă traduire lâordre de cet homme, il parle anglais et je ne comprends pas et il commence Ă ĂȘtre impatient avec moi!â
[translation: Y/N may you please help translate this manâs order heâs speaking in english and I cannot understand and heâs beginning to be impatient with me!]
âBien sur Albert!â [of course, Albert!] I get up from my chair and follow Albert back to register where Iâm met with possibly the most beautiful man Iâve ever seen, âHello, Iâm Y/N, Albert was telling me he needed some translation help,â I laugh softly.
Taronâs POV
I donât 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 sheâs cute GOD!
âHello, Iâm Y/N, Albert was telling me he needed some translation help,â She softly chuckles, oh my god sheâs adorable.
âUh hi. Iâm Taron. Sorry for the inconvenience I donât speak any French and sorry for having him call you to help.â
She smiles, âits nothing really, just helping a fellow native English speaker.â Sheâs definitely not French, but thank goodness someone understands me.
âI really appreciate it,â I smile back, âSo I want to order an iced Americano with cream and an iced vanilla lattee.â
âYou got it,â Sheâs definitely American. She turns back to the server and speaks the most beautiful French Iâve heard in my life.
Readerâs 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, âil aimerait commander un americano glacĂ© Ă la crĂšme et un cafĂ© au lait glacĂ© Ă la vanille.â
Albert nods and begins to make Taronâs drinks. âTaron right?â
âYeah,â he nervously laughs, âoh wait how much did he say it was?â
I laugh, âit was no worries I paid for it.â
âOh,â he rubbed the back of neck, âI couldâve gotten it I feel awful.â
I laugh again, âhmm you can pay me back by giving me your number.â
âHmmm how do I know youâre not a serial killer?â
âWell, take me to dinner and find out?â
He laughs, âyou are a sly girl, 7:30 tonight? Iâll paid you back.â
Taronâs POV
Wow T, you really asked this random stranger to dinner and now sheâs gone silent you made it awkward oh my god.
âHereâs my number,â She hands me a napkin with purple ink written on it with her name, âY/N, the coffee shop translator.â
I smile, âY/N. So Iâll be seeing you at 7:30?â
âOui,â She flashes her smile once again.
The server calls my order and she hands me the drinks.
âSee you later, Taron,â She gives me a little wink.
âSee you later,â I wink back.
I think I just found the girl for me.
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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 iâm 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 donât have to apologize i adore answering questions bc im a rambler ksksksksk honestly!! i donât 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 itâs special and precious to even hear that you wanna do fanart for moc T^T
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royal fate
requested: @ironspiderling
summary: youâre next in line for your familyâs 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 readerÂ
word count: 3kÂ
warnings: swearing, sensuality
a/n: this took forever im so sorry omfg, i hope itâs good!! i worked on it for a long time and this is the first fic iâve posted in a long time so hopefully it comes through. xxÂ
âYou--you--â you seethed, balling your fists and surging to your feet in anger. âYou egotistical, insufferable--arrogant--â
âAt least I know how to run a kingdom, princess.â
âOh, Iâm not your princess,â you snarled, stabbing a finger to the center of his chest. âYouâre a narcissistic tyrant.â
âA tyrant?â he repeated the words, rubbing his chest. âIâll have to add that one to the list--no oneâs ever called me that before.â
âThereâs a first for everything,â you hissed through gritted teeth. âGet. Out.â
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
âDarling?â you heard your mother call out to you. âDarling--are you in here?â
âIâm here, Mother,â you replied, setting down your palette and wiping the paint from your hands on the dirty apron you wore over your dress.
âOh, is this the still life youâve been pouring endlessly over?â
You nodded, pushing your hair back from your face. âI canât quite get the composition right.â
The queen mused silently for a moment over your portrait, and gently squeezed your arm. âItâs lovely, darling. We must hang it up once youâve finished it.â
You untied your apron and set it down, noticing the tone in your motherâs voice. She did her best to hide it well, but you recognized it in an instant. âIs something wrong?â
âYour father and I have a small matter to discuss with you, love,â 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.
âPapa?â It came out as a question.
âSit down, my dove,â was his reply.
You obeyed, wringing your hands in your lap. The queen took a seat beside you.
âYouâve blossomed into a fine woman,â she said to you, taking one of your hands into her own. âAnd we are so proud--but itâs time for you to take a husband to marry.â
âMarry,â you repeated the foreign word. âWho?â
âYouâve had quite the number of suitors,â your father answered, swirling his glass of brandy. âBut weâve decided that itâs best to align with the neighboring kingdom.â
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.
âWho is my newly betrothed?â you asked, a hint of bitterness lacing your words.
âPrince Thomas,â the queen took the liberty of answering you. âHeâs quite a charming young man, I think youâll--â
âEverything has been arranged,â the king interrupted, cutting her off. âWeâve already sent a formal invitation for them to stay with us for the remainder of the week.â
Swallowing nervously, you looked down at your fingers fiddling with a button on your dress and nodded. âI suppose Iâll have to keep a watch on my manners?â you joked.
âJust watch that foul mouth of yours,â your mother chided with affection, placing a kiss to your temple. âEverything will work itself out.â
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.Â
âAnnouncing King Dominic and Prince Thomas,â the butler called into the room, and you stood politely as they entered.Â
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.Â
âPleased to meet your acquaintance,â you offered to both of them, curtsying delicately. âWelcome to our palace.âÂ
âOurs is bigger,â Thomas sniffed, ignoring your greeting.Â
You bit back the curse on your tongue, noticing your motherâs warning glance. âYou must be well off, then.â Your mother disappeared from your side and joined your father and King Dominic, who left you and the pretentious prince alone in the parlor.
âWeâre quite well off,â 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. âCanât say the same about you.âÂ
âIs everything a contest with you?â you spoke through gritted teeth, feeling your fists ball at your sides.Â
âNot really--if Iâm always the one whoâs winning, is it ever a contest?âÂ
âYou--you--â you seethed, balling your fists and surging to your feet in anger. âYou egotistical, insufferable--arrogant--â
âAt least I know how to run a kingdom, princess.â
âOh, Iâm not your princess,â you snarled, stabbing a finger to the center of his chest. âYouâre a narcissistic tyrant.â
âA tyrant?â he repeated the words, rubbing his chest. âIâll have to add that one to the list--no oneâs ever called me that before.â
âThereâs a first for everything,â you hissed through gritted teeth. âGet. Out.â
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 couldnât.
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 couldnât relax; your skin prickled and your teeth ground together.
âWhat are you painting?â 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.
âNeverâŠ.mind,â Tom drew out, taking a step back towards the door.
âWhat do you want?â you spat at him, ripping the apron off of your waist and shoving it into a drawer.
âI didnât mean to frighten you,â he spoke softly, and you immediately regretted your harsh tone. His Adamâs apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, his eyes regarding you with wariness. âI wanted to apologize for my behavior.â
You blinked, and looked away while you bit your lip. âI apologize for calling you--ah, a tyrant.â
âI lied earlier,â he chuckled, stepping closer to you. âThat wasnât the first time Iâve been called that.â
You reached down and picked up the fallen paintbrush, the red pigment staining the marble floor. âI suppose we should be cordial to each other, seeing as weâre to be partners.â
âI think that would be wise.â
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.
âHow long have you been an artist?â he asked, running a finger down the side of the easel.
âEver since I could hold a brush,â you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. âI donât know why I got so angryâŠ.but I had been working on that piece for months now, not quite able to achieve the right composition.â
âItâs a shame, I would have like to see it.â
âMaybe Iâll paint something for you one day,â you offered nonchalantly, still looking into the fireplace. Tom shifted beside you, a blush rising into his cheeks.
âI would--I would like that very much.â
Silence again, but it was different this time. Comfortable.
âWould you like to go for a walk?â he asked suddenly, prompting you to look at him. âIt might please our parents.â
You glanced at the rain drizzling in the gardens. âIâm not sure if this is the right weather for a walk.â
He held out his arm for you to take. âItâs only a little rain, love.â
âDo you have any siblings?â you asked as you listened to the sound of your steps upon the gravel path.
âI have three--technically four, if you include my best mate,â Tom replied, holding the umbrella up above the two of you to shield the light shower of rain. âAll youngerâŠ.what about you?â
âI havenât got any brothers or sisters,â you admitted. âI had my mother and my maidens.â
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. âI have something to tell you,â he spoke, his voice low.
âWhat is it?â
He let out a breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. âItâs about our marriage.â
You frowned. âWhat about it?â
âIf I donât gain your hand, I sacrifice my lineage to one of my brothers,â 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. âMy father negotiated a deal with yours, hence why forming this alliance was so simple.â
âThatâs quite a lot of pressure,â you reached out your fingers towards him, but you hesitated--torn between your compassionate nature and maintaining your distance. âIt seems as if weâre both caught in the crossfire of politics--our sovereign law requires I have a husband in order to rule.â
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.
âI know this has all been predetermined,â 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. âBut, for cordial purposes, will you do me the honor of taking my hand in marriage?â
âI will,â you accepted, your voice tender. âWeâll bear our burdens together.â
âTogether,â he repeated. Getting to his feet, he offered his arm once more and opened the umbrella. âYour lips are blue, love. Letâs get you inside where itâs warm.â
âDarling, you look positively radiant,â 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.
âThank you, Mother,â you replied graciously, seating yourself delicately at the table. âI had quite a pleasant afternoon with--â
âThereâs been a change in plan, my dove,â your father cut you off before you could finish your sentence. âAfter the events regarding your behavior with Prince Thomas earlier this week, your mother and I decided that we would search elsewhere for a suitor.â
Your throat constricted and a cold grip tightened on your heart as your mind processed his words. âThat was just--we didnât--weâve reconciled, Papa.â
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. âI know why you chose him first--his father proposed a compromise for my hand in marriage.â
The king stopped eating, his eyes cold and sharp. âDo not presume to speak down to me on matters you do not understand.â
âWhat did he offer you?â you accused, gripping the edge of the table so tightly that your knuckles were pale. âMoney? Men for the army?â
âDarling?â the queenâs voice cut through, staring at your father with a withering look on her face. âIs this true?â
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, âIf 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.â And with those cruel words hanging in the air, he shoved himself away from the dinner table and exited the room.
âTom confessed that he would lose his crown to his brothers if he couldnât form our alliance,â 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.
âAgnes!â you called for your housemaid as you walked briskly down the corridor, searching for her. âAgnes, where are you?â
âIâm right here, little bird.â The old woman hobbled out of the broom closet, dusting her hands off. âWhat are you going on about?â
âWhere is Tom?â you pleaded, grasping her hands. âPlease.â
âHe and his father should still be in their chambers--â
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 wasnât too late. Rounding the corners and turns, you skidded to a stop in front of the entrance to the guestâs 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 wasnât 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 princeâs bed, the hood of your cloak pulled up to obscure your face.
âBefore you say anything,â you whispered, observing his startled expression at you sitting in his private chambers in his familyâs palace. âListen to me, carefully.â
Tom slowly closed the heavy wooden door behind him and pushed the deadbolt in place. âHow did you get in here?â
âI can be persuasive.â
âWhat are you doing here? Does your father know about this?â
You shook your head, unclasping your cloak and slipping it off. âNeither of them knowâŠ.but I--I had to see you. To explain.â
He remained unmoved, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. âGo ahead.â
âI donât know what you were told,â you began, moving to stand in front of him. âBut my father was the one to call the arrangement off--something in him changed, but that doesnât mean my vow has changed.â
Tomâs expression persisted to stay empty, but you recognized the pain and heartache that hid behind it. âTheyâll find you an appropriate suitor,â he stated bluntly. âOne that will do well for your kingdom.â
âHe wonât be you,â you begged. âPlease--â
âIâve already lost the crown to my brother,â he cried, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. âThere isnât anything I have left to offer you.â
âDonât marry me for politics,â you whispered, reaching out and placing your palm against his cheek. His hands dropped to his sides, leaning into your touch. âMarry me for love.â
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.
âEven though I have no political gain to give you,â he murmured, âyou would still have me?â
âWe bear the burden together,â you softly replied.
âTogether.â
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.
âBy 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,â the holy priest raised his right hand in blessing. âYou may now kiss your bride.â
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.Â
You were a queen--all on your own. After returning from Tomâs 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 husbandâs 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.
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#tom holland#tom holland imagines#tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fic#peter parker#peter parker imagines#peter parker x reader#peter parker fanfiction#spider man: homecoming#spiderman#spiderman imagines#spiderman fanfiction#spiderman homecoming imagines
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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.. đ€đ€đđđ€đđđ€đ€đđČđđđđ
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