It’s So Funny That U Can Just Color Text On This Website Boom Bitch Im Green Now. Youre Hearing Me

locking tf in rn academic weapon core remus lupin would be proud

“#by the time I get here no one will be reading” my brother in christ, depraved ghost is the lifeblood of this fandom give me that nasty man

lkfjhkjfhst points were made

I don’t know how we’re letting trump get away with all this shit when I truly believe that if you threw a blanket over his head he would think it was nighttime and go to sleep like a bird

Thinking thoughts about fae!Reader who looks just like a normal person, not a trace of magic in their appearances, not a smidge of glamour the rest of their folk use routinely.

Fae!Reader who crosses paths with 141, their eyes warm when they sell a handsome man with Mohawk a sketchbook in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when the lads are out there.

Fae!Reader who follows the taste of their bonds, who feeds off the “thank you, bonnie!” from a friendly Scot, their eyes shining for a single moment before they are normal again. Regular. Human.

Fae!Reader who meets the even friendlier sergeant right after, their fingers itching to trace the smooth expanse of his dark skin, to sink in teeth into the muscular forearm.

To see if the man bleeds as pretty as he looks.

It’s a different city and a different time now, their hook sinking into the soft underbelly of man’s genuine gratitude when they help him to pick up spilled groceries.

Fae!Reader who hunts Price down, two steps up on the ladder, their excitement vibrating so hard that part of their human, regular appearance start to melt off.

They meet him in a different place again, they get a short “thank you, love” — off-handed and hardly warm, for a cup of coffee they serve him.

But it’s still a thanks, it’s still another hook.

It’s still a debt.

Fae!Reader who comes to Price in dreams, their face always murky, their appearances ever changing, their weight on his hips making him ache for things he shouldn’t. Coaxing out a plea from him, getting their fill of his desperation, kissing the man stupid and leaving before sunrise.

Fae!Reader who now is three steps up, leaving them with the last one.

With Ghost’s heavy presence, with Ghost’s watchful eyes and iron all over the body. This one could be tricky.

Ghost, who knows that they will come — who have seen the dazed look in his captain’s eyes, the way Johnny itches for something and doesn’t remember what for, the way Kyle develops strange hungers he can never sate.

Ghost who bumps into you himself, ‘accidentally’ dropping your coat off the back of their chair in a bustling cafe, murmuring “here ya go, luv” when he picks it up and gives it back.

Fae!Reader who tilt their head to the side and murmur “thank you”, Ghost’s fingers lingering on your shoulders when he puts the coat back on them.

Cold outside, luv, wouldn’t want you to freeze when you are so far away from your court. Following them to the edge of the world.

Bond snaps in place like a tight golden lace, when fae blinks at him astounded, their eyes shining for a second too long, their human face starting to melt just above their left brow before they pull themselves together.

Simon knows he needs to be careful. Simon knows that fae are petty, that fae are dangerous, that fae hold grudges for as long as they live.

And they live forever.

But Ghost hums under his breath and pulls away finally, turning his back to the creature that haunted his whole team for the last three years, weaving themselves inside them.

When pretty fae comes back Ghost is already waiting for them — tugging them out of their shadows, biting down on their neck and holding them down.

You hiss at him, shadows curling around Simon’s ankles, threatening to break them in half. But Simon has the shadows of his own.

Ghost tuts at you like you are unruly pet being ridiculous, leaning in to lick your blood off, low growl rumbling in his chest. Fuck, that’s even better than he thought it’s going to be.

You are half dazed and half mad, when he pushes your back to his captain’s chest. John’s smoke curling like a live thing, John’s fingers angling your head up, thumb prying your mouth open.

Bad bad idea it was to come to them yourself, to make them want and yearn and wait.

Soap smiles, light bending around him, his eyes impossible blue of mountain springs, his teeth just a little too sharp.

His fingers getting into your hair, getting himself just a strand, just enough to tide him over while L.T. and captain take their fill.

Didn’t you know you need to be careful, bonnie?

Fae are petty, after all.

Fae are vicious.

Fae are dangerous.

Kyle’s fingers tug your shirt off, big palms of his coming up to your chest, stars dancing in the eyes of his, points of his lips a little too wide to be human.

Fae hold grudges for as long as they live, darling.

And they live forever.

Now why do migraines have to happen. Why is Satan actively trying to crawl into my skull via my left eye socket and can he please leave.

Remus “do what you want with me” Lupin:

i honestly prefer to kick a man when hes down. its the easiest time to do it

The way most autism literature describes "literal interpretation" is often not at all similar to how I experience it. Teenage me even thought I couldn't be autistic because I've always been able to learn metaphors easily.

In fact, I love wordplay of all kinds. Teenage me was fascinated to learn all the types of figurative language there are in poetry and literature.

But paperwork and questionnaires are hard, because there's so much they don't state clearly. Or they don't leave room for enough nuance.

"List all the jobs you've had, with start and end dates." What if I don't remember the exact day or month? Is the year enough?

"Have you been suffering from blurred vision?" Well, if I take off my glasses the whole world is blurred, but I'm fairly sure that's not what the intake form at the optometrist is asking.

Or the infamous (and infuriatingly stereotypical) "Would you rather go to a library or a party?" What sort of party? Where? Who's there? I work at a library. Am I currently at the library for work or pleasure? Does it have a good collection?

It's not common figures of speech that confound me. It's ambiguity, in situations that aren't supposed to be ambiguous.