y’all ever read a fanfic that you cannot believe an author just wrote for free?? what an honor it is to read a piece of someone’s soul they shared out of nothing but love for a piece of media. what a privilege it is to be allowed their talent because you share an interest!!
y’all ever read a fanfic that you cannot believe an author just wrote for free?? what an honor it is to read a piece of someone’s soul they shared out of nothing but love for a piece of media. what a privilege it is to be allowed their talent because you share an interest!!
I’ve been getting horrible messages like this in my ask for months, including:
and my personal favorite
After getting the message saying “Just go kill yourself” I was completely done dealing with this person’s horrible messages and replied with just an “Okay.” and logged off tumblr.
About a week later I logged back on with 17 messages in my ask, most of them from the anon. I scrolled down and at first when I logged off, the anon messaged me things like
I scrolled up more and all of a sudden they started sending me more and more messages like
This was extremely surprising to me. I thought “After all those horrible messages you sent to me for MONTHS about hating me and wanting me dead, you say ‘sorry’ and that you ‘cant be responsible for someone’s suicide’?”
But I guess the lesson goes like this:
DONT TELL ANYONE TO KILL THEMSELVES UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED FOR WHAT MIGHT ACTUALLY HAPPEN
This needs to be reblogged. I couldn’t scroll past this if I tried, I got a message like that but not for me, it told me to my friend to kill them self, I was livid! I didn’t answer it because a message like that doesn’t deserve an answer but I don’t see what is so funny about telling someone to kill them selves! I really don’t! It’s sick and it’s wrong. This person though, I take my hat off to you. You taught that bully a lesson.
How the fuck is the anon gonna do a complete U turn when they find out ‘oh shit they might actually kill themselves’ every action has consequences, good or bad, some people never learned this and it really fucking shows.
How about this: Stop being a coward and don’t use anonymous! And obviously, why on Earth would you tell someone to go kill themselves?! That Anon is a absolute S.O.B !!
Don’t listen to those cowards. You are loved and worth much more than they can ever comprehend. Those guys are just scum who can’t deal with their own insecurities, so they take it out on others
How can someone be so disgusting, just ignore that coward that doesn’t have the courage to even show themselfs. DONT JOKE WITH SUICIDE DONT TELL ANYONE THAT THEY SHOULD BE DEAD IT’S NOT FUNNY AT ALL.
When I was thirteen, I tried to commit. I tried a second time when I was sixteen.
Both times, the people that had driven me to feeling like there were no alternatives at all were so worried, that they all cried and hugged me, despite how I was actively pushing them away, saying that I couldn't ever 'scare' them like that again.
They were stunned, offended, and claimed to be 'joking', when I told them why I had done it, and who they were to me.
Actions have consequences, and saying such things to people IS an action.
If you make that choice, be ready for the consequences that come to you.
For the chronically anxious and/or otherwise mentally ill:
This is not a screamer, jumpscare, or any other kind of horror link I don’t know the name of. It will not cause you to question reality and as far as I’m aware, there is no reason it should cause any kind of hallucinations or psychosis. I don’t want to spoil the surprise because it’s DELIGHTFUL but I am happy to tell you it’s very sweet and gentle and also great lowkey stress relief. This is a cinnamon roll link appropriate for all ages (yes, all the way down to babies) and you will enjoy it if you click it. ❤️
People, please be careful. There are also people tracking children and people and putting bids on them based on their profile pictures on whatsapp, tracking and kidnapping them. Especially young children, so please be cautious, especially parents who have their children as their profile pictures.
Please pass this on to everyone so that they are aware of the danger. I don’t how it is all around the world but I know it can’t just be here so please please spread the word. Thank you.
oh yeahhhh, I saw that on snapchat. it’s been freakin’ EVERYWHERE lately. i haven’t been getting the text, luckily, but im still extremely cautious about it. shit’s scary.
not just girls, but boys and other genders have to be careful as well. this could happen to anyone. please be safe, my friends <3
FOR ALL THE YOUNGER PEOPLE THAT FOLLOW. YOU GUYS ARE SMART. YOU KNOW THIS. BUT JUST IN CASE THERE ARE SOME WHO MIGHT NOT. THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU NOT SMART, PERHAPS JUST LESS INFORMED.
DO NOT CLICK LINKS IN TEXTS EVER. GO TO ACTUAL WEBSITES FOR ONES YOU RECOGNIZE AND TYPE IN THE URL. OR A BOOKMARK IF YOU HAVE ONE. DON’T CLICK LINKS IN TEXTS AND SOCIAL MEDIA MESSAGES/DMS AND EMAILS. EVEN IF YOU KNOW THE PERSON. TAKE EXTREME CAUTION.
IF YOU’RE GUTS SAYS EH WOULDN’T DO THAT BUDDY. LISTEN.
Obligatory reblog! @imhumanguysiswear @childlikegoblinqueen @teaontoasty @spinaroos-47 @smokestarrules Sorry if this bothers you but I do know someone who has received these messages so it better not to take any chances!
Except... he isn't moving. He's sat in the back of the library beside you, staring into the long isle of books ahead of them, like something in the shadows will tell him how to fix himself together.
How to bring back his mother. How to undo his fathers anger. How to breath above the water. How to let people love him. How to play guitar.
How to use wood glue on bits of his body that don't fit anymore.
Like something in the darkness will make him a little brighter. Like something in the dark will take him back to when the things under his bed were the scariest part of the day.
Your fingers brush his bruised knuckles, and he almost flinches.
"I didn't make my bed this morning" he mutters, tense. Everything was perfect, he was perfect, it was that one thing, the one task he'd forgotten. He berated himself. As though making his bed as perfect as the rest of the things around him would fix it.
Maybe that was why he didn't know how to talk to you. You're imperfect. You have ink on your fingers, and your tie is uneven, and your hair is messy. Your shoes are scuffed, your shirt sleeve has a coffee stain on the wrist, your skirt has wrinkles.
You're pretty. Like sunshine.
He's never particularly cared for summer.
He glances down, watching your fingers toy with his own. Didn't you ever stop moving?
You gently squeeze his hand once.
And again.
Three times - his mother used to say that meant 'I love you'.
You pull your hand away to tuck your hair behind your ear, and he watches, trembling fingers reaching out to push it back off your shoulder. If he fixed the things he could, perhaps the things he couldn't fix would follow suit.
Why does this hurt?
Your hand tangles your fingers with his against the old, hard, wood. Your nail polish is chipped, he notices. A part of him wishes he didn't.
Your head lands on his shoulder, and he stiffens. It takes a moment, but he forces himself to relax.
Asleep. She's asleep, is all.
He repeats it to himself twice before he can breathe again.
You smell sweet, like caramel, and fire hearth smoke. He itches to reach for a cigarette. He doesn't. You don't like the smell.
Something, not quite yet broken, wants you to like him.
He should be asleep.
The thought is sudden. Passing. Considered with an unfamiliar annoyance at how often he studied. Smoked. Kept himself awake, even when he had to pinch himself to do it.
The bruises on his knuckles ache. His split lip throbs. His fingers toy aimlessly with a strand of your hair.
Pretty.
He checks the time again, two hours. He's been staring at you for two hours.
Gazing.
Watching.
Admiring.
For two hours.
He looks back at his homework. It could wait... couldn't it?
It would still be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. He doesn't know why he rushes himself, why he feels the need to complete every menial task the second he notices. He just knows that usually, when he doesn't, a panic begins to swell.
A sickened, heavy, desperate, panic.
It sits in the back of his throat, and floods his chest, and burns up his insides like a firestarter dropped into gasoline. Like all he's waiting for is the match.
His eyes stray to his bag. He'd gotten a letter from his father that morning. He hasn't opened it. He's not going to.
He pulls your sleeping body into his lap gently, cradling you to his chest as he gathers your things, and then his.
He hauls both bags over one shoulder, lifts you into his arms, and prays you don't wake as he begins carrying you back to the slytherin common room.
He listens to you breathe.
Contentment, safety, a sick, slippery sort of happiness that leaves his head spinning.
Love has never sounded so clear. Your breath feels like his mother's old lullabies.
Listening to you breathe feels like the home he knew he needed, but didn't want to find. It's too late now, he supposes. He's found it.
God.
He inhales- slow, terrified.
"I need her to need me back."
He whispers to himself.
He settles you down onto your favorite couch in the slytherin common room. He slips off your shoes, and slips off your socks. He gently braids your hair, and pushes the strands he couldn't catch gently behind your ear. He lays a blanket over your body and another pillow beneath your head. He places more wood on the fire, and places a lingering kiss to your temple.
And then, he sits down with your legs in his lap, and stays.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't speak.
But when you stir, that familiar crease between your brows, he reaches up... smoothes it out... and whispers soft promises he means until you're content again.
He loves you, he decides. He never meant to, but something about you felt like seaside in Italy and his mother's lullabies, and his grandfathers pride.
Things with you were... simple.
He loves you. You're tilted, imperfect. You're all he's ever needed. All he'll ever want.
Bruised knuckles drag up your shin, lightly rubbing your knee as you stir.
He doesn't know how to speak to you.
But when he loves you, there will be signs.
Signs like his hands on your knees at three in the morning, and his skewed tie still unfixed only in your presence.
Pretty, he thinks again.
You stir, eyes meeting his. His lips part, and its the first thing he's said to you all week.
TERFS STOP INTERACTING WITH THIS POST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DONT LIKE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF YOU DONT RESPECT TRANS WOMEN GET OFF MY BLOG!!!!!! PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!
CW: Blood is kind of vividly described, slightly obsessed/dirty minded Theo
Theo entered the Great Hall grumbling.
He sat down grumbling.
And he glared at his utensils grumbling.
You share a look with Pansy, curious and amused, "Theo? What s'a matter?" you ask, leaning in to speak quietly.
The smooth, albeit grumpy italian falling from his lips trails into silence as he glances at your shared friends, unsure whether or not he was willing to tell you - and realistically speaking, the others - about the frankly humiliating situation that had him in such a foul mood.
He knew he was probably being dramatic, but he'd never fucked up like he had this time, and a part of him was deeply - though probably unreasonably -embarassed."Tell you later" he mumbles, his right hand picking up his fork as he stabs at the beans on his plate.
He ignores the questioning looks of the others, the stinging, and most of the loud conversations in the great hall as he keeps his left hand firmly beneath the table, wiping blood on the low hem of his white uniform shirt. He'd never cared much for it anyway, this way he had a reason to wear something other than the stuffy hogwarts shirts in the hot classrooms.
So perhaps there was somewhat of a silverlining to the situation he found himself in.
Eventually, students begin to trickle out of the Great Hall and towards their prefect or head duties, or their common rooms - You and Theodore amongst them - he hesitates as you both enter the slytherin common room, gently grasping your wrist and leading you up to your own dorm. Your first aid kit never stung as much as his, perhaps because you got the good products, and none of them were expired, which he wasn't particularly aching to hear about the riviting affects of not taking proper care of his bumps and scrapes for a third time this month.
He also really didn't want you questioning the flowers tossed (delicately placed) alongside the thin drips of red against his green covers.
"Theo?" you mumble, letting him lead you along as he continues hiding his left hand from your view. He doesn't answer, stopping only to drop your wrist and open your dorm door, you allow him to tug you wordlessly into your dorms bathroom, repating yourself.
"Teddy?"
He groans, reluctantly showing you his hand, blood dripping down his fingertips from the mean cut along the back of his pointer and middle fingers, he'd bled a decent bit, but the drips were more of an occasional trickle of red against his tan skin. "I.. fuck- I got distracted dethorning roses in herbology" he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes as you guide his fingers over the sink, running a gentle stream of warm water over his bloodied fingers, the watery red dripping down your palm as he watches, something about it making his jaw tick.
"Why were you dethorning roses? I thought you were meant to be trimming venemous tentacula?"
For you.
For your halloween - or, really autumn solstice - ball outfit you'd been mentioning to Pansy that morning at breakfast.
That's exactly what he didn't say.
Couldn't say.
"I did, and then I got bored" he grumbles, itallian accent thick as he winces, watching you clean out the jagged marks along his fingers with your own before gently drying them off. The bleeding has entirely stopped now, but it still stings terribly as you disinfect them, getting ready to place two fresh bandaids over them. He pulls back his hand slightly, and it makes you pause.
"Do you want me to kiss them? So they get better?" you ask quietly, your fingers tacing his palm soothingly.
He swallows the lump in his throat, his baby brown eyes dropping to your lips.
"That works?" he nearly croaks. Fuck - if Mattheo could see him now he'd have a fit. Maybe he'd laugh so hard he'd choke and die so Theo wouldn't have to kill him for it.
You nod softly, gently tugging at his sleeve. "Mhm, my mum used to do it when I was little" you tilt your head.
"Yeah, s'alright then" he grumbles, just trying not to sound like he was about to lose his mind over the fact she was going to fucking kiss it better.
Shit, maybe he should ask Mattheo to punch him in the dick.
You press gentle kisses to both cuts, wrapping bandaids around his fingers after.
"All better" you hum, smiling up at him.
He nods stiffly, his newly fixed up hand tangling into your hair as he guides your head to his chest in a hug. "Thanks, doc, 'nything else I gotta do?" he mumbles, mostly joking. He'd do anything for you, maybe that was a part of the reason he was so fucked in the head, 'cause he couldn't get you out of it.
"Mh, just be careful, Teddy" you huff, and he has to hold back a groan. He had to leave before you called him that again, before you said anything that would make him want to drag you to your bed and make you ruin your sheets.
"I will, I gotta go meet Mattheo, love" he lies through his teeth. He needs a smoke before he goes fucking crazy. He places a lingering kiss to the top of your head before bidding you goodnight and leaving the girls dorms.
There wasn't a lot of things you loved more than your friends, but perhaps the way Theodores low murmur of italian slips through his lips against your forehead could be one of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He's driving himself fucking mad, the memory of your lips against his ripped open skin replaying in his mind like a fucking charmed camera had snapped in his brain at the perfect moment.
His knee bounces quickly as he sits with Mattheo and Draco, blowing through cigarettes like they're candy straws. You'd given him candy straws once - muggle ones he'd split with you. He'd taken the lemon, cherry, and blue raspberry ones and you'd kept the rest.
"Fucking hell, spit it out- before you drive us up the wall with you" Draco mumbles, flicking his cigarette butt over the side of the astronomy tower, and it makes him glare. You didn't like when people did that, it was why he stopped.
"I can't get her outta my fuckin' head" Theodore breathes, inhaling the poison into his lungs near desperately. Mattheo smirks, distracted by the few people millng about the ground below, "what's new?" he breathes, exhaling the smoke in his own lungs.
Theos knee stops bouncing as a wild, stupid, fucking genious idea slipped into his mind.
"Draco, I need you to do somethin'" Theo sits up, flicking his cigarette onto the floor and stepping on it before exhaling the last of the addictive smoke.
The boy in question groans, "fuckin' depends. what." he snaps, and a cheeky smirk tugs at Theos lips.
"Punch me in the mouth."Mattheo sits up, looking oddly like he'd struck gold as he inhales.
"What the fuck? Why?" Draco scoffs, and Mattheos eyes widen in a near giddy excitment.
"'Cause Theo's a fuckin' freak that knows if he goes to Y/n she'll kiss it all better" Mattheo taunts. Draco raises an amused brow as Theo shrugs noncommitally.
"You sure?" Draco muses, and Theo can only shrug again. Draco and Mattheo share a look and suddenly Mattheo's on his feet, brown eyes wild with excitement.
"How hard?" he grins and Theo follows suit, tugging off his sweater, leaving him in dark jeans and a white t-shirt.
"As long as I bleed, I don't fucking care"
Mattheo cracks his knuckles."How many times?"
"Twice."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The second you saw Theo you were on your feet and practically running to his side, much to his obvious delight as you examine his split lip and the bleeding cut along to bridge of his nose. "Teddy, what happened?" you ask, worried, as your thumb traces the bruising around the cut on his nose.
He tips his head down, pretending that the way he presses his cheek into your palm is an accident as he 'reacts' to the light pressure you're appyling to his (very, very, hurt - if you asked) nose.
His eyes flicker to Mattheo for barely a moment, and he has to bite harshly at his lower lip to keep himself from smirking, the familiar metal taste flooding his tongue.
"Just an argument, ragazza dolce" (sweet girl) he nearly coos the nickname, and you don't know what it means, but it makes you flush a subtle pink nonetheless.
"Can you fix me up, love? Hurts" he grumbles, practically chewwing on his split lower lip as you take his hand. He intertwines your fingers as he lets you lead him up to your bathroom this time.
He leans against the edge of the counter, spreading his legs for you to stand between as you tip his chin down so you can properly fix up his nose.
He waits patiently for you to clean his nose, gluing it up and applying the thin white strips of whatever properly. He never took as much care of himself as you do, that's why he goes to you. He loves how much you care - loves watching the worried way your teeth tug at you own lip whenever he winces. It's never as bad as it looks, not that he'd ever tell you that.
You move to begin on his lip and he leans down slightly, gazing at her warmly, "c'mon love.. not gonna kiss this one better? S'hurting" he mumbles, and you can't help but mumur an apology as his hands find their way around your lower back to press you just slightly closer to his chest as he dips his head to allow you to lightly kiss the cut along his nose.
He knows he's being greedy when his hands fall to the backs of your thighs and knead at the skin as your fingers gently clean his bleeding lip, and when his eyes watch your teeth chewing on your lip he knows asking you to bite his instead would be too much for such a sweet, worried, thing like you.
The last thing he wants is to spook his angel, but when you lift his chin slightly to double-check your work, he can't help the faux-innocent pout on his lips and the pleading gaze he doesn't have to fake.
"Not gonna kiss this one better?" he mumbles, and the butterflies in your stomach melt into a violent stampede urging you to do as he asks, no matter what he wanted.
He hums, leaning close enough for his nose to bump against yours playfully, "s'not gonna heal if you don't, y'know" he teases quietly, and your eyes meet his. They're dark in this lighting, or perhaps it has something to do with the way you could imagine your own skin bruising if he grips your legs any harder.
Something in the chocolate brown softens as you hesitate, and you see your Theodore, the one that listens to what people say and doesn't bother to ask if someone needs help - just doing it for them. Your Theo that has only let you call him teddy for as long as you can remember and who listens to quiet music with you, and doesnt complain when you talk endlessly about whatever had captured your attention that week. Your Theo that stopped smoking in class and throwing his cigarette butts anywhere except into bins, and always let you wear his spare quidditch jersey when the weather is less than stellar, and who was there for you when your ex cheated in fourth year and hasn't let himself leave your side since.
"Please?" he murmurs, and realize that, somehow, you've never been more comfortable with anyone than you are when you're with Theo. He's sweet, and funny, and you've always thought perhaps you could live in the way his clothes smell when you borrow them.
You've always thought of your best friend as safe, the warmth from him when he let his arm rest over the back of your chair, and the way he places his palm against your hip to guide you out of the path of excitable first years or redheads with matches and fireworks nearly tumbling from their pockets.
He feels like he could live forever in the moment your lips brush the dull sting on his, his fingers winding their way into your hair as he kisses you properly, his other hand cupping your cheek so sweetly it makes your knees go weak.
It's unbelieveably soft, nothing like the way he kisses the girls at parties, this kiss is important to him. He wants you to want to kiss him again, so lets himself slow down. It's the first time he's ever cared enough to want to.
His lips trace yours, and a metalic taste seeps into your mouth as you part your lips.
He only kisses you deeper, hating himself for needing to breathe when he pulls away, he could die breathless on your lips and it would be the one thing he'd never regret - not even if he got the chance.
His thumb follows, sweeping over your lips, collecting the messy red he left there and sweetly tracing, rubbing it into your lips like lipstick, his touch never forceful as blood drips down his chin.
He lets you clean him up again in silence, and when you're done for the second time, he smiles down at you, his hands thumbs tracing lines on your hips.
"Hey" you meet his eyes, bright, and so Teddy you almost can't stop yourself from smiling back.
Almost.
You smile at him anyway.
He nearly melts, like he was Draco when Hermione kissed him in sixth year.
Mattheo would laugh at him for this too, but Theo would simply wait until the H/R/S/G Mattheo was scaring himself falling for smiled at him for the first time after their first kiss.
"Are you sure that first 'get better' kiss worked?" he asks, and you know he's asking if you would ever want to kiss him again.
"I don't think so" you whisper, leaning up to gently place a short kiss to his split lip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's too hot to bother playing quidditch as everyone sits together in the middle of the grassy pitch, nobody had expected for the last day of summer to be this hot - not when it had already started cooling into autumn, but nobody was complaining about the break from winds in corridors just cold enough to make you shiver as it crept up sleeves and skirts and under woolen jumpers.
Theos arm was around your shoulders, unlabed but each others, as he places a flower crown of dried red roses and pressed rosemary leaves into your lap.
"What's this?" you muse, gently picking it up and admiring it, how he'd crafted it was brilliant, a permenant sticking charm keeping the flowers and leaves together on a rose vine.
"That is why I was dethorning roses" he mumbles into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple through your hair.
"For your autumn solstice ball dress" he adds, nuzzling his nose into your cheek to make you laugh.
"Thank you, Teddy" you smile, and he hums, "always, amore" he mumbles, placing his chin on your shoulder. "You'll go with me, won't you? To the dance?" he mumbles.
You smile, "I thought you weren't going?" you tease, and you feel his shoulders move in an unbothered shrug.
"If you're there, I'm there" he grumbles softly.
You might not have been his first anything, but you were the first one that mattered, and that'll never change.
