#canon actually

[kusukuumoved]

[legolascontacts]

[backonmyvampirebullshit]

[named-after-a-planet]

jane: we all have j names. we have to stick together. will: joyce: jim: jonathan: jane: …it’s okay, j’william. you too. will: will: …it’s j’will.

[silliestfreakinggoose]

The gang are all such rage baiters, and like, Ponyboy thinks he’s the best at it, but this guy crashes out way too easily. Darry wins, actually, Johnny in a close second bc he’s subtle with it.

Sorry Pony your emotional regulation is shit because you’re a loser 14 year old :(

[the-songbird-and-snake]

harkness had braces as a kid send post

[huyandere]

i got too silly

[nozhdyved]

contains: patrick with bpd, toxic behavior, mentions of suicide . inspired by 'self sabotage' by waterparks

taglist: @pittsick, @sincerelystarry, @artstennisracket, @museboos, @girliism, @cowboyfaists, @yardofbrunettes, @love-ella333, @ferventdisciple, @y08h, @lacelottie, @forgetmenotnympho, @aurorlia, @faiztheap, @sweetestfaiszts, @sweetheartfaist, @jesuistrestriste, @artdonaldsonbabygirl, @hayleygrrr, @elsieblogs . click here to join !

on my way to u, sweet boy <3

Even though the text had only been sent two minutes ago, Patrick swore an entire lifetime had gone by with how long he stared at it. His phone weighed like a brick in his hand, and every time he tried to type out a response, he had to resist the urge to slam his head into the wall.

Patrick wasn’t sure when it started. You’d only been together for a few months, coming up on the fifth in a few weeks, and he loved you. Really, truly, he did. He just didn’t understand what you were still doing here.

A month ago, you’d said something offhandedly, playing the state capital game, and he’d furrowed his brow at an answer.

“Salem is the capital of Washington,” he muttered, and you laughed. Your eyes seemed to glimmer at his words, and all Patrick’s mind could focus on was how you seemed to be taunting him. 

“Baby, I’m not stupid. Olympia is Washington,” you said, and he scowled, shaking his head and pulling his phone out.

“That’s… that’s just not true,” he grumbled, and you scoffed.

“Fine, look it up! I know I’m right, I aced this shit in fifth grade.” Patrick tuned out your words as he angrily thumbed in the words into the search bar, jaw clenching at the answer it gave him. Salem is the capital of Oregon, his phone spit back at him, and he turned it off.

“I’m right, Salem’s in Washington,” he said gruffly, glaring at you as if challenging you.

You had just sighed, shrugging. “I know that’s not true, Pat-”

“Well, I’m never fucking wrong, okay?” The aggressiveness of his voice surprised even him, and he shook his head, frustrated. 

You didn’t banter with him anymore, Patrick noticed. After that, you seemed to veer away from trivia games. Because of him.

Three weeks ago, Patrick and you had been getting ready for a party. He sat on the bed and watched as you misted body spray over yourself, something tropical and tooth-achingly sweet. Anger began to stir in his chest at the sight, and he clenched his fists into the bedsheets.

It wasn’t fair, he didn’t understand. You looked so gorgeous, and he… he didn’t even want to think about himself. You were like a tantalizing pool of water in the middle of a drought, and he knew the second they went to that party, you’d be gone from his grasp.

“I’m gonna head out now, babe. Got plans with Clara,” he blurted out, finding himself in the middle of a lie. Patrick watched your reflection frown, then turn around.

“Your ex,” you said flatly, raising an eyebrow. Patrick feigned annoyance and stood up, shaking his head.

“Don’t make a scene, babe. It’s just for a little,” he grumbled, grabbing his keys and heading out. 

“You’re my fucking ride, Patrick!” you managed to call out before the door shut.

He saw you later that night, stumbling onto the front yard with another boy. He let his hand fall from Clara’s waist, heading over to you with a scowl on his face.

“The fuck?” he snapped, clenching his fists and glaring at the other guy, who wisely gave him a wide berth. “Who even is that guy?”

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I needed to get here somehow, didn’t I?” you sneered, pushing past him. “I need a drink.”

The morning after, Patrick had sent a slew of texts. Scrolling up to re-read them, he winced at the contents.

baby im sorry ok like wtf do u even want me to say u always do this just talk to me baby u know i cant live without you

Patrick winced seeing the words he had sent, turning his phone off and groaning under his breath. It’d been four minutes since you’d sent the initial text, and Patrick still didn’t know how to respond.

Two weeks ago, you’d tried to break up with him. You said he was too possessive, not attentive enough, just plain mean. And those words hurt Patrick more than anything ever could.

He loved you. He’d do anything for you, and yeah, he was a little fucked up, but that shouldn’t take away the love he had for you. The second those words had escaped your mouth, he was stalking over to his medicine cabinet and rummaging through the bottles.

“Patrick. Patrick!” you called, and he turned around, pouring pills into his open palm. “Fuck are you doing, Pat?”

Patrick had shrugged coolly, his expression scarily neutral. “Gonna kill myself,” he said loftily, and he watched with a hungry expression as you lunged forward and smacked his wrist. He watched in satisfaction as the pills scattered onto the floor, and your hands landed on his waist.

“...Christ, Patrick.”

Yesterday, they were sitting together on his couch, lazily sprawled in each other’s arms when he’d asked, “Do you love me?”

You frowned, looking up at him. “‘Course I do,” you murmured, kissing his cheek. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek, shrugging. “Just wanna make sure.” He was glad his tactics were working. It meant you couldn’t leave now.

And today, he stared at the text you sent, trying to word a response that would push you away and keep you coming back for more.

dont bother. busy rn.

He tossed his phone aside and collapsed onto his bed, groaning and scrubbing a hand over his face.

What the fuck is wrong with me?