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#jeffrey/justus
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I saw this meme picture(?) on Instagram earlier today and all I could think of was PB&J ft. Kelly.
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Alternatively:
PB&J ft. Jeffrey
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If anyone has the muse to draw it, please do! I wanna see. 😭
But I don’t have the time to draw it myself at the moment.
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pepart · 1 year
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Love truly makes blind 🫣
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[Ice Hockey AU @creatingchaoticchaos]
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leuchtturmhaus · 1 year
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maevionart · 10 months
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die drei fragezeichen und die gay panic
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boligona · 11 months
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bestimmt hat das jemand schonmal gemacht, aber.. Pokemon AU?
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mit Justus, der eine kleine komfortable Gruppe hat, um das Detektivleben cooler auszuleben
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und Peter, der das Pokemon Game sehr ernst nimmt und gleich ein riesiges Team aufstellt 💀😭
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und Bob mit seiner kleinen Gruppe - hier ein Zytomega (hilft ihm beim Bücher / Archivakte tragen realtalk)
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justusjonas · 1 year
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drei jeffrey erwähnungen PLUS sein erster auftritt 🥰
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bobandrews · 1 year
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so I heard @justusjonas mentioning justus x jeffrey 😳
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casparelli · 2 years
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Sorry for the repost, meine settings haben es nicht zugelassen dass mein post im Tag erscheint 🫠
Fanart für die geniale ‘Drei Fragezeichen’ fanfic ‘Das letzte Gefecht’ auf ao3, von @byallaccountsitdoesntmakesense
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Can I copy your homework? Die Drei Fragezeichen Edition
(Art by @captbexx)
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quecksilvereyes · 1 year
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a beautiful boy
you meet a beautiful boy when you are thirteen and barely fit into your running shoes. there is a mole just under his lips, and when he laughs, the world is a little brighter. the rain smells a little sharper.
“hey”, says the boy with a beautiful breaking voice.
you have never before wondered what someone's mouth might taste like. but his eyes crinkle and his knees are rubbed raw. his skin is tanned and there’s a soft dusting of freckles along his nose.
you ache.
 *
you kiss a beautiful boy against the bleachers when you are seventeen. his calves are strong and his hands are woven so tightly into your hair that you think he might never let go at all. his chest pushes against yours in short bursts, his lips rest against the flutter of your pulse.
he tastes like soot and rain. when he rests his head against the metal doors, the fluorescent lights illuminate the curve of his throat. his hair is ever soft under your fingers, full of sand and salt.
he smiles.
you lick into his mouth and when he gives way under you, it's a downpour of ash. his tongue lies, heavy lead, against yours. when he drags you closer, it is a phantom of a claiming.
did you ever crawl into a fireplace, for him?
did he ever drag you, shaking hands and steady legs, over a chasm dug by time?
in his back pocket, his phone rings, an old-fashioned thing. “oh fuck”, says the beautiful boy with beautiful eyes and a wretched smile. “bob.” he holds up the phone between the both of you. “we've got a case. i gotta run.”
you don't hold onto him. you don't ask him to stay. you don't bury your mouth in the swell of his shoulders, you don't drag your calloused hands through his hair.
if you did -
you kiss a beautiful boy against the bleachers. he won't stay there, even if you sink pins into his joints and your teeth into his lungs.
 *
you hold a beautiful boy pressed against your chest. his hair is ruffled and there is something blooming on his skin. if you drop your hands against his back, you can feel a twin-imprint against the spread of his ribs. your fingertips against his vertebrae, his mouth smeared along your collar bone.
the pockets of his shorts are turned inside out, and his backpack is spread on the floor. against the freshly laid wood, his phone vibrates.
a beautiful boy presses his nose and his mouth and the worried line of his forehead into your skin. his hair is dripping sand, his cheeks are dripping salt. his shoulders are shaking and he has not taken off his shoes.
they are stained black over the thick layer of red he has run into them over the years, and his socks are loose on his ankles. his shorts are wet against your legs, and his shirt sticks to your chest. his voice floods the valley of your guts.
on the floor, his phone vibrates.
when he untangles himself from your bones, do you let him? do you watch him fix his pockets and run his hands through his hair? will it be you who lays still as he picks up his things?
a beautiful boy pulls his mouth into a tear-dripping smile. “justus.” he holds the phone up between you. “we’ve got a case.”
do you see his lockpicks, strewn on the floor? do you let him press his mouth against your wrist, a flutter of gratitude?
you don’t pull it away. you smile at him until your cheeks hurt and you can feel the salt eating into your skin. you don’t get out of your bed.
“hey”, you say.
a beautiful boy stands in your doorway, already half out of your room. he barely turns around.
“do you think if i draw him a chart, justus will understand the concept of personal property?”
the boy laughs. the world is a little brighter, and the rain smells a little sharper. you pull yourself up on your elbows, and the corners of your mouth towards your cheeks.
“he always gives them back when i need them”, says the boy and shrugs. “he knows.”
and-
there is soot spread on your skin, and lead on your shirt where a beautiful boy has dug himself inside of you. there is, still, an ashen handprint cupping his mouth, and a set of lips lain on the top of his shoulder. his chest moves slowly.
let him go.
 *
you watch a beautiful boy win a sprint with a sunlit smile on his face. he doesn’t turn towards you. instead, he spreads his hands through curls and lays his head against a sharp-edged boy cushioned with care. a set of palms on his hips. another on his neck.
“hey, colleagues”, he says, and shapes with his mouth a tale of longing. “is there a case?”
both of them shake their heads. “we’re here for you”, they say into the freckles on his face.
the boy laughs.
the world is a little brighter. the rain smells a little sharper. you rest your forearms against the railing, and stay there until the metal has left marks on your skin. On the track, a beautiful boy crashes against rocks and leaves behind a spray of froth.
the stones sway in time with him, lips on his shoulder, and hands on his mouth.
 *
– the perfect wave breaks underneath your board. you ride it until you get stuck in the sand and lose the last of your momentum. in your throat, there sits a whooping sound. your muscles burn.
laying in the sand, you shake your head until your hair hits your face. come on, and grab your board. there is only so much time a wave can spend, spitting spray, apart from the sea.
there is only ever one perfect wave.
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skyetenshi · 1 year
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Wie oft informiert Peter heimlich Cotta, dass sich die drei Detektive in Gefahr bringen und er sie retten kommen soll wenn Peter sich bis zu einem bestimmten Zeitpunkt nicht meldet?
Ist das so ein konstanter Austausch zwischen Peter und Cotta, von dem Justus nichts weiß? Und jedes Mal wenn Cotta sie retten kommt, tut Peter so als wäre es eine einmalige Sache und nicht, dass er Cotta praktisch ständig seinen Livestandort schickt.
Dieser Stress den Cotta ausstehen muss! Aber immerhin ist er vorbereitet, dass er bald entweder zur Rettung oder zur Festnahme ausrücken muss. Vielleicht hat Peter auch Cottas Privatnummer, die er unter einem Falschen Namen abspeichert.
Vielleicht unter Jeffrey.
Jeffrey wiederum ist unter einen dämlichen Spitznamen gespeichert.
[Surfbuddy, Wellenreiter, Jeff X-ray, Nixe, Jesus with a board, hamster, best normal friend, not crime friend, he who must not be out of water, love, darling, gay, surfing gay, gaying surf, beach buddy, master of the water, Wasserbändiger, dreamwife]
...mir fallen zu viele Spitznamen für Jeffrey ein...
Aber ja das halte ich für eine Möglichkeit
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pepart · 1 year
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Idiots in love 🤭
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leuchtturmhaus · 7 months
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Peter Shaw is the type of guy to (platonically) kiss all his friends
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dasloddl · 1 year
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I miss jeffrey
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archivandrews · 10 months
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Wenn man seine random 3am fanfiction Ideen findet
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boligona · 9 months
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dings drama im schwulen-paradies (oder so)
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