#(i think it’s safe to say that my mom loves glimmer)

[phantomrose96]

Savit-e

My host mother is a woman with long twirling hair and more floral-patterned sundresses than I’ve seen in my entire life. She throws open the closet each morning to flick each dress along its hanging rail, sharp squeaks. “What can I even wear?” The dresses sway like summer willows. I sneak in behind her and grab a t-shirt and jeans from my tiny pile at the bottom.

She loves earrings that swing and she loves stain-glass windchimes which clink and muse while she pours me the bitterest cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. I fill it with sugar and she chides me. I remind her of all the spicy dishes I make that she cannot eat, and she says, “Okay, I’ll let it go this one time.” She sips her tea black. The birds titter at her joke. We’ll have the same conversation tomorrow.

My host mother is Jira and I wonder how closely we might be related every time I catch that glimmer in her eyes like my mothers’. Jira is too tall to be my mother and her hair is not quite dark enough, but I like to believe I see it. I like to believe Jira’s country and mine are related, that maybe her great-great-grandparents and mine were friends before the records were scorched and the lines were redrawn. Or maybe our countries bore no relation to each other. Maybe they were friends anyway. Maybe they were enemies. I’ve heard every opinion.

Jira has a worry-face like my mother, but she uses it for different things, like plum prices at the market and rain clouds blundering through like clumsy creatures. It used to surprise me, since my mother reserved her worry-face for only the dourest things in her mind. I saw more and more of it from my mother before I left. “Baby maybe you should spend the summer home. Maybe you can get your money back.” She said she’d been reading things in the news. I told her not to worry. I would be safe in my travels. I feel stares pressing into my back while Jira leans over the plums. I notice Jira receives the stares too.

She hums a tune and busies herself in the kitchen in a dress I’ve never seen. She’s been in a great mood since her daughter came home this morning. I didn’t get a good look at her daughter at first because Jira swallowed her right up in her arms. But I got to see her better when I helped bring her bags in. Savine is lithe, baby-faced and a head shorter than Jira, and her eyes carry the same arch and slope as Jira’s. She has the same dimples and she moves in the same way, tilted forward, as if to let gravity do the work of carrying her momentum.

Savine is napping from her trip, and Jira seems to have forgotten all the slow and patient syllables she usually saves for me. She speaks in her rapid pace and I jog to keep up. Too many words slip through my grasp. One in particular I hear too many times. Savit-e.  

“Savit-e?” I ask.

Jira puckers her lips as if to think. Her eyes rove. Footsteps tap gently closer behind me, and Jira’s eyes light up as she looks past me.

“Savit-e!” she says, motioning forward as Savine rounds the counter and pulls her mom into another hug. Savine is only 10. She’s been away almost 6 months for school, according to Jira.

A nickname, I note. Savine wears earrings like windchimes as well.

…

Jira has offered to charge me no rent if I babysit Savine for the summer and cook dinner in the evenings. Savine’s summer classes are early and short, as are mine, so I pick Savine up every day at noon. “This is Reb. She’s my mom’s friend this summer,” Savine tells her school friends. I gather that Jira does something similar every year, taking in an au pair while she works the summer.

There is a park Savine likes in particular, with the tall slides and the cold water fountains and all her friends. It takes me a few days to realize her friends are new to even her. Any child at the park becomes her friend by nature of needing two to play the teeter-totter. I meet parents and I practice my clumsy language with them. They don’t stare strangely at me like the man in the plum aisle.

Three times over the summer, I hear a parent at the park ask me. “Who is Savit-e?” I point to Savine every time. I don’t think too much about it, because they always like the answer, nodding along. Savine’s friends do not use the nickname, but I experiment with it here and there. Savine lights up when I do. “Savit-e,” I call to her from the school lawn, and she squeals and bounds forward to wrap me in the kind of hug she gives her mother.

I pick up a copy of the newspaper from the corner store every day on my way to pick up Savine, and I read what I can of it at the park. The newspaper is not a person, and it does not stilt its vocabulary to be simple and clear the way people do when they notice me struggling with the tongue, so oftentimes I gather just the concepts from articles. It is my fourth week of doing this when one article stops me. I see the spelling of what Jira says out loud so often.

Savit-e.

The article is hard, but I recognize the word for murder, and the words for three men. Three men murdered, and Savit-e. I would ask Savine, but I’m afraid the article may be something upsetting.

I ask Jira that night, after Savine has gone to bed.

“A man killed three others,” Jira says, brow slightly scrunched as she skims the paper and distills its contents to simpler words I know. Her eye creases are deep by the evening lamplight. “He is not charged with a crime, because he was protecting his Savit-e.”

This sinks in slowly, and a red flush of embarrassment makes itself known on my cheeks.

“Savit-e… as in ‘daughter’?”

I use my own word for it, since I don’t know Jira’s word for daughter. Or at least, I did not know, until now.

Jira’s brow scrunch tightens, which she does whenever I’ve used one of my words she doesn’t know.

“Like Savine is to you. Savine is your daughter.”

At this, Jira nods slowly, then more quickly as she lets the meaning sink in. “Yes… Savine is my Savit-e… my daughter.”

I thank Jira for the explanation. I lie awake that night thinking too much about the parents at the park who think Savine is my Savit-e.

…

I start to dislike the newspaper. I’m not sure if it’s the summer heat sewing aggravation, or some deeper unrest, or maybe my own growing vocabulary, but more and more I notice articles that leave me unsettled. I read about the arrest of a man who looks like the man in the plum aisle. Maybe there’s no resemblance at all. Maybe any man with those piercing eyes in a mug shot feels like the man in the plum aisle. There are still many words I don’t know, but country and nation come up often. And Savit-e. More articles of someone acting in protection of their Savit-e.

My mother isn’t here to protect me. I walk more cautiously when I’m alone at night, as a woman, as a Savit-e with no parents here to protect me.

I’m in the kitchen with a knife shunking through the angled cuts of scallion. The pot for the noodles is boiling and I’ve halved the spices as I do every night for Jira and Savine. I don’t even hear the front door kick open.

I do hear Savine scream.

My heart is in my throat and my blood is cold, and I move, because in the moment I have forgotten I am a Savit-e far away from home. All that matters is Savine’s scream.

And my sockless feet are light as I snake through the dining room and round the corner to the living room, entering from the same door as the two men who now stand there, backs to me, both eagerly teasing the handles of a gun. One has Savine in a chokehold, and the men stare at Jira, pressed flat against the wall. I realize Jira does have a worry-face she reserves for the truly awful things.

And the men with their backs to me are plum-men, in ways I understand without knowing what fast and clipped words they’re shouting at Jira. The one holding Savine presses the barrel of his gun against her ear, and the windchime titter of her earrings is drowned under her scream of fear. The plum man barks a demand at Jira, and she watches with moon-plate eyes.

He barks it again.

Jira raises a trembling hand. And her digits curl, and her palm pulls inward, and her earrings clink with the slow stuttering shake of her head. She points her index finger firmly against her own heart, and she declares ‘Savit-e’.

Jira runs out through the second living room door.

“Mooooom! Savit-e!!” Savine screams, and her words choke, and she wriggles under the hold of the man. And suddenly sense returns to my body at the sound of Savine’s screams.

I am still holding the scallion knife.

I don’t remember what I do next, but the knife does.

…

There is a drawl of radio static that seems to dominate my ears. The sirens and flashing lights are background noise to me now. They’ve taken Savine away with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They’ve assured me I’ll be able to see her, but later, once she’s been looked at, once she’s calmed down, once I’ve been spoken to.

“You are not in trouble,” the detective tells me in my own tongue with a slight accent rounding her words. She’s the only one who speaks my language. They called her in when it became clear I didn’t know enough of theirs to give a report. “You were protecting your Savit-e.”

I flinch, a little bit, somehow still capable of embarrassment with a mind that’s gone completely numb. “Savine isn’t my Savit-e.”

The woman detective frowns. I remember we’re in my own tongue.

“I mean, she’s not my daughter. She’s Jira’s daughter. She’s Jira’s Savit-e.”

The woman’s frown lessens some. “Your daughter, no. Your Savit-e, yes.”

I hold my hands near my face. They still smell of garlic and scallions. “The pot’s gonna boil over. I have to go turn off the stove,” I say, urgently, and unhelpfully, as the thought suddenly strikes and I push myself standing.

The woman’s hand is on my shoulder, and she presses me down. “The pot is not boil. The stove is off. It is okay. Who is Savit-e?”

And the question sits weird. I realize she asks it like those parents at the park.

I don’t answer. The detective chews her lip, and I see her eyes searching for a word she can’t find. “Who is your… The Most? Who is your The Above? Who is your The Most of All?”

“My most what?”

“Who is your Protect Over Everything?”

And from her face I can tell she is frustrated with her own words. There is more she is saying that I cannot know in my own language.

Protect Over Everything. I think about the scream that pulled me from the kitchen.

“I think… Savine… is my Protect Over Everything.”

And this satisfies the woman. And she nods the way the parents at the park do. “You are not in trouble. You always protect Savit-e. You must always. There is no trouble for what you did. Good job, that you protect your Savit-e. You will have her back soon.”

I go stiff.

“Jira needs her back, not me. I go home in a few weeks. I only started—” I falter. “Savine is Jira’s Savit-e.”

The detective shakes her head. “Jira is Jira’s Savit-e. Jira does not come back.”

…

I postpone my flight home. I tell my mother it’s because my studies are going long. I’ll tell her more, later, when I’m ready.

I pick up Savine every day from school as always. She doesn’t smile, and she pulls me into a hug that is too tight and lasts too long. She doesn’t want to go to the park. She comes grocery shopping with me, because it’s better than being left home alone. I look over my shoulder whenever I grab the plums.

I cook dinner and I eat with Savine, and we do this at the counter because when I sit us at the kitchen table, Savine looks too long at Jira’s empty place. I tried calling Jira once, after Savine went to bed. Her phone rang from the next room. I watched it ring until it cut to voicemail.

There’s an article about me in the paper. I can’t read most of it. Or maybe I just don’t try to. I see Jira’s name. I see the plum man words. I see Savit-e written 14 times.

I don’t know what happens to Savine if I leave. I’ve tried asking and I get too many words I do not know, and no one who can explain them better to me. But their expressions stay with me. Like the looks of plum-men and worry-faces and now this new look, which is rooted in something deeper about a country which I know too little about. It’s a sad look. It’s something I can maybe understand without the words attached. I tell my mom I might like to extend my study through the fall.

Savine has started calling me “Savit-e.”

#writing #original writing #i had a thought and it became a thing

[bangaveragewhitewine]

maybe it ain't so bad

Bouncer!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader (established relationship) - Part of Happy Hours

Your boyfriend doesn’t like Christmas much. Inside his huge soft heart, he carries the memories of Christmases good and bad. After this year, the first Christmas you will actually get to spend together, he might feel a little warmer towards the Holidays…

Word Count 4.4k

Contents / Warnings | 18+ | Eddie & Reader are in their mid/late twenties | Loss of a parent, mention of child neglect and abuse | No explicit sex, nonetheless this is an 18+ fic - making out on the sofa, brief choking mention, Eddie’s love of hickies, being horny and in love, mentions of sex and post-sex softness, ‘slut’ as a term of endearment | No physical descriptions of reader; the image used in the header is not indicative of Bartender Reader in this series

Note I missed our metalhead bouncer boyfriend. I tried and tried not to make this sad or angsty. A quick moment to say thank you for all the love over the last sixish months while I have been writing and sharing my work. It’s a joy, truly! Have a cosy holiday season, sweet angels!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Christmas, 1992 

Eddie Munson didn’t care for Christmas.

A long time had passed since the last Christmas with his Mom, but each year the scabbed-over wound inside him tore and stung and bled just a little more around the Holidays. 

It might be more accurate to say then that Eddie Munson did not let himself care for Christmas. It hurt him to care about it, to remember the good ones and the bad ones with his mother, so he tried to just not care. 

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the coloured string lights wound around the shitty plastic tree, glinting against baubles that had seen better days. He could feel her hands holding his much smaller ones as they danced together to Christmas records, the way she held him safe and steady to place the star on top of the tree. The shininess of it all had pulled his attention from her pilled and threadbare sweaters and the bruise-like bags beneath her eyes. The festive earworms drowned out her tearful phone calls to her parents for some extra cash to make sure Eddie would have a present from Santa beneath the tree this year, and her promises that her no-good-husband would see a penny of it.

As he watches you hanging shiny-and-new decorations on the branches of the small fir in the corner of your shared living room, humming to music only you could hear, he could not help but think of her. It hurt, but the smile that spread across your face when you caught him watching soothed his soul just a little bit.

“Hi, handsome.” 

Your voice and that cosy greeting, the eye-sparkling smile you wear when he comes home to you, feels like stepping into a warm bath every single time. It’s a hug before you even open your arms to him.

You watch him unwind his scarf and shake out his frosted curls once his jacket has been hung on its peg. His boots are slipped off and left to pick up later. 

“How’d it go?”

Eddie stares at the shiny ornament hanging between your fingers on gold thread, lost somewhere in his head or hypnotised by the way it caught the light until you call his name again. 

“Sorry, yeah. Went good. You’ve been busy…”

While Eddie was teaching his last guitar lesson before the Holidays, you had draped the tree with shiny bright lights and made a start on the baubles, hanging them extra-slowly in the hope that your boyfriend might want to help when he got home. Neither of you had work tonight, scheduled off synchronously as a little reward for working Christmas Eve.

“You wanna help?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes, even as you readied yourself for rejection.

You knew his feelings about Christmas - not just his capitalist hellscape rant that came out whenever someone asked if he was looking forward to the holidays, but you knew the deep emotional pain he carried as another year passed without her. Every year the taste of her cinnamon-spiced sugar cookies and the scent of her perfume, that special Mom Smell, faded more in his memories.

For the first Christmas you would actually spend together as a couple, you wanted it to be special and cosy. You wanted Eddie to feel comfortable and safe, not like a prisoner bound in tinsel as you forced him to watch Miracle on 34th Street or How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (though he did have a soft spot for the green guy). A lazy few days cocooned in your apartment, a nice no-fuss dinner and quality time together. It helped too that you could pick up the Christmas Eve shift in the bar instead of travelling out of the state to sit at home with your families and miss each other, count the days until you hopped back on the plane to O’Hare, and pray that Eddie would drive safe on the icy roads around Hawkins. 

The decorations had been a compromise; Eddie never usually bothered and you liked to spend at least half a day making your home look like a festive explosion. A deal had been made on a small tree with a few lights.

You looked at that tree now, its small and slightly wonky stature had charmed you. Eddie’s staring at it too and you can see a glimpse of the broken boy Eddie once was; it makes your heart hurt. 

“Is it too much? I can stop…” Your voice is quiet.

Eddie shakes his head and plasters on a smile for you that makes your chest ache, before rounding the sofa on socked feet to press a kiss to your head and squeeze you around the middle.

His nose is cold from being outside. That fresh scent of bright winter air clings to him and slowly melts away inside the warm flat you share. 

“Looks great.” Eddie picks up a random red bauble. “Where does this one go?”

“Wherever you want it to go. Just look for the bare spots.” 

You tamp down any fizzing excitement that he’s taking an interest, then feel guilty that you are thinking of him like he’s a wild animal who is easily spooked. 

Eddie brings you back to reality, just like always.

“You gonna move it later when I’m not looking?” he asks, brows raising beneath his bangs as you loop your ornament on a branch. 

That ‘I know you too well for your cute lies, babe’ look he gave you made your cheeks feel warm. It was close to his ‘you’re pushin’ it and you’re being a brat on purpose’ look. That one was fun.

“Only if it’s too close to another red.”

He had seen you and Michelle in full-festive-flight when you decorated the bar every year; every year he braved the cold of the beer cellar or the back alley to stay well out of your way lest he be roped into a squabble on the placement of some stupid garland. 

Not fully convinced, Eddie zeroes in a bare spot (not too near to another red ball) and slips it over the branch with less practiced precision. It’s perfect.

You lean over to smack a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. “You’re a natural, Teddy.” 

His arm slips and winds around your waist, squeezing the squish of your hips before he presses his lips to your head. “Do I get a reward?” 

Eddie’s touch and the low timbre of his voice stoke the cosy glow in your body into something more fiery and exciting. His fingers skate along the waistband of your sweatpants, tracing up beneath your (his) hoodie. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Two can play that game.

“For one little bauble? I’m not that easy, Munson.” 

It pains you to pull yourself away but the warmth and hunger in his gaze feeds your ego and the flame in your gut. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I need you to show me.” His fingers reach out to grab the empty space between you. 

Your eyes roll as you crouch to pick up two more baubles.

“Gimme a kiss for every decoration I put on then?” Eddie suggested, “I’ll keep tally.”

A slow smile makes its way onto your face and you nod. “That could be arranged. Don’t half-ass it though, they’ll fall off if they’re not on properly.” Your eyes narrow in warning, “I’ll bite you instead of kiss you if you half-ass it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey,” Eddie smirks and takes both baubles from you - one gold, one pink - and hangs them on his fingers, strategically dangling them right over his nipples. He gets the exact reaction he was hoping for - an eye-roll and that smile you do when you try not to laugh at his silliness. That smile that had made him fall for you.

“And you know my motto - full ass or no ass at all. No half-assin’ around here.” 

Before you can make a smart comment about his flat ass, Eddie takes his time to thoughtfully hang the ornaments in two bare spots and surveys his work with a quietly-pleased hum. You could imagine what he was like as a kid, bargaining for an extra cookie once the tree was decorated, or an extra bedtime story. You didn’t hang any more decorations in favour of watching him work for a few moments, the colourful glow of the lights on his pale skin. 

He catches you staring and softens, winks at you as he picks two more baubles up. One for you, one for him. 

After passing the gold string between your fingers, you press a bonus-kiss to Eddie’s lips before finishing off your first tree together. Neither of you acknowledges with words how special it is, but it’s there. You squabble playfully when you get in each other’s way or when Eddie slaps your ass while he’s reaching for the snowman ornament you have had since you were a kid. 

You had accumulated a little collection of retro Christmas decorations in thrift shops over the years - pretty vintage baubles and kitschy ornaments, a few random or weird tchotchkes. A purchase from last year - a glittery skull wearing a Santa hat - earned instant approval from Eddie and pride of place on the tree. That one had caught your eye a few months after you two had started dating.

When the box of ornaments runs out, you take a step back and pull Eddie’s arm to join you. 

“You like it?” Your voice is quiet and careful as your cheek rests against the softness his sweater.

“Pretty,” Eddie says, just as quiet. His arms wind around you and hold you against his chest, starting a slow rock from foot to foot.

“Can I give you something?” you ask, voice muffled against his chest.

Eddie’s brows shoot up, a flirty look in his eyes. “Oh? You can give me whatever you want, babydoll.”

That wolfish grin of his still made you feel tingly all over, even as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s for the tree. Cool it, Romeo.” 

You pay this kiss-tax to be freed from the cosiness of his arms and slip into the bedroom for just a second. It is enough time for Eddie to edit a few baubles like it’s second nature to him, swapping out colours that are too close to each other and filling gaps until you arrive with a box. He has forgotten that he used to watch his mother do the same thing while he was content with his oven-warm cookies and cold milk on the couch.

You pass the box to Eddie. “It’s not really a gift. It’s for both of us.”

“Is it lingerie?” His brows raise, hopefully suggestive, as he smooths a finger over the lovingly slapped-on bow. Lingerie has certainly proven itself to be quite the mutual gift over the last year. His mind wanders to that last deep purple set you bought, and he can feel himself starting to drool.

“Eddie, just open it. You’re going to be so disappointed, it’s lame…”

At the talk of lingerie, you are acutely aware that you are currently dressed in sweats and one of his hoodies. In a funny sort of way, you know that the cosy combo does it for Eddie as much as lace and satin. The every-horny-for-your-boyfriend part of your brain considers wrapping yourself up in a big red bow for him. He would like that far too much.

He feigns coolness as he pulls the lid off and you push your unhinged thoughts away.

Inside, wrapped in crinkly red tissue paper, are two things - a matte black bauble with your initials curling together in shiny red calligraphy. Beside it, a small silver frame ornament with a candid snap of Eddie and you from Thanksgiving just passed, the one you spent in Hawkins with Wayne and his girlfriend. You’re perched on his lap, arms looped around his neck, smiling and very clearly obsessed with each other.

“I just thought we could... We could start our own traditions. Little things.” You speak into the quietness of the room as Eddie stares into the box. You murmur to yourself when he doesn’t answer, “You didn’t even want a tree, it’s so stupid.”

“Stop that.” Eddie’s frown is serious. “My girlfriend isn’t stupid. How dare you.” 

“But you don’t even like Christmas… It’s kinda stu-”

“Don’t. It’s fuckin’ thoughtful as fuck.” Eddie smiles softly at the ornaments, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. “You’re too cute, baby.” 

Pressing a smiling kiss to your lips, Eddie could feel himself beginning to soften. Maybe this Christmas thing would not be so bad this year…

Christmas with Wayne was always low-key - some years his Uncle took a shift at the plant and they exchanged thoughtfully practical presents like new guitar strings or picks, a book or an album, novelty mugs and new baseball caps or shirts. 

Wayne was not so fond of Christmas either. It reminded him of his heavy-handed drunk of a father, and the anxiety-inducing unanswered phone calls to his idiot brother’s house after Elizabeth died. It reminded him of finding his nephew alone in a cold house on Christmas Day, without a tree or dinner when Al forgot to come home. The kid didn’t have a single present to open from Santa. 

When Eddie moved to the trailer with him, too wise to the big bad world to be so easily distracted by shiny things, Wayne made sure there was a present for Eddie every single year, a meal and some company - even if the kid didn’t want it, even if Eddie screamed and threw a fit until he sobbed himself silent because he was just a little boy who missed his Mama…

Now, in the cocoon of your home together, Eddie's smile brims with child-like innocence, touched by the weight of wanting to start your own traditions together. You knew you were it for each other, but the little reminder of how much you meant it makes him glow.

He puts the box down and cups your face, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach. “God, I’m so in love with you,” he growls like a happy demon, making you laugh. 

Contently trapped against his body, soft and lean in all the right places, you release the breath you had been holding as Eddie studies the contents of the gift box again. 

“Look at these! I need this picture for my wallet. I need like, six copies,” he murmurs, “Have you ever seen a hotter couple?” Eddie brushes his thumb over the velvety loop of ribbon to hang it on the tree. “We need this for our grandkids, baby.” 

“Laurel took it. I’ll get you another copy.” Your face hurts from smiling as he kisses your cheek again. Wayne’s girlfriend was fond of you both, particularly Eddie.

“And this? Fuckin’ gothic as hell, I love it.” He strokes the intertwined initials before putting the box down to hug you just a shade off too tight. Nuzzling your noses together, he asks, “Where are we going to hang ‘em?”

“Front and centre?” you suggested, shrugging a little. “We could move that one…”

“Creepy Santa?”

“Banish him to the back of the tree. Begone, creep.”

Eddie chokes a laugh and muttered, “I love when you say nerdy shit, baby,” before unwinding his arms from around you to banish Creepy Santa.

“My boyfriend is a huge nerd, I can’t help it,” you tease.

After some careful re-arranging, the two new additions take pride of place on your tree. Eddie’s tongue had stuck out in concentration as he balanced them both so carefully; you wished you had your camera to capture the moment, not that you would ever forget it. 

You are wrapped up in his arms again once you agree on the placement, nose to nose as Eddie tells you how much he loves you again. The little noise he makes when you slip your hands into his back pockets hits low in your gut.

“You saving those kisses you earned or cashing them in, hot stuff?” you ask, tracing his jaw with the tip of your nose.

Eddie’s teeth flash in the low light; the room is shadowy and warm in the glow of string lights and a dim lamp in the corner. 

“Oh, I’m saving them up, princess. Might claim one or two right now, but the rest are staying with me. Got a pocketful of IOUs for kisses.”

You press your face against his shoulder, smiling. “That’s so ominous, Teddy.” 

“Next time you’re mad at me? Kiss token. When you’re too busy with stupid chores to take my human right to be kissed seriously? Pucker the fuck up, pretty girl.” 

You love him all ways, but especially like this; playful and fun, flirting hard with you. Eddie’s using his voice in a way you know comes from years of playing DnD, and a stint in the drama club at school. He’s in-your-face-flirty, never subtle. This is the man who punched someone for you before you were even dating; there’s nothing subtle about Eddie Munson. 

No, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about Eddie as his hips press forward against yours and he directs your mouth to his, cashing in the first of those kisses. He smiles when you chase him for more. You pull him closer, your hands on that flat ass of his, and sigh when his tongue licks across your bottom lip. 

“That’s one,” he whispers. 

He cups your warm cheek, his pinky stroking your pulse point. He can feel your blood pump quicker when his breath breezes over your mouth, like the hard beating of butterfly wings that he feels too. Eddie likes how they have not gone away yet for either of you; over a year together and no sign of migration. He hopes they never leave.

“M’not counting. Just kiss me,” you whisper, a little whiney and needier than you had realised now that you are pressed up against him with nowhere else to be. 

Never one to leave you hanging (unless that was part of the game you were playing), Eddie kisses you like a man starved. He craves that gasping whimper only he can pull from your throat, the flutter of your lashes when your tongues slide together. 

You shiver when his chilly fingers slip up beneath your sweatshirt, palm flat to the small of your back - the part he likes to see arched when he takes you from behind. 

Your lips buzz where they press against Eddie’s; the electricity passing between you makes you glow like Christmas lights. 

Eddie can tell your brain is still working too hard and brings his hand to your throat; not squeezing but his touch just enough to bring you back to him. It makes you keen for him. A reminder of something you both want to try, but not before you work up to it and do a little more research.

“Okay?” he checks, kissing the corner of your mouth. He watches your eyes go dark, swallowed up by your pupils in the dim light. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, tilting your chin just enough to graze your lips against Eddie’s.

He blesses you with an all-too-brief kiss, knowing you need and want more. He backs up a few steps, taking you with him to sit on the couch. Sitting there, thighs spread and waiting, the way he looks up at you makes you clench. You take your place in his lap and spend a moment slowing it all down again, forehead to forehead with Eddie’s hands stroking your hips. 

“I love you,” he whispers, the words tickling your lips. 

“I know. Love you,” you murmur back, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. You thumb the tired crescent beneath it, skating along his smiling cheek. 

When he looks at you, it makes your heart beat double time; it’s not just the lust darkening his eyes, but pure adoration. 

You cross your arms to wriggle out of the hoodie, stripped down to a cotton cami and a bra that had been relegated to comfy-wear-only. Eddie thinks you are a goddess, and he is completely and utterly down-bad for you. The glow of the Christmas tree behind you makes you look like some sort of angel.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. His hands run up your sides and down again, pulling you in closer onto his lap. You can feel him beneath the layers of sweatpants and denim. 

You lean into him again for another kiss, melting against Eddie’s warm chest when his hands begin to wander. He kisses you, his tongue twisted with yours as he takes his time. There is no rush this evening, no need to get off quick before your shift. 

Without the deadline, you draw it out - kissing slow, hands wandering to squeeze and tease, hips rolling and grinding together hot and hard beneath the layers. You give extra attention to that spot on Eddie’s neck that makes him go cross-eyed, dragging your teeth over the little bruise he can hide beneath his hair (but he won’t because he’s a menace and a bit of a slut). 

You pull off his black sweater - the one that hugs his arms and makes his waist look biteable - and kiss along the neckline of his tank top. Your fingers push at it and his silver chain when they get in the way of another bruise-making kiss that makes Eddie swear under his breath. 

“Baby, fuck.” 

He grunts quietly when you push your hips together again, attempting to relieve some of the building ache between your thighs. 

“Mm, that’s the plan,” you whisper, smiling against his collarbone when he chokes on his own throaty laugh. 

When you look up at him there is a dusty pink flush across his cheeks. You watch his jaw drop just a fraction when your breath casts over the damp kisses you left on his neck. When your thumb catches purposefully on his nipple there’s a quiet ‘fuck’ that tumbles from his tongue. 

As his ability to be patient wanes, Eddie catches your lips again and slowly guides you to lie back against the sofa cushions.

“You drive my crazy,” he whispers, brushing back the hair that had fallen around your face. He kisses you again, a whisper of teeth against your lip before your tongues meet in a filthy kiss.

You make space for him between your legs, lying chest to chest as close as possible without opening up your chest and letting him crawl inside, without physically melting together to become one. You lose yourself in each other, bathed in the warm light of the tree.

“You didn’t do a star. Or an angel, angel. Do you have one?” Eddie’s jeans and belt are undone around his hips as he sits with your feet in his lap, pulled back on to smoke out the window.

“I got distracted before I could put it up.” You wiggle your toes against his thigh, yelping when he runs his fingertips over the sole. You shove it beneath his leg, safe and warm away from his tickling fingers. “I have one. It’s in that bag.” 

Back in your (Eddie’s) hoodie and your underwear, you point him toward the busted-around-the-edges gift bag left forgotten by the stereo. “You wanna put it up?”

Eddie smells warm and smokey when he leans in for a kiss, a tinge of sweat lingering after making love to you. He still has his warm pink-cheeked glow and proudly wears the bruises from your sweet mouth, the red marks left by your fingernails on his back. 

Three pecks later, he stands with a groan more befitting a man of his uncle’s age and picks up the bag. You watch him stare at the contents, an unreadable look on his face as he lifts it out.

Your star is kitschy as hell, gold with little tinsel pom-poms on the pointy edges and definitely older than both of you. It’s not to everyone’s taste, a little tacky perhaps, but that was part of its charm. When it caught your magpie-eye in a junk shop a few weeks ago you couldn’t leave it behind. The had-seen-better-days tree-topper that had cost one whole dollar and seventy-five cents. It had glittered at you from the shelf and whispered ‘take me with you’. 

“If you hate it, we don’t have to put it up. We could put Creepy Santa up there instead,” you mused, “Our creepy angel…” 

“I don’t hate it. It’s so… wrong in the best way.” Eddie turns the star-shape in his hands. It reminds him of the chintzy and bright Christmas trees and flashy lights in Forest Hills. “Where the hell did you even get this thing?” 

“In the little thrift store near the camera shop. The one where you got me those earrings…?” 

“Mm, I know it. Maybe we can un-banish the Creep too. I guess it’s Christmas after all…” he reaches for the previously hidden Santa Claus figure with shifty eyes and rosy cheeks and replaces him near the top of the tree. “Yeesh, you’re a weird little man.” He flicks Santa before lifting the star up. “You wanna do the honours?”

From your cosy place on the couch, still pleasantly jelly-legged and tingly all over, you shake your head. “You do it. I’m comfy.” 

Eddie shrugs and reaches to balance the topper on the highest point of your perfectly wonky little tree, standing back with his hands on his hips before looking to you for approval. 

You give Eddie two thumbs up before opening your arms for him. You barely brace for impact when he pounces on you, head thrown back laughing. “Ed!” You squeak when he presses growling kisses to your neck. 

Resting on your chest, Eddie looks up at you with those shiny baby-cow eyes you adore. He is so soft beneath it all. He makes your heart beat double time. You brush back his hair and kiss his forehead as he gets comfortable. You wrap your legs around him so he cannot go anywhere, even if he wanted to. 

“Can we make this part of our tradition too?” he asks.

“Mm, I like how you think, pretty boy.”

Your fingers comb through his curls as he rests his weight on you. There is nowhere you would rather be.

Eddie cannot keep himself from staring at the tree in the quiet bliss of it all. He soaks it in; the thud of your heart beneath his ear, the way the tree-lights blur his eyes when he stares at them for too long. 

A small slow smile spreads onto his face. He decides then that maybe, just maybe, Christmas might not be so bad this year.

An easter egg for the babes who made it to the end - here's the picture from the header image (I love making photos like this for fics tbh). I like to think this is one of the pictures Eddie's Mom sent to Wayne and he still has it 🥲🥲🥲

Thank you for reading ❤️ reblogs, likes and comments are cherished and adored!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x f!reader #bouncer eddie munson #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #happy hours #bangaveragefics

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

wallflower 15

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: <3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

Masterlist

Thor is waiting in the front room. You've taken your time before daring to emerge. His brother, as patient as he was, left you addled. The shadow of your mother follows you around, whispering in your ear, needling at your mind.

You stare through the door, just at the threshold as you watch him. He's at the window looking out at the grey sky, shoulders slightly slanted as he scrolls on his phone. Fenrir's head pops up from the carpet and he betrays your presence as he scrambles to his feet.

Thor turns and tucks his phone in his back pocket, a smile as a silver strand dangles free of his braid. You reach for Fen and pat his head as you drag your feet into the room and hug yourself with one arm.

"My brother is gone," Thor announces, "other appointments and all that."

"Mm," you murmur and turn your attention to the needy dog. Fen's grey eyes gleam as he sits and bows his head for scritches.

"What's the matter, kitten?" Thor asks and you can only answer with a look in his direction that suggests it should be obvious. "I was just trying to get in touch with Kat… your mother. She's not answering."

You recoil and wrap both arms around yourself, wiggling your toes as the air nips at your feet.

"She doesn't want me," you mumble.

"Kitten, she doesn't deserve you," Thor goes to the fireplace and rests his hand on the ledge above, "are you cold–"

"You don't have to keep me either. I'm not… yours," you shrug as you slouch lower.

"I… kitten?"

"Even if she won't take me back–"

"You can't go back. Ever. Why would you do that? After what she's done?"

"She's… my mother, I don't know."

"Well, what about your father? What happened to him?"

You shake your head. The glimmer of a memory, raised voices and a car driving away, 'dammit Kathleen, you always have to be a fucking bitch….'

"I don't know… he's gone."

"So, if I don't keep you, kitten, where would you go?"

You rub your dry lips together and blink, eyes burning, "I'll find somewhere…"

"You have somewhere," he says more firmly, "kitten, you didn't look at your new clothes."

The shift in his tone upends you. You glance over at the corner of the couch buried in shopping bags. From stores you never ventured into, that you could never afford. You were more used to the reused grey plastic from the thrift shops.

"I…" you cringe, "that's… a lot."

"Kitten, come here," he crosses the room and pushes open the top of a white bag, "You can't walk around in my robe all day… not that it isn't flattering on you–"

"I could go home and get some clothes–"

"Like I said, your mother won't answer me and it isn't safe for you to go back," he sighs and his large hand grips his hip, "I know you've not had a lot of help but that's what this is. Can't you see? I want to help you."

"Thank you," you swallow, "but why?"

His brow wrinkles and he scoffs, "why wouldn't I?"

You shrug again and rub your arms nervously. You don't know why he would but he doesn't want to answer your questions. Well, you must sound ungrateful asking all these things, mom always said you were too nosy.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"Don't be sorry," he smiles as he reaches in the bag, "why don't you try this on, make sure I got the size right."

"I told you my size–"

"Yes, but they didn't sound right. I asked the attendant for help and think I got everything–"

You smother a frown and nod, "okay…" you look at the dress, a babydoll in violet with a frill at the hem. Nothing like what you wear, "a dress?"

"You don't like it?" His face falls.

"No, no," you take it gently, "I don't wear them much, I guess."

"You wore one for me… when you were here before."

"I…" you tilts your head, you almost forgot but it wasn't your choice. Your mother wanted you to look right, didn't she? "Yes."

You look over the dress, the sheer layer cut over a thicker one, giving a sort of shimmer. You keep your chin down and back up. Fen sniffs curiously as you pass and you turn, eager to be away.

You hide in the half-bath on the other side of the entry way and flick the lock under the curled handle. The belt of the robe is double knotted but you don't hurry to untangle it. Finally, you free yourself of the robe and the long tee shirt beneath.

You feel then fabric of the dress. It's too nice. You hope they weren't all like this. Your stomach flutters and you swoop the neckhole over your head. You let the dress fall around you and strain to tug up the zipper at the nape of your neck.

It's tighter than what you like to wear. Your baggy shirts and straight cut jeans don't cling to you or swish so subtly as you move. You miss the shield of the excess.

You straighten the them and look down. It's a bit short and your missing underwear is made more obvious as the frill tickles your thighs. You hold the skirt straight to keep yourself covered.

You unlock the door and tiptoe out. You keep both hands on the dress and peek through the doorway. Thor sits sifting through the contents of the bags. You bounce on the balls of your feet and clear your throat.

"Oh, kitten," he lowers the bag to the floor, "wow, I…"

You fidget, clutching the hem and stare at the wall, "um, it fits so…"

"It does. Very well but, er, kitten, is something the matter?"

You suck in your lower lip, not knowing how to say it. You are uncomfortably bare beneath the dress, exposed despite the garment. He clicks his tongue and sits forward.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he takes another bag, "I suppose I was too excited about the big pieces," he holds up a rosy pink bag, "eh, intimates?"

Your lashes bat and your cheeks burn. A coolness touches your leg and you squeak as you look down at Fen, his wet nose sniffing the fabric. You force a smile and rub his long snout.

"Thanks, I…" you run your thumb along the dog's ear softly, "that's uh, what I was worried about."

"Not to worry," he dangles the bag from his large finger, "we've all day to make sure it all fits right."

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #wallflower #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #au #silverfox #avengers #mcu #marvel

[aprillikesthings]

s5 ep8 Shot in the dark

woohooo

Off topic but while looking for fan art of Catra from the portal (ugh I need to try different tags) I instead saw a bunch of anti-Catra and anti-Catradora and anti-spop blogs and jfc people need to get a life and touch some grass and if I'm saying that--

(I mean, I did leave the house today with Saer and their mom, we went to Powell's books where I spent too much money but I got a couple of wlw manga and a Judith Butler book among a few other things, and also we went to a vintage clothing store that seemed to have NO END but I bought one thing there, a lavender satin bathrobe, the short kind; the only thing wrong with it was that it's a bit faded in some places and it's a little small on me but it's a bathrobe, and it was like $26 AND 100% SILK)

a question many astronauts have surely asked as well!

these two squabbling but not actually fighting always sounds like flirting, it doesn't help that a split second after that screenshot, Catra actually smiles for a second

Look. I love them.

Bow: "Adora, Catra's right" Everyone's eyes: go wide Bow: "...that felt weird to say"

the startled noise they all make when he starts talking lolol

but Catra has some flashes (from when she was in the hive mind) and says Krytis is a planet, nice. There's something there Horde Prime doesn't want them to know--so they head for Krytis, roll intro theme

:O

oh man they really did start changing this up every episode. Look at poor Perfuma's face.

Anyway on Krytis they find an old Horde ship and everyone else is trying to figure out what happened but poor Catra is remembering what it was like to be chipped :(

there's a cute moment when she notices her tail is all fluffy from fear and smooths it out before joining the others

there's a "crack" video where Entrapta's little walk here is dubbed with a clip from an ancient Spiderman show's theme song

ahaha

LOOK AT HER the way Bow says this is so great

POOR CATRA

Adora laughs longer than anyone else after Catra gets the helmet off and Catra blushes and smiles and everyone stands around not wanting the ruin the moment--and then Entrapta finds something and squeals and startles the shit out of everyone and it's SO GREAT

Catra: "So, wait, the plan is to barge ahead into the structurally unsound building to find some mystery person that we know nothing about, in hopes that they somehow know how to defeat Horde Prime?"

Bow: "You know, we were just gonna recklessly blast our way through that blockade until you stopped us. So this whole thing is basically your idea."

Catra's starting to realize what DORKS they all are and that good-natured teasing is just part of the deal

the GLEE with which they are including her

I didn't mean to get a screenshot that makes it look like Adora is staring at Catra's butt, but(t) I'm not mad about it

Meanwhile, on Etheria:

yikes

"and yet we're still stuck with you?"

HAH

Back on Krytis Wrong Hordak is having an existential crisis as he realizes Horde Prime is not perfect

Catra fuckin' slices a door into the wall

Bow: dunno if that's safe Glimmer: yeah I'm not sure about this either Adora: MY GIRLFRIEND IS STRONK and has v sharp claws isn't she perfect

seriously tho Adora is BLUSHING

Catra's face

Glimmer's too, actually

oh god it's the bit where Catra keeps sneezing at the spore things in the air and Bow is just like 🥺

Adora's reaction to this conversation is also priceless

Anyway a second later, Catra leans on the wall and sinks into it, she shrieks and Adora yells "CATRA!!" and when they pull her out the wall starts sending out HUGE MURDER SPIKES

Back on Etheria:

Castaspella: "You said you had a plan. The only reason I'm following you is because if anyone would know about mind control, it's you." Shadow Weaver: "Mind control? Is that what they told you? No. My gifts were always far subtler."

I dunno, I think torturing kids is hardly "subtle." But abuse is often hard to spot while it's happening to you.

y'know, like this shit

Okay in fairness she says she was less powerful as well and now he's chipped he's under control by the enemy and they're not strong enough to fight him

On Krytis, the Squad realizes they've gotten confused/turned around in the abandoned ship--"Isn't this where we started?!" There's a growling noise. The hallway somehow gets longer while they're walking in it. Creepy as fuck.

Oh and also it turns out Horde Prime and the First Ones fought over Krytis ages ago and Prime won but then abandoned the place anyway.

Entrapta: also there's someone right behind you

yay i know who this is lol

ALSO Catra insisting on protecting everyone is v cute

also it took me three times to get this screenshot ahahaha

and when she tackles it they both disappear

the audible PANIC

OH HEY i hit the image limit okay hold on

#april rewatches spop #shot in the dark

[coderedblood]

So I love She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. It is beautiful, and I adore both how it handles relationships and redemption. No relationship is a perfect fairytale, but a plate of spaghetti; messy but wonderful. And redemption can come to anyone, as long as you’re willing to work for it. And sometimes it takes a lifetime and sometimes you aren’t forgiven, and all of that is okay. (Once Upon A Time also does it in an exemplary fashion with Regina Mills, who may’ve been the blueprint for complicated redemption in modern television.)

Anyway, I love the show, and its relationships, and today I’m doing…

ANGEL’S TOP 5 SHE-RA SHIPS!!

5. Scorfuma (Scorpia x Perfuma)

This ship is so wholesome. It is a huge refresher in SPOP; yes, like I said, the relationships here are worthwhile, but also difficult. Scorfuma is not that ship. It’s a beautiful femme lesbian falling in love at first sight with a magnificent butch lesbian. Another reason I love SPOP is because it subverts character stereotypes; Scorpia is butch as all hell and I wish she were real, because she is soft, sensitive, kind and sweet. Perfuma is assertive, self-confident, speaks her mind and does whatever she thinks is right regardless of what others think. (Although, she’s far from perfect and I don’t like how she treats Entrapta for a lot of the series.) Perfuma sees Scorpia for the wonderfully good person she is, and she falls in love with Scorpia for it. They are similar people, in which they’re both kind and sweet, but they are also noticeably different people. My mom says that a couple cannot be too similar or too different otherwise they won’t work, and Scorfuma is a perfect example of her wisdom.

4. Spinnetossa (Spinnerella x Netossa)

Spinnetossa should be every married couple’s endgame. I am sad that they didn’t get more screentime or lines, because they have the ideal marriage (next to the Addamses from The Addams Family and the Belchers from Bob’s Burgers and every marriage counselor should have these three couples in their waiting rooms as the couples to be like). This is a couple who loves and respects each other, and who are (rightfully, hehe) obsessed with each other. My favorite thing about them is their devotion to each other - as much as they wanna save the universe and magic, they are each other’s primary goal. They want to be together and want to keep each other safe and happy above all else. My favorite moment is where Spinnerella wins their bot-slaying contest and instead of getting annoyed, Netossa happily kisses her wife and calls her “my girl”. MELT LIKE 🧊 BABY!

3. Seamista (Mermista x Sea Hawk)

Oh my. If Spinnetossa are obsessed with each other, then Seamista is the definition of insanity. Sea Hawk is not immune to the flaws of Mermista, he loves her for all she is and celebrates her, singing her praises and building her up even if it just seems like silly simping (need me a person like that). Mermista is not immune to the positives of Sea Hawk even if she doesn’t act like it. She knows him to be a moral, kind, devoted, loving, caring and affectionate man, and shows it accordingly even if it seems to annoy her. (If it really did, you think they’d be a couple? 😉 ) She loves him, and I hate how people say she’s abusive to him. If their genders were flipped, it would be the definition of the gentle girl, brooding boy trope. Mermista has a whole kingdom (a crumbling one as she adds) on her shoulders, it would get to anyone! She appreciates Sea Hawk for sticking by and loving her, and they obviously care about each other very much.

2. Glimbow (Glimmer x Bow)

Glimbow is childhood friends turned romantic partners done RIGHT! Originally, I didn’t see it, but the hints were always there and they weren’t hints. They are legitimately friends but imo every good romantic relationship begins with and maintains friendship as the base. They go through hell together, with the loss of their parents (which Bow finds his and Glimmer finds hers, but for awhile, they’re alone together), an invasion and attack caused by Glimmer, and regaining magic in the universe. This ship shows that apologizing and working towards forgiveness is important part of any relationship. Glimmer will do anything to fix her mistake, and Bow forgives her because he loves her for every part of her, and deep down knows her guilt will always be the price she pays for that mistake. I love this ship for these reasons.

1. Entrapdak (Entrapta x Hordak)

My favorite ship in SPOP and it is above and beyond an ideal relationship for me. Like Glimbow, they were friends before they were lovers, but they wholeheartedly accept each other from the get-go. It isn’t about accepting flaws and positives - Entrapta sees Hordak as beautiful and wonderful because of his imperfections and she adores all of that in him, while Hordak worships Entrapta (oh you know he does) because she is the first person to accept him so readily for who he is. Not as a clone or a tool, as a person. He accepts her autism and immediately knows how brilliant and creative she is. They are constantly on each other’s minds as each other’s best friends, and they fall in love because of their imperfections. Just how they like it.

#she-ra and the princesses of power #spop #scorfuma #spinnetossa #seamista #glimbow #entrapdak #top 5 #shipping

[baggebythesea]

Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices: The Power of Love and Evil (8/?)

Content warning: Child abuse and abuse in general

Adora watched the sky with despondent expression. The rush of fighting had died down so now she had time to feel inadequate again. Also, she hadn't got any headpats from Glimmer.

She sighed.

The sky was full of stars. Somewhere out there, on one of them, was Catra. Adora wondered if she felt very lonely. If she was scared. If she… if she maybe thought of Adora at all?

She knew it was futile, but part of her couldn't stop hoping that maybe Catra could still be reached? That maybe there was a way to save her from all the violence and destruction.

For the thousandth time Adora cursed herself for destroying the sword. If only she had her powers, she would be able to DO something. To keep her friends safe. To turn the tide against Prime. To (she allowed herself to dream for just a moment) maybe even save her cat.

Adora felt really vulnerable. This was a moment when she really could use a friend to support her and give her good advice.

"Heeeeeello Adora," Shadow Weaver smarmed as she slimed up to the vulnerable girl standing all alone under the stars. "I'm here to support you and give you 'good' advice."

"Go away," Adora muttered without much heat.

"Looking at the stars?" Shadow Weaver guessed, following Adora's gaze. "Say, I wonder on which one Catra is?"

"Like you care," Adora muttered.

"Of course none of us care about Catra," Shadow Weaver drawled. "After all, you left her behind to be tortured by Hordak… what is it to you if Horde Prime kills her?"

"Kills her?" Adora gasped.

"Yeeeeees, I'd imagine he would do that (that's what I always wanted to do, after all)," Shadow Weaver happily smirked. "And quite horribly, I would think."

"N-no," Adora mumbled. "He can't… she'll be useful to him. She always finds a way to survive."

"That's true," Shadow Weaver happily agreed. "Maybe he just torture her first." She sighed, a nostalgic little sigh. "That girl has SO high pain tolerance, after all."

"No!" Adora gasped. "We have to…" her voice trailed off.

"Save her?" Shadow Weaver scoffed. "Of course you can't save her. Not after you let her kill Queen Angella - you know, Glimmers mom? The woman who took you in and who you allowed to die in the portal reality? They will never let you save Catra now."

"That's not…" Adora mumbled. "I didn't…"

"It's OK," Shadow Weaver said with falce sympathy in her voice. "It's not like you didn't let everyone else down as well. Too bad, though. If you hadn't squandered the power of She-Ra you might have been able to DO something. To keep your friends safe. To turn the tide against Prime. To maybe even save your cat."

"…my cat…" Adora whispered with small voice.

"Yeeeeeees," Shadow Weaver drawled and draped an arm around Adora. "She always loved you, you know. Always hoped you would save her from herself. Take her with you, hold her and protect her from all the eeeeevils of the world."

"…she did?" Adora asked, eyes round.

"Yeeeeees," Shadow Weaver drawled. "Of course, by now she has probably met someone else. There must be sooo many heroic blonde space-girls out there. Most of them probably haven't betrayed everything they claim to believe in at all!"

"Stop it…" Adora said and closed her eyes, trying to force the sight of Shadow Weaver's gloating smirk away from her brain. She felt her head spin. She knew Shadow Weaver was lying. She knew there wasn't any way Catra could really love her.

Was there?

"…does she really love me?" she asked, not daring to breath.

"Of cooooourse," Shadow Weaver said and kicked a puppy for no reason whatsoever. "But anyway, let's change the subject. How do you think Horde Prime will kill her? I think maybe starting with strangulation and then move on to…"

"NO!" Adora cried, white in her face. "We have to save her."

"Yeeeeees," Shadow Weaver smiled with her entire face. "I'm sooooo fond of the girl, after all. With my help you caaaaan save her. I can help you unleash the power of She-Ra."

"…I lost She-Ra," Adora admitted.

"I can help you get her back," Shadow Weaver said, watching her intently. "All you have to do is to take my hand.

She held out her hand.

I will update this every second day or so. Keep an eye on the "Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices" tag and help decide where the story is going.

You will find part 7 here: https://www.tumblr.com/baggebythesea/709482570306469888/hah-we-have-a-tie-we-have-a-tie-between-the

#spop #adora #shadow weaver #chose your own adventure #Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices

[rphelperblog]

Elena Gilbert Quotes Rp Meme

inspired by @starsaroundscarsx​

“There is no science here, this is magic.”

“In that moment, I loved him. I didn’t want to, I mean, it terrified me, but for that moment, I loved him.”

“I’m at a crossroads right now, where I could go live my life the way I think I probably should — be successful and safe, and probably very happy. Or I could risk all of that for this tiny glimmer of a feeling inside that...I just can’t shake.”

“The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them.”

“We met and we talked and it was epic. Then the sun came up and reality set in.”

For once I don`t regret the day before it begins. Because I know I`ll see him again. For the first time in a long time I feel good.”

"I quit. I`m a quitter."

“I used to think the worst feeling in the world was losing someone you love, but I was wrong. The worst feeling in the world is the moment that you realize you’ve lost yourself.”

I want him to love me as much as I love him.”

I’m playing with fire; with something I don’t understand.”

Where is everyone?

“That’s what love should be. You should love the person that makes you glad to be alive.”

“When you lose someone, it stays with you. Always reminding you of how easy it is to get hurt.”

“We met and we talked, and it was epic. But then the sun came up and reality set in.”

“You're going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. But first you have to let it all in. You can't fight it, it's bigger than you.”

I .... don’t think it’s vain to say that I am beautiful. If I did not know I was, I would have to have never looked in a mirror or heard a compliment.”

“It’s not something I should be proud of—it’s just something that was passed down from Mom and Dad.”

“When someone asks 'How are you?', they really don’t want an answer.”

“I would write, Dear Diary, Today I convinced myself it’s ok to give up. Stick with the status quo, now just isn’t the time. But my reasons aren’t reasons, they’re excuses, and the truth is, I’m scared.”

“There is no science here, this is magic.”

“Trust is earned – I can’t just magically hand it over.” 

“You’re a powerful witch goddess. Seize the day, Brumhilda”

“One day you’re gonna have to stop pretending that everything’s okay”

“We’ll survive this. We always survive.”

“In that moment, I loved him. I didn’t want to, I mean, it terrified me, but for that moment, I loved him.”

“New year. New life.”

“I’m human. I have to do human stuff. Otherwise, I’m going to go crazy.” 

“Smiling doesn’t always mean you’re happy. Sometimes it simple means that you are a strong person.”

“We’re gonna slumber it.”

“I’m not gonna be one of those pathetic girls whose world stops just because of some guy.”

“You know what? Friends don’t manipulate friends. They help each other.”

“Trust is earned—I can’t just magically hand it over.”

“That’s what love should be. You should love the person that makes you glad to be alive.”

“At that moment, I loved him. I didn’t want to, I mean, it terrified me, but for that moment, I loved him.”

“I want to thank you for giving me everything I ever wanted. A love that consumed me, adventure, passion, there’s nothing more that I could have asked for—except for it to last forever.”

“You put me in a position where I have to defend you again. Where I have to go against every single thing I believe in again. Because I love you!”

“It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I love you, “

“I love you. Hold on to that. Never let that go.”

“I want him to love me as much as I love him.”

“You’re going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. But first, you have to let it all in. You can’t fight it, it’s bigger than you.”

“I want so much to make things right but every instinct in my body is telling me to be careful. What you don’t know can hurt you.”

“I used to think the worst feeling in the world was losing someone you love, but I was wrong. The worst feeling in the world is the moment that you realize you’ve lost yourself.”

“I’m playing with fire—with something I don’t understand.”

“When it’s real, you can’t walk away.”

“All you can do is be ready for the good, so when it comes, you invite it in. Because you need it. I need it.”

“He got under my skin and no matter what I do, I can’t shake him.”

“I tricked you into telling me the truth. That’s not stabbing you in the back. That’s using your own tactics against you.”

“First rule of being a vampire is realizing how awesome you are.”

“Thank you for bumping into me that day in the hallway. I never thought I would ever be happy again and then I met you. You quite literally saved my life.”

"And you just happen to be hanging around a cementary."

“I can accept the fact that the world is a much more mysterious place than I ever thought possible, but this, this lie, I cannot take. What am I to you? Who am I to you?”

“Peace exists. It lives in everything we hold, dear. That is the promise of peace, that one day, after a long life, we found each other again.”

“I want so much to make things right but every instinct in my body is telling me to be careful. What you don’t know can hurt you.”

“When it’s real, you can’t walk away”

"I burden you with all of my drama, and I want you to do the same."

"I`m not going to be one of those pathetic girls, whose world stops spinning because of some guy."

"I think that my paranoia has turned into full-blown hallucinations."

"If you mean me no harm then you`ll go."

"So she`s a vampire with issues?"

"Part of me wishes, that I could forget too. Forget meeting you, finding out what you are and everything that has happened since."

"Around you people get hurt and people die and I just..it`s just too much..I can`t.."

“you have to stay away from me.”

"I couldn`t miss your hundred and whatever birthday."

"When I saw you I thought you we`re coming to say goodbye."

"You don`t get to make that decession for me. If you walk away it`s for you, because I know what I want.”

"Time out remember? Five minutes? Well that five minutes is gonna need a beer."

“i used to be more fun.”

"If he`s trying to kill me, why call first?"

"You are so teaching me how to hand-jive."

"I fought back tonight. It felt good."

"I would say drop dead but..."

"You`re not exactly innocent. You`ve made it your life mission to make him miserable."

"Don`t pretend that you don`t care."

"Asked? You threatend him."

“There’s more to me than just gloomy grave yard girl.”

“I won’t love a ghost for the rest of my life.” 

"I Feel Good, Which Is Rare, So I've Decided To Go With It. Fly Free, Walk On Sunshine, All That Stuff."

"Our Actions Are What Set Things In Motion, But We Have To Live With That."

"Breathe, Eat, Sleep, Wake Up, And Then Do It All Over Again Until One Day It's Not As Hard Anymore."

"Getting Out Of Bed Is Dangerous These Days, But We Have To Live Our Lives."

"The Worst Feeling Is The Moment That You Realize You've Lost Yourself."

"I'll Survive. Somehow, I Always Do."

“I’m at a crossroads right now, where I could go live my life the way I think I probably should—be successful and safe, and probably very happy. Or I could risk all of that for this tiny glimmer of a feeling inside that—I just can’t shake.”

“People are born, they grow old, and then they die. That’s the world we live in. There’s no magic, no mysticism, no immortality. There is nothing that defies rational thought. It’s not possible. I’m not a believer, I can’t be. But how can I deny what’s right in front of me? Someone who never grows old…never gets hurt…someone who changes in ways that can’t be explained. Girls bitten…bodies drained of blood…” 

#open to all #Open to anything #open to suggestions #open to anyone #open #open role play #Open roleplay #open RP #open vampire diaries starter #open vampire diaries roleplay #open vampire diaries rp #open vampire rp #open fantasy starter #open fantasy rp #elena gilbert #elena salvatore #delena #stelena #stefan and elena #stefan x elena #damon and elena #damon x elena #elena x stefan #elena x damon #open to everyone #open to ocs #open to replies #rp muses #roleplay musings #Specify muse

[headstrongblake]

"i never had a chance to meet him, your brother.. if you want, could you tell me about him?" / kassy to o about bellamy :'))))) / @thewholecrew​

      octavia’s feet dangle from the top of the monkey bars, sipping on a rum cooler as she smiles fondly towards her best friend. somehow, they always end up here when octavia misses her brother the most. when her soul aches just a little bit more than usual because the siblings have been disconnected for too long. & even though her best friend has never met the older sibling, octavia knows she understands this place holds memories for her. good ones of just two kids trying to escape the chaos that’s tightly held them since the day both of them were born. 

      octavia picks at the paper label on the rum cooler, eyes dropping to the tattoo she has that matches her brothers on her wrist.  “ bell...he’s... ” octavia struggles to find the words to accurately describe all that her brother is and has been. he’s been her hero. her saviour. her protector. her light in all the darkness. he’s been her parent. her friend. her teacher. the only one she’s always known that loves her and needs her. and he’s also been her deepest heartbreak. the most painful separation. the source of her most intense emotions because being raised in the burning house that they were...they’re bonded in a way that is not easily shattered or broken. her brother is everything.

      “ every memory i’ve ever had before you...they’re all of him, ” she began softly, eyes lifting to kassy with a glimmer of sadness and hope mixing together in her gaze. “ i don’t even know how to describe him without making him seem like some piece of fiction or a tv show character. ” she lightly chuckled, shaking her head. the two siblings have had a rollercoaster of ups and downs. her biggest knock down fights have been with him. but every part of her loves him. every piece misses him more every day.

    “ when i was probably seven or eight, i used to love playing this game we called lily pads. i’m pretty sure he hated it but...it’s basically like the ground is lava, except in my world it was water, and you had to run and jump all around this park to avoid it. ” the small smile on octavia’s face grew a touch as her eyes moved towards the jungle gym. “ anyways, this one day bell came home from highschool and dad was back from a run already, him and my mom were going at it pretty good so, even though it had rained all day, he brought me here and i begged him to play lily pads. ” octavia chuckled, remembering the way she’d pull at his hand and make all sorts of promises. “ he didn’t think it was safe, and you know hindsight, twenty twenty and all. i ended up cutting right here on some janky piece from the playground... ” octavia lifted her elbow up to kassy, showing off the small scar just above. “ but man, i cried, and cried, and cired, i was so scared and i didn’t know what our parents were going to say or if they were going to be mad... ” her head shook, “ so, what does my brother do? he cuts himself in the same place. stupid right? now the both of us are bleeding but uh...i don’t know, it made it all seem less scary and i felt better, so i stopped crying while he cleaned us up and...we never told our parents. just, went home and did my homework together. ” 

    octavia shrugged casually as she finished the story, taking a sip from her cooler as the childhood memory brought up all the good and sad emotions she felt about her brother. “ that’s who my brother was. that’s who he is...at least for me. he did stuff like that all the time, you know. anything for me... ”

#thewholecrew #pv. all american #IM NOT CRYING OR ANYTHING #( & SENIOR YEAR )

[mimdecisive]

the beautiful aspect of glimmer’s fucked up mentality with her family is she projects her own feelings of inadequacy onto them and assumes they’re waiting for her to mess up, because Glimmer views her family as unreachable standards before she sees them as people. Her entire family is the image of perfection, reflected in their character designs. Not one hair out of place.

And Glimmer is a mess in more ways than one, and she doesn’t feel like she’ll ever be even close to as good as the rest of her family. Glimmer perceives herself as a disappointment, and she projects that feeling onto every one else.

It’s why she never actually talks to Angella, because she feels like Angella thinks she’s too weak/not good enough to fight rather than Angella’s sense of responsibility when it comes to keeping Glimmer safe. Angella says herself that Glimmer didn’t know about her guilt for what happened to Micah because Glimmer doesn’t talk to her.

Micah is a unreachable idol for most of her childhood. He’s immortalized in murals and statues, and regarded as a hero and super powerful sorcerer. He’s perfect and nothing she’s told changes that, and she doesn’t think she’ll live up to him.

And Castaspella is a different story. Her Aunt is royalty and wasn’t born or married into it, she earned it and she’s well-respected. She has not a hair out of place, and she’s better than Angella at keeping her emotions in check. Glimmer seems, on some level, aware that she can hurt Castaspella’s feelings on a way she doesn’t with Angella— but it’s mostly after she’s already hurt them.

The way Glimmer talks about her achievements with Castaspella is actually, notably, to put an emphasis on Angella believing in her and She-Ra. Throwing around the two things that usually get support. But Castaspella, unlike most people, isn’t all like “yeah a bunch of kids can win a war that’s been going on 30+ years because my SIL thinks so”.

That’s not enough for her to regain the hope she lost when she was fighting the war herself. Instead, it makes Castaspella feel like she doesn’t have a right not to believe if Angella does, because Castaspella also struggles with severe feelings of inadequacy. (And, notably, deals with it pretty similarly to Glimmer!)

And part of Glimmer’s “silent” arc throughout the series is gradually coming to understand that her relatives aren’t the perfect people she painted them as in her mind. They’re people too, and they struggle just as much as she does.

After S1, she realizes Angella is not infallible and Angella starts trusting her more and Glimmer realizes her mom thinks she’s capable, she just loves her a lot. This is later kind of broken in S2-S3, since Glimmer starts leaving Angella in the dark about her decisions. (Crimson Waste.)

And as for her relationship with Castaspella, it doesn’t seem to have fully clicked for Glimmer until S5 (or maybe S4) that her Aunt is also a person and not infallible, as the way her and Castaspella interact changes. Glimmer acts more on equal-ground with her, and is ready to comfort her when she seems upset.

She even shoots SW a dirty look for insulting Castaspella, because she recognizes her Aunt might not show that it gets to her, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t.

and the writing is kinda good there. I think they could’ve better expressed this arc of Glimmer’s, because it was… basically the brunt of her psychological issues. The idea that people are inherently better than her is something she struggles with throughout the show, and the primary reason why she’s so concerned with being replaced as a friend.

And she had to learn from SW in S4 because SW was the first (and only) person to tell her that she had an opportunity to be better than her family members, and to learn from where they failed and whatnot. Glimmer needed and wanted to hear that, and SW knew it. Even if Castaspella had offered to reach Glimmer, Glimmer wouldn’t have accepted and she wouldn’t be able to explain why.

She kind of ends up just… snapping out of this mindset in S5.

basically: Angella, Micah, Castaspella and Glimmer need to go to family therapy. (Invite Adora and DT later on, because they need the regular kind of therapy first.)

#spop #she ra #castaspella #glimmer #analysis #of sorts #castaspellma au #lightly implied #adora #micah #angella #momgella #also lightly implied

[beforeiforgetyou]

Thinking of you today- 03.17.23

Thinking about you again. Thinking about you always. I need you tonight. Bent over my lap. Panties pushed to the side. Fingers in your mouth while I dig out your ass. Spank you. Taste you. Feel how wet I can make it. I’m hard just thinking about you. You been bad and I need to punish you. You hit me. Hurt me. I don’t care why. Even if you think I deserved it. You put your hands on me and now it’s my turn. Beg me to forgive you while I’m eating you out. Tell me you’re sorry while I have one hand around your neck and one spreading your legs for me as I rub my penis anywhere I please. Tell me you love me over and over. Each time you say it, a slap in your face. I love you, Gil. Slap. I’m sorry, Gil. Slap. Please forgive me, Gil. Slap. Please rape me, Gil. Slap. I’m your dirty little slut, Gil. Slap. Because I don’t care what you say. You’re mine because I want you to be. Dangerous little girl. 

Dangerous love. Are we really bad for one another? Or are we so good for each other that if we let ourselves just go for it, we’d consume one another entirely? Risk it all. Lose it all. I see it in your eyes. You devour me the same way I devour you. Dangerous. That’s why we fight. That’s why we’ll always fight. We want something we can’t have. I told you. You can’t have both. You said you know. But it doesn’t matter, does it? If you’re honest with yourself, that’s what you want. You do want both. 

Safe, sweet boys to bring home to Mom and Dad. To go on precious little dates with. To kiss on the lips, make cute little promises to, plan your perfect future with. So easy, so simple, so secure. That gentle kind of love. You don’t question it. You just know. It’ll last forever if you let it. Like Ashley and I. Even when it’s bad, it’ll be good, Worth it. Comfortable. Will it keep you satisfied? I wonder. 

Because then there’s me. What are we, and why do you feel this way? Chaotic, explosive, the highs and the lows. The fights, the feelings. Half the time you hate me. But you still can’t get me off your mind. There’s no future for us but you can’t let go. You know I can’t either. When we go out I just wanna finger you under the table while you watch those stupid TikTok videos. I’ll kiss you everywhere except the lips. That’s asking for trouble. But I am trouble. Drunk, high, and I want you bent over in the backseat of your car again. I love the way your skin feels against mine. I want to get closer. I’d climb inside your skin if I could. 

Look me in the eye. Those mesmerizing eyes of yours. No one has ever looked at me like that before. I’ve never felt this way before. This is different and I don’t understand it either. More than friends. Less than lovers. But somehow more than that too. This is why we fight. Because my soulmate is temporary. Because there will never be another you. Because I’m losing you. You want to pretend it’s not happening. Happy, understanding, simple. You want to keep playing the game. And I will. I love the game. I love pretending too. That it’ll last forever. That it can. But that’s why we fight. Because of the little reminders that it’s not the same. 

What happened to that independent, headstrong girl? She’s got a bedtime now? By some kid who was still in grade school when I was already in college? It blows my mind that that’s who I have to give you up to. That’s why I said those things. I know it hurts your feelings. I know. But it hurts mine too. I know I can be mean and I’m sorry. I’m hurt and I know you are too. Your anger comes out in screams and fists. Mine in those short, slick comments. Because I see these glimmers out of the old days, the old you, but then bam! Reality is back and it’s not fair. 

None of it is fair. It’s not fair that I love you. It’s not fair that you love me. It’s not fair that you love him. It’s not fair that you and I can never be anything more than this, but you and he can. That’s not fair. It’s not fair that you get both. It’s. It is not fair that I would do anything for you. Buy you anything, take you anywhere, give you everything. Die for you should it be required. Anything. But it’s still not enough. It’s not your fault. It’s not mine. We just can’t be anything other than part-time. And it’s not fair because I want you so, so badly. I sit here all day and night and think about you. What do I even want from you? What can to do with you? But you aren’t mine to keep. And neither am I. And that is just so unfair. 

I’m an artist. You’re my muse. You’re my disaster. My hurt. My heart. No one will ever love you the way I do. I think you know that. Crazy and obsessive. Weird. I immortalize you with each word; you become a poem, a picture, a piece of art. I have an artist’s heart and don’t you know?  Artists are the saddest people in the world but the greatest lovers. No one will ever look at me the way you do. There’s fear in your eyes. Love, lust, joy, sadness, but just a little bit of fear too. Are you afraid of me? Afraid of losing me? Afraid of the way I make you feel? 

The fights will continue. I’m not fighting you though. I’m not even fighting myself. I’m fighting our fate. Our tragedy. We do fit. In some strange way, our puzzle pieces are an exact match. The problem is that they don’t make a picture. Matching pieces, different puzzles. I hate that. It’s not fair. None of this is. We’re not fighting each other. I don’t mean to hurt you. You don’t mean to hurt me. But it hurts. I know you feel it too. The other night you told me you don’t know what to do because you love a man who doesn’t want change. And that just next level broke my heart. Because it’s true. I won’t change. I love who I am. You love who I am. Even if I did change, I don’t think you’d like it because then I wouldn’t be me anymore. 

I was too upset at the time, but I wanted to tell you that I don’t know what do to because I love a girl who thinks she has to change. All that plastic surgery stuff. All that back and forth between “I’m gonna do what I want”, and “I’m never doing that again.” That flip-flop between “I wanna have fun”, and “I want to live this strict disciplined life.” You are more than one thing. You are a woman of god, but you do also know how to have a good time. I love that about you. I respect that about you. I’m sorry when I make quips about it. You’d never say it but I know that’s one of the main reasons it would never work. Because I’m not a Jesus-guy. 

I’m going to write this once and I will never admit it again. But I tried. When you started getting more into that stuff again, I bought myself this bible on Amazon because I was like let me see if I can understand. Let me connect with you in this way too. But it’s just not for me. Faith is felt, not learned. And that’s okay, I’m not faithless. My beliefs are just less organized I suppose. And it’s very embarrassing to even be writing this, but I did try. For you. Like I said. Anything for you. 

My eye hurts so bad today. The one you punched me in. It’s my bad eye. Every time I blink it aches and I have such a bad headache. It’s kinda getting like this white puss in it too.  Anyways. It’s Sunday morning now. Sunday Funday. I meant to finish this last night, but I was too tired. I love writing for you. To you. You’re my number one fan. You’re a writer too you know. I think that’s so beautiful and impressive since English isn’t even your first language. You never cease to impress me. 

It’s part of our connection. Words. Especially when we’ve had a few drinks. Our conversations are weird, and lyrical. We speak to each other in poems sometimes. Do you peep that too? In little verses and sentences that could be written down and published someday. Even through text. You match me. You meet me. No one has ever been able to do that before. The things we talk about, and the way we talk about them. Most people don’t understand what I’m saying half the time, so they just agree and change the subject. But not you. From day one you challenged me. Questioned me. I love that. Yes, I love to argue. But I also love it because that means you listen. Maybe I’m just too much of an artsy-farsty guy so I romanticize everything. But that’s art too. Our conversations. Our back and forth. Delicate wordplay. Weaving verbal masterpieces that only we can appreciate. 

I’ll never find another you, but you’ll never find another me either. 

The way I touch you is art, too. It’s like you said, it’s not about sex. I think I said something like that too, last time when I was on mushrooms. I could have sex with any girl. You could do it with any guy. You and me though. It’s different. It is about the intimacy. There’s an inexplicable passion to it. I can’t hold you. I can’t kiss you. Yeah, it’s rough. Yeah, it gets crazy. Yeah, sometimes it’s overwhelming. But I can only do those things to you because I love you. I can only touch you that way because I love you. And you can only let me because, in your own way, you love me too. Because you trust me. One time you had your shirt off and I was running my hands down your body. Yes, I was horny as hell but I thought for a moment how happy I was that you show yourself to me. That you open yourself to me. To be vulnerable and soft. Even just for a while. That’s why I don’t like when you get upset afterward. I do it out of love. I wanna make you feel good. Just be with me sometimes. However, we are, just be. And when it’s over don’t feel guilty or disgusted. Because I’m giving myself to you too in those moments. There’s a vulnerability on my end too. To treat you rough, to make you mine, to say those things. It takes an incredible amount of trust from me too. 

Anyway, it’s after 1pm now. I’m in and out of sleep and writing this in between. I keep dreaming of you. I’m horny for you and every time I wake up, my dick is hard again. Sunday Funday. We used to be together then. Peach Valley in the morning. Millenia Mall. Cheesecake Factory. The Outlets. America Social. Pretty sure I know where you are today. At least partially. I don’t bother checking anymore. I’ll never ask “wyd” again. The truth is, I don’t like texting you anymore. Because you’re right. Part of me is still crazy, and obsessed. So if we’re texting and you don’t answer for a while, I know it’s going to hurt my feelings. Better to just leave you alone. See you in person, or wait for you to call. When you have time for me. 

I want to run away with you. We used to joke that I’d kidnap you one day, but now it’s true. Tie your hands and feet, put you in the trunk of my car, and just drive. To Colorado or maybe Arizona. Somewhere with a lot of trees. Along the way, I’ll open the trunk and fuck you when I feel like it, but I won’t let you out. I bought you a house just like I said I would. Drained my saving for a cottage in the middle of nowhere. No wi-fi. No phones. You’ll hate it at first. There’s nothing to do but spread your legs for me whenever I want. You’ll have to write in your free time. Or draw. Read. In the middle of the wilderness, where I keep you, my precious prisoner. 

Time doesn’t matter there. We don’t have an expiration date. It doesn’t matter that we’re dangerous for one another out there. No one to impress. Nothing to distract. I’m yours and you’re mine, however we want. For however long we want. You’d probably write a book that’s better than mine. We could take walks in the woods and talk about everything. Life. The universe. God. Maybe you’d even make a believer out of me. I’d fuck you in the woods. Against a tree. Or on the ground, in the dirt. Dirty. Naked. Free. Just you and me. Doing whatever we want. No label needed. No other girls or boys. I’m your favorite guy. Your only guy. I’d cook for you. You can teach me how to make rice. Teach me to speak Creole, or like at least like kinda. I’ll teach you to play ukulele and write songs for you. I’ll teach you how to squirt for me. When we need stuff we’ll go into town. You can pick out whatever you want. Clothes. Shoes. Bags. Food. I’ll take care of you. You’ll take care of me. You don’t have to feel guilty. You didn’t run away. I stole you. Will I ever give you back to the world? Who can say? That’s my true fantasy right there. Space and time. Alone with you. 

It's 5pm now and I haven’t left my bed. I miss you. I’m grumpy and tired. My feet hurt. My face hurts. You’re sending me dirty messages on Tumblr. It’s turning me on. I love it when you tease me. I hate when you tease me. You need to be punished. I need to taste you. I’ve already cum three times to you today. I used to wish I was taller but I love how short I am next to you. Titty level. So that I can suck them with my hand between your legs while you stand there and pretend it’s not driving you crazy. I like that post you relogged. Next time you Facetime me wear my shirt until I tell you to take it off and then rub your pussy with it. Nasty girl. I love everything about you.

Secrets. My secret is that I like that you’re just a girl. You’ve always been just a girl. My favorite one, but I’ve always known. You’re not soft, but you’re so gentle, so sweet. You’re a good girl. I don’t like when people call you rough or mean. You were never like that with me. Never. Even from day one, you were sweet with me. Sure you were a bit more closed, but I never thought you were rough. The first time we went to Kobe’s you surprised me. You were so giggly and bubbly, and you were wearing that blue dress. Just a pretty, funny girl. 

Secrets. We all have them. I’m yours, but you’re mine too. I wonder what they say about us at work nowadays?  Steven tried to ask me about you last week. Not directly but I knew what he was getting at. They know better than to talk about you to me. Every so often someone still makes a slick comment or something, but at this point, I pretend like we don’t even talk outside of work. They probably look at you, then look at me and think there’s no way it’s anything like “that”. 

Shoot, I barely believe it myself. I used to think you were a virgin, or close to it at least. I remember the first time you sent me a video on Snapchat. I thought, there’s no way. I didn’t believe it was you. You were so innocent, so proper, too bubbly for all that. Plus, I had really only seen you in the work uniform up until then. And yeah your ass was poppin’, but imagine my surprise to find out you had the craziest body underneath it the whole time. Mind-blowing. But I’d never tell a soul. I think that would ruin it too. You and I, we exist in our own little private world somewhere no one else can see. I like it like that. 

But I do hate when anyone tries to call you rough. It like, offends me. I remember that one night we were at STP with ATL. That random guy was sitting with us trying to talk to you. He was trying to argue with you about some bull crap and you were tearing him up. It turned me on so much. I remember that I was rubbing your leg the whole time you were talking to him because I wanted you so bad. You were so hot for that. And then you went to the bathroom and he called you difficult, or hard-up, or something like that. I remember I shrugged my shoulders and he asked if I would “hit it.” He said it’d be too much work. I just laughed. Tough little girl but you were always so sweet to me. Just a girl but it’s okay. You’ve been my favorite one since that day. 

I absolutely fell for you at STP. There are three specific times we went there that led to that. That was the first one. The second was before when it was just you and me. I think I wrote about it before. Where we sat in your car afterward and you were so upset about something that you started crying, and all I could do was rub your back and think to myself, “Who is this girl!?”. I was messed up over you ever since. The third time was when I came back from Texas from having my surgery. I was on all those painkillers, and could barely drive, but you begged me to go out there. Tykeah was there and you made me wait so you could take her home and it could be just us. I loved that. Because you knew I wanted you all to myself. Ashley was so mad that I left that night. Hadn’t even unpacked our bags yet. But it was so worth it. That was the first time we kissed. I couldn’t help it. I had missed you so much that week and a half. 

But now we can never go back there again. Lol. 

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. I was going to go out but I’m so tired now. I have to go grocery shopping. Tomorrow I have to turn in the keys at my old place. I’m still so exhausted and there’s still so much to do. To think about. But I’m lying in bed with my hand on my balls wondering if I can bust another one right now. I wonder what you’re doing. Like I said, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to know. What I want you to be doing is lying in bed with your pants off, fingering yourself thinking about how much you want me to eat you. How much you want me to nut all over you. To make you rub yourself with it. I want you to suck my fingers like you’re hungry. Show me you want it and then maybe I’ll give it to you. 

Now it's 7pm and I’m as awake as I’m going to Bar Louie because they have cheap, green beer. I’ll think of you while I’m there. I’ll wish you were there with me instead of the idiots I’ll be hanging out with. If I’m drunk enough, I’ll probably even call you on the way home. I wonder if you’ll answer or if you’ll be “busy.” I would insert the rolling eyes emoji here, but I’m on a Word doc. I could keep writing. For some reason, I never run out of things to say to you. New things to tell you, new words to express my feelings, old memories to recall. New nasty things I want to do with you. But this is already 5 going on 6 pages long, so I’ll wrap it up here. 

I don’t know. I will say that. Things feel good right now. I miss you. I want you. I’m horny for you. But how long can this last? How long will it? I am deeply afraid of the future because I fear I will lose my mind if I lose any more of you than I already have. I’m scared, to be honest. You always ask if I feel better after we have one of our talks. Sometimes I do. But then the next day, it just feels sad again because I know. I know there’s nothing we can do but hold onto each other the best we can. I just feel like… Well, that’ll have to be another short novel later. 

I would say I hope you’re having a good day, but that’s not true. I hope you had a decent day but you spent it wishing that you were with me instead. So have a mid-rest of your day, pretty girl.  

#things i must remember #personal #text post

[sirpsychosexi]

Thinking of you today- 03.17.23

Thinking about you again. Thinking about you always. I need you tonight. Bent over my lap. Panties pushed to the side. Fingers in your mouth while I dig out your ass. Spank you. Taste you. Feel how wet I can make it. I’m hard just thinking about you. You been bad and I need to punish you. You hit me. Hurt me. I don’t care why. Even if you think I deserved it. You put your hands on me and now it’s my turn. Beg me to forgive you while I’m eating you out. Tell me you’re sorry while I have one hand around your neck and one spreading your legs for me as I rub my penis anywhere I please. Tell me you love me over and over. Each time you say it, a slap in your face. I love you, Gil. Slap. I’m sorry, Gil. Slap. Please forgive me, Gil. Slap. Please rape me, Gil. Slap. I’m your dirty little slut, Gil. Slap. Because I don’t care what you say. You’re mine because I want you to be. Dangerous little girl. 

Dangerous love. Are we really bad for one another? Or are we so good for each other that if we let ourselves just go for it, we’d consume one another entirely? Risk it all. Lose it all. I see it in your eyes. You devour me the same way I devour you. Dangerous. That’s why we fight. That’s why we’ll always fight. We want something we can’t have. I told you. You can’t have both. You said you know. But it doesn’t matter, does it? If you’re honest with yourself, that’s what you want. You do want both. 

Safe, sweet boys to bring home to Mom and Dad. To go on precious little dates with. To kiss on the lips, make cute little promises to, plan your perfect future with. So easy, so simple, so secure. That gentle kind of love. You don’t question it. You just know. It’ll last forever if you let it. Like Ashley and I. Even when it’s bad, it’ll be good, Worth it. Comfortable. Will it keep you satisfied? I wonder. 

Because then there’s me. What are we, and why do you feel this way? Chaotic, explosive, the highs and the lows. The fights, the feelings. Half the time you hate me. But you still can’t get me off your mind. There’s no future for us but you can’t let go. You know I can’t either. When we go out I just wanna finger you under the table while you watch those stupid TikTok videos. I’ll kiss you everywhere except the lips. That’s asking for trouble. But I am trouble. Drunk, high, and I want you bent over in the backseat of your car again. I love the way your skin feels against mine. I want to get closer. I’d climb inside your skin if I could. 

Look me in the eye. Those mesmerizing eyes of yours. No one has ever looked at me like that before. I’ve never felt this way before. This is different and I don’t understand it either. More than friends. Less than lovers. But somehow more than that too. This is why we fight. Because my soulmate is temporary. Because there will never be another you. Because I’m losing you. You want to pretend it’s not happening. Happy, understanding, simple. You want to keep playing the game. And I will. I love the game. I love pretending too. That it’ll last forever. That it can. But that’s why we fight. Because of the little reminders that it’s not the same. 

What happened to that independent, headstrong girl? She’s got a bedtime now? By some kid who was still in grade school when I was already in college? It blows my mind that that’s who I have to give you up to. That’s why I said those things. I know it hurts your feelings. I know. But it hurts mine too. I know I can be mean and I’m sorry. I’m hurt and I know you are too. Your anger comes out in screams and fists. Mine in those short, slick comments. Because I see these glimmers out of the old days, the old you, but then bam! Reality is back and it’s not fair. 

None of it is fair. It’s not fair that I love you. It’s not fair that you love me. It’s not fair that you love him. It’s not fair that you and I can never be anything more than this, but you and he can. That’s not fair. It’s not fair that you get both. It’s. It is not fair that I would do anything for you. Buy you anything, take you anywhere, give you everything. Die for you should it be required. Anything. But it’s still not enough. It’s not your fault. It’s not mine. We just can’t be anything other than part-time. And it’s not fair because I want you so, so badly. I sit here all day and night and think about you. What do I even want from you? What can to do with you? But you aren’t mine to keep. And neither am I. And that is just so unfair. 

I’m an artist. You’re my muse. You’re my disaster. My hurt. My heart. No one will ever love you the way I do. I think you know that. Crazy and obsessive. Weird. I immortalize you with each word; you become a poem, a picture, a piece of art. I have an artist’s heart and don’t you know?  Artists are the saddest people in the world but the greatest lovers. No one will ever look at me the way you do. There’s fear in your eyes. Love, lust, joy, sadness, but just a little bit of fear too. Are you afraid of me? Afraid of losing me? Afraid of the way I make you feel? 

The fights will continue. I’m not fighting you though. I’m not even fighting myself. I’m fighting our fate. Our tragedy. We do fit. In some strange way, our puzzle pieces are an exact match. The problem is that they don’t make a picture. Matching pieces, different puzzles. I hate that. It’s not fair. None of this is. We’re not fighting each other. I don’t mean to hurt you. You don’t mean to hurt me. But it hurts. I know you feel it too. The other night you told me you don’t know what to do because you love a man who doesn’t want change. And that just next level broke my heart. Because it’s true. I won’t change. I love who I am. You love who I am. Even if I did change, I don’t think you’d like it because then I wouldn’t be me anymore. 

I was too upset at the time, but I wanted to tell you that I don’t know what do to because I love a girl who thinks she has to change. All that plastic surgery stuff. All that back and forth between “I’m gonna do what I want”, and “I’m never doing that again.” That flip-flop between “I wanna have fun”, and “I want to live this strict disciplined life.” You are more than one thing. You are a woman of god, but you do also know how to have a good time. I love that about you. I respect that about you. I’m sorry when I make quips about it. You’d never say it but I know that’s one of the main reasons it would never work. Because I’m not a Jesus-guy. 

I’m going to write this once and I will never admit it again. But I tried. When you started getting more into that stuff again, I bought myself this bible on Amazon because I was like let me see if I can understand. Let me connect with you in this way too. But it’s just not for me. Faith is felt, not learned. And that’s okay, I’m not faithless. My beliefs are just less organized I suppose. And it’s very embarrassing to even be writing this, but I did try. For you. Like I said. Anything for you. 

My eye hurts so bad today. The one you punched me in. It’s my bad eye. Every time I blink it aches and I have such a bad headache. It’s kinda getting like this white puss in it too.  Anyways. It’s Sunday morning now. Sunday Funday. I meant to finish this last night, but I was too tired. I love writing for you. To you. You’re my number one fan. You’re a writer too you know. I think that’s so beautiful and impressive since English isn’t even your first language. You never cease to impress me. 

It’s part of our connection. Words. Especially when we’ve had a few drinks. Our conversations are weird, and lyrical. We speak to each other in poems sometimes. Do you peep that too? In little verses and sentences that could be written down and published someday. Even through text. You match me. You meet me. No one has ever been able to do that before. The things we talk about, and the way we talk about them. Most people don’t understand what I’m saying half the time, so they just agree and change the subject. But not you. From day one you challenged me. Questioned me. I love that. Yes, I love to argue. But I also love it because that means you listen. Maybe I’m just too much of an artsy-farsty guy so I romanticize everything. But that’s art too. Our conversations. Our back and forth. Delicate wordplay. Weaving verbal masterpieces that only we can appreciate. 

I’ll never find another you, but you’ll never find another me either. 

The way I touch you is art, too. It’s like you said, it’s not about sex. I think I said something like that too, last time when I was on mushrooms. I could have sex with any girl. You could do it with any guy. You and me though. It’s different. It is about the intimacy. There’s an inexplicable passion to it. I can’t hold you. I can’t kiss you. Yeah, it’s rough. Yeah, it gets crazy. Yeah, sometimes it’s overwhelming. But I can only do those things to you because I love you. I can only touch you that way because I love you. And you can only let me because, in your own way, you love me too. Because you trust me. One time you had your shirt off and I was running my hands down your body. Yes, I was horny as hell but I thought for a moment how happy I was that you show yourself to me. That you open yourself to me. To be vulnerable and soft. Even just for a while. That’s why I don’t like when you get upset afterward. I do it out of love. I wanna make you feel good. Just be with me sometimes. However, we are, just be. And when it’s over don’t feel guilty or disgusted. Because I’m giving myself to you too in those moments. There’s a vulnerability on my end too. To treat you rough, to make you mine, to say those things. It takes an incredible amount of trust from me too. 

Anyway, it’s after 1pm now. I’m in and out of sleep and writing this in between. I keep dreaming of you. I’m horny for you and every time I wake up, my dick is hard again. Sunday Funday. We used to be together then. Peach Valley in the morning. Millenia Mall. Cheesecake Factory. The Outlets. America Social. Pretty sure I know where you are today. At least partially. I don’t bother checking anymore. I’ll never ask “wyd” again. The truth is, I don’t like texting you anymore. Because you’re right. Part of me is still crazy, and obsessed. So if we’re texting and you don’t answer for a while, I know it’s going to hurt my feelings. Better to just leave you alone. See you in person, or wait for you to call. When you have time for me. 

I want to run away with you. We used to joke that I’d kidnap you one day, but now it’s true. Tie your hands and feet, put you in the trunk of my car, and just drive. To Colorado or maybe Arizona. Somewhere with a lot of trees. Along the way, I’ll open the trunk and fuck you when I feel like it, but I won’t let you out. I bought you a house just like I said I would. Drained my saving for a cottage in the middle of nowhere. No wi-fi. No phones. You’ll hate it at first. There’s nothing to do but spread your legs for me whenever I want. You’ll have to write in your free time. Or draw. Read. In the middle of the wilderness, where I keep you, my precious prisoner. 

Time doesn’t matter there. We don’t have an expiration date. It doesn’t matter that we’re dangerous for one another out there. No one to impress. Nothing to distract. I’m yours and you’re mine, however we want. For however long we want. You’d probably write a book that’s better than mine. We could take walks in the woods and talk about everything. Life. The universe. God. Maybe you’d even make a believer out of me. I’d fuck you in the woods. Against a tree. Or on the ground, in the dirt. Dirty. Naked. Free. Just you and me. Doing whatever we want. No label needed. No other girls or boys. I’m your favorite guy. Your only guy. I’d cook for you. You can teach me how to make rice. Teach me to speak Creole, or like at least like kinda. I’ll teach you to play ukulele and write songs for you. I’ll teach you how to squirt for me. When we need stuff we’ll go into town. You can pick out whatever you want. Clothes. Shoes. Bags. Food. I’ll take care of you. You’ll take care of me. You don’t have to feel guilty. You didn’t run away. I stole you. Will I ever give you back to the world? Who can say? That’s my true fantasy right there. Space and time. Alone with you. 

It's 5pm now and I haven’t left my bed. I miss you. I’m grumpy and tired. My feet hurt. My face hurts. You’re sending me dirty messages on Tumblr. It’s turning me on. I love it when you tease me. I hate when you tease me. You need to be punished. I need to taste you. I’ve already cum three times to you today. I used to wish I was taller but I love how short I am next to you. Titty level. So that I can suck them with my hand between your legs while you stand there and pretend it’s not driving you crazy. I like that post you relogged. Next time you Facetime me wear my shirt until I tell you to take it off and then rub your pussy with it. Nasty girl. I love everything about you.

Secrets. My secret is that I like that you’re just a girl. You’ve always been just a girl. My favorite one, but I’ve always known. You’re not soft, but you’re so gentle, so sweet. You’re a good girl. I don’t like when people call you rough or mean. You were never like that with me. Never. Even from day one, you were sweet with me. Sure you were a bit more closed, but I never thought you were rough. The first time we went to Kobe’s you surprised me. You were so giggly and bubbly, and you were wearing that blue dress. Just a pretty, funny girl. 

Secrets. We all have them. I’m yours, but you’re mine too. I wonder what they say about us at work nowadays?  Steven tried to ask me about you last week. Not directly but I knew what he was getting at. They know better than to talk about you to me. Every so often someone still makes a slick comment or something, but at this point, I pretend like we don’t even talk outside of work. They probably look at you, then look at me and think there’s no way it’s anything like “that”. 

Shoot, I barely believe it myself. I used to think you were a virgin, or close to it at least. I remember the first time you sent me a video on Snapchat. I thought, there’s no way. I didn’t believe it was you. You were so innocent, so proper, too bubbly for all that. Plus, I had really only seen you in the work uniform up until then. And yeah your ass was poppin’, but imagine my surprise to find out you had the craziest body underneath it the whole time. Mind-blowing. But I’d never tell a soul. I think that would ruin it too. You and I, we exist in our own little private world somewhere no one else can see. I like it like that. 

But I do hate when anyone tries to call you rough. It like, offends me. I remember that one night we were at STP with ATL. That random guy was sitting with us trying to talk to you. He was trying to argue with you about some bull crap and you were tearing him up. It turned me on so much. I remember that I was rubbing your leg the whole time you were talking to him because I wanted you so bad. You were so hot for that. And then you went to the bathroom and he called you difficult, or hard-up, or something like that. I remember I shrugged my shoulders and he asked if I would “hit it.” He said it’d be too much work. I just laughed. Tough little girl but you were always so sweet to me. Just a girl but it’s okay. You’ve been my favorite one since that day. 

I absolutely fell for you at STP. There are three specific times we went there that led to that. That was the first one. The second was before when it was just you and me. I think I wrote about it before. Where we sat in your car afterward and you were so upset about something that you started crying, and all I could do was rub your back and think to myself, “Who is this girl!?”. I was messed up over you ever since. The third time was when I came back from Texas from having my surgery. I was on all those painkillers, and could barely drive, but you begged me to go out there. Tykeah was there and you made me wait so you could take her home and it could be just us. I loved that. Because you knew I wanted you all to myself. Ashley was so mad that I left that night. Hadn’t even unpacked our bags yet. But it was so worth it. That was the first time we kissed. I couldn’t help it. I had missed you so much that week and a half. 

But now we can never go back there again. Lol. 

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. I was going to go out but I’m so tired now. I have to go grocery shopping. Tomorrow I have to turn in the keys at my old place. I’m still so exhausted and there’s still so much to do. To think about. But I’m lying in bed with my hand on my balls wondering if I can bust another one right now. I wonder what you’re doing. Like I said, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to know. What I want you to be doing is lying in bed with your pants off, fingering yourself thinking about how much you want me to eat you. How much you want me to nut all over you. To make you rub yourself with it. I want you to suck my fingers like you’re hungry. Show me you want it and then maybe I’ll give it to you. 

Now it's 7pm and I’m as awake as I’m going to Bar Louie because they have cheap, green beer. I’ll think of you while I’m there. I’ll wish you were there with me instead of the idiots I’ll be hanging out with. If I’m drunk enough, I’ll probably even call you on the way home. I wonder if you’ll answer or if you’ll be “busy.” I would insert the rolling eyes emoji here, but I’m on a Word doc. I could keep writing. For some reason, I never run out of things to say to you. New things to tell you, new words to express my feelings, old memories to recall. New nasty things I want to do with you. But this is already 5 going on 6 pages long, so I’ll wrap it up here. 

I don’t know. I will say that. Things feel good right now. I miss you. I want you. I’m horny for you. But how long can this last? How long will it? I am deeply afraid of the future because I fear I will lose my mind if I lose any more of you than I already have. I’m scared, to be honest. You always ask if I feel better after we have one of our talks. Sometimes I do. But then the next day, it just feels sad again because I know. I know there’s nothing we can do but hold onto each other the best we can. I just feel like… Well, that’ll have to be another short novel later. 

I would say I hope you’re having a good day, but that’s not true. I hope you had a decent day but you spent it wishing that you were with me instead. So have a mid-rest of your day, pretty girl.  

#things i must remember

[casspurrjoybellbittner]

Wreckless - Parental

*Warning Adult Content*

Finnegan

We pull up to Emmett's dad's house and it's cute little one story with a dormer and a half porch on the front.

Fenced in back yard, flowers in the front.

"It's adorable."

"It's is a shithole, just doesn't look like it. Stay close. I got mugged here about a year ago."

Well okay then.

Baltimore is scary, it just is.

I follow him up the steps and notice how quiet the street is.

It's eerie.

The weather is good and it's a Sunday evening and I expect there to be kids playing, folks hanging around but there's no one.

A car passes by, blasting a stereo and Emmett pushes me between himself and the door so I'm standing right there when it opens.

"Hey, come on in."

Emmett's dad looks nothing like him.

Nothing.

Even if I imagine Emmett with short hair and no beard, still, no.

The only things they have in common is that they're male and white.

He must take after his mother.

"Hey dad, this is Finnegan."

"Hello," I say, proud that my voice doesn't falter.

It's automatic to slip into work mode.

Emmett's dad steps back and we head in.

I notice that he locks the door behind us.

The house smells great and we get told to make ourselves at home.

I follow Emmett into the living room and sit with him on the couch.

His dad reappears with a couple of beers, then hesitates.

"Beer okay for you, Finnegan?"

Not my first choice but...

"Yeah, thanks."

I have yet to see even a glimmer of his step-mother but I assume she'll eat dinner with us.

She's certainly a good cook if the smells are anything to go by.

"Dad, you wanna take these in to Ruth?"

He hands him the flowers and bottle of wine and I'm kind of surprised that he didn't take them in himself.

Not my concern, family dynamics are hard.

"Thanks, she'll love them."

As soon as he disappears, Emmett asks softly

"You okay?"

"Fine. Did you grow up here?" 

I'm imagining  a young Emmett playing out in the yard.

That is, if they did that back then. 

Or maybe the neighborhood has always been bad. 

I wonder if he still has a room here.

"No, they bought this together. He sold our house after..."

After his mom passed. 

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, darling."

His dad comes back out, sits down and announces that dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.

Okay, Emmett wasn't kidding, this will be quick.

"So, Finnegan, tell me about yourself."

I hate open ended questions, I'm not sure what to say.

"I'm from Michigan, I'm here helping to open the Walker plant."

He perks up.

"Hey, Ruth's son works there, you might know him. Brad, Brad Nelson."

I don't know him, I only know management.

Emmett saves me.

"He's being modest, dad, he's the Vice-President."

"Oh, are you? You're young."

Yes, I am. I hear that a lot.

I'm nodding slightly when Emmett says...

"So that tells you how good he is."

His dad laughs.

"True, true. Well good job, that's a good start in life."

"What about you, Mr. Locke, what do you do for work?"

Seems a safe subject.

"I work for the Social Security admin over in Woodlawn. Been there, what is it now? Almost thirty years I think. Started in the mail room, worked my way up. Lot of changes since then, place sure has grown. Tried to get Emmett in but after Iraq he couldn't handle a desk job."

"Dad," Emmett warns.

"Well you couldn't."

Thankfully Ruth appears and announces that dinner is ready and what a dinner it is.

It's the Sunday dinner that you see in old movies.

The table is laden with food, including a whole roast and at least four sides.

I'm pretty sure the rolls are homemade and I can see both something apple and a chocolate cake still sitting on the counter.

I need to save a bit of room.

"Ma'am, this is a feast," I say honestly.

"I hope you didn't go to any of this trouble for me."

We haven't been introduced so calling her 'Ruth' seems a stretch.

"Oh I do this every Sunday although I admit I did do an extra dessert since you boys were coming. We're always glad to have you, Emmett, and your friends. Call me Ruth, please."

Friends.

Do they know we're together?

I'm sure as hell not gonna be the one to tell them.

"Well thank you Ruth, this is wonderful."

"I'll send some home with you."

She's true to her word and half an hour later we manage to sort of fall into the car because we're too stuffed to move.

There's a whole box full of food in the back seat.

"I may never eat again," I tell Emmett.

"Me neither. Let's get home and out of the pants, that might help."

"Sounds good."

We don't talk much on the way home because I can't breathe deeply enough to have enough air to talk.

I look out the window while Emmett drives and it's nice.

Comfortable.

Easy.

We get home, manage to make room in the fridge for the leftovers and get out of anything that doesn't have an elastic waist.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah?"

"Do they know about us? It's okay either way, I just..."

"I caught that too. My dad knows, for sure. I assumed he told Ruth but maybe he didn't. Or maybe she was trying to be polite or not overstep or something, I don't know her well enough to know how she feels about it darling, sorry."

"No worries, I just wondered. Probably wouldn't have given us so much food if she hated me."

"You might be right. You definitely made a good impression, Finn, you're good with people.  So, you have an early morning and a big day tomorrow. What would you like to do tonight? Cartoon and then another chapter?"

I don't need it tonight like I sometimes do but it sounds good and I should fill up my 'relax' tank before the week starts. 

I'm not sure how long it'll be before I can free up an evening to spend with him. 

"That sounds amazing, Emmett. If you have things to do I can just chill." "I'll be back in ten minutes and I'll be all yours. Find something to watch and get comfy."

"Okay... Emmett?"

He's halfway up the stairs.

"Yeah?"

"Just in case I forget to tell you later, I'm really looking forward to breakfast tomorrow."

He leans over, his hair cascading down around his face but I can still see his wicked grin.

"I didn't know you liked blueberry muffins so much."

I grab a pillow and hurl it towards him.

"Missed."

[x0l0tl99]

My friend is OK after what you did, they didn't kill or cut themselves again. I hope you don't do it again. That's all I fucking ask. My bestfriend did not deserve to have their trauma be made fun of and dismissed and bullied by others over an AU. They almost hurt themselves over what you did/say to them, with the Glimmer PFP and Amethyst anon spreading rumors how they "harrassed" you. But they are fine. I just fucking wish you know better now and remember that like you, some other folks have things rough. Especially those who had abusers in their life. I'm still so disgusted over the damage you and your friends still did. But I'm glad my bestie is safe and recovering and learning to never tell another fucker like you and your friends of their trauma and if your stupid AUs are sending a bad message unknowingly. Good riddance you little fucking asshole.

i am very sorry for my reaction at first. i have developed a stubborn and dismissive attitude when people i dont really know come and talk to me due to certain events i wish not to dive into here. its my fault for acting dismissive at first. that however, doesn't excuse the behavior that came after why I apologized and learned. that doesn't excuse death threats. the guilt tripping. the dog piling. it doesn't excuse the fact accusations were made that had no truth behind them. it doesn't excuse any of that. people still think i drew art for the au though i haven't drawn a viv character in my whole life. people still think i hate deceptions of female abusers, while one look at my personal writing can prove otherwise. people STILL think i dont fucking care for abuse victims. so many assumptions were made, and i know nobody will listen when i say it isnt true because they think im covering my ass. it hurts. it hurts to hear someone say you dont care about abusive victims when your trying to stop your friend from spiraling because their mom chose their abusive step dad over them. it hurts to know the horrors my parents went through and how much their trying to be better. it hurts that all these awesome people deserve so much better. i am glad your friend has a person here to support them. please keep them safe. they deserve all the love and care. thank you for your time

also when did people think we were friends. they. they litterally were just people i followed before this all went down.

#xolotl💌inbox #srs☆posts #anon💌ask #tw child abuse #tw abuse #cw abuse #cw child abuse #stella au⛧snow hate anons

[neverluckygoldfish]

13 -

Something feels different today. The air feels crisper and I feel….a slight glimmer of motivation & optimism. I’m not sure what’s changed. But I will take it. And run to the top of the mountain with it!!!

Maybe the greater She within me is waking up from her brief hibernation. I’ve missed her.

I’ve been stuck in a low for a few days now. I love to shame myself when I’m feeling low. I know there are so many people out there who have it a million times worse than me, who endure horrors daily I could never comprehend. But comparison gets me nowhere and it’s not a trauma competition.

Pain is pain, any way you slice it.

I am trying.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want from life and frankly, it’s not much. I’ve spent a lot of my life not being afraid of death — testing its boundaries, thinking of it as a reprieve.

As a child abuse survivor, as the daughter of a drug addict and alcoholic, as a drug addict and alcoholic myself (some would say that makes me a double winner!!) - I just want to find some peace. I don’t care about a big house, or fame, or climbing the corporate ladder, or making a billion dollars.

I want to be remembered for riding the waves of life with grace & understanding, for having resilience and hope in spite of it all, for being a safe space for others, for making someone’s day a little brighter.

Oh and I really want to be a mom. There’s a million and ten ways to fuck up a child. That’s terrifying. But I’d like to think I’ll be a good one. I hope. Parenting without expectations. I want my children to show me who they are. Come as you are, you’re safe here…sorta thing.

It’s a future that’s not too far off for me. So I guess that’s another reason I feel compelled to “fix” myself. And why I’m so hard on myself when I don’t get it right or it’s not happening as fast as I want it to. I won’t give my children the childhood I had.

But in a way, isn’t that perpetuating the same perfectionist issues I currently struggle with? I think more importantly, I’ll try to show my children that we are all far from perfect. In fact, our quirks and our mistakes (though I don’t like to think of things as mistakes, just experiences to learn from) make up the fabric of who we are. We fall down, but we get back up and we try again. To not let fear drown out joy.

But first, I have to learn that myself.

I think I’m scared of falling down. Scared shitless. Down is a scary place for me in my mind. I’ve spent a lot of my life in down. So we’re working on it! And I have to trust I will get there. Trusting in myself? Also a scary thing.

We are the stories that made us, yes, but we are also the stories we write for ourselves. I’m choosing to write a different one.

See, something has changed today. I think I’ll get outside, eat some watermelon, put on my favorite perfume, hang out with my dog, curl up with my latest book and I’ll leave my worries for a while.

Each day, a little better and brighter.

#mental health #self love #healing #recovery #healing journey #alcoholism #depression recovery #sobriety #addiction recovery #higher self #spiritual growth

[princeicarus]

comments my mom has made while watching she-ra and the princesses of power, part 1

*glimmer yells at angella about angella not respecting her*

my mom: so this is where you’re getting all those ideas from, huh?

*glimmer gets angry*

my mom: aww, she’s a little chubby princess, isn’t she? so cute.

*glimmer cries*

my mom: aww, she’s so emotional, i love her!

#glimmer #spop #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #mom #txt #funny #meme #angella #adora #catra #bow #tv #gay rights #(i think it’s safe to say that my mom loves glimmer) #mom reacts

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Soft Place To Land- Part 2

Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x Reader

Summary: The reader goes into detail on her history with Fez and their breakup. After a week of utter misery, the reader gets a very helpful call from her gran. But when she's hanging up, she notices she has a missed call from someone a bit more intimidating.

Song: "transparentsoul" by WILLOW feat. Travis Barker

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and drugs, angst.

A/n: Sorry this is 12 hours late, I had a very long day yesterday and I figured I didn't want to put something out that was like 'half done'. I gotta do statistics homework now for a bit. Also I am so beyond sick today, so wish me luck.

Say anything you want about teen pregnancy and teen moms, but I think I was made for it. I had the energy, the ambition, the excitement after I got over the normal anxiety. I had the determination to be similar like my mom, to treat my child with nothing with respect and make sure that they grew up in a healthy, loving household. Though she lacked a father or a father figure, she had all of the support, love, care, and teachings from me, my grandmother and my mom.

What’s that saying?

It takes a village.

Fezco and I were messy from the beginning. We loved each other, sure, there was no doubt in that. But no one our age knew how to love or be loved. We were both still learning how to navigate the world at each other's sides, the drama of school, the issues at home, everything. It was safe to say that I didn’t have a glimmer of independence, always wanting to be with Fez, following him wherever he’d go. I was ignorant to the world but he wasn’, always knowing when and where to go, what to say. He taught me a lot about the people around us, who to trust and why, he taught me that family wasn’t just who your parents were. He taught me that, though he didn’t have a lot of words to offer, he was always watching and paying attention.

His job with drugs made it difficult for me to get super close to him, always worrying that he was out there, getting into trouble. Him and his younger brother were pretty much always out there, getting into trouble, so it wasn’t really new to me. I had tried to convince him to take a break, to relax, maybe think of doing something else with his time. He was smart, contrary to popular belief, and he could’ve been anything he wanted to. But he chose his grandma's lifestyle, a successful but scary life. But it was hard to relax in the time when I wasn’t with him, waiting by my phone as if I’d get a call from a hospital, telling me that they needed me to ID a body. I knew that it was always something that was possible. He would just all of a sudden vanish and be gone from my life.

I think that’s why I left. On top of the anxiety that I felt at that time in my life, I was afraid that the universe would play some cruel joke on me if I told him about the pregnancy and he decided to stay. It was a morbid thought, but with everything that I had gone through with him at that time, it was understandable. I would never forgive myself for breaking his heart how I did, and I could understand if he never spoke to me ever again.

Fez watches me carefully from across the room, his knees bouncing nervously under him. He can tell that I’m anxious, tears already streaming down my cheeks as he waits for me to speak up. I had ignored him for a few days, the news that I had to share weighing heavily on my shoulders. I didn’t know how to tell him, if I should even tell him in the first place. So, instead, my mom helped me come up with an idea that cuts us both off without me having to tell him the whole truth. It was for the best.

“Did you cheat on me?” He asks meekly and suddenly, his cheeks red as my jaw drops, my head shaking quietly. A look of relief passes over his face, his head bobbing in a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Thank fucking god.” He mutters, dragging a hand over his face as he lets out a relieved sigh. He stands up from his chair, my sniffles loud in the quiet room. Sitting down beside me, his arm wraps around my waist to pull me into him. “What’s wrong, ma?” He whispers, his fingers dancing over my cheek to pull me to him. I just shake my head, not wanting to tell him just yet but knowing I need to. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, enjoying the proximity one last time. He just rubs my arm soothingly, his lips pressed against my forehead as he waits patiently. “You fuckin’ shaking, Y/n.” He mutters, pulling the blanket over my shoulders as I turn to him, his eyes soft and glossy.

He always hated seeing me upset, his eyebrows pulled together, lips pouted at the sight of my tears or discomfort. He had the special ability to read me like a book, knowing exactly how I felt and why. But I can tell that, this time, he couldn’t tell what had been upsetting me so much.

“I’m moving, Fez.” I whisper, reaching up to wipe my eyes as he shakes his head, not understanding. “I’m going to live with my gran.” I whimper, his body pulling away from me as realization slaps him across the face, his whole tough exterior crumbling.

“In Colorado?” He asks, his voice cracked and strained as he pieces together the lie that I was telling. He thinks for a moment, his head falling into his hands with a loud sigh. “So you tryna break up with me? That’s what this is? That’s why you crying?” He asks, my eyes shutting as my head rests against the back of the couch, not able to face him or his teary eyes. I knew that this would be the end, that he would never forgive me after this. Bile rises in my throat, the anxiety making my head spin as I stand. He watches me with his face twisted up in anguish, his blue eyes teary as he shrugs. He looks utterly confused and betrayed as he stands, his hands shaking at his side. “We’ll I’ll fuckin’ come with you, I don’t care-”

“Fez, you can’t.” I cry, my fists resting on his chest as I shake my head, my whole body exhausted from the anxiety that I had been feeling for the last week. “I just- I didn’t want to leave without talking to you.” I whimper, his hands reaching out to rest on my hips. Before he can get too close, I pull away quickly, not giving him another glance as I leave his home.

The amount of times that I almost turned around and told him, ‘I’m pregnant and I don’t want to lose you’, was ridiculous. I lied when I said that I never turned back, that I didn’t give it another thought. I did, more than one thought and I did turn back, twice. I turned the car around twice, planning on going back to his house, to let him comfort me, to explain why I lied and why I was so scared. But seeing his face last week, the look of excitement when he first realized it was me but then the utter betrayal that passed through him, it solidified that I should’ve just turned the car around.. It was heartbreaking to see him piece together the lie that I created, the lie that he believed.

He hasn’t texted me since I unblocked him. I would be ignorant to ignore the disappointment that I felt after the first few days of no text or call. He didn’t owe me anything, in fact he had every right to never speak to me ever again. But the thought of him having the ability to message me about us, our child, and him choosing not to… It made my heart break all over again. And maybe I deserved it.

Lily rests on my chest, her back rising and falling in quiet breaths as she sleeps. She refused to sleep anywhere else, her body curled up on mine as the TV plays quietly in the background. It’s around seven o’clock, past her bedtime but every time I tried to place her in her bed, she would just cry out, her hands reaching out to me. I’ve always had a hard time separating myself from her when she obviously wanted to just be with her mama, so I almost always gave in.

The ringing of my phone startles me, my hand quickly fishing it out from between the cushions in order to not wake the sleeping child. My excitement that it might be Fez fizzles out as I see my grandma’s name across the screen. Answering in, I place the phone between my ear and shoulder, rubbing Lily’s back soothingly.

“Hiya, gran.” I whisper softly, the woman huffing on the other end. I know that she was probably disappointed in my lack of communication but she knew that I would be busy with my mom and Lily, getting reacquainted with the town.

“You gonna tell me why you regretted to inform me that you saw and spoke to that baby daddy of yours?” She asks sassily, my eyes rolling as I silently note to punch my mom the next time that I saw her. I knew that after I called my mom after Fez and I spoke that she would immediately go to her mom. “Tell me about it.” She offers in a softer tone, Lily shifting in my lap as I slide her off of me, pulling the blanket over her. I make my way quietly out to the balcony of my apartment, shutting the door tightly behind me. The cool air hits my skin, a breath of relief leaving my lips as I think of what to tell her. Do I tell her that I’ve cried every day since I saw him? Or do I tell her that I was beyond excited to talk to him and see him?

“He was excited to see me at first.” I smile, my elbows resting against the railing as I recall his face, his smile, his nervous blushing. I always had that effect on him. “Then he realized that I was holding a kid who looked exactly like him.” I huff, a small laugh leaving her lips at my words. “She really does gran, the freckles , the smile- everything.” I conclude, my eyes fluttering shut as I try to escape the guilt that consumes me. She continues with her questions and prying, not knowing what of what my mother said was true.

My eyes look out at the city in front of me, my mind spinning as I find it difficult to find a place where Fez and I haven’t gone. We would spend hours and hours on end exploring the city, whether it be on his bike, in his car, skateboards, anything. We’d smoke at the park to my left, we’d eat copious amounts of chinese food at the place across the street; anywhere that I can see, we’ve made our own. I knew that this would be something I would struggle with when I made the decision to come back home, but I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.

“Do you think he wants to be a part of Lily’s life?” Gran asks cautiously, my teeth biting at my lip anxiously. I had thought about it, sure. That Fez would call me, telling me he misses me and that he wants to be a family. That he wants to take care of Lily and I so we’d never have to worry about anything ever again. But it just seemed impractical.

“I don’t know, gran. I’ll let you know if he magically wants to be in my life. Or Lily’s life.” I sigh, my gran picking up on the fact that this is probably the last thing I wanted to talk about. She sighs sadly, my legs carrying me over to the chair in the corner so I can sulk. Plopping down onto the soft material, my head rests against the concrete wall, my heart heavy.

“Okay, honey. Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself. I can imagine that you’re stressed.” She coos, a soft smile spreading across my cheeks as I nod, sending her hum of acknowledgement. Feeling my phone buzz against my cheek, I pull back to see another call coming in.

Shit.

“Hey, gran, I gotta go. I’ve got another call.” Before I can hear her response, I drop the call, feeling the well known anxiety bubble in my stomach. I see Fez’s number flash over my screen as my stomach drops, my finger hovering over the answer button. This was what I had been waiting for, right? Pressing accept, my voice comes out in a meek, strained tone. “Fez?” I ask quietly, my whole body tensing as I hear him clear his throat.

“I’m still pissed at you.” He starts off, my breathing speeding up as I wait for him to go on, knowing his words are nothing but true and that I deserved them. “But I can’t just fucking sit over here and act like you’re not here. With my- our kid.” He sighs with a quiet laugh, my heart leaping at the sound of him laughing. I expected him to yell at me, tell me that I ruined his life, that I’m a terrible human. The last thing I expected was for him to chuckle.

“Yeah...” I whisper, it being the only word that’ll leave my lips. The line goes silent for a few moments, my throat aching to tell him everything that I’ve been thinking about within the last week. I missed you, I wish I could hug you, I want to tell you everything that’s happened to me and to Lily. I want to let you in. “Just talked to gran.” I mutter, a chuckle leaving my lips as I clear my throat. “Apparently she talked to my mom- you know how that goes.” He laughs, knowing that he had seen how my mom and gran gang up on me, sharing secrets and taking me off guard. They had done it plenty of times to Fez too, my gran loving the ginger.

“I’m guessin’ your ma told your gran shit that wasn’t true so your gran called you to clear the air?” Fez asks, a giggle bubbling in my chest as I nod. “That’s what I thought.” My knees tuck up to my chest as I bite my lip, my heart swelling at the sound of his voice. “So, uh,” he pauses nervously and hesitantly, “how’s Lily?” He asks, his voice shaking as I smile, my eyes flickering over to the girl who’s sound asleep on the couch.

“Passed the fuck out. Drooling” I chuckle, my head shaking as she curls into herself. “She wouldn’t go to sleep at her normal bed time so I just held her for a while, then she fell asleep no problem.” I explain in a hushed whisper, knowing that if I was too loud, she would wake up. His chuckles are heard across the line as I picture him sitting on his couch, a smile on his lips as he talks to me.

“Father like daughter, I guess, huh?” He laughs, my mind flickering back to all the times that he fell asleep in my arms, it being the safest place in the world to him. I would joke that he was like a baby, needing arms around him to be able to relax enough to fall asleep. My face falls slightly, Fez stuttering when he realizes the weight behind his words. “Sorry, shit- that was weird.” He laughs nervously, my eyes fluttering shut as I shake my head.

“No, it’s alright.” I respond in a hushed voice, trying my best to reassure him, my hand rubbing over my face. “You have every right to be angry at me- to hate me- Fez. In fact, I want you to be angry with me.” I laugh, the sky darkening above me as he scoffs, the words being utterly ridiculous to him.

“You know better than anyone that it’s hard for me to stay mad at you.” He whispers, a soft smile fanning over my lips as he continues. My cheeks warm at his gentle tone, almost as if he wanted to reassure me, to let me know that he was mad but not mad enough to hate me. “I want you to, uh, come over. For dinner sometime.” He offers in a soft voice, my eyes widening in shock at the request. That had to be the most shocking thing to leave his lips, it truly being the last thing I was expecting. Was this the olive branch that I’ve been in need of? My breath gets lodged in my throat as I nod, my words stuck at the tip of my tongue. “Unless you think that’s weird and shit. I just wanna see you a-and Lily and I just-”

“We’ll be there.” I cut his nervous rambling off, knowing it could’ve gone on for hours had I let him continue. He doesn’t speak, just fumbles a bit with his words as I laugh. “We’ll be there, Fez.” I repeat, a small surprised gasp coming from his end.

“Really? Cuz I’ll cook and shit, like, whatever you want.” He adds quietly and I can tell that he’s surprised that I agreed at all, let alone that excitedly. Of course I’d let him cook me dinner and get to know Lily. “Alright- shit.” I giggle at his words, my cheeks heating up in nervous excitement. “Tomorrow?” He offers, his voice cracking a bit as hum.

“Yeah, that sounds good. She’ll be excited to have something to do.” I chuckle, watching her roll over not so gracefully on the couch. I know that he’d absolutely love her, the two of them getting along better than I can imagine. They were so similar, their minds and heart, they were both just so good. I can already picture him with her, giggles leaving her lips as he smiles. The thought makes me excited beyond measurable belief.

“I’m, uh, excited to see you guys.” He whispers, my lip tucking in between my teeth as I conceal my grin as best I can. “We should probably catch up or somethin’.” He adds, the tone of his voice shifting to something different, something lighter and playful. I wanted to know anything and everything that had happened to him since I had been gone. With his work, his brother, his grandma, school or lack of school, relationships.

“Yeah, Fez, I’d love that.” My eyes flutter down to my lap, surprised that this is where this conversation went.

“Alright, ma.” The nickname makes my thighs clench, a soft snort coming across the line. I knew that it was probably second nature to him, almost like muscle memory when speaking with me. The idea of him being relaxed enough to let that slip out makes me want to giggle like crazy. “Sorry, shit- I should go before I fuckin’ embarrass myself.” He mutters with a sheepishly chuckle, my cheeks hurting from my growing smile. . “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n.” He concludes, his voice calm and collected as I nod, tears filling my eyes out of relief.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Fez.”

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Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex--awesome--22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e

Euphoria Taglist: @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx@ssprayberrythings @username-lols @pessimisticbiitch @urmomsangel @rosepetalsparks@bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx

Series Taglist: @bigpoppajes @namjoonsbuspass

Fezco Taglist:@fudgemesteveharrington @hy-my-name-is-riley @trinbby13 @squishiejiminiee

#fezco #euphoria #euphoria series #fezco x reader #fez x reader #fez #fezco fanfic #ashtray #fezco euphoria #fezco imagine #fezco smut #fezco supremacy #fezco icons