#gives me the same feeling as spending hours reading fantasy books

[physalian]

Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

--

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

#writing advice #writing tips #pacing #writing tools

[vigilvntes]

Jason Todd x Reader | On again-off again relationship hcs

A/N: lisTen. i'm incredibly sleep deprived so this is gonna be very messy and i have a whole ass book to read before my class at 9am and i probably won't sleep tonight so let me have this. let me have my low-key volatile relationship with jason todd where we love each other so deeply that we can't even stand to be around each other sometimes because we frustrate the fuck out of each other but we also can't live without each other. as the great lorde once said: let me live that fantasy.

W/C: 2500+ (help me i basically just outlined a whole story </3)

likes, rbs and comments are all very much appreciated <3

SOME NSFW UNDER THE CUT! ALSO BONUS BATFAMILY GETTING INVOLVED IN THE DRAMA AT THE END BECAUSE ,, FUNNY!!

you and jason have known each other for three years, and you've been together for around two years and two months of that time, if damian's calculations are correct. it's electric and heated and frantic and loving and frustrating and soft and infuriating, all at the same time. you just can't seem to stay away from each other. it's a 'cat and mouse' kind of situation, one where you just can't seem to stop chasing each other despite how ridiculously awful it always seems to turn out in the end. the longest you've managed to really hold it together is seven months, but you can't stay away for more than a month at a time.

you make out like teenagers. make love almost every night. laugh at his dumb jokes or funny comments. patch up any mild injuries he comes home with. tickle each other until you're on the floor breathless, surrendering and begging him to show you mercy. you spend lazy mornings together in bed. bicker and shit-talk each other over breakfast. cuddle on the couch late at night. it's perfect in theory, and he's admittedly an amazing boyfriend. he's caring and attentive and he loves to love you and be loved. but your tempers get the better of both of you.

fights break out because you're both kind of impulsive and hot-headed. neither of you can help your snark or cutting comebacks sometimes. you run your mouths about something – anything, and you run the risk of everything breaking down within the hour. you know his weak spots, know how to push his buttons when he's really pushing yours; and as you know his, he knows yours just as well. you'd never go as far as to bring up anything too personal or out of pocket, but you still know just how to get on each others nerves perfectly. how to manually detonate the ticking time bomb before it blows up on its own accord.

you frustrate the fuck out of each other, and he has a tendency to just walk out of your apartment mid-argument. he puts the suit on, tells you he'd rather be out on the streets getting his ass handed to him by a gang of drunks dressed up as teletubbies and then have bane rush in and pummel him into the concrete than have to deal with you when you're feeling particularly prickly, and you tell him to go fuck himself on his way out. the battle to get the last word in commences, and you've often found yourself yelling at him from your apartment window whilst he yells up at you from the street below because you both just refuse to give up the fight.

most times he comes back, but sometimes he doesn't. when it hits 8am and you haven't heard him rummaging through your kitchen cupboards or refrigerator; he still hasn't crawled back into your bed, kissed your forehead softly and buried his face into the crook of your neck, you shrug your shoulders, tell yourself everything's going to be okay. and then sob violently into your pillow because it's over. he's gone. but with jason, it's never really over. by some weird twist of fate (love, but jason prefers to call it coincidence, although it's anything BUT that) you always end up finding your way back to each other. you break up and even DATE other people but it's never serious and it just never feels the same because for some strange reason whenever you're apart you both miss the chaos of each other and even though you can literally be the worst when you're together, you would rather be together and be the worst than be without each other.

jason turns up at your door at 2AM when he hears you might be seeing someone new after a breakup the month before, demanding to be let in and when you relent (pretty quickly) and open the door he immediately has you against the wall, desperately grabbing at your hips and kissing you like there's no tomorrow whilst mumbling that no one could ever compare to him so don't even think about trying to replace him.

he has you naked and spread out on the bed in ten minutes tops, his tongue swirling against your clit in all the right places, big hands gripping on to your thighs. he grins like a fucking maniac when he makes you cum in record time, just under a minute if he was counting correctly. you cum on his face again, his fingers, his thigh and eventually his cock, until you're laid on his chest with his cum leaking out of you, breathless and all fucked out, mumbling 'i love you'. he says it back, reminds you again that no one could ever be him, and you know he's right. you knew this would happen and truthfully you were desperate to have him back which is maybe, possibly why you made a point to mention to roy that you were seeing someone else because you just knew he'd tell jason.

on the flip side, you send jason a risky picture of yourself in a brand new lingerie set when you find out he's going on a date with someone. you immediately apologise and claim it to be accidental and that it was meant for someone else. you watch your phone blow up with calls and texts from jason, listen to each and every angry-horny-frustrated-infatuated voicemail he leaves and grin the whole time because you know you have him wrapped around your finger, as much as he denies it.

you turn your phone off, unlock your door and wait patiently by the open window until you hear angry footsteps coming from below, stomping up the stairs of your apartment building. he busts through your door and demands that you tell him what the fuck you think you're playing at. you feign innocence and tell him that it was a genuine mistake but he knows you're lying and he has you on the couch, straddling his lap almost immediately. your pyjamas have been torn off, giving him an up-close, in-person view of the pretty new set from the picture earlier. the view is much nicer when it's not on a tiny phone screen; pictures do the real thing no justice. his phone vibrates while you're trailing kisses down his jaw to his neck, and you tell him he should take the call because it's probably his date wondering where the hell he is but he just turns his phone off and tosses it to the side. why the hell would he go on some shitty, awkward first date when he could have you?

the reunion is always sweet. there's always that honeymoon period with him no matter how many times you've broken up– upped and left each other following an argument. when it's good, it's really good. but you just can't seem to escape the inevitable. eventually one of you pushes it too far and the whole thing blows up in your faces. he walks out, you cry yourself to sleep and then you find some way to worm your way back into the others life, depending on who picked the fight that left everything broken once again. neither of you are exactly sure why you fight like cat and dog. you're perfect for each other on paper; you understand each other on a far deeper and more intellectual level than anyone ever could. you get on like a house on fire on your good days (which are admittedly most days), but somehow the bad days always seem to outweigh the good. he once made a joke that it's because you love him so much that you can't live with him, but you also can't live without him. he was probably right.

one night, after a particularly nasty breakup the week before, he stumbles into your apartment clutching at his side, barely able to breathe. he's been so uncaring lately, letting himself get caught up in his own head and his emotions regarding you and your relationship and it's lead to him taking a few more blows than he normally would. tonight he paid the price, took what he thinks might be the final hit, and he needed to see you one last time just in case things don't work out for him. you don't even have the chance to ask him what he's doing in your apartment before he's collapsing on to your living room floor, blood dripping through his fingers and on to your carpet. you drop to your knees next to him and whisper his name so softly, inspecting the wound and feeling guilty when he hisses in pain when your fingers brush against it. it's deep, and yes you've patched him up before –you know how to stitch up cuts but you're not a medical professional and this is a serious wound to his abdomen. there's not much you can do about it alone. you're already crying but before you can start freaking out and trying to fix things he takes your face in his hands, his grip weak, and tells you very sincerely that he loves you deeply, and he's sorry for all of the fights he's caused and all of the times he walked out on you and that it's always been you and it always will be.

he's in and out or consciousness and you're begging him to wake up, to be okay; telling him that you love him and you can't lose him. you try your best to stop the bleeding, pressing towels and old shirts against the wound but it just won't stop. so you call alfred from jason's phone, explain to him what's going on and soon enough you're playing host to a batfamily gathering in your tiny living room. dick quite literally has to drag you away from his body kicking and screaming while bruce and alfred assess the situation. they decide to take him back to the manor, and of course you follow them. you spend days by his side, waiting for him to wake up. alfred has to take you by the elbow and walk you away from him to eat dinner or shower or sleep in jason's old room.

it's just so typical that you're not there when he wakes up. you're sleeping, bundled up in his bed sheets when alfred comes to wake you. you literally leap out of bed, almost tripping over your own feet as you run into the room jason's in. that stupid grin, although strained, spreads across his lips as soon as he sees you through half-shut eyes. you're crying already, rushing to his side and resting your head on his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. he chuckles at your reaction, teases you for being so worried about him as if he hasn't already kicked death in the dick before, and he mocks you lightheartedly for admitting that you can't live without him (it was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness). you giggle through your tears, letting it slide because when you look up at him, he's crying too.

it literally takes jason almost dying on your living room floor for you to both realise how much you actually mean to each other, and that having a connection and a love like this isn't something that you can and should just walk away from every couple of weeks. you both decide to start working on things; learning how to control your temper and when the appropriate time to shut the fuck up would be. how to talk things through maturely, without the yelling and constant breakups. of course, you still bicker and shit talk each other. and sometimes one of you will take it too far. jason will glare at you for a moment until you give him an awkward grin and mumble 'oops', and you'll give him the silent treatment for fifteen minutes (which would feel like HELL to him) until he makes you laugh. you're happier this way, knowing that it doesn't have to be that difficult and you can just be. you're not constantly waiting for something to go wrong or for one of you to fuck up, that anxiety has dissipated and you enjoy feeling calm and content with him.

+ bonus: batfamily getting in on the drama

the first time jason stormed into the batcave at 3am, fists balled and eyes red and puffy, bruce was immensely concerned. he sat jason down, put on his best dad™️ voice and asked 'what's wrong?'. jason told him it was nothing, just a little relationship trouble and that bruce didn't have to worry it, he just needed to get away and he thought the batcave would be the perfect place to brood for a few hours before going back home. the second time jason stormed in, he was still concerned for his emotional state, but not all that surprised to see him. bruce left him alone, let jason sit next to him, listened to him curse under his breath. the seventh time? bruce sat at his desk, jason beside him, listening to him ramble on and on about what had happened and how he took it too far again but it's not entirely his fault because you pushed his buttons but he shouldn't have said that to you because he loves you but you just get on his nerves sometimes. bruce nods occasionally, murmurs 'uh-huh' just to prove to jason that he is listening. kind of. sort of. not.

dick receives frustrated, angry texts at ungodly hours in the morning from jason telling him that the relationship is over. jason isn't sure why he vents to dick. it's definitely not because dick gives good advice, jason doesn't even open the texts dick sends back full of agony-aunt type solutions. one night, he receives one of these texts from jason, telling him that you're done with him and he can't ever go back to your apartment. all he can do the next day when he sees you and jason walk into the manor, grinning at each other like you're the sun, moon and stars with his arm wrapped around your waist, is shrug his shoulders.

listen, if damian is going to be forced to sit through the weekly couples quarrel at the manor, he's at least going to make some sort of profit from it. it starts out as a secret, damian makes everyone place bets (with real cash) on how long it'll take you and jason to piss each other off when you come over for dinner. tim wins the first time, and is less than amused when he only receives half of what everyone put into the bet, damian citing that he's the organiser so he gets half of the profit. eventually, he branches out. he starts taking money for bets on how long it'll take for a fight to break out, what you'll be fighting about, and which one of you will leave the dinner table first. everyone joins in (even alfred), and when you find out about damian's little scheme, even you can't help but slide over a $20 bill with a declaration that it'll take jason 45 minutes to say something that'll have you glaring him down. you win that bet, because you know him better than anyone else, and you split the profits with jason. everyone thinks this is unfair, and you're both promptly excluded from participating in the betting.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #dc comics #dc x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd hc #jason todd headcanon #batfamily x reader #batfamily #batfamily headcanons #batfamily hc

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part VII)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, P in V sex, soft dom!Eddie. Discussion of uncomfortable sexual experiences. Inordinate amount of praise kink, good girl's, and vulnerability on both sides.

Word count | ~10,000

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Most days, walking into the cafeteria comes with a cool sense of dread. A heaviness in your chest, mind working overtime to prepare yourself for an hour not quite talking with your not quite friends. You’re never sure what you prefer; the white hot shame that comes with laughter at your expense, or the simmering ache from being ignored entirely.

But there’s a levity to your mood today. You’re proud, or maybe more accurately relieved, at the circled red letter on the top right of your Chemistry test. 

You spot May at the usual table as you file in, catching her excited wave over the head of some of the cheer girls. The others offer a cursory glance before returning to their conversation, but May’s expression is expectant. “So? How’d you do?”

You grin. “A minus.”

“I knew it!” She squeals, removing her bag from the chair next to her to make space for you. “You always make a big deal out of tests, and then breeze through!”

She’s half right. 

Something about the weight of potential failure, some unknown consequence to doing poorly, always has you worrying about tests days prior, heart pounding in the moments before you flip the paper. Then you second guess yourself all the way through, scribbling over wrong answers before writing the same thing down again.  

But you certainly don’t breeze through. The weight of this test on your mind had you bursting into tears in Eddie’s van last week. What was supposed to be a movie theatre date turned into an impromptu study session at the library. Eddie sat opposite you while you read over your notes, writing up his campaign ideas and flicking through a book he’d found in the fantasy section before working begrudgingly on an essay about JFK he was supposed to have handed in the week before. He switched to the seat next to you when you failed to hide a sniffle, let you tuck yourself under his arm and press your face to his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said eventually, coaxing you out from the damp spot on the collar of his shirt. “Talk me through what you don’t get, okay? I bet the answer’s up here.” He pressed a finger to your forehead, narrowing his eyes like he could pinpoint the spot in your brain the information was hiding. “We just gotta knock it loose somehow.”

He must, truly, have been bored to death as you went through the problem, starting over again and again each time you explained yourself into a corner. But he listened anyway, prompted you to keep going until you came to an answer that satisfied you, a conclusion that made sense, and then he listened to the next problem.

You apologised at the end of the night. For all the hysterics, for dragging him along to a joyless evening. He’d swiped the thought away with a casual wave of his hand. “You couldn’t be my smart girl if you didn’t have to study sometimes.”

Just thinking about it now, your eyes flicker from May’s hand on the back of the empty chair beside her to the place Eddie sits, far on the other side of the room. 

It’s an invisible line you haven’t crossed, spending any time with him at lunch. Eddie would never let you question whether he wanted you to sit with him, never let you worry about seeming clingy. He’d made it clear you were always welcome. What stopped you was that tug at your heart, that feeling that you’d be taking another step away, putting more distance between you and your friends. Or May, at least. You can’t remember the last time Heather sat with you more than once a week. 

And you promised, sincerely, that you would try a bit harder with the cheer girls. Apart from that one tipsy conversation with Tracy at a party, you’re not sure you’ve quite fulfilled that.

But you want so badly to tell him. Shamefully, it was your first thought when you turned your paper over today. Along with the usual relief came excitement, knowing Eddie would be pleased for you and make it clear, call you his smart girl till your face burns hot. 

“I’m just-” You start, tucking your bag up on your shoulder, glancing back to May. “I’m just gonna show Eddie quickly.”

There’s a pause. Her pleased expression, the gentle curve of her wax pink lips, doesn’t falter. Instead, it seems to calcify on her face. “Oh. You’re gonna sit over there?”

“Just for a while,” you reason. “Just to show him my grade. Okay?”

She makes a high mm hmm noise, half agreeing, half unsure, but you decide to take it at face value, making a beeline for Eddie’s table. 

As usual, he sits at the head, the frizz of his hair lit up in the natural light from the window behind him. His expression is a touch bored, eyes blinking slowly, chin resting on his palm as a boy at the other end of the table - young, with tight brown curls tucked under a yellow cap - talks a mile a minute. You catch the words radio and roof as you approach, but your own mind goes blank when you reach them.

You’d feel only excitement, if it was just Eddie who noticed your presence. For his part, his whole posture changes; from slumped over the table to sitting straight up, his pouty lips turning to an excited smile in your direction as his hand drops away from his chin. But on top of that, six additional faces turn to watch you walk up the side of the table. Maybe you could handle three, used to some attention from Jeff, Gareth and Matthew at this point, comfortable in their acceptance of your silly little fidgets and occasional long silences. 

But the other three, all freshmen, staring at you like you grew another head on the way over, have you shuffling in place, playing with the strap of your bag. You vaguely know Mike from watching him run out the door on the occasions you’ve babysat Holly, though his hair is a good couple inches longer than the last time you spent an evening at the Wheeler’s. The others, Lucas and Dustin, you know both from Eddie’s descriptions and his complaints. 

“Hi,” you say, voice quieter than you’d like as you wave at the group. 

“To what do we owe this pleasure, Princess?” 

Your mouth opens, and your throat closes. Your face feels suddenly warm under the eyes of his whole table. In an instant, you regret coming over here. What must you look like? What will they think of you, when they realise you came over here to brag about a simple test result? 

Eddie hums a questioning sound, bringing your focus back to him. He’s looking at you the way he does when you both know you’re going to have to be the one to speak first. There’s anticipation there, but the little curve of his lips is all kind patience. 

You swallow, glance down the table again. You make eye contact with Lucas, give him an awkward smile at his friendly wave. Even at that, you know the words won’t come. Sighing quietly, you unzip your bag and search through your books for the test, drawing out the paper and fiddling with the corner for a second. How do you tell him, all of them, that you really aren’t bragging? That more than anything you just want to thank him? 

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the paper. When he holds his hand out, and you find yourself passing it to him instinctively, toes curling in your shoes.

“An A!?” He screeches immediately, thoroughly dispelling any hope you might have had that he’d keep it to himself. Though your face burns, you fight the urge to glance around and offer an apologetic smile to his group, to the people that turned at the sound of his yell, because this is Eddie. Any embarrassment you might feel pales in comparison to hearing the pride in his voice, to see it on his face. What do judgmental looks and cruel whispers from strangers mean to you when they’re caused by Eddie, so excited and pleased for you that he’ll yell it publicly?

You tuck the top of your foot to the back of your ankle, playing with your skirt, correcting him shyly. “An A minus.”

Eddie scoffs. “An A’s and A, sweetheart. I’d know, I’ve missed enough of them.” 

Knowing now that at least Eddie himself has taken it the right way, you let yourself indulge. “I was two marks off a real A.”

Eddie’s hand slams down on the table with a bang, making you and everyone in the surrounding area jump as he rises, kicking his chair back with a screech. You watch, left in some strange place between proud and mortified as he practically floats over to the neighbouring table, flicking the paper at a group of juniors dressed exclusively in neon. 

“You see that? My girlfriend got a fucking A in Mr Brown’s AP Chemistry class!” He moves the paper around, displaying it for each of them. “That shit’s like fucking gold dust- hey!” He turns to shake it at a passing boy with a calculator in his breast pocket. “You’re in that class, right? How’d you do in this test, huh?” 

“If you must know, Munson, I got an A plus.” 

There’s a moment of silence.

“Okay, man. Shit. Kinda showing off a little-” He turns to you, eyes wide and head tilted as if to say get a load of this guy, but you’re shaking your head, desperately biting back a smile. 

“Eddie!” 

“Ah, she calls to me.” He drifts over to you then, frizzed hair flying out behind him. You giggle a little wildly behind your hands, still shaking your head at him though any disapproval is for show at this point. Everyone who turned to watch Eddie crow seems to have returned to their conversations, this side of the room apparently well used to his outbursts. He stops close enough that he’s all you can see; his dimpled smile, eyes shining at you while he hands you your test back. 

“Take my seat, Princess.” He gestures with a wide arm, directing you to the chair he rose from. You make a quick glance over at the cheer table, find Caroline just sitting down now with her tray, and feel an unusual sense of relief. It feels like freedom, to be on this side of the room, and not directly under her gaze. 

By the time you’re settled in his seat, Eddie has retrieved a spare chair, carrying it above his head and dropping it down next to you with another outrageous bash. He collapses into it, his arm finding the back of your chair as he leans in to Jeff, sitting on your left. “You’re in that class, too, right man?” 

“You know, we’ve been friends three years now, Eddie, and you’ve never once taken an interest in my grades,” Jeff answers, shutting down Eddie’s inquiry before he can really ask. He turns to you. “Bet it was question 18 that got you, huh?”

“Mm, no, that was okay.” You answer. “Eddie and I went over retention factors so much at the library last week. I understand it way better now.”

Six pairs of eyes blink at you, and the relief you were experiencing is fading fast. Instead, you get the recognizable sense that you said something wrong. Your foot starts tapping at pace, fingers finding the edge of the table and running over the edge.

“You were at the library?” Gareth asks Eddie, aghast tone mocking but serious in its surprise.

“I’ve been to the library before,” Eddie bites. “M’there all the time.”

“We’re not talking about monopolising the fantasy section, here,” Matthew says. “You were studying, Eds.”

“I told you,” Eddie replies, widening his legs until you feel the denim of his jeans rough against your bobbing calf. “I’m working hard this year. Trying to get out of this shithole.” He presses his leg more firmly to yours, and you realise it’s a deliberate touch, a silent reminder that he’s there, that he’s not going to leave you alone with whatever’s got you fidgeting.  

“You said that last year,” Jeff says.

“And the year before that,” chimes Gareth through a bite of his sandwich.

“Yeah, well, I meant it this time,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a deep sigh. “Jesus, Henderson, you look like you’re gonna explode. Go on. So you’ve built your stereo on the roof.”

“Not a stereo, Eddie- a radio!” Dustin cries through a mouthful of cafeteria lasagne. 

Eddie’s face darkens. “Do I look like I give a- Christ.” He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head with genuine frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, man. Please, please, just finish your story so we can all move on with our lives.”

Undeterred by Eddie’s rough tone, Dustin launches right back into what he’d been speaking about as you approached. Mainly focused on how he convinced his Mom to let him up on the roof in the first place.

You sigh in quiet relief as the attention of the table moves swiftly away from you, leg slowing until it stops shaking altogether. Eddie’s knee bumps yours, and you feel the warmth of him as he leans in to speak softly, just to you.

“My smart girl,” he says, drawing pleased shivers up your spine. “You deserve it, yeah? You worked real hard.”

“I wanted,” you start, grabbing at his sleeve, thumbing the chain that holds the leather together. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me. I know it was kinda boring.”

“Nah, glad I could help.” Eddie’s expression turns a touch sheepish. “I, uh, actually got a C on that History essay? Mrs Kelly said I would have got a B, if I’d handed it in on time, so…” 

Your eyes widen, barely able to process the sight of him now. Eddie Munson, who just yelled across the room about your academic achievements, now looking anywhere but at you, scratching his face and shrugging like his own barely matter. You find his hand, squeeze it tight until he shows you his eyes.

“Eddie, that’s brilliant!” You say. He puffs out air like it means nothing to him, shakes his head. “When-” 

“You aren’t even listening, Eddie!” Dustin calls from the end of the table. Eddie rolls his eyes, but then he gestures ;azily for Dustin to continue, now with the gift of his attention. It’s enough for anyone to believe he finds the boy annoying at best, but you know from how Eddie talks about them that Dustin’s kind of his favourite. There’s a clear fondness in Eddie’s tone when he rants about Dustin trying to contribute ideas to his campaigns, the begrudging respect he has for how unapologetically himself the boy is. The touch of jealousy that creeps in when he talks about Dustin’s friendship with Steve Harrington, of all people. Badass, my ass, he mumbles each time.

You listen in comfortable silence to the conversation as it continues, occasionally contributing a little yes or no when Jeff asks you leading questions, your fondness for him ever increasing. Only when you watch Eddie retrieve a bag of pretzels from his backpack do you remember your own lunch, too taken in by the awe in Matthew’s voice recounting the first time he heard a Judas Priest song, apparently life changing.

You frown at the realisation that the half empty bag is all Eddie brought for himself, immediately offering your open tupperware and holding it steady under his shaking head until he acquiesces to tearing one half of your sandwich in two, chewing on the quarter in between his contributions to the conversation.

Your ears prick when you move on to tearing the segments from your satsuma, handing a half to Eddie without a word. Amongst the chatter, Mike laughs about Dustin’s current failing grade in Latin, an unusual outcome for him. Dustin sighs like an old man. 

“I ask you, how many tenses does one language need?” He groans. “I thought there’d be something we could use for a campaign, The Exorcist style, you know? Instead I’m trying to remember the difference between types of declensions. Or I will, when I fully grasp what declensions are.”

The conversation about Judas Priest you’d found yourself somewhat involved in fades with how much you’re focused on Dustin’s defeated tone. One part of you is screaming that you could help him, that he seems really worried about it and he’s a smart boy so it probably wouldn’t be much work to get him on the right track. Then another part, the one that screeches and wails its distress until your head hurts, asks, what if he says no? What if he laughs? What if they all do? 

You open your mouth, wondering if you should just say it across the table. Just offer; just do it. Of course he won’t say no. And if he does, he’s Eddie’s friend so it will be gentle. Still embarrassing though. Your mouth closes again, teeth digging grooves into the gum behind your lips. Just help him. You pull your sleeves down over your hands, playing with the soft ends. You clear your throat, take a breath-

“I’m good at Latin,” you say, immediately cringing at how that sounds. But you’re pleased when Jeff goes on chatting about the album he just bought, letting you contribute to the other conversation across the table freely. Dustin blinks at you owlishly. “I mean, I can help. Tutor you, or something? If you want.”

“Seriously!?” Dustin asks, flashing you a braced grin when you nod. “That would be amazing! Thanks!”

You smile, just sighing out your relief when you feel another nudge at your knee. Eddie’s watching you, eyebrows raised. You shrug shyly, grasping the sleeve of his jacket again to fiddle with the chains. He pulls free, but only to take hold of your hand instead. 

You’re basking in the feeling of knowing Eddie’s proud of you, your own pride in yourself, and you know you couldn’t force yourself back across the room today if you tried. 

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You realised, walking alone to class, that you hadn’t spoken that much during lunch the entire time you’d been at highschool. Giggling at Lucas’ jokes, asking about their DnD characters, getting increasingly comfortable talking about metal with a group of people who are genuinely excited to hear about your introduction to the genre. By the end it felt almost natural; simple and fun to talk to an entire table of people.

But you’re feeling some of the effects of it now, even quieter than usual in Eddie’s van as Gareth considers whether to paint or sharpie the Corroded Coffin logo Eddie designed onto the front of his bass drum. 

From the soft hum you’d given in greeting as you climbed into the van after school, Eddie had offered you his palm, open and relaxed. Now, your forefinger traces the long groove from his wrist to the base of his thumb that forms his life line. You love Eddie’s hands, love how they feel in yours, and on every other part of you they’ve touched. 

You swallow, face suddenly hot. It’s been easier, nicer, every time Eddie’s touched you. So much so that you now understand why it’s all some people think about, all that drives them. The way Eddie feels inside you, all the words that spill from his mouth as he moves; how much he wants you, how good you make him feel. You find your mind circling back to it at the strangest times. In class, making dinner, driving home with Eddie’s friends-

You jump a little at the chorus of bye’s from the back, the sound of the doors being thrown open. Eddie’s already watching you curiously when you look back to him, unable to hold eye contact, half convinced he’ll be able to read your thoughts with one good look at you. “You okay, sweet thing?”

“M’just tired.”

“Right,” Eddie says, nodding thoughtfully. “The guys- they can be a little intense.”

Mirth spreads through you at the thought of Eddie ‘jumps on cafeteria tables’ Munson describing anyone as intense. “I like them.”

“You say that now. A week tutoring Dustin and you’ll be changing your name and moving to Idaho. I’ll never see you again, and it’ll be all that little punk’s fault.”

“He’s your favourite.”

Eddie’s tone goes from playful to offended in a second, as to close a screech as his deep voice can get. “He is not- I don’t even have- Even if I did have a favourite, which I don’t, Dustin Henderson would not even come close-” He pauses at the sound of your laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Mmh. I get it. Tired, but not too tired to rile me up.”

You chew the inside of your lip, fighting a smile. Running a finger along his palm again, you reply, “it’s not particularly difficult.” You expect another dramatic yell of offence, or maybe a laugh. Instead, you get something pleased from his expression, dimples on his cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing. I just like it when you tease me.” His fingers close around yours, weaving together. “S’like you’re more comfortable around me, I guess.” 

You’re sure he’s right. Every day it’s a little easier. Every time you see him, your mind gets in the way less and less, slowly coming to accept that he’s not waiting for you to say the wrong thing, that he won’t abandon you when you inevitably do. 

“You make me feel comfortable, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your quick nod. “Does that mean you’re coming back to mine?” 

“Actually,” you start, truly needing that comfort now. You know the implications of what you’re going to ask, sure that if somebody other than Eddie heard you, they’d come to conclusions about the kind of girl you are. 

The more time you spend with Eddie the less you’re sure that it matters if they would be right or wrong. 

You press your knees together, tap your fingers in a wave along Eddie’s knuckles. “Well, my parents aren’t home...”

There’s a second of silence, long enough to have you squirming, finding his dark eyes and then looking away again in a loop. 

Eddie leans into you, chin tilted to capture your gaze and keep you there. “You mean to say that the Princess’ tower is unguarded this night?” 

Your stomach squeezes at the sound of his voice, serious and soft, like a real adventurer on the verge of committing himself to a great quest. You love this about Eddie, how easily he can slip into characters like this. It’s something he learned from DnD, or maybe Eddie’s so good at the game because he has this ability to play at being somebody different without hesitation, without a hint of the worry you’d feel if you tried it, convinced you’d do it all wrong, sure you’d sound stupid. 

“No dragons for me to slay?” He asks, closing one eye like he’s trying to work out if you’re tricking him. Your head shakes, and Eddie turns your hand in his to bring it to his mouth. He kisses your knuckles, a soft warm press. “S'that what you want?”

“Yes, Eddie.” 

“Okay,” he says, lips meeting your hand once again. “To the castle, it is.”

Eddie is as quick as usual to drive you home, each turn forcing you to lean to the door or to the centre console. But any urgency seems to vanish the second he’s pulled up by your house. In the van, you wait as he makes sure he has his wallet and his keys, sets the sun visor back into position. When you've jumped out, you watch him check that he's locked each door of the van with more care than you've ever seen from him, like he's particularly worried about a carjacker on your suburban street in broad daylight. 

Inside, Eddie is careful about unlacing his shoes and placing them at the door next to yours, toed off your heels carelessly. Then, at the top of the stairs, when you think you finally have him at a regular pace towards your room, you are jolted back by his sudden stop on the landing, leaving your hands connected at the end of stretched arms. 

“‘M looking for anything I can use as a weapon, you know?” He says, peering into a vase of fake orchids, examining a glass seahorse statue, scrunching his nose when he gets hit with the scent from a bowl of potpourri. “This all feels a little too easy, and you’ve gotta expect the unexpected in situations like these.”

“Eddie?"

You’re so endeared to him, watching him examine the objects your Mom set out playing up to this story he’s created. But the way he’s stalling, almost hesitant, has you sure you missed a clear sign along the way. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you, like, not want to come here?” 

His head shoots up then, round eyes blinking. “Of course, I did. I do.” Eddie laughs airily, tucking some of his hair behind his ear as he approaches. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m not crazy.” 

You still feel like you’re missing something, wondering if you should offer him another way out. Eddie makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting you to guide him forward. Walking slow to give him time to change his mind, you make your way to your door, decidedly not looking back at him when you enter.

Eddie is unusually quiet, then, following you in but stopping once again when he takes the first step onto your cream carpet. You only glance back at him when you’ve dropped his hand and started playing with your sleeves, comforted by the fact he just seems to be taking everything in. He stands out, all ragged denim and black leather in the pastel softness of your bedroom, and yet he fits so well in a room full of things you love. 

He shifts his weight back and forth on the soft carpet, subtly sniffs the air that must smell of you and the apple blossom diffuser on your side table. His eyes drift as he takes in each focal point; the desk laden with textbooks and paper, your windowsill, lined with a couple snow globes, a ceramic cat you’d painted as a child, a framed photo of you and your friends Heather gave you for your 16th. He scans quickly over the cork boards to the corner of the room, smile lines appearing at the sight of your long favourite stuffed animal, a soft grey elephant you’d carefully positioned on a pink cord beanbag, looking ready to start reading judging by the pile of books to her right.

His gaze eventually circles back to you, waiting nervously for his reaction. Eddie shifts back and forth on his feet. “You know, I, uh, gotta admit, I imagined some stained glass.” He gestures lazily to the window, then to your bed, the wooden frame and the blue floral bedspread. “And I was sure you’d have one of those beds with all the fabric, you know what I’m talking about?” He raises both hands to motion the shape of a canopy bed, fingers wiggling. 

“Disappointed?” You say, only half joking. 

Eddie finally takes a step further in, turning to the shelves of books by your bed. “Me? Nah I was worried about getting tangled up in it, to be honest.” He flashes you a quick grin before scanning over the spines. Eventually, he points to one. “Iron Maiden, yeah?”

You check the book he’s pointing to, The Complete Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and nod, always pleased by the reminder that Eddie listens, really listens, when you speak. That he remembers so many innocuous things you share with him, things you’d never expect him to remember. 

You badly want to reach out for him then, fingers itching to hold his hand, play with his sleeves. You almost do, raising your arm a touch, but a wave of concern hits you, still trying to work out if you’ve done something, said something wrong to make him act like he’d rather not be here. 

Eddie catches your stunted movement, eyes blinking at your fidgeting hands before shifting to your face. You’re sure then that your anxiety is clear in your expression, that he sees how eagerly you’re waiting for him to give you an explanation for his hesitancy in the hallway.

Eddie frowns, looking at the books again. He clears his throat. "I've never been in a girls' room before," he tells you. From his voice, it sounds like a confession.

“Oh.” Your brows furrow, trying to work out how that matters. “I mean, they’re not all like this.”

"No, I mean, it’s just that it’s like, a first. For me.” When that doesn’t quite cover your confusion, he continues. “Nobody ever wanted, y'know, me in their room. Or whatever."

Your heart pangs with sudden understanding, the memory of Eddie lying across from you on a blanket, the warm sun on your skin. Am I being too intense? That's what Eddie had asked you, that day at the lake. People say I can be too much too soon. 

“And it’s already different, with you. Better. I mean, shit, a million times better,” he says, eyes wide. “But I still just didn’t expect you to, just, ask me, like- Like, you just want me here. Cause it’s never been that simple. Shit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“No. No, Eddie,”

“I didn’t wanna make you worried or anything. It’s the complete last thing I’d ever want. I guess I was kinda just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He laughs again, but it’s hollow, and cuts off too suddenly to be real. 

You give in entirely, practically launching at him to wrap your arms around his torso and pull him into a tight, desperate hug. You wish, not for the first time, that you were more like him, better at getting your thoughts into words and saying them.Then you could soothe him like he deserves. Then you could tell him the truth. 

Eddie’s face presses to your hair, arms tight around your shoulders. 

“Eddie,” you murmur into his shoulder, squeezing him again before you build the courage to look him in the eyes. “You’re so-” Your throat tightens, forcing you to whisper. “You’re so good.” It seems lacklustre, probably a million better words to describe all that Eddie is, but it feels right; it’s what you think, that Eddie is, deep at his core, so good that it hurts. “You’re too good, too good for anyone that made you think-” Your voice cracks, and Eddie blinks shining eyes at you when you reach up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, pressing his face to your palm. “I’m okay. Really.”

You press your lips to his, hoping he understands this at least. You feel his smile, and believe that he does. He hums as you shift your kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks. You peck the end of his nose, watch it scrunch sweetly. You’re warmed by the sight of his reddening face, the sound of his laugh. “You know how to make a guy feel appreciated, sweetheart.”

Your hands seem incapable of moving from him, only moving from his cheek to his shoulders, wrists tickled by the fluffy ends of his curls. “I want you here,” you say, a little strained. “I promise.”

“I know. I know you do.”

“I would have invited you earlier,” you continue. “It’s just…”

Eddie’s eyes flash. His hands, big and warm, rub up and down your back, pulling you closer to him until you’re flush against his chest. “It’s just, we couldn’t have done what you want to do,” he finishes. “Not with your parents downstairs. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twists with that exciting shame, face hot. You don’t have anywhere to hide, caught by Eddie’s gaze. You still can’t look into his eyes for too long, lest your heart beat out your chest, so you find yourself staring at his lips, pillowy and pink. “Not just that.”

“Okay,” he answers, hand drifting down to skim the end of your skirt. You press closer to him when his fingers tease the soft skin of your thighs, and he breathes a laugh. “But, mainly that, huh?” 

Your fingers curl into his shoulders, embarrassed and excited in equal measure that he’s naming your intentions so clearly. You bounce a little on your toes, still gazing at Eddie’s lips, the dents of his laugh lines and his dimples.

Callused fingers reaching under your skirt, his thumb grazing the cotton of your panties, pulling at the elastic. You think you’re being subtle, the way you open your legs a little to make space for him, but know immediately that you failed when Eddie laughs, eyes crinkled at the sides. He breathes a sigh, watching you lose the last pretence that you aren’t a little desperate for him to touch you how he wants. “My good girl.”

Oh, but that makes you ache for him. Your head drops to his neck, hiding your face in his skin. You breathe him in, smoke and Eddie, swallowing a whimper.

“You like that, don't you? Like being a good girl.”

You nod on impulse, willing to agree to just about anything when his fingers drag over your mound, press to the split of your pussy through your panties, the material just grazing your clit. But something about what he's said isn't quite right, and you start shaking your head instead.

Eddie's mouth finds your ear, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin at the top of your neck. "No? Not a good girl?" 

You shake your head again, because that's not right either. You tilt your face to catch his gaze, ink dark eyes already waiting for you. "I like-" You sigh when his fingers catch at the fabric that sits at the top of your sex again, giving a single teasing circle that helps you relax enough to tell him the truth of it. “It’s for you, Eddie.”

"Ah," Eddie breathes, finally, finally dipping his fingers past the elastic of your panties. He hums his approval when he finds your clit, swollen and waiting for him. He gives you one tap just to see you pout, then he’s rubbing tight circles that have you trying to press even closer to him, nails digging into his shoulders. “My good girl, mm?" 

"Yeah," you nod desperately, proud to see how pleased he looks with you. "Yes, Eddie." 

"That's right." He continues, watching your face as your lips open to moan softly, eyelids flickering. His fingers dip quickly to your entrance, dragging slick up to ease the way for his fingers on your button. “Just for me. Cause I'm the one who gets to touch you," he says. "Only I get to hear you like this, yeah? Hear you begging me with that pretty voice?" 

"Only you. Please, Eddie." 

“S’cause you know I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you, sweet thing? You and this pretty pussy?”

Eddie's fingers keep rubbing at your clit, pulling sensations from your body that only he ever has. Staring at him, hearing his rough voice even as he looks at you like you’re precious, you feel it again, as you have with increasing frequency. How badly you want him like this and every other way. It almost overwhelms you, makes you want to hide away again in his shoulder. But Eddie is owed the sight of the pleasure he brings you, deserves to see it play out on your face, hear every whimper clearly. Eddie coos softly at the sight of you, his free hand coming to support the back of your neck, nodding you through each shaking breath. “That’s it. That’s it. You gonna cum?”

A tremble moves through your body, hips rolling against his hand as you groan into the air. The high builds to a long, half painful peak, your hands grasping at Eddie’s t-shirt, his hair, first for something to hold on to, then because the resulting groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. It crosses over into too much suddenly, twitching away from his hand between your legs even as you give in and throw your face to his neck, kissing your gratitude all over the pale column of his throat. You find his pulse, feel its steady beat under your lips, and bite. It’s little more than a scrape of your teeth, but Eddie shudders in your arms, tilting his head back to let you soothe the bruised skin with your tongue, then kisses. 

You sigh deep, relaxing your death grip on his body while Eddie kisses at your sweaty temple. You peek at him then, find the warm brown of his irises swallowed up by darkness, his tongue licking quick over his bitten dark lips. He pulls his hand from your panties, showing you the remnants of your slick on his fingers before licking at his ring finger. “Always taste so good, baby. Wanna try?”

“Uh huh,” you say, head fuzzy with pleasure. Your mouth drops open for him, letting him press his middle finger to your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking gently. You don’t think it tastes of much at all, but Eddie seems suddenly desperate to get at what he’s given you. He drags his finger from your mouth and captures your lips before you’ve even registered the loss, his tongue licking at yours like he can steal the taste of you back. “That what you were thinking of when you invited me up here, mm?” He says when he breaks away, lips still grazing yours as he speaks. “Or do you want more?”

You do want more. You want Eddie. Want him filling you with the length you can feel, hardening against your thigh. You want to make him feel good, want to hear him groan when he cums. “More, Eddie,” you whisper without shame. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in for another desperate kiss, taking advantage of your pliant state to open your mouth to him. “Fuck. I wanna bend you over so bad,” he admits, watching your face for your reaction. “You want that? Want me to fuck you like that in your pretty princess bed?” 

Your toes curl, clit throbbing at the playful tone of Eddie’s voice, teasing and rough. “Mm. Okay.”

Eddie tilts his head, meeting your eyes, checking in. “Okay?”

You try to picture it, imagine how Eddie will feel fucking you that way. In truth, you’re stuck  on how vulnerable you’ll be; exposed, not able to see him or cling to him the way you like. But it’s Eddie, you assure yourself. You take a breath. “I want that, Eddie.” 

The kiss that follows is sweet. It’s a comforting reminder that no matter how much Eddie teases you, how rough he gets, he's still the boy who calls you princess, holds your hand in the car, promises to take care of you. 

He helps you remove your shirt from your heated skin, pulls his own over his head the second you start tugging at the hem. Once you have access to his skin, you can't stop touching him, palms flat to his chest, kissing his neck while he pulls your panties down over your hips. 

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he murmurs, turning you to face your bed. He kisses your shoulder, his body warm at your back. "Climb up for me, mm?"

You want to do what he says. You want him to touch you like this. But you still feel a prickle of nerves as you crawl up to your pillow, body exposed and missing Eddie’s skin already. 

“So pretty,” Eddie says above you, behind you, as you rest your chin on your curled arms on top of the mattress. You hear the clink of his belt, toes curling at the sound. Then you feel him through his boxers, hard and hot as he rolls his hips against your ass. You hear him whisper, shit, say something about protection. It's followed by a far off, satisfied a-ha at locating a condom in his discarded jacket, but it’s fuzzy beneath the sudden rushing in your ears. 

You feel him again, grinding against you, and you're not sure where all the excitement went. You’re staring at the blue cornflowers on your pillowcase while he continues behind you, remembering the last time you were positioned like this, tense and vulnerable. You try to breathe slow. When that doesn’t work, you try to let the heavy throb between your legs remind you how badly you want this.

It doesn't work, and you focus instead on feeling of just having to lie like this, get through it for him, just stare at the flowers and don't cry and he’ll be finished soon-

The pressure behind you disappears, the mattress shifts under you. Eddie bounces when he flops down beside you, face level with yours and hidden behind his flying hair. He makes soft puh noises like he’s trying to spit it out, blowing it away from his face. You blink, the white noise in your ears fading when you touch him, tucking his hair back behind his ear to find his grateful smile. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says. He reaches for your hip, rubbing soft as he presses your arched body down until you're lying, flat to the bed. Then, all heartbreaking gentleness; “where’d you go?”

You stumble, embarrassed. “I, I didn’t-”

“Stopped making those pretty noises for me," he reasons. “Isn't any fun without 'em." Your bottom lip shakes, and you feel like an idiot. 

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Not Andy, not some boy here for himself, only to take and never give. 

"Hey," he says, shuffling in until he can bump your nose with his. "We don’t have to do it like this if you don’t want. You know that, right? Don't have to do anything you don't want.”

“It’s not that, I-” You sigh, watch Eddie’s shining eyes, round and soft, waiting for you. “I needed to know it was you. I’m sorry.”

Recognition registers in his face. He frowns, cupping your face in his palm. “No apologies. Not about what you need, okay?”

“Okay, Eddie.”

“Wanna cuddle?” 

You do. Desperately. You reach out for him easily, shuffling until you're surrounded by him, clinging to his torso, cheek to his chest.

"Ah," Eddie breathes, wiggling like he can get his skin any closer to yours. "That's the good stuff." 

You hadn’t realised how fast, how hard your heart was beating until you’re settled in Eddie’s arms and it starts to slow. There's a minute’s comfortable silence, letting his presence ease you back to comfort. Then he hums, strokes at the hair on your temple. "You gotta tell me when something's not right, ‘kay?" he says seriously. "I like to think I can read you pretty well, but I could've missed it." 

"I'm sorry," you say, then, remembering you just agreed not to do that, "sorry."

Eddie breathes a laugh through his nose, leaves a wet kiss on your forehead. "My shy girl, mm?"

"Sometimes it's just…hard to say what I'm feeling. I didn't want you to stop.” You hum. “I don't think I did."

Eddie considers that, still stroking at your hair. "Do you, uh, know what a safe word is?” You shake your head, and he continues. “S’kinda like a code. Something you can just say if you wanna press pause, you know? Means that instead of getting in that head of yours, trying to work out what you want, you can just say a word and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”

You consider it, imagining the scene if you'd been able to just say one thing and slow down. Easier not to have to think through what you need before you tell him, just say one word and let Eddie help you get there, coax from your head what you haven't worked out yourself. "That sounds good, Eddie." 

"Yeah?" He asks, eyebrows raising. “Okay. We can keep it simple for now. If we wanna stop completely, for any reason, we say red, yeah? If we need to slow down, talk a little about what we need, we say yellow. And green for keep going. How’s that sound?"

"Good," you say, feeling grateful that you’re learning all these things with Eddie. "It sounds good, but I- I am sorry that I'm, y'know. Difficult, sometimes."

Eddie blinks, eyebrows pulling together. "Difficult? My sweet girl? Nah. Besides," he leans in, closing one eye. "I like looking after you." 

You sigh happily when he kisses you, gentle and seeking nothing more than sweet presses. But you're still wet and wanting, hand rubbing across the softness of Eddie's tummy until your fingers draw across the sparse hair at the top of his pants. Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat that has you pressing your thighs together. 

"You wanna turn over, mm? Open those pretty legs for me?”

Yes. You love having Eddie on top of you and inside you. Better every time, as your body gets used to him, as Eddie learns how to draw pleasure from you, as you learn what makes Eddie gasp, makes his hips move desperately like you're the only thing he needs. 

But you pause. Now, comfortable in the knowledge that you know how to slow down, stop when you need to, you let yourself imagine Eddie behind you. His hips hitting the back of your thighs, his big hands holding your waist, arching your body just right to slide inside. Letting yourself be vulnerable with Eddie, the feeling of offering yourself up to him, the reward of his touch.

“I want to try, I just, I need-” You don’t know, exactly. You feel another wave of irritation at yourself, wishing you could be a little more simple. That you didn't need to cling to him that first time, that now you need him to work out this hurdle. 

Eddie hums, and the mattress shifts again as he sits up behind you. “Lift these hips for me again, sweet thing?” He asks, helping you shift your knees forward, tilting your body up for him. You hear the crinkle of him tearing open a condom, his soft sigh as he rolls it down over his cock. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, hands smoothing your skirt up, exposing your hot flesh to the air. You shiver up your spine, but when Eddie grinds against you, what follows is his torso stretched along your back until you can feel him pressing wet kisses to your shoulder. The tension falls away, replaced by the tickle of Eddie’s hair at your neck, his sweet sting of his teeth nipping your shoulder, the sound of his pleased hums.

A final touch, his left hand grabs yours on the mattress, linking your fingers up and resting them in your eyeline. You know Eddie’s hands better than you know your own. Thick fingers adorned with a pig, a cross, a skull; all pale skin but for the subtle pink at his knuckles and around his nails. The veins that run from the end of his fingers to his wrist, the dip at the end of his thumb. 

“Better?” Eddie asks. You hum happily. You’re so blissfully wrapped up in him like this, surrounded and safe. Eddie’s right hand teases your clit again, presses gently at your entrance and finds you still went and wanting, bearing down at the first dip of his digits inside you. “Fuck, don’t worry, sweet thing. Gonna give you what you need, mm?”

“Eddie,” you say, his name a gentle plea.

“I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in his. He reaches between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance, the head of his cock tapping torturously at your clit. You have half a mind to kick your legs out in impatience now, settle on whining at the back of your throat. Eddie breathes a laugh into your shoulder, but it shifts immediately to a groan as he presses inside. 

You’re still not entirely used to the feeling of him slowly filling you, the edge of pain still leading you to bear down on him, body stuck between desperations; to force him out or or pull him deeper. But then there’s the perfect ache of feeling full, the warmth and heaviness of him inside. 

Eddie’s hips roll, the wet sound of him pulling from you making your toes curl. He starts up a steady pace, easing your body into letting him slide deeper into your cunt with each thrust. His fingers return to the top of your sex, rubbing at your sensitive button. With every slow thrust, each stroke of your twitching clit, it feels like your body is opening up to him, easing the way for him to press deeper, push inside a little rougher. Your body flinches, tightens and loosens up all over when the end of his cock finds the back of your pussy, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. 

“Feel good?” He says, amusement in his tone. You moan freely, happy to be teased by him as long as he keeps touching you. “Tell me.”

“Feels good,” you parrot, staring at Eddie’s hand in yours, the slow movement of rose tone up his wrist, along to his knuckles as he heats up. You shiver to let in his warmth, his breath on your shoulder, his chest at your back. His cock, hot and thick, fucking you open.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, groaning at the way your cunt clamps down, gushing wet around his thick cock in thanks for his praise. “Christ. I shoulda known that was your favourite,” he breathes, his right hand pressing at your mound to angle your hips just so, helping his cock find the spot at the end of you that makes your thighs shake with every heavy push. “S’mine too.” 

His lips travel up the side of your neck to the top of your cheek, eyes finding yours when you turn to him. Eddie gives you a gentle pout at the sight of your mouth open to take gasping, whimpering breaths, your eyes fluttering when he starts to bully your clit in line with the increasingly harsh movements inside you. “You were fucking made for me,” he tells you. “You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You cry out, arms giving way underneath you when your body twitches all over, squeezing tight around Eddie’s invading cock. Your head drops into the mattress next to your joined hands, but you nod desperately, wanting him to see that you know perfectly well. That nobody could make you feel as good as Eddie does.

Eddie keeps your body angled how he wants, adjusting your hips to pull your back into an arch. “All mine, aren’t you? Mine to look after, mine to touch. Mine to fuck-” He gives you a harsh thrust that makes your thighs twitch, legs close to giving out if he wasn’t holding you up with his arm under your stomach. “I wanna feel you cum, yeah? Think you can?” 

You’re still nodding, hand gripping his tight, fingers curled through his. 

“For me? Just for me?”

Always. Only for Eddie. You can’t say it, mind too far away to form the thought properly, but the feeling of him saying it like that, claiming your pleasure for himself as he drags it out of you with his cock, heavy and hot, and his hand playing with your clit, drives you over the edge. You mewl into the mattress, cunt clenching tight around his throbbing cock as your pleasure peaks.

Eddie makes a soft whimpering sound as you cum, following you down to bury his face in your shoulder. His hips move faster as he starts chasing his pleasure instead of focusing on yours, hand that was teasing your clit now stroking at your hip to soothe your sensitive, twitchy body. 

Hearing him now, gasping breaths, whimpers in your ear, you sink happily into this feeling. Almost as good as reaching your own peak, the knowledge that you’re making Eddie feel good. That this boy who treats you so well, dedicates himself to helping you find your pleasure, loses himself a little at the clench of your cunt around him.

You drag your clasped hands to your mouth, kissing at the pink skin of his knuckles. How could anybody not want this with him? How could anybody have given him up? You feel a sudden, desperate possession of him, the need to claim him like he claimed you.

“Mine,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the back of his hand in an array of gentle kisses. Your other hand reaches back to tangle in his hair, scratch at the back of his head as he whimpers. You crane your neck, searching for his eyes. They’re dark, shining as they take you in. His cock twitches inside you, and you squeeze his hand again. “Mine?”

His bottom lip shakes. “Yeah. M'yours. Yours, fuck-” He captures your lips but the kiss ends quick when he groans, hips stuttering in your warmth then sinking deep. You keep scratching at his neck as his body shakes through his orgasm, and still after when his weight drops on you and you fall flat to the bed together. You lie there for minutes, catching your breath, luxuriating in the feeling of being held by Eddie, pussy still clenching weakly around him.

Eddie hums, pulling from you slowly with another wet sound that makes you bury your face in your pillow. He rubs at your hip gently, squeezes your hand a final time before untangling from you to deal with the condom. You make a mental note to do something with that before tomorrow morning, but Eddie has your mind going wonderfully blank again when he bounces back beside you and pulls you in. You’re both a little sweaty, cheek a touch too hot against his chest, but you have no interest in cooling down if it means you have to stop touching him.

“Good?” He asks, fingers rubbing at your temple. You hum a long content sound in answer, not ready to form any coherent thought yet, and feel Eddie’s chest shake with laughter under your cheek. “Good.”

You lay like that, clammy and pleasured, convinced nothing could drag you from this bed.  Until you feel a quick pang in your stomach, and the quiet reverie is interrupted by a deep rumble. There’s a moment of silence, then Eddie snorts underneath you. You’d be embarrassed if his laugh didn’t make you want to follow his happiness, smiling shyly when he rubs gently at your tummy. “Hungry work, huh?” He asks, giggling. “Never fear, sweet thing. I can fix that.” He pauses then, licks his lips quickly. “Hey, you got a box of mac and cheese sitting around here, somewhere?”

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You flinch, watching with increasing horror as Eddie’s attempts to chop the onion you’d handed him. Fingers splayed and terrifyingly close the blade, you’re stuck between gently taking the knife from him and asking point blank how he’s managed to keep all ten fingers intact this long. 

“Do you want me to finish that?” You ask, frowning when he shakes his head, still fully concentrated on each dangerous movement, his tongue just poking out of his lips in a physical demonstration of his focus. 

If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be appreciating how soft and comfy Eddie looks right now. Black Sabbath t-shirt tucked into his jeans, socked feet ready to slide along your kitchen floor. His dark curls pulled back from his face and braided by your own hands, tied at the end with your favourite lilac scrunchie that you kind of hope he’ll keep.

But you can’t think about it, because you’re terrified Eddie’s going to ruin his musical career here in your kitchen, making pasta.

“No, need, sweet thing,” he assures. “This is a patented Munson technique for chopping onions.”

You could curse yourself for not having any boxed mac and cheese, for suggesting you cook something from scratch together in the first place. You’re used to cooking, with your Mom and Dad, with your friends, and eventually for yourself. But you get the sense that Eddie does a lot of microwaving, looking after himself the same way he has since he was a kid, at dinner time when Wayne is working nights.

“Eddie, can I?” You gently take the knife from him, turning the half of the onion left and chopping it with your thumb tucked in. 

He tilts his chin. “Lacks the adrenaline rush that comes with the Munson method,” he says when you’re done, watching you tip the contents of the chopping board into the heated pan on the stove. Then, a little sheepishly, “I, uh, I don’t cook much. If that wasn’t obvious.”

“You don’t like it, or?”

“I like this,” he answers. “And I make breakfast sometimes with Wayne. But not dinner, so much. He’s usually at the plant that time of day, so nobody ever taught me, I guess.” He pauses. “That’s not true. My mom and I used to cook, I think. Sometimes.”

You wait for a couple of seconds, watching the onions and garlic soften. “When you were a kid?”

“Yeah, we’d make stuff like this. Or, she would. I think I’d just watch mostly. Stir stuff, lick the spoon.”

“Best part,” you say, smiling. Then, watching him carefully. “Your Mom, she…?”

“She died,” he finishes with a shrug. He taps at the counter with his knuckles. “Then I lived with my old man, and he was not one for cooking lessons,” he laughs derisively. “Then one day the bastard dropped me off at Wayne’s. Best thing he ever did for me. Not that he cared either way, he was just sick of having me around.” Eddie finally looks at you then, and catches something in your expression that makes him wince, the laughter that follows clearly forced. “Christ, sorry. I’m really dumping on you today.”

“Don’t apologise, Eddie.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have-” He shakes his head, tapping the counter again before resting his palms at the edge. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Eddie, of course it matters,” you say, turning off the stove to approach him, standing separated from his body by his arm reaching to the counter, keeping you from wrapping around him the way you want to. “Of course it matters.” 

Eddie shrugs again, and it’s another one of those moments where you wish you were more like him. Eddie always knows what to say, senses where you’re hurt and how to soothe it, knows when to talk and when to just hold you. 

But now that it’s your turn, you’re left feeling useless, stuck just wanting to cry at the thought that anyone has ever hurt him, made him feel like he has something to apologise for just for being around.

“I think you’re so wonderful, Eddie,” you say. “I want you around all the time.”

There’s a second of something. He turns to meet your gaze, searching your face with a frown. Then he gives you a small, barely there smile. The arm between you raises to let you close, wrap him up in a tight hug. You feel his body lose tension as he sighs, your hand stroking his back the way you know he likes. “I want you around all the time, too, sweet thing,” he says softly. “I really do.”

Next Chapter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader

[jewishdragon]

reccommend any good book series?>

uh, sure

lets start with the three book series i have had on loop (audiobooks through libby) for the last 4 years:

Temeraire. 9 books. alternate history age of sale, an homage to Aubrey Maturin (the author literally stopped posting fanfic for that series 1 year before she published the first temeraire novel). What is the alternate? Well. dragons exist. and they are people. The premise is a human naval captain finds himself captain in the air force because a dragon imprints on him. Explore how the first napoleonic war goes when dragons are involved both in battle and in politics. I love this series because it scratches a very specific itch for humans and giant monsters bonding and interacting at every level of society. A lot of real historical figures show up (napoleon...). but it never feels forced. Im so bad at selling this series. its really great.

Memoirs of Lady Trent. 5 novels. more dragons ! this time a world similar to ours, but dragons exist! however this time they are animals, not people, and the main character is a fantasy victorian jewish woman who is obsessed with studying dragons and breaks her worlds gender barriers (which are the same as victorian englands were) to achieve her goals. also there's a slow burn romance with a nerdy fantasy muslim man (think indiana jones!!!) and they go on ADVENTURES about ARCHEOLOGY AND NATURALISM (books 3 through 5. i dont want you to think i lied when this man dont show up in books 1 and 2. BUT THERE'S STILL BOTH NATURALISM AND ARCHEOLOGY ADVENTURES IN BOOKS 1 AND 2). I did not see the twist of the series coming either. wild stuff. love it. there's a epilogue 6th book where the characters spend 80% of the time translating ancient tablets and somehow this is incredibly engaging, props to the author. this is a first person POV, the author is writing it as a MEMOIR so you have to imagine this old lady writing this down in her study.

The Murderbot Diaries (5 books, 4 are novellas). Sci-fi, out in space! Mostly taking place in literally capitalist hell region of space called "the corporation rim" which is... ruled by corporations. A lab grown robocop cyborg hacks its programming to become autonomous and wants nothing more than to watch soap operas and be left alone, but of course makes friends along the way as it continues to do its job of protecting humans. the snarky humor is FANTASTIC. its also first person POV and feels like Murderbot cornered you in a seedy space bar on an asteroid and just started ranting about shit "you will not believe the fucking year ive had" and then just rants for hours. Speaking of, 4 hours is the audiobook length for each novella, short enough that you can give the series a try without worrying about length

agatha christie. i mean. the queen of murder mysteries is called that for a reason. her stories are indeed bangers

Howl's Moving Castle. its a 3 book series though the books arent super connected. really fun fantasy adventure comedies.

Ok end of the not kids section. here's the kid section

now bear with me on this. Artemis Fowl. 8 books. I didnt read these until i was an adult, in graduate school. They fucking SLAP. some stuff is a little dated but other than that, its action packed, its so much fun. Go on an adventure where a shitty know-it-all genius criminal master mind becomes a better person and also there's fairy magic and fairy tech (which might as well be a second kind of magic). the main villain? amazing, unhinged, megalomaniac to the max. i love her. the minor villains? also amazing. i cannot overstate how great the villains are in this.

Dealing with Dragons/Enchanted Forest Chronicles. uhhhh this is my special interest. fantasy comedy adventure.

thats all for now i think.

#book recs

[autumnworld19]

Autumn’s Note ~ This is also my second time writing something like this, so please be nice. I’m also up to criticism, anything that’s going to make me a better writer. Please enjoy. Trigger warning: obsessive themes, slight stalking/watching, mention of reader being pregnant in a distant fantasy, mention of the OC getting hard because of the reader, reader is implied to be a lycanthrope, slight nsfw, lactation kink mention

PSA ~ If you come across my work it would it really mean the world to me if you took the initiative to not only like but also reblog.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Everyday that pretty little receptionist who’s smiles could only be enough to fix his foul moods on bad days, would leave the office building to eat her lunch at the the side of building. The same woman he could only admire, ogle and gawk at from far. She probably had interests like reading classic literature as bed time stories, go to museums because she has a philosophical perspectives or attend lucrative restaurants for a simple night out. All different from his interests. He dosen’t read classic literature or read books in general, instead of attending quiet, tranquil museums he’s up and shouting in rowdy sport bars and his version of a lucrative restaurant is one he can count on for a quick and hot meal when he’s not in the mood to cook, it’s own by the famous clown, Ronald McDonald. There are differences that don’t even end with just their interests. She is soft and speaks in only hushed tones. He is rugged and his way of speaking could only be describe as shouting, exceeding the acceptable room volume level. She is smart and patient. He is dumb and testy. She prefers to spend her personal time in solitude and away from others. He relish in engaging in playful banter with his coworkers at the pub whether after work or on his off days. These obvious differences are enough for him to think logically if they were to get together, naturally their differences would cause problems between them and the relationship would inevitable end. But when he finds himself before her and she looks up at him with those big and pretty eyes, and so sweetly greets him, giving him that ever so dazzling smile that could only make him feel better on any horrible day. It only reminds him of the physical heart that only beats for her, reminds him of the electric feeling that runs through his veins when he talks to her, reminds him of the blood that’s rushed to his nether regions when he even looks at her. Any sense of reason is thrown out the window and he starts to think, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’ll try to read ever once in awhile, go to museums and pretend that he understands what he’s looking at and wouldn’t mind lighter pockets if it means he could just spend it on her. Because she was worth it. She’s kind and compassionate, despite working at the top level of the building, where all the pretentious idiots work. She would always try to go out of her way be nice to him and the other warehouse workers, going as far as taking money out of her pockets to set up a little water station downstairs, to save them the trouble of having to walk all those stairs after a long day at work just for a cup of water. Even on nights when the moon is out and she would scurry past them without a greeting to head home, or would snap at others with snarls and growls, was all completely fine to him. She must be tired after having to work twelve hours, that poor thing. If only he could get her an easier job, where she wouldn’t have to move around so much, he would be able to see her anytime he wanted and she was able to work leisurely. He wonders if she wouldn’t mind becoming his own personal housewife, pregnant and barefoot living under his roof. The thought gets he rock hard. She would be so beautiful. Walking around with that big ole belly, her breasts would be big and filled with breastmilk he wouldn’t mind feasting on, her cheeks would get chubbier-oh god he might just blow his load. Even after a long day of being on his feet lifting and moving heavy loads, he would come home, kneel on the floors of their shared home and rubbed her swollen pregnant woman feet. Then, begin to rub other places on her body like her back, her shoulders and maybe even places that’s more internal than external. Regardless he wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind if she likes a bit of red to her steaks, she’s hairy all over and dosen’t shave or she gets a bit aggressive with him at times, coincidentally during the phases of the moon.

#werewolf #werewolf reader #blue collar #yandere x reader #yandere prompts #yandere blog #tw yandere #yandere man #yandere oc #warehouse #female reader #female y/n #male x reader #obessive love #obession #autumnworldblackgirl #oc maded by autumn #autumn :) #i’m amazing

[rayneyroses]

Someday, to Withstand Fire

Status: A birthday present for my friend @intljaystation 💜 Fandom: Genshin Impact Rating: General Audiences Shipping: Xingyun Content Warnings: n/a ao3: 🍨📘

Chapter 1

Chongyun’s voice was the only sound in the room, aside from the occasional flipping of pages and the rustling of fabric. He spoke quietly yet clearly as he read the contents of the book in his hands to his friend. Xingqiu’s head rested on his lap, his dark hair fanned out on Chongyun’s thighs. His eyes were closed while he listened, intent on enjoying the favour he was done. After all, there had been no time for such idle pastimes the last few days.

He had insisted on retiring to the privacy of their room for tonight. After a long day of traveling to Wangshu Inn and socialising with other merchants on the way, his excuse was that he needed a moment of solitude to recover. Unlike many other people, spending time with Chongyun was rarely draining to him. Perhaps he was spoiled, but he could never get enough of little story times like this.

“The heart was a fool. Rationalising such feelings was for naught since love is stronger than thought. Compelled by… passion roaring inside his body like stormy ocean waves, he…” Chongyun, despite having kept his composure for so long, trailed off. Heat stirred in the pit of his stomach and rushed to the tips of his ears. “Oh, Xingqiu will tease me if I don’t hurry,” he thought. Conquering his fears, he mustered his courage.

“…he crossed the distance between them and… united their lips in a first lovers’ kiss.”

Gauging whether he had been caught in his embarrassment, Chongyun peeked past the edge of the book. But much to his chagrin, his eyes locked onto amber ones full of mischief. He quickly averted his gaze. “Oh no,” he thought, “I won’t hear the end of this tonight.”

“Yunyun. Perhaps if you were brave like the protagonist of this book, that courage would make you a stronger exorcist too. What say you?” Xingqiu mused, squinting his eyes like a mischievous cat.

Chongyun huffed and shook his head in disbelief – at himself, since that statement somehow managed to make a little sense to him. After all, was a successful exorcist really someone who struggled with human relations? Or someone worried to face casual things such as affection? He had never given it much thought, since he was rather busy keeping his emotions tame instead of learning how to express them. Especially around Xingqiu. But even that was always giving him a hard time…

No, these had to be completely different things.

“You’re just teasing me,” he stated, more to himself than his friend. “Kissing has nothing to do with exorcising evil spirits, ‘Qiu.”

“But dear Chongyun, how can you be so sure?” Xingqiu smiled – then showed mercy by closing his eyes once more. “Oh, please continue. I was invested!”

“Alright, alright.” Chongyun cleared his throat and returned to the last line he had read. “Warmth blossomed forth from his chest like fireworks on a night-clad sky. Perhaps this was what he had been missing all along…”

Unlike before, Chongyun realised he was absorbing every sentence carefully. He wouldn’t dare give into such fantasies, scared of the repercussions. But perhaps there was a reason why so many people seemed fascinated by the concept of romance, enough to make a happy marriage their life goal. That was something he could never envision for himself… but craving a genuine bond with another person was relatable. Without Xingqiu, he knew nothing would be quite the same. He wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything in the world.

“…only empty dreams, until the morning hours bid the night farewell.”

That was the end of the chapter. Chongyun was about to ask whether he should read him another, but a glance at Xingqiu’s face told him that he was falling asleep. Icy blue eyes softened at the sight. He placed the book next to him and gave Xingqiu’s shoulder a gentle shake.

“Xingqiu… if you’re going to sleep, you should go to bed first.”

“Mmh…” Xingqiu uttered a sleepy noise in protest, unwilling to move. Who could blame him? These thighs were cosier than any pristine pillow he owned.

Chongyun gave him another shake, to no avail. He sighed. Once Xingqiu was set on something, he turned stubborn and clung to it with metaphorical claws. He, on the other hand, usually found himself getting the short end of the stick. But he was getting tired and his legs were starting to fall asleep.

“Alright… fine,” he mumbled. If it didn’t work this way, maybe he needed to change his strategy. Chongyun mustered his courage and reached for Xingqiu’s hand. Unsuspecting, the other made no move to complain or look.

Pale fingers were brought to his lips. Chongyun placed a tender kiss upon the back of Xingqiu’s hand.

“Chongyun…?”

Dark lashes fluttered against blushing cheeks. Xingqiu’s eyes shot wide open. Their gazes met and soon, the blush on his face outmatched the shade of pink on Chongyun’s.

“You said I’m not brave enough… so I’m proving you wrong. And it worked…! So,” Chongyun explained, then avoided his eyes. “…are you ready to go to bed now?”

Xingqiu gaped in disbelief. After regaining his composure, he covered his mouth with his kissed hand to stifle a laugh. The other seemed to interpret it as teasing, a good excuse to hide the spreading heat on his cheeks.

“Well, I can hardly say no after you tried so hard,” he conceded, “but a kiss on the hand isn’t the same as one on the lips, don’t you think?”

“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” Chongyun pouted, prompting another laugh from his friend. But indeed, he seemed ready to head to sleep now. Chongyun was simply happy that he hadn’t been punished for his audacious behaviour… but he was going to need some rest, lest the simmering heat in his stomach might overwhelm him.

Perhaps next time he’d be strong enough to withstand the fire.

#genshin #chongyun #xingqiu #xingyun #genshin impact #🔮【 mysterious storybook || writings 】 #𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓵𝔂 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷 #📘【 raincutter 】 #🍨【 frozen ardor 】

[manygalaxiesinone]

Likelyhood of me Hanging out with Disgaea Characters if they were Real:

((1. Laharl: Unlikely. He’s one of those characters that I feel like is more entertaining to watch on screen but definitely not someone I’d be willing to chill out with.

2. Etna: No. Toxic bitch that likes starting shit. Pass.

3. Flonne: Hell yeah! With her around, I’d never have to worry about catching up with cartoons and anime, because you know damn well we’re binge watching some stuff together. Probably start things off with My Hero Academia or One Punch Man because she loves her superhero shows.

4. Sicily: Probably not Look, she’s cute and nice and all, but she’s either going to stuff my face until it bursts or get me to help her out with chores. Not exactly someone I’d spend a whole day with.

5. Xenolith: Maybe We could probably read like a book or something. I don’t know.

6. Vyers: Yes Guess who’s finally going to become fluent in French?!

7. Lamington: Maybe Same reason as Xenolith except I feel like being around him might give me a bit more peace of mind.

8. Captain Gordon: Yes. Pizza. Tea. In outerspace. Need I say more? Why does part of me feel like I just talked about a British Markiplier’s wet dream?

9. Jennifer: Oh yeah... I mean if I play my cards right, we’d do a lot more than just “hanging out”, know what I’m saying? ;)

10. Thursday: Hell yeah! He may be an ass, but he’s a loyal companion. Definitely someone I’d have a beer with...if either of us drink.

11. Barbara: Maybe See here’s the thing, she’s a sub, but she’s an extreme sub. The whole time she’s gonna demand that I give her specific orders to do stuff and the moment I run out of ideas, she’ll get bored and take off, which I imagine will happen in around a few hours tops. She’s like the ultimate test of someone’s dom levels, and I know I’m about to fail before the paper gets passed back to me.

12. Laharl’s Mother & Kurtis: Probably not. They’re cool and all, but what would we even do together, dood?

13. Adell: Maybe He’s my favorite character and all, but chances are, he’s going to try to get me to stop acting lazy and whatnot, which is a kind gesture honestly, but I don’t think I’ll be able to fully commit.

14. Rozalin: Probably not. Unless if we’re watching Power Rangers, I don’t think this friendship is going to work out.

15. Tink: No. Don’t think I’ll be able to have ANY female friends with this guy around. And the moment he tries to flirt with my mom, it’s on sight.

16. Yukimaru: Yes. She’s friendly, she’s easy to talk to, and she can act fast in case of an emergency. She’s in.

17. Fubuki: Maybe. Tone it down with the “Dying during a mission” bit and then we’ll talk.

18. Axel: No Him constantly boasting about himself is going to get on my nerves at some point.

19. Mao: Hell no! I’m not trying to become someone’s guinea pig for experiments!

20. Raspberyl: Probably not Nor am I trying to die by losing too much blood!

21. Almaz: Yes Like with Flonne, we’re probably going to spend the whole day geeking out with each other, especially if it’s like Final Fantasy or Zelda related.

22. Sapphire: Maybe She’s cool and all, but I don’t want to risk her taking off with ALL of my niece’s plushies!

23. Kyoko: Yes. She’s nice and will probably make me some cool new clothes (which will finally let me join the cosplay community), though I don’t think I would actually take up sewing myself.

24: Asuka: Hell yeah! Now folding origami on the other hand...

25. Mr. Champloo: Probably not Demon Chef Ramsey. There’s no way I’d be able to keep up with this guy.

26. Salvatore: Hell no! Now if you want an example of an extreme dom, look no further than this bitch. Only way she’ll take orders from me is if I somehow become her “superior officer”. I used to know a guy on this site who would totally simp for her and I can’t help but wonder how long it last given her extreme demands.

27. Master Bigstar: Yes. I’m hoping this guy would turn me into a decent actor, honestly.

28. Valvatorez: Probably not Unlike Adell, there is no argument here. The moment we start hanging out, I can kiss my lazy lifestyle goodbye. I’m not worried about eating nothing but sardines for the rest of my life, because even he knows it’s a bad idea due to all the purines they carry, but he is going to put me on a more healthy diet and whatnot.

29. Fenrich: Hell no! The guy hates humans. And I’m a human. So this isn’t going to work out.

30. Fuka: No. She’s pushy as hell and I’m not trying to get dragged into shit that would put me on the World’s Most Wanted list.

31: Desco: No. She’s nicer than Fuka, but there’s still the risk of me being put on that list.

32: Emizel: Probably not Also not that fan of humanity, which is understandable after what happened with his dad. Doesn’t change the fact that us being friends aren’t that likely.

33: Artina: Maybe. If it’s nurse Artina, then we have no issues. Angel Artina though...she’s okay, but I’m gonna need to keep a close eye on my wallet and make sure she doesn’t get a reason for me to owe her anything.

34. Killia: Yes. No matter what he cooks, chances are it’s going to be out of this world. Hopefully it’s safe for human consumption though. Also, we can meditate together.

35. Seraphina: Probably not I get it, she’s wealthy, she’s pretty, and not that bad of a person when you get to know her, but that doesn’t change the fact that since I’m a single male who’s attracted to women, I’m at risk to being mind controlled by her!

36. Red Magnus: Hell no! This dude always looking for smoke. Yeah, he’s gotten better, but the moment he decides he wants to test my might, that’s death for me.

37. Usalia: Hell yeah! Curry time! Curry time!^^

38. Zeroken: Maybe I can already picture myself asking whether or not if I’m talking to the real guy or one of his shadow clones while he’s off doing...whatever.

39. Zed: Probably not Like with Laharl’s mother and Kurtis, what the hell would we even do together?

40. Bieko: Probably not She’s cute and all, but I just know Zed’s going to be looming around the corner watching us the whole time creeping me out. Even if we’re watching Sesame Street or Dragontales together, Zed’s that overprotective big brother.

41. Misedor: Hell yeah! Money money money money money money

42. Melodia: Yes. Like with Master Bigstar, I feel like she would help sharpen my theatre skills, especially when it comes to vocals.

43. Piyori: Yes I get to become a Power Ranger huh? I’m going to make so many people so damn jealous. Looking at you, Angry Joe

44. Majolene: Maybe She’s basically Shantae if Shantae was a stubborn old hag.

45. Ivar: Maybe A lovable, dorky overlord who actually cherishes his friends and underlings.))

#disgaea #disgaea 2 #disgaea 3 #disgaea 4 #disgaea 5 #disgaea 6

[july-19th-club]

cant believe they managed to distill eye of the world into eight episodes and it feels . pretty good. i *personally* like a much longer season than eight episodes and i’m over miniseasons. i like to marinate in it, which is part of the reason i like sprawling fantasy book series so much. but even for me, wheel as a book series is too sprawling, and jordan’s prose style doesn’t make me want to spend as much time with it as you have to if you want to read the books all the way through (much like i’m sure i’m in the minority of opinions here, but george rr martin’s prose style is also nothing special by a long shot. whenever i see posts talking about how much richer a scene is in the text than in the show, the text sampled to prove it is the most boring, cliched stuff and there’s no real distinction of voice. but that’s for another post). ultimately, it’s a testament to adaptational skills that the first wheel of time book, which is in a lot of ways just setup, can be condensed from five hundred-six-hundred pages to eight hours while still coming across as having a lot of flavor. it’s a good soup! though it seems like it’ll continue to be a challenge to adapt, especially given how often the books will do this thing where there get to be SO many close-third character viewpoints that only some of them can take up space in any one book, so you’ll get a perrin/mat/egwene book, for example, and then the next book is rand/nynaeve/whoever doing different things at the same spot on the timeline. almost impossible to avoid in such a sprawling series, but the sort of wheel-spinning (no pun intended) that the middle of the series suffers from (The Slog™) can, and should, be condensed on screen. that said, i would still like to see longer seasons in the future; i think that even with condensing some of the more filler-y plots, there’s so much going on at so many locations once that first setup novel is finished that you could easily make four more ten or fourteen-episode seasons and it wouldn’t be an issue to find stuff for the characters and plot to do. the only thing that worries me right now about wheel of time as a tv show is that, seeing how drawn-out the books were, they’ll err in the other direction and not give time enough.

#wheel of time #i am contradicting myself every time i talk about this but whatever #q

[ihatemyselfforwantingmore]

I always knew I would become an addict

Everyone (or at least most people) think that addicts are just weird crackheads who deserve no respect or empathy of any kind. They also think that something that horrible would never happen to them. I guess I used to feel the same way towards them before I became one of them.

I always knew I would become an addict. For as long as I remember, I wanted to escape from my life. Whenever people who worked in rehab came to my school to prevent drug use and described all kinds of drugs, I started craving them. I've romanticized drug use for as long as I can remember. I used to see the ecstasy pills with smiling faces thinking: "I'm gonna try this when I'm older". Then I went home and researched about all kinds of drugs while craving them, wishing I could grow up faster so I could give them a try.

Obviously, I grew up with unrestricted access to the Internet. I was obsessed with pop culture, and something pop culture obviously had was a shitton of drug use. I remember spending hours in front of the computer watching pictures of Lindsay Lohan partying wishing it was me, at the age of 10.

I loved watching movies and, of course, if there's something teen movies have is drug use, whether it's weed, acid or cocaine. I couldn't wait to try them when I grew up. It all seemed so glamorous. I loved the film 'The Bling Ring' when I was 11 after watching it on theaters. And their lifestyle was just so glamorous! I wanted to be one of them, I wanted to listen to All Of The Lights by Kanye West while driving and doing cocaine at the same time. I just wanted to have fun. My life was so boring and depressing.

I was a straight A's student who was in extracurricular actives and was known by everyone as an avid bookworm. I used to speak in front of the entire school trying to promote reading to my classmates by recommending YA books that could get them into the hobby of reading. I used to have a lot of books under my chair in case anyone from my classroom wanted to read something. I remember calling it 'my library' and getting in trouble because of it, but I didn't care. I've always loved escapism, and maybe that's why I loved reading so much. I was kind of a very lonely girl growing up, so I used to imagine fantasy worlds while I was in class. I used to think that maybe if I did drugs they would come to life.

As I grew up, I stopped having as many friends as I used to. Everyone in my class randomly decided to just stop talking to me. I only had one friend, and she stopped talking to me and became friends with my bullies after I had to transfer schools due to, of course, bullying. I thought I wouldn't care but it fucked me up really bad.

I started watching more and more movies in a depressive episode where I didn't go to school for four months. All I did was drink Coca-Cola and spend the whole day on my computer.

Two of my favorites were Requiem for a Dream and Trainspotting. Most people (like my parents) thought that they were a hard watch because of the scenes where drugs fuck their entire lives. I thought the opposite. I used to think they were so glamorous and that it was a world I wanted to get into.

I went to school again and struggled with selective mutism, so I couldn't make any new friends, no matter how bad I wanted to. Everyone thought I was just the weird, quiet kid so I kept reading a lot to feel like I had a friend, even if it was just a book.I missed my ex best friend like crazy. I started reading novels by Jack Kerouac and Irvine Welsh, just wanting to go on a substance abuse binge thinking it would fix all my problems and make me happier.

My brother used to be just like me until one day he woke up and decided to rebel against my parents. He decided to drop out of high school and tried every single drug on Earth with his friends. I always resented him for that because I wanted a big brother who'd take care of me but instead I got a Tony Stonem dupe. I don't know if I wanted to be like him?

[titoist]

[...]

I lapsed into an emotional silence, having concluded my emotional outpourings. I remember feeling a terrible urge to laugh out loud, whatever the consequences, because I already sensed a malevolent imp stirring within me, I had got a lump in my throat, my chin started trembling, and my eyes grew ever moister … I expected Nastenka, who had been listening to me with her intelligent eyes open wide, to burst out irrepressibly into her gay childlike laughter, and was regretting that I had gone so far; I shouldn’t have told her of what had been so long raging within my heart I could recite it like a book. I had long since passed sentence on myself, and now couldn’t help reading it out, to make a clean breast of things, though not with any expectation of being understood; but to my astonishment, she said nothing, and after a pause pressed my hand lightly and asked with a certain diffident concern:

'You don’t mean that you have really lived all your life like that?’

‘All my life, Nastenka’, I replied. ‘All my life, and it seems I will end it the same way!’ ‘No, you mustn’t’, she said, troubled. ‘That will not happen; that way I might spend all my life with my grandmother. Look, you know living like that’s not good for you?’ ‘I do, Nastenka, I do!’ I exclaimed, giving vent to my emotions at last. ‘And now I know more than ever that I have squandered all my best years! I realize that now, and the knowledge is the more painful because God has sent you to me, my good angel, to tell me and demonstrate the fact. Now, as I sit next to you and talk with you, I feel positively terrified of the future, because in that future loneliness lurks once more, again that musty, pointless existence; and what will there be for me to dream about, when close to you I have already been so happy in the real world. Ah, be gracious, dear girl that you are, for not turning me away at once, so that I can say I have lived at least two evenings in my life!’ ‘Oh, no, no!’ cried Nastenka, tears starting to shine in her eyes. ‘No, it won’t be like that any more. We won’t part this way! What are two evenings!’

‘Ah, Nastenka, Nastenka! Do you realize how you have reconciled me to myself? Do you realize that I will no longer think so badly of myself as I have done at times? Do you realize that I will perhaps no longer agonize over having sinned and committed crimes during my life, because that sort of life is a sin and a crime in itself! And don’t think I have exaggerated anything to you, please don’t think that Nastenka, because sometimes such anguish overwhelms me, such anguish … because at moments like that I start to think that I am incapable of living a proper life, I seem already to have lost any sort of judgement, any apprehension of the real and actual; because after all, I have cursed my very self; because after my nights of fantasy come moments of sobriety which are appalling! Meanwhile you hear the human crowd thundering and eddying around you in a living whirlwind, you hear and see people living—living in reality, you see that for them life is not something forbidden, their life does not fly asunder like dreams, like visions; it perpetually renews itself, is forever young, and no one hour is like any other; meanwhile how dreary and monotonously commonplace is this faint-hearted fantasy, the slave of a shadow, an idea, a slave of the first cloud that suddenly obscures the sun and afflicts with misery the heart of the true Petersburger who so cherishes the sun—and what fantasy can there possibly be in misery? You sense that it will at length grow weary, that it is exhausting itself in constant tension, this inexhaustible fantasy, because after all one matures, outgrows one’s former ideals: they are shattered into dust and fragments; and if you have no other life, it behoves you to construct one from those same fragments.

[mintmatcha]

Pre-apologizing for the length of this post.

But DUDE I cannot tell you how much your warrior cat post ate me up. Memory UNLOCKED.

I never read the books, but my cousin (the same age as me) was obsessed with the warrior cat series. I’m talking just under a decade of only wanting warrior cat books or themed items for all gift giving holidays. For nearly eight(8) years.

It was at the point where she was faster on all fours than on two feet. At family gatherings everyone knew to keep watch where you step bc you never know where “Midnight” was crouched, silently observing the room, hissing if you looked at her too long. My grandpa used to love to get the laser pointer out.

We never really talked, or understood each other. She was so weird— wasting so much time in some fantasy world.

I used to feel bad for her, playing off by herself while I was doing the real work. Discovering faeries, leaving gifts to appease the house brownies, and asking my parents for items of “pure silver,” “just to test some of the kids in class.” (Bc obviously anytime someone was acting off, I had to know if it was really a changeling in their place.) I used to spend hours whispering to both animals and plants “just in case” they were some mythical creature in disguise.

Meanwhile our family used to watch out the window with concern at the two of us romping on all fours and trying to look through holes in rocks— only for us to come back inside covered in dirt and pitying the other for being so cringey and out of touch.

Anyways— we’re friends now as adults and it turns out that we were both just incredibly ADHD and hyper-fixated on different book series (thanks, Spiderwick) and had issues with maladaptive daydreaming.

Literally one trip to the elementary school book fair had me fucked up for years.

P.S. I was particularly interested in finding the changeling because young me was 👀👀 lookin respectfully

we were all cringe in our youth, just some more than others

[corvatrix]

Theories Are Just Fantasies | The Lost World (Jurassic Park #2)

RATING ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

💡 REVIEW

Admittedly it's been around a year since I last found myself adventuring through Crichton's fictional world, so I wasn't super fresh on the details of what happens in Jurassic Park. That's okay, though; the second installment is written well enough to stand alone. It's enhanced by your knowledge of the events in Jurassic Park but you can absolutely read it by itself and still enjoy the hell out of it.

Spoilers below. Please keep spoilers out of the comments!

😍 WHAT I LIKED

This was an incredibly quick read (a couple of hours on a flight + an hour or two, cumulatively, in the car back and forth while visiting family) and was gripping from start to finish. I didn't find myself glossing over paragraphs like I sometimes do with science fiction; indeed, I almost hesitate to label this sci-fi because it's so character driven and spends very little time on the intricacies of InGen's meddling, or Dodgson's ultimate plan, or Malcolm's chaos theory. I would've liked to read more into that, honestly.

The book's pacing is breakneck; once you start, you won't want to stop. Even the setup of the dilemma (Levine returning to Costa Rica and Malcom & Co. following to save him) seems fun and fast-paced as we unravel the mystery of what's happening despite already knowing what's going down (seriously, how does Crichton pull that off?) on Isla Sorna. We're invested in the characters from the jump and understand what's at stake--and feel the tension almost immediately.

Also, Ian Malcolm on morphine is an absolute treasure.

💩 WHAT I DISLIKED

Having the perspective of younger children again (a boy, Arby, and a girl, Kelly) helped make the science feel a little more accessible as a layman; however, having similar players to the first novel (two male scientists, a male bodyguard-type, a female scientist, and two kiddos) made this iteration feel very similar to the first book in a not-great way. I also cringed a bit at Sarah's girl power quips throughout the book (for example: "Absence of proof is not proof of absence. All your life, other people will try to take your accomplishments away from you. Don't you take it away from yourself.") as they felt a little forced and a little weird coming from a male author. Having Dodgson return as the smarmy, no-good villain was...okay, but it was the same motivation as the first book, and I'm glad that he was bait for the Rex babies.

On that note, the dinosaurs involved are...one note. We've got the typical flashy Velociraptors, the annoying (and dino-rabies-ridden) Compys, several herbivore species, a couple of nesting T-Rexes, and a couple of chameleon Carnotauruses. The interactions between our heroes and these animals are always high octane, which is fun for a screenplay but not so much for a book, and I found myself wanting to know more about the animals and how they got there, even though a LOT of the book is centered around learning about their behaviors and way of life. At one point there is even a moment when a blood sample is taken--and nothing really came of it. I WANT MORE DINO SCIENCE DAMMIT.

In conclusion, this was a fine, fun read that got me through a very boring pair of flights and was familiar enough that one could zoom through it without paying too close attention and still come out on the other side feeling like they hadn't missed anything. It is my understanding that this is the only sequel Crichton had ever written for any of his works, and I can definitely see why he would be hesitant to give it another shot. It's a good popcorn book: it wouldn't be satisfying enough to serve as a full meal, but it's great as a snack or a quick bite in-between more full plates.

 🗝️ THEMES

The arrogance of educated people

Survival of the fittest

"You were so preoccupied with if you COULD that you didn't bother to stop and think about whether or not you SHOULD."

📖 TROPES

Returning to a dangerous place

"Ah shit here we go again"

Life-or-death stakes

Will-they-won't-they romance

Smart but callous guy gets schooled

Bad guy gets his come-uppance

#scifi #science fiction #jurassic park #the lost world #ian malcolm #michael crichton #books #bookreview

[marshmallowprotection]

Hewwo! is it okay if I ask for a romantic match up please? Im a genderfluid (mostly leading towards female) gray-ace fella uwuhm, Like I said, its really hard for me to describe my personality^^;;Im an INTJ who can come up as extremely blunt person to people who dont know me very well(which is not a lie over all) but in the end Im just a really shy and introverted person in general.I usually only become more playful and outgoing with a certain group of friends, pretty much an empath (1)

I like to be that one friend who is constantly spoiling and taking care of everyone, maybe sometimes a little bit too selfless and by that I mean that sometimes I push the priorities of others before my own^^;;Im really direct yet empathethic with most peopleOver all im your chaotic little sibling with a slight temper lolI like all types of art when it comes to hobies, acting,singing,sewing and embroidery- but the one thing that im mostly into is drawing and playing music. (2) I would be a dream come true if I could ever write songs and play music with a group of people. Theatre kid? where? Im also a huge fan of greek mythology , anime, manga, fantasy books and fairytalesI totally dont end up hyperfixating in at least one of these ofc not, dont know what youre talking about. (3) Yes, im that one friend who will go missing for a month then randomly dm you one day to give you a full one hour ted talk of why (insert hyperfixation atm) is the best piece of media ever pfft -Inko (4)

I match you with...

V!

You're the kind of person who needs somebody who is comfortable with you. That isn't to say that everybody in a relationship isn't comfortable with their partner, what I mean by that is that you need somebody who understands the careful balance that comes from what makes you feel comfortable and uncomfortable. You need somebody who values the same amount of peace that you do. Not only do you need your personal space and time to be alone, you need somebody who wants to listen to you talk for hours about everything and about nothing. Someone who can be with you but knows when to step back.

What better person than V? He understands how important it is to have a moment to yourself to think about yourself and the universe, really. It's important to want to spend time with your partner, but at the same time, there are moments when you need to think about the big picture and what you like to do. That doesn't mean you have to do those things alone. You could both be doing your favorite hobby in the same room, just focusing separately on the same field of energy. He could be painting and you could be reading! There's nothing wrong with that. It's the best place to be.

#matchup #ask #anon #mod kait

[thestoryofanaveragejoe]

According to the urban dictionary,

“Average Joe” refers to someone who is just like everyone else. aka; a normal person.

Average' means 'in the middle' or 'not extreme', and 'Joe' is a common male name. So 'average Joe' refers to a man who is not extremely different from everyone else.

Getting to know An average Joe from head to toe.🤯👉🦶

I have been spending hours, thinking about how could I introduce my true self to all of you, my beloved readers. As I’m just an average Joe, there are not many things interesting about me. Therefore, I think it might be fun to introduce myself from head to toe (literally) so that you could know what I like to do using each part of my body. 😄

Head 💀

To talk about my head, I would talk about the thing that I’m interested in. Currently, I am interested in a concept called “Budgetarian”. A budgetarian is a person who lives on a budget and choose to spend his money only on things that are the most important. This idea came up to my mind because I do not believe that I would become rich in the near future. Therefore, I only have one choice which is to be as frugal as I can to prepare myself for my life in the future🤣. I found it quite fun to put a challenge such as “spending only 700 baths for a week” on myself to control my spending. I feel good to challenge myself and save my money at the same time. However, I have never completed my challenges 🥲.

Eyes 👀

Talking about my eyes, what I like to do using them is reading books. Surprisingly, I prefer reading books over watching movies or tv series. I think it allows me to use my own imagination and relates myself to the characters and incidents within the books. I think I enjoy them much better that way. My favorite genres are comedy, rom-com, and fantasy. Namely, Harry Potter, The diary of a wimpy kid, and red, white, and royal blue.

Mouth 👄

Coming to the mouth, I would talk about what I like to eat. Thai food is my all-time favorite growing up. I love spicy and sour tastes often found in our food recipes. Therefore, my all-time top 3 would be papaya salad, Tom yum kung, and Mackerel Lettuce Wrap ( Miang Pla Too). I also enjoy watching the food cooking YouTube channel. My favorite one is Pailin’s kitchen. I’m putting the link right here 👇

Hand 👏

lately, I have been using my hands to express myself because I’m taking a sign language course. It’s a totally new experience for me. I have never imagined that we could use our hands to communicate with others (successfully). By attending this class, l am not only getting to know how deaf people communicate, but I also realize the challenges and obstacles they have to face being in the silent world and I do hope I could do something to make their lives better and easier in the future. ( sign language interpreter for every tv program would be a great idea)

Feet and toe 🦶

What I like to do using my feet and toe is traveling. I think it is a dream for everyone to be able to travel wherever we want to. From my own experience, I have been to 4 countries in total, Malaysia, Singapore, Argentina, and Japan. I am a person who is interested in traveling a lot. I think traveling to other places or countries give us the opportunity to learn new things and embrace new cultures. It opens up our eyes and makes us become more of a global citizen. Unfortunately, I do not have the chance to travel a lot.( money is the biggest factor 💸😂). Therefore, the only thing I could do is to “watch other people travel” on YouTube. My favorite ones would be FAROSE and Backpaeger.

[sexstories-101]

5 Ways to Get Your Wife to Have More Sex With You - Fox on Sex

Stop whining and fussing for a second and listen up: If you want more wife sex, you must mature and accept that people change, relationships change, and your sex life does not remain constant.

As a sexologist, relationship expert, and contributor to Good in Bed, I'm frequently asked, "How can I convince my wife to have more sex with me?" I also happen to be a wife and mother of two small children, so I'll tell you the truth. Here's my tip for getting some tonight without messing things up:

1. Snuggle rather than grope. You're in a mood, so you reach out and grab our breasts, buttocks, or genitals. Guys, believe me when I say that this is the most serious sin you can commit when attempting to seduce a lady. It will not make us go into an ecstatic trance. (And, hey, if it does, you don't need my help, do you?) Neither will they be groping us in the kitchen while we unload the dishes.

These inadequate moves do not irritate us; rather, they irritate us. Try embracing or kissing someone. Hold our hand and squeeze it. You must empty the dishwasher. Women want to feel linked to their spouses in ways that aren't always sexual.

As guys, you see something sexy and you're instantly in the mood for sex and ready to go. You pick up the mail, there's Victoria's Secret catalog in the box, and before we know it, you're sniffing in our direction like a puppy looking for a reward. Women, on the other hand, do not work in this manner. We may see something sexy, and it could even be you, but we don't suddenly want to have sex. Men and women vary in this regard: you must truly put us in the mood. You must make us feel sexy and want to be sexual.

Here's a hint: Did you know that hugging your lover for 30 seconds raises her oxytocin levels? Oxytocin is a hormone that makes us feel caring and connected and aids in mood regulation. So let's start with an embrace.

2. Please don't treat us like pornstars. You can't treat us like a 30-second money shot just because you can pay to watch a lady with false boobs and a fake tan fawn all over some hairy, grunting dude. Women are drawn to seduction. We yearn for pleasure. We want sex to be, well, sensual, not like some mediocre pornographic production. I'm not saying you won't receive those occasional surprises, but you'll have to work for them. Fortunately, the brain is our most powerful sex organ, and most women have fantasies that rival your porn sites. One of the reasons why women aren't more interested in porn? Because almost all of it is created by and for males who have no idea what truly turns a woman on. Do you want to know what gets us going? Inquire, and we will respond. That brings me to...

2. Do Good to Others. Do you want hot sex? You must supply us with the type of sex we desire. Simply, you must give as much as you receive. Do I have to explain it to you? You must use your mouth if you want us to use ours! And what happens if you do it first? That's all right. Most women get the most out of clitoral stimulation.

4. Allow Us Some Room. Allowing your girlfriend some alone time may seem paradoxical, but it can help her refresh. Offer to keep the kids for a few hours so she can go out for coffee with a friend, read a book at the beach, or relax in a bubble bath. This "time off" allows her to relax so that she will be ready to heat up later. By the way, watching your children is not the same as "babysitting." They're your children, so treat them with respect. Be a father rather than a bachelor. Remember, many of us find nothing hotter than a father who is into his children.

5. Talk—and then listen. I understand that many of you would rather clean the toilet than be compelled to "connect," but I'm not asking for an hour-long heart-to-heart here. Spending 20 minutes connecting with your partner and listening to what she has to say can make her feel valued. Avoid difficult topics such as your children, work, and home, and instead, focus on wider problems such as current events and the world around you. Respond in meaningful phrases rather than grunts. She'll be impressed if you can remember and repeat anything she said 12 hours later—and you'll be one step closer to sex.

  If you are looking for motivation to enhance your sexual drive.

Kindly visit https://porno19.com/ a Vietnam porn website about wife sex movies

[sugarmagnoliasz]

I got this book to make sure I don't do any of this to my own child. But it sat on my bookshelf, because I knew once I started reading, it would hurt. But today, I started reading.

Because today, my mom yet again launched into another manic episode. She refuses to be medicated, and her bipolar is widely unchecked. Somehow, even when she clicks all the stereotypical boxes, like secretly maxing out credit cards, flying off the handle yelling and screaming, and turning off her life360 and disappearing, she still cannot (or will not) recognize the beginning signs of an episode and try to curb them in the slightest. She just leaves her family to worry about her and try to fix the situation so she will come back to zero consequences, zero expectations. What she doesn't get is that every time she does this, the resentment builds. I am tired of her doing this. I'm exhausted of parenting my own parent. I have grown extremely weary of trying to gently coax her into self reflection and change.

I thought my moms diagnosis a couple years back would improve things. When I found out, it made my entire childhood make sense. It made me realize so many things weren't my fault, and that I wasn't a bad daughter or a bad person. It was just the person I spent the most time around, the person who was supposed to be teaching me how to be a good person, was sick and needed help and had taught me all the wrong things.

My mother is, unfortunately, pretty much the same fifteen year old she was when she had me. She never emotionally grew. She stayed stunted, hiding from hard conversations or bad emotions while simultaneously emotionally exploding and relying on her young children to be her confidantes and therapists. She was always the victim, no matter what the situation... it was always her against the world. She constantly told us how mean our father was, how evil our family was, how everyone hated her and she didn't know why.

I know why.

I knew having a baby was going to make this worse. I knew she would spend thousands of impulse dollars on baby items, on useless trinkets, on over-the-top baby shower decorations, because that's the only way my mother learned to show love and affection. She doesn't care if she bankrupts herself in the process, whatever makes her look like the best grandma to anyone watching. Whatever feeds the fantasy. My mom has always put on a facade to the outside world. To my friends in high school, she was the fun mom, the cool mom. To my coworkers, she was the sweet funny mom, dropping off lunch randomly and cracking a million jokes. To the people she works with, she's a hard worker and as pleasant and polite as can be. To the other moms at the playground, she's that exuberant woman who knows what she's doing. To everyone on the outside, my mom's a joy to be around. When doors were closed, she was not joyful. She was not kind. She was scary when the facade dropped. I used to hope to God people would drop by unannounced so she would be forced to put the mask back on and pretend she liked me, if only for a few extra hours.

My upbringing taught me the wrong way to manage money, and I have fixed that.

It taught me that love had to be difficult and full of fighting and emotional detachment, and I have fixed that.

It taught me I was a problem, and a burden, and should make my existence as small as possible, and I have fixed that.

But it also taught me that my mom will most likely never be able to give me what I need from her. She will never love me like a normal mother, because she can't. And she won't. And I haven't accepted that I can't fix that. I can come to terms with it. But I can't change it.

Maybe finishing this book will help.

Or maybe it'll just make me cry. Who knows. I don't really know why I wrote all this out. I guess because this is the only social media she doesn't secretly follow me on. I guess because I always wish I can tell people in my every day life this stuff, but it feels like betraying my mother, gossiping about her.

I love her to death. And thats part of the problem. At some point, I worry I'm going to have to choose between loving her and my own survival. And I just really don't want it to get there. I wish she would just accept help.