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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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15 with Eddie? :)

i woke up this morning, rolled over, and immediately wrote this all on my phone. wasn't even 8 am and i was already all mushy and horny for this man. enjoy whatever this is (morning sex. it's morning sex and being in love) <3

15. "I had a very nice dream that started like this."

warnings: smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), afab reader but no pronouns used, a lot of religious imagery idk why it just... worked?, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: eddie munson x afab!reader

wc: 2.9k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

The sun hadn’t even rose yet. The sky simply lighter, a gentle omniscient light peaking through the curtains, holding little to no warmth yet when you first awoke. The room is shades of grey with hints of violet, soft pinks just on the horizon but not quite painting the scene.

It’s nice — it’s serene.

You can feel him breathing behind you. Still there, still warm, still holding you with one strong arm around your waist as his nose brushes at the nape of your neck, his snore rustling your hair ever so carefully. It’s almost enough to soothe you back to sleep; counting his deep intakes of air, exhaling in time with him, sinking deeper into bed sheets that are stained with the smell of his cologne and shampoo. Almost.

But when you first awake, you have a different idea in mind.

It starts off innocent enough. Small movements as you press yourself further back into Eddie, minuscule wiggles to just be close to him. You’re still half asleep and yet, every atom in your body is desperate to melt into him. You need every inch of his skin pressed tightly into yours. Your vision still blurry, but the instinct to burrow more tightly into your boy impossible to miss.

“I know you’re awake,” he suddenly murmurs into your neck, voice muffled and rough with his rest.

You hadn’t even noticed the change in his breathing. More focused on the ache between your thighs that you had woken up with.

“Sh,” you jokingly whisper, smiling as you force your eyes back closed. He can’t even see your face, but it feels right to put on an act, “You’re gonna ruin it, Munson.”

“‘M not ruining anything, baby,” he nearly slurs. His arm tightens around you, encouraging all your squirming, pulling your hips back to be flush with his a little more urgently.

He’s hard against your lower back. His flimsy boxers do nothing to hide his excitement. It isn’t particularly surprising — most mornings he wakes up hard as it is — but it does cause a soft stirring within you. Encourages your hips to swivel once more, action a bit more pointed, just enough pressure to cause a low groan to slip almost inaudible from between his lips.

“Careful,” he warns, voice a bit louder now. His tone is still gravely, scratching an itch of the farthest reaches of your mind. Somewhere between a cat’s purr and the sound of tires on dirt roads when your favorite person is returning home. Comforting. Serene.

You press into him further, shamelessly grinding now, eyes still shut, “What? ‘M not doing anything.”

He doesn’t need to see your voice to hear that sleepy grin.

It doesn’t happen quickly — there’s no rush as he slowly tugs at your body, encouraging you to rotate so that he’s no longer spooning you. Your back digs into the mattress holding the warmth of his body from the entire night, wrapping you up in a bliss that’s impossible to replicate. His smell, his warmth, his presence. You don’t think you’ll ever tire of mornings like this, especially not when you finally open your eyes to find him propped up on his elbow, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes and a half-smile that accentuates his left dimple.

He’s fucking beautiful. It takes your breath away.

“What’s got you so excited this morning, hm?”

The light has grown ever so slightly brighter, just enough as though it whispers, look at him. The room is still grey, but your boy is a vision of colors. Dark russet eyes with streaks of gold that the sun couldn’t compare to, chestnut hair that sticks up in all the wrong places from his slumber, skin that washes out in the pale winter morning and only makes the contrast of the soft fuchsias and violets blooming along his neck from the evening before more apparent. He’s softer than any sunrise, more relaxing than any bath he’s ever drawn for you, more calming than hearing your favorite song strummed out on muted guitar strings.

You love him. And that only really fuels your flames.

“I had a very nice dream,” you mumble, squinting up at him, bringing a hand up to his cheek. Your touch is delicate as you trace over his stubble, painting mindless patterns briefly before cupping the full side of his face and threading your fingertips into the edges of his hairline, “A very nice dream that started just like this.”

He rolls his hips against your side, peering down at you as he does so, letting you guide him closer until his lips barely brush yours.

You can hear birds chirping outside. There’s the rumble of a truck engine. The creak of a nearby front door opening and shutting.

The world is beginning to wake up, but you’re not quite yet ready to share the day with anyone but him.

“You did, did you?” he’s awake enough now to tease you, body slowly inching its way over yours, arms on either side of your head to hold his weight. The plush comforter slips down, exposing his bare shoulders as his torso serves as your new blanket, “Tell me ‘bout it, baby.”

Your legs fall open instinctively, making a home for him and only him. A space between your thighs perfectly carved out for the shape and weight of him as he slips into place, hips digging into yours, a homely and familiar position you’ve found yourself in a hundred times before.

It never gets old. It never elicits any less of a reaction from you, always pulling the softest of gasps from your throat as he leans his head down to trail his lips down your exposed neck.

The sound has him pulling you into him a bit more urgently, but his pace never quickens. He’s taking his time. You two have all the time.

A car alarm, distant as could be, sounds off. A voice of a neighbor echos across the trailer park.

Maybe it’s an adoring husband wishing goodbye to his wife for the day. Or a mother, rushing her children for school. There’s a million and one scenarios, thousands of strangers beginning their dreary week, but you only care about the warm welcome of the day that he offers you.

Anything but dreary, even in tired morning light.

“You were kissing my neck,” you say, careful to be as silent as can be, even if it were just the two of you in the room. The world doesn’t need to know you’re awake yet; it doesn’t deserve your attention like he does yet.

His teeth graze unintentionally against the soft spot below your ear, “Like this?”

“Just like that.”

For emphasis, you lift your hips, seeking out his with ease. You can feel him, pronounced as he presses against the thin fabric of your underwear. There’s too many layers between the two of you, too much cotton and linen in the shapes of his t-shirt you’d worn to bed and his damn boxers, but they’ll come off eventually.

Eventually. There’s no rush.

Your head tilts back in a sigh, and he pauses all his kisses to ask, “What next?”

“Keep going,” you squirm, hips continuing to roll, flames of desire lighting in your gut, dancing as soft as the morning light, “Keep going, please.”

The night before, he would have teased your desperation.

But right now, with just you and him and the ghost of sleep, he’s not in the business of taunting.

He listens, a hand coming down to your hip. Not holding it down to the mattress, but simply holding. He lets his thumb slip beneath the t-shirt, lets a rough callous built up from years of guitar and working on his van brush roughly over your skin with the most sensitive of intentions.

Slowly. If the morning wasn’t so heavy still on the two of you, weighing down every movement, slowing every reaction and pacing every adoring kiss, this is the part where the two of you might have grown a bit impatient. More nipping, more bruising gripping, more complaints of going further, further, further.

But today? In this moment? The two of you have time.

A dream sequence of his wandering hands slipping that old faded tee up until it’s finally bunched at your chest, until he’s finally peeling himself away from your body and he’s lifting it over your head. Every move is brimming with a love you never thought possible. A love to swim in, a love to sink into. One with the capability to drown the two of you, but it only breathes a new life into both of your lungs.

When his lips wrap around a nipple and your back arches, that love thrums a bit deeper, coiling up your insides and urging your fingers to tangle up into his curls.

You need him closer.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your skin as he mouths at it, “So, so fucking beautiful.”

The back of your skull digs deeper into a pillow engrained with the shape of your head from years of rest, a soft laugh slipping in between your blissful breaths, “Don’t lie. I’m a mess right now.”

You were. And so was he. In a barely awake, subtle and tired way. Messy hair, messy marks of sleep across cheeks, messy breaths not yet minty from a morning routine the two of you followed like a religion.

His head lifts, eyes glowing in the limited light, “I like your mess. As a matter of fact, I love your mess.”

His hand on your hip squeezes for emphasis.

You look down, wordless as you drink him in. A vision between the pinks dancing through the curtains, a godly presence as the dawn breaks. He’s a salvation, a new beginning and a new ending. He’s everything fairytales had tried to convince you existed in your youth. Prettier than any angel, warmer than any sun.

And he’s yours. In this moment, and in all the next ones.

“I think I can make an even bigger mess of you, though, if you’ll let me,” a devilish smile finally overtakes his features and both of those dimples you’ve become so unintentionally fond of make an appearance.

He dips his head, lowers his voice, lets his lips explore. You nearly pray to the Heavens above as you feel his hand slip from its gentle cupping of your hip, moving to slip nimble fingers beneath the band of your panties — but you don’t. Not a single God would care about what’s happening right now.

Just two people, two souls, twisting up in their bed sheets. Finding each other, finding divinity, before the sun even has a chance to stretch its arms fully over the horizon.

When he sinks lower and his face disappears beneath the cloak of the comforter, you hold your breath. When his mouth finds your cunt over fabric, you release it with a moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, both hands pulling off your underwear, pressing a hard kiss one final time over the cotton before he slips them off, “Keep making those pretty noises for me.”

Your thighs drape over his shoulders, heels digging into his back as he begins his morning worship. All lips and tongue and finding the right places as fast as possible. Not out of a rush, but out of practice. He knows your body like the back of his hand, and he proves it.

He knows exactly how hard to suck on your clit once he’s captured it between his lips. He knows exactly where to trace his tongue, circling your hole in lazy circles, not quite teasing but not quite succumbing as he lets you buck your hips in reckless abandon. When to speed up, when to slow down, when to add a finger and when to let the gravel of his voice vibrate against your core — he knows you. Through every little whimper, through every soft chanting of his name, through every tug of his hair.

And he knows you well enough to know when to stop his ministrations, pulling back only to crawl his way back up your body, his boxers slipping off somewhere in the process.

You’re still all over his lips as he kisses you fervently, slick and sticky and a little tart as his tongue dives into your mouth.

And just as he knows you, you know him.

You’d lied, of course. You hadn’t really had a dream just like this. You can’t even remember how you’d awoken with such want, but all that mattered is you had. You’d woken up to an all-consuming need, even if your half-conscious state, and you’d woken up to him.

Your hand reaches down between the two of you, wrapping around him carefully. Your skin is still cooler than his, it’s always cooler than his in the dead of night, and he hisses at the content.

“I love you, you know?” you quietly confess to your lover, as though it might be a sin, as though it might be the greatest secret to ever be held on a patient tongue.

His skin is nearly velvet under your touch, pliant in your palm as you stroke him. Each movement and twist of your wrist begins to unravel him, his head dropping to the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. Every pant of his breath brushes skin just as his snores had.

Gold litters the shade of sunrise entering the room, but the only warm colors you care to entertain are the ones in his eyes as he finally looks at you and tugs your hand away.

“I love you more.”

You could argue. You could fight him on it, start to rattle off your list of all the things you adore about him, prove that no one has ever loved another person in this lifetime the way that you’ve loved him. The freckle below his right eye, the chip in on of his canines from an accident in his youth, the scar on his left knuckles from the first time he’d tried to do a trick with a butterfly knife at nine years old. The jokes he interrupts your day so kindly with, breaking up the mundane with laughter that seemingly fuels you to carry on with your time until you’ve returned home to just him. The passion that flows inside of him until it pours out over everything sacred to him — his music, his interests, his friends, you. A passionate and devoted man, yours to have and yours to hold.

But you don’t argue the point. You just smile as he kisses you, deep and searching, as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He loves you more, you love him most. He’ll figure it out — eventually.

The stretch of him is pleasurable, just like it always is. Filling you, warming you, making that closer you crave so ardently nearly tangible. Every roll of his hips has him reaching spots inside of you to elicit stars to cloud your vision. The morning light, the white hot pleasure — you don’t care what makes your vision blue. You only care that it does, all your mews and all his groans entangling up in the air.

Your palms slide over the back of his shoulders, your fingers dig into soft skin that you’ll spend the rest of your days memorizing.

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

No prayer has ever been repeated with such need or belief as his name from your lips.

And he returns the favor. Gasping out your name, somehow finding himself just enough in his right mind to continue to whisper sweet nothings against your ear, timing them with his leisurely thrusts.

“So fucking tight and so fucking good to me,” he manages to gasp, digging his hips in a little harsher, “Could stay here forever. Kind of want to stay here forever.”

You don’t know how he’s coherent; you can’t form a single response, eyes rolling, hands clinging to him tighter.

“Look at me when you cum.”

He knows you. He knows you very well. You hadn’t even noticed that coiling in your stomach or the fluttering of your walls when he calls you out, forehead pressing to yours as your eyes open to find his.

It’s not world-shattering when the waves come — it doesn’t have to be. It’s something to wrap around your entire essence, something to soothe and something to coax you into oblivion. Something to get lost in as his movements stutter and his own eyes grow heavy.

He doesn’t close his eyes, and neither do you. Lost in that pleasure, and lost in each other.

You’re still rhythmically clenching around him when he comes, filling you up with warmth, burying deep in you and holding there as his mouth falls open and you're quick to pepper his outstretched neck with kisses. The smallest reminders of all the love you have for him. The gentlest of devotions, sprinkled across the skin of a man who will always know an affection like no other. Not everyone in the world will be so lucky as to know the fondness you offer him, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s how it should be.

Curses spill as his movements slow, before finally stilling. He drops his weight onto you, exhaustion finding its way back into his bones.

There’s things to do, a day to begin. Work and people waiting on you two, responsibilities to worry about and daily mundane accomplishments to achieve. But for now, it’s just the two of you. Awake with the rest of the world, but completely separate as you cradle him and he holds you.

“That was one Hell of a way to wake up, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, and you only throw your head back in a laugh.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #smutty party #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #i just really like the idea of waking up to eddie #especially like this #i wrote this half asleep so it might not be the best my brain wasn't really working #i just needed to write it out before work and before i got out of bed #the run on sentences in this one are strong

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r0b0t1me · 1 year

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You are not supposed to be here. You don’t belong here. Get out get out get out GET OUT-

fanart for chapter 4 of take little bites by @bigdvmnhero

bonus. because i couldnt pick a single scene to draw out LMAO

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt movie #OKAY SO. I COULDNT JUST REBLOG WITH MY DAMN THOUGHTS #I HAD TO GET THEM OUT ON THE CANVAS BECAUSE HAUAUUHGH #.andy. your work inspires color and emotion and imagery so vividly in my head #ive said it before that every sentence is like a brush stroke #and i mean it #theres so much you pack into every word i RAAAGH (BITES IT)#there are so many of them i could pick out but oh my God the last two lines #the simultaneous protectiveness. comfort. and downright Haunting #ill never leave you.............. andy whyd you do this to me #(also. if nobody can tell that i wrote GET OUT with the bg. i will die violently)

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wikiangela · 18 days

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several sentence sunday

tagged by @hippolotamus

sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol just to be clear, im still 10000% about buddie but im gonna enjoy this while it lasts bc I feel like this is exactly what buck needs rn lol I just wanna write him be giddy and stupid and flustered about a boy even if that's not eddie haha (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)

___

"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?

“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.

“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”

“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.

“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend

#seven sentence sunday #no one look at me i gave in i'm officially boarding the bucktommy ship lmao (as in for now lol my heart will always belong to buddie ofc)#ngl i kinda hate like half of what i wrote so far and really wanna rewrite it but we'll see haha #also i still have mixed feelings about tommy calling buck evan but it's growing on me ngl #this is insane what is going on why is tommy/lou just taking over and changing my whole mind rn lmao #I just want buck to be all giddy and flustered and explore this and just be excited about it aahhh im obsessed lol #fic snippet #wikiangela writes #my writing #my wips #911 fic #911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy post-date fic #idk how to tag this lol #btw the beer will lead to some heavy making out bc buck deserves to make out with a cute guy lol

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baalzebufo · 1 year

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more of my awesome bread dough boy

#alloyart #fake peppino #pizza tower #peppino spaghetti #my personal hc is fakey CAN talk! he just mimics and creates a lot of imperfect sentences #also he still makes weird noises and occasionally like. Backwards Italian. but he is generally understandable #not much tag rambling this time... read the thing i wrote about fake peppy on my blog instead im proud of it lol #continuing with my running joke that fake peppino wants to make peppino into a pizza . i think he can kneading him like bread dough #peppy is none the wiser. hes just glad hes so good at massages. really gets the stress knots out

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lizardmonet · 4 months

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too many christians these days talk a lot about Christ’s death but only acknowledge His resurrection like it’s an afterthought. as if that’s some how less important than the fact that He died? yes He died to forgive our sins but it would be meaningless without the resurrection. He came back from the dead and inaugurated the Kingdom of God here on earth. He kicked off the new redeemed humanity. He defeated death.

quit leaving Jesus on the cross.

#i just saw a post about how to share the gospel #and they dwelled on the death for a whole paragraph then wrote ONE (1) sentence on the resurrection #THATS THE MAIN PART #HE IS RISEN FROM THE DEAD #everyone dies!!! that’s not what made Him special!!!#personal #im having a weird month #christianity

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piratekane · 25 days

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(post-3x05 kacy scene)

Warm fingertips press down against the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, a melody she knows that she knows but can’t quite place in the early grey of the morning, the sun rising, muted, through the low clouds outside the window. She was asleep a minute ago and there’s a dream quickly fading away as her eyes open slowly and the room shifts into focus.

“Morning,” Kate whispers, still sunken in her pillow.

“G’morning.” Lucy pulls the words from the back of her throat like she’s pulling cotton from a cattail. “Time s’it?”

Kate doesn’t roll over to check her phone. “Early,” she guesses. “Too early for our day off.”

A day off. A present for her jungle excursion, courtesy of Tennant. A whole day to let her body come down from the high of being chased through thick vegetation with a life hanging delicately in her hands. Lucy lets her eyes close again and sinks back into her pillow. She goes back to focusing on Kate’s fingers looped carefully around the wrist between them. Tap, tap, taptap. Tap, tap. A song, then. One that she knows but can’t quite place.

“Is that Boot Scootin Boogie?”

Kate exhales a short laugh. “Taylor Swift.”

“Who else would it be?” Lucy feels the bed shift as Kate slides a little closer. She can feel the soft heat coming off Kate’s bare arms and wants to reach for it, pull it back over her, close her eyes and slip back into sleep for just a little bit longer.

It was a long day yesterday, her nerves pulled to their breaking point. When she stepped over the threshold to their apartment, the weight she had been working so hard to push off came crashing down on her. She doesn’t remember tasting the pizza Kate ordered, doesn’t remember picking Love is Blind on the TV or queuing up where they left off. She doesn’t remember brushing her teeth or turning out the light.

She does remember Kate’s body warm behind her on the couch, her own body pressed to Kate’s front as they sat wrapped up in each other. She remembers Kate’s arms and how they wrapped low around her waist in bed and held her tightly. She remembers soft lips to her bare shoulder and I love you against her skin as she let the exhaustion take over.

She remembers the Kate of it all, the steady and warm and loving presence she’s come to need like oxygen in her lungs. She remembers the overwhelming feeling of love—one she thought she’d never find in a million years.

“I could sleep another hundred hours,” she admits, eyes still closed.

She feels Kate’s smile against the back of her hand. “You can. We have nothing planned today.”

The thought is so tempting. She could pull Kate’s arms around her, drape them over her like the light comforter they’re sharing, and let herself sink back into sleep. It’s not too far off; she could reach for it and be asleep in moments.

But Kate is awake and tapping out a Taylor Swift song against her pulse point and that usually means banana pancakes and a Golden Girls marathon and pressing Kate against the counter edge and kissing her until either their lungs start to burn or the pancakes start to smoke. Lucy loves those mornings and the way Kate tastes like the bites of bananas she snuck before mixing them into the batter.

“Did I dream yesterday?”

“Only if we were having the same nightmare.” Kate’s free hand pushes back some of Lucy’s hair. “Otherwise, it was real.”

Lucy slides her foot forward, curling her ankle around Kate’s calf. “I thought so.” She opens one eye, studying Kate’s profile. She’s committed it to memory by now. “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“It did,” Kate murmurs. “That very much happened.”

Lucy sighs. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. She can see it vividly in her mind and she closes her eyes against it again, trying to fill it with Kate—Kate so close and so warm.

“I’m not ready to talk yet,” she admits. She isn’t. She can’t. She’s still working through her family in her own mind; she can’t possibly put into words what they’re like and what they’ve done to her and to each other.

“We don’t have to talk.” Kate’s voice is soft and genuine and Lucy thinks again—again and again—how lucky she is. “We can just lay here. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

Lucy knows Kate isn’t lying. She knows Kate won’t push and she won’t prod and she’ll let Lucy set the pace for when and where and how. And it sounds perfect—a whole day in bed with Kate and their bodies pressed close together, hidden away from the world.

But someone told her to live her life yesterday. Someone who had the courage to throw theirs to the wind and start over from scratch. Someone who proved that there are still good people in the world who want to do what’s right for the sake of doing the right thing. And even if she can’t talk about it yet, even if she’s not ready to unlock the ugly parts of her past and lay them out on the table, she’s not going to lay in bed all day and let the world just pass her by.

“No.” She opens both eyes, staring deeply into Kate’s brown ones. “Let’s get up. We can make pancakes.”

“Banana or blueberry?”

“Both,” she says, feeling greedy and not caring. “And bacon. And toast. And—“

Kate laughs. “Okay. Remember we can only eat so much.”

“I can eat so much. I’m from—“

“Texas, yes.” Kate laughs again and leans in, kissing Lucy softly and pulling away too soon.

Lucy thinks about chasing her, pressing her deep into the mattress and not stopping until she has to come up for air. But she settles on letting Kate pull away and slide out of bed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail that exposes the long line of her neck. In her thin tank top and her soft shorts, no one has ever looked more beautiful than Kate does right now.

Lucy may be holding some things back, may be keeping some things close to the vest, but this? This she wants to scream from the rooftops. This she wants everyone to know. This she wants to tell Kate.

“I love you.”

Kate looks back over her shoulder, a smile on her face that threatens to break through the grey clouds outside their window. “I love you too.”

Live your life, Lucy Tara.

Lucy smiles as she gets up and stretches her arms above her head, feeling the tension break in her shoulders. She is going to live her life. She’s going to take every moment and hold it tightly in her hands. She’s going to love Kate with every part of her that’s capable of it and when she’s ready she’ll tell Kate everything she wants to know.

“Lucy?”

Lucy looks up. “Hmm?”

“I said, we can make toast too. If you want.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she smiles. “Life is too short to skip the toast.”

Kate rolls her eyes, pulling the sheet back up on the bed. “Where did you read that?”

“That’s a Lucy Tara quote, free of charge.” She winks when Kate laughs and scrubs her hair back off her neck into a bun. “There’s more where those came from, by the way.”

“Lucky me,” Kate grumbles, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Lucy says softly. “Lucky you.” She holds Kate’s eyes for a moment. “Lucky us.”

Kate’s smile slips into shy before she clears her throat and gives the neatly-made bed one last pat. “Lucky us,” she echoes. She slips out of the bedroom and heads towards the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

Lucy watches her walk away and thinks: this is a good life. This is a life worth living.

She follows Kate.

#ncis: hawai'i #kacy #kate whistler #lucy tara #post-ep shenanigans #a next morning run-on sentence that won't let me go #i wrote this in my notes app during a family easter dinner so excuse me i was in the middle of passing the peas when this idea came to me #actually it was mashed potatoes and my cousin wouldn't shut up about tswift and i was like get me outtttttta here #and since my brain is kacy-mush anyway this just happened #k bye <3

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mishapen-moth · 7 months

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hey folks is it gay to turn you and your transitive best friend invisible and take her for a lil fly over the nightmare forest to try and get some info on it during the absolute rager of a party your friends are throwing (that she started so you would stay) and then kiss in a tree before she skateboards away?

#rewatching fhsy is destroying my sanity #watched crustaceans and crushes at 3am and wrote this in my notes app #another banger. another banger by shayne from icarly /ref #no just another banger from ur local cryptid (me)#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fig faeth #figeroth faeth #ayda aguefort #figayda #my girls my girls my girls #i have fanart of them on my wall this is very serious business #the reactions from the peanut gallery are THE BEST for figayda #‘YES-UH! YES-UH! I BA-LESS! THIS UNION-UH!’#‘just two young sheldons making out’#there’s something so healing about a group of grown ass adults celebrating fig’s game #fig has game and the intrepid heroes are as proud of her as the bad kids (don’t think about that sentence too hard pls n thank u)#brennan lee mulligan #emily axford #lou wilson #zac oyama #brian murphy #ally beardsley #siobhan thompson #god. GOD #never not read the tags

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writing-for-whoever-listens · 28 days

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Random Prompts 10

"When the voices tell me to do something, nine times out of ten I'm gonna do it. I don't know why you think I won't."

"This is ridiculous." "I totally agree. What sort of gala has someone dressed like that?"

"Does this seem like too much for a raiding party or?" "That is an evening gown." "I know, I've never been invited to one of these before, so I'm asking for advice."

"Do you really need seventeen copies of the same dagger?" "Yes. I get a new one each time I kill someone."

"Why do I have to be the decoy?" "Because you're hot. All decoys are hot." "... Did you just call me attractive?" "Was I not supposed to?"

"I think we bit off more than we could chew with this one." "Oh, really? Did the voices tell you that too?"

"Spending a night behind bars before my execution was not how I planned my evening going." "Shame for your new plans of moping until you're dead, because that won't be happening."

"Did you have to destroy everything on the way out?" "I'm sending a message!" "What message? 'Hey we broke out, fuck you'?"

"Are you still mad at me?" "You are a thief and a crook and almost got me killed last night." "So... that's a maybe?"

"Next time, we'll plan better. That was kinda sketchy." "Next time?"

#writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing #my prompts #prompt list #prompts #conversation prompts #otp prompts #sentence prompts #otp prompt #dialouge prompts #random prompt #random prompts #this one may have a theme but i just wrote it out tbh #train of thought #assassin vibes #or criminal vibes

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the-solar-system52 · 4 months

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INK DEMON AND BENDY THEORY

So Bendy's official Instagram account just posted something very interesting, and I want to theorise about it!

For awhile the social media account for Bendy have been doing these posts where Bendy takes a photo of a location from BATDR and steals an item from that location, and people have to guess what he took. I thought it was just an unimportant game to give the social media managers something to do, like Steelwool's 'Guess The Sketch', but now it's actually important.

The picture shows that Bendy built all his stolen items in the shape of his Ink Demon form, with an interesting caption. Some fans have took this post to mean that Ink Demon ordered small Bendy to make a statue of him, but I don't think that's true.

I'm a big fan of the "Bendy is the Ink Demon with the mind of a child, and they are NOT seperate people" theory, and I don't think this post disproves that.

So if you know my past TPOH and FNAF theories, then you know its time for another round of:

SOLAR NEEDLESSLY OVERANALYZING THE GRAMATICAL STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES TO MAKE A THEORY EVEN THOUGH MOST PEOPLE DON'T PAY THAT MUCH ATTENTION TO HOW THEY PHRASE THINGS

Lets dissect this single sentence like a frog!!

"His inner Ink Demon is always on his mind-"

If Joey Drew Studios had phrased this as "IN his mind", then I see how this would be more literal. Meaning that the Ink Demon is a separate entity to Bendy and is literally living IN his mind.

But they didn't, they said "ON his mind". This phrase is usually used more metaphorically. If I'm hungry, I can say that dinner is 'on my mind', but that doesn't mean my dinner is actuallly INSIDE my brain. All this means is that Bendy has been thinking about his memories of his Ink Demon form, and therefore made a statue of him when he looked like that. Possibly to try and communicate his complicated feelings through art, or maybe he collected those specific items almost subconsciously.

Second of all, if the Ink Demon really was ordering Bendy around from inside his mind to make that statue for him, then I don't think it looks right. In BATIM, there are multiple shrines made by followers of the Ink Demon like Sammy, that look more demonic. As you can see, Bendy's statue doesn't look anything like that. Not a candle or pentagram in site! I feel like if this was made by the request of the Ink Demon, it would look way more like the ones from BATIM. But it doesn't! Instead, I think it looks more like it was made by Bendy on his own accord, like a children's drawing.

"His inner Ink Demon-"

Again, Joey Drew Studios decided to take the less-literal more-metaphorical route of this phrasing. If they just said "THE ink demon" then it would imply the Ink Demon as his own separate entity. But saying "inner" when referring to a buried memory of someone's past is not uncommon to do for regular use as well. For example, if I draw cats a certain way then I can say it's my "inner warrior cats fan" coming out. That doesn't mean there's actually a warrior cats fan inside my brain ordering me around, it's symbolic.

"on his mind, searching for an exit."

This also doesn't disprove my theory. The Keepers technology is preventing him from turning into his Ink Demom form. This means he can't use his powers and is weaker and smaller. It's clear he at least vaguely remembers what the Keepers did to him because of how scared he is of the GENT building.

Since he is in an incredibly hostile environment, it's no surprise he'd be thinking of a time where he wasn't as vulnerable. And he would also be trying to find a way to be strong again, in his own child-like way. Which explains the statue.

Personally, I find this all way more interesting then "rrr ink demon scary rrr", but to each their own.

I have more evidence for my "Bendy is the Ink Demon with the mind of a child, and they are NOT seperate people" theory outside of this instagram description, but I've already written enough for this post. I may make another post about it but we'll see. Please comment if you have anything else to add ^^

#I really need to get a hobby #I just wrote an entire tumblr post analysing ONE SENTENCE about my hyperfixation #batim #batim bendy #bendy #bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #batdr #batdr bendy #the ink demon #batim theory #batdr theory #batdr the ink demon

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pup-pee · 3 months

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i feel so sick imma lye downn icufuudoyggggggvvhhbbbb

this is the only jacket on kons that isnt dystroyed, it doesnt have the jacket curse tryst me bc i say so

also take some kon sketches idk

thing that gave idea

#idk what im doing i feel baaadddd #need 2 stop looking @ screen gn #i think i just got stress sock thats so gfrrfggdrAAAAA #konbart #kart #dc #puppee art #bart allen #kon el #impulse #superboy #mayb 1 day ill wrote a coherent sentence about the jacket

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lifeonvenuswriting · 7 months

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Guys you don't understand I NEED more Simon petrikov x reader content I can't do it by myself.

#what if i made a google doc and we all just wrote one long crack fic on it sentence by setence like a game of telephone #simon petrikov #fionna and cake #simon petrikov x reader

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sudsyv2 · 1 year

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Ghost, ever since he and soap made their relationship known to their friends, has been very touchy with soap.

Now physical touch isn’t his preferred type of love language, but he does like touching soap so it could be a close second.

Anyhow, skinship! Ghost initiates it every time soap is near him.

Ghost never misses the opportunity too either, always seeking out the smaller man. It was a little different when they hid their relationship, it was ghost waiting for soap to find him. But ever since they revealed their relationship, it’s been ghost actively searching for the scot. It was like he had a radar or something.

And when soap walks in the room, or ghost can hear that laugh of his, ghost perks up immediately. Getting up from his spot to follow the sound of his lover. No matter what he was doing at the time, putting everything down was only natural when you’re in love. And when ghost finally sees soap? He’s all over his lover. The need to feel soaps skin under his hands is overwhelming.

Simple touches and hand holding lights up that possessive fire in ghost. He wants to pull soap into his arms, keep him there, and order anyone else near to back the fuck up.

And soap is always encouraging it.

Enjoying the feeling of being held by ghost, feeling ghosts hands run over his body.

It’s even worse when ghost is drinking!

Ghost won’t let soap out of his reach and sight. If soaps needs to go do something, ghost is going to come along as well. What if there’s something soap can’t reach? Or too heavy for him? That’s why ghost is next to him, ready to offer help for his lover! (Yes these are all half assed excuses drunk ghost has used when people ask why he’s always following soap)

It would be kinda cute if ghost didn’t have a reputation of being terrifying!

And when ghost finally gets a hold of soap? He is not letting go.

(“Si. Dear. Love of my life. Let me go change!” Soap begged, shifting around in ghosts hold. Nose scrunching up at the aroma of alcohol coming off of his lover. Soap has known for some time how ghost gets drunk, but he’d really like to change out of his sweaty clothes please. “…nah” Ghost mumbled, burying his head deeper into the side of soaps neck. He didn’t mind the smell, they’re men in the military. Sweat is natural. So, despite soaps pleads, Ghost tightens his hug. Holding soap even closer now. Ghost smiled with a smug grin hearing soap sigh in defeat. And if soap really wanted to ghost to let go, he’d obviously fight back. )

Alcohol is called liquid courage for a reason! So there’s a lack of shame in ghost when he pulls soap into his lap. Hands mindlessly roaming under soaps shirt every damn time. If ghosts hands aren’t under soaps shirt it’s on his ass. Groping and squeezing at the round flesh like it’s a fucking stress toy. But if ghost can’t be near soap, he’d give the other his jacket. Forcing the other to wear it so when ghost gets back, soap smells like him. And no one else. (Ghost almost cried when he got back to soap and soap smelled like someone else. Ghost says he doesn’t remember this but soap does. He has pictures!)

Anyways, ghost is touchy. And will be. Gift giving is his main love language but who said there can’t be two? No one!

Soap knows this. It’s what he signed up for in their relationship so 😙

#ghostsoap #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap cod #ghost cod #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish #drunk ghost is just a big baby #soap is an enabler lol #ghost isn’t badass he isn’t even baby girl he’s just a pathetically drunk man in love #been some time since I wrote a longer post #I’ve been doing one sentence shit posts 😭#there are two types of ways to write ghost #edgy dangerous and with a dark past who’s slowly coming out of his shell and learning to be human #and just him being silly #sudsyv2

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wikiangela · 5 months

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inspiration saturday/seven sentence sunday

tagged by @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus (tagging y'all back for seven sentence sunday <33)

still trying to get back to writing and currently jumping between wips again lol - and I made a lil moodboard for the cheating fic + title reveal haha - for once I have a title waaaay before I'm gonna finish the fic - it's the line that inspired this whole fic but a bit edited, from mgk's 'loco' (the og line is 'got a man at home but she loves the way I taste')

prev snippet

___

and a lil snippet:

“Uh, yeah, I guess it was.” Buck finally responds, quickly getting out of bed and taking his pillow with him and covering himself. He feels too exposed like that, standing in front of Eddie, but he needs to put some distance between them. “It was- it was a-” his voice shakes, he feels like his body is physically trying to stop him from saying these words, “a drunken mistake. It doesn’t- it won’t change anything, right?” he finally looks at Eddie, who’s staring at him with wide, sad eyes, and Buck has no time or energy to read into it right now. “It doesn’t have to be weird.” he sounds pleading, begging, just needing Eddie to say that they can get back to normal and pretend it never happened.

“No, of course.” Eddie’s voice sounds hoarse, and he clears his throat, a faint smile on his face. “We were drunk, it was- it was nothing. Let’s just forget anything happened.” Eddie’s words sting. Buck was hoping for them, but they still hurt, and he immediately wants him to take it back, he wants to backtrack on what he said earlier, he wants to- he really needs to get a fucking grip and sort out his feelings.

no pressure tags (it's already sunday here so tagging y'all for seven sentence sunday): @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks

#buddie cheating fic #poor buck is still spiraling and im enjoying writing this way too much lmao i don't even like cheating fics wtf haha #inspiration saturday #seven sentence sunday #fic: got a girl at home (but I love the way you taste)#moodboard #fic moodboard #wikiangela writes #buddie fic #buddie #buddie wip #fic snippet #my wips #rn im focusing on 4 fics - this + natalia fic + married buddie + alive shannon #no idea which one of the oneshots will be done first i just go where inspiration takes me lol #also i might have gotten another new idea yesterday but i wrote it down and not touching it until one of these is done lol #i still suck at moodboards but ngl they're fun to make haha

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ourfag · 5 months

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i think part of the resistance i’ve seen in response to the view of ed as an abuse victim—not just the view of izzy as someone who abused ed, but of ed as someone who was abused by him, as opposed to interpretations that pursue an image of Nuance and Complexity (unnecessarily, because their dynamic has heaps of both, but there seems to be a popular impulse to conflate complexity with shared culpability) by characterizing their relationship as being toxic/unhealthy in equal reciprocity, or as “mutually abusive” (oxymoron)—i definitely see the influence of racism there, but i think the racism is also working to amplify an adjacent issue where we tend to receive very specific cultural messaging about What An Abuse Victim Looks Like, and ed is excluded from a lot of that criteria.

he’s outspoken. he’s boisterous. he’s Very Cool and he Wears Leather. he’s physically bigger and browner than the person mistreating him. he spends the first season with a big grey beard, he’s covered in tattoos, he projects the image of A Man’s Man, to say nothing of his being a man in the first place. we see him get aggressive and we see him get angry (and sometimes we even see both at the same time). we see moments where he’s surly, prickly, insensitive, arrogant. his survival techniques and trauma responses incur collateral damage to other people, and in the second season this extends into affecting people we actually sympathize with. he’s extremely private about expressing fear. without examination, his professional relationship to izzy seems to position him as the one with the power slanted in his favor.

most damningly, we see him react multiple times to izzy’s abuse with physical violence. this is behavior that gets referenced all the time in the construction of narratives condemning subjects of physical abuse, let alone emotional abuse. which is why writing that intends for its audience to interpret a character as being unambiguously A Victim Of Abuse will often, for simplicity’s sake, avoid showing the character regularly engaging in anything of the kind.

and again, all of these departures from the image of The Model Victim are compounded by his being a man of color.

without any of the shorthand designed to point a big flashing arrow at his mistreatment, all we have left to work with are the words and actions we see from ed and izzy onscreen. who instigates conflict, and how does the other respond? how are they able or allowed to respond? how do we see them speak about each other to outside parties? does one go out of their way to control or isolate the other? what consequences does either party stand to face in saying “no” to the other? in acting against the other’s wishes? in trying to leave the relationship? when either of them attempts these things, how do we see the other respond?

i realize and appreciate what people are driving at when they garnish their analysis with disclaimers that they’re not saying ed’s just a poor innocent abuse victim, they’re not saying he’s a perfect angel who’s never done anything wrong, and that’s true, but these are points already contained implicitly in statements like “this show’s protagonists act like human people” and “ed’s emotional struggles are portrayed in a realistic and believable way.” my assumption is that these disclaimers are anticipatory responses to worst-faith interpretations of any discussion that attributes any victim status to ed whatsoever, so i definitely sympathize with their inclusion, but a (very small) part of me still worries about them potentially reflecting or reinforcing a belief that there is any way for someone to behave towards their abuser that imparts a responsibility for them to make right whatever damage the abuser receives, or for that matter any degree of ambiguity over their status as an abuse victim in the first place.

part of what i find so gratifying about ed as a character is that i don’t feel like the show’s writing is pressuring me to consider that ambiguity at all. which was a really nice thing for me to discover!

and tbh—did using ed to deconstruct The Model Victim even factor into the writers’ agenda?? ive got no clue. im guessing no? ??maybe?? probably not?? but if you create a main character whose central premise is that he feels trapped in a performance of exaggerated masculinity that he’s desperate to escape, and then you set him up with a character premised on embodying a tangible obstacle against that escape, then i guess that’s the natural shape your story’s gonna be inclined to take

#man thats a lot of words when i couldve just said ‘im not an ed apologist bc he has nothing to apologize for’ and yalld get the message #had to get it off my chest though #abuse tw #sorry about the verbosity Im Aware. Its An Ongoing Issue #this is actually after i went through and edited to make it as concise as possible #the good news is ive finally managed to limit myself to a mere half dozen commas per sentence #the bad news is all these words are mush in my brain now and i can barely tell if theyre actually saying anything #are any of these paragraphs related to one another? i dont fuckin know #i do know i agreed with them when i wrote them though #am i procrastinating in the tags because im nervous about posting this? maybe. shut up #im gonna go do todays wordle

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