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#late night confessions

inklessletter · 1 year

Text

Faith, should I take a leap?

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He’s never been. He was raised on it, he drank it since he was born. Eddie wasn’t even a teenager when he had to hide under his bed, or in the closet, or in the kitchen cabinet, next to the filthy trash can, so the piece of shit that was his biological father wouldn’t beat the fuck out of him. He was way too young to feel lucky when he came back home way later than he should, in the hope of finding his dad passed out on the couch, drugs filling his system. He can’t really make out any childhood memory that isn’t somehow based on fear. Not at home. Not at school. Certainly not a birthday. Not in the brief time he spent in foster care. Not even when his uncle Wayne showed up to take him home. God, especially when Wayne came into his life. He was terrified when he claimed him. Wayne, all awkward and candid, and full of “it’s okay”s and “you’re safe now”s. Wayne, with his pats in the head, and one-armed hugs. Wayne, with his consistency in worrying about him eating enough greens and doing his homework everyday. Wayne and his weird, rare habit of not yelling at him, or spitting at him, or slapping him when he spilled his juice. Wayne, who definitely didn’t beat him, or held him by the neck against the mattress to haphazardly shave his curls calling him a queer, a faggot, when he saw him and his friend Mark Harvest holding hands at the age of fucking seven.

It took awhile for Eddie to understand that “the lucky days”, as in those in which he wouldn’t get beaten, was his new normality. Wayne has saved him from that kind of brutal, dehumanizing fear that built Eddie, in a way. The kind of terror that he couldn’t hide from, or run away from, not really, not when his age was barely reaching double digits. He was starting to make peace with it, with trusting Wayne, falling asleep in the coziness of finding himself finally at home. Feeling safe, cradled, taken care of. Yet Eddie woke up that one night screaming from a nightmare. Wayne came to his room, to see Eddie making himself as small as he possibly could, in the furthest corner of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, please, don’t hit me. Please, I didn’t mean to—” Eddie sobbed.

The pleas hung in his mouth as an echo of a past life, begging mercy to a hand that belonged to a man who first asked him if it was okay to touch him. A person who asked for permission. Like it mattered.

That night, Wayne taught him that fear might never go away, but he could fight it. He could armor up himself. He could find something that grounded him. He could run away, because when you’re in danger, there’s no shame in running. He could face it if he felt ready for it. He could ignore it. He could do a great number of things with it.

“It gets to us all eventually. Fear, that is. We all fear something. And we all deal with it differently, but you’ll learn to face it and grow stronger. We all do, in the end. And it’s okay. It’s okay that you figure out the best way for you to face your fears, kid. This is a safe place for you to do it.”

So, he came back to the warmth of his bed, and let himself fall asleep with that thought in mind. He had a safe space to experiment how to face his demons. That night he really learnt what feeling lucky was like.

And he did just that. He came back to school and it wasn’t as frightening anymore. He’d come from an abusive home, and a school bully that was his own age was absolutely nothing. He built up. He taught himself how to look bigger, how to be louder, how to exist unapologetically. It took him years to perfect it. He dressed in dark, aggressive colors, sizes bigger, many layers, leather and cut off denim. He listened to loud, angry music, sung by loud, angry people that screamed loud enough to drown his terrors. He read fantasy, and adventures, and found it extremely exciting learning how different heroes and characters in his stories overcame his past, and his demons. Fuck living in crippling fear. Fuck hostile environments. Fuck buzzed hair, and black and blue skin, and being small. Fuck being silent. And most of all, fuck not feeling safe.

So when he was sixteen, he made his personal goal to create a safe spot, fear free. He’s gotten really good at detecting fear in people’s eyes. Like, really quickly. So there he was, founding a D&D club at school, retrieving lost souls with fearful eyes, giving them some space to create their own adventures, their own heroes, in which they projected their own tragedies to overcome, so they, themselves, could destroy them. So they could be bigger, grow stronger from their very own history. He could be that helping hand, he decided. He would guide them, he would listen carefully enough, he would learn about what decisions they usually made and throw monsters in their way that helped them to get out of that comfort zone, and face the danger. All in a safe space. A healthy one. He could do that. He knew how, he’d been there; he got out. He could help others find the way.

Fuck, he even found a way to provide (illegal) substances to help some fearful kids to get out of their own minds for awhile. Not that anyone would believe that his first intentions were honest, all loud and obnoxious that he was, all metal music, horns signs and ‘fuck the system, fuck the cops’. Not that anyone would believe that he really didn’t need the money, living in a trailer park in Forest Hills, not when he had a place to sleep and someone was actually filling the fridge. Not that anyone would actually believe him. Not that he cared, at this point. Not that anyone, in fact, asked. Business was good, and parties at Loch Nora were usually where he got most of his income, but there was in the middle of fucking Nowhere, Indiana, a hell lot of kids that bought weed from him because their minds were a scary place to be alone. Like, way too many underage kids asking for a way out to just be nobody’s problem. And there were at least twice as much pair of eyes looking the other fucking way.

So, yeah. Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew that people dealt with fear in different ways. Eddie was fully aware that it made people raw, uncomfortable, wanting to run away, or towards it. But most of all, most of fucking all, Eddie fucking knew that you need a danger free environment to learn your ways. He knew what fear could do to people that felt unsafe.

“They’re just scared, man”, Eddie said, low and breathy, shaky hand holding a half smoked cigarette. “I get it.”

Steve Harrington did not. Steve fucking Harrington did not get it. Not like Eddie. There was no fear in those hazel pupils of his. Which made absolutely no sense. Not with all Eddie knew those eyes had witnessed, not with every story that Dustin Henderson filled him in that involved Steve. Not with what he knew Steve had gone through.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t.”

Steve let out a shaky breath, in the middle of the night, and took the cigarette from Eddie’s fingers to take a long drag. He looked into the void, brows furrowed at the top of the roof next to his bedroom. The sky was clear, the summer was approaching fast. He held the smoke in his lungs.

“I don’t know how you are so chill about it. Half this fucking town hunted you down, Munson.”

Eddie chuckled, tearing his gaze apart from the guy next to him, focusing on the blue eerie haze coming from Harrington's pool.

“The other half didn’t.”

There was silence, but Eddie couldn’t really measure how long neither of them spoke. Might have been two minutes, or thirty. Steve broke it first.

“I didn’t expect that you were the type to see the glass half full.”

“Did you expect things from me, Harrington?” Eddie teased.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, granting him a glance. “Shocks me to the core that you're a helpless optimist, though.”

“Why? Because I dress in black, and talk loud, and hate authorities? Or is it because I ran away when a minor fucking died in my living room? Is that it? Is it because I ran away, Harrington? Because I’m a coward? I’ve got news for you, Steve; that’s not expectation, that’s called prejudice.”

That earned him a look from Steve. And man, what a look. Eddie didn’t raise his voice, but from the way Steve was looking at him, dead in the eye, mouth hanging, he seemed pretty much offended. Eddie couldn’t foresee if he wanted to punch his face.

“That—That’s not it, Munson. Far from it.”

And with that, he looked away. If Eddie didn’t know better, he could say that Steve’s cheeks were growing darker, embarrassed, maybe.

“Then, why—”

“I can’t conceive that you’re so calm about it. How are you not freaking out? It’s just—” Steve cut himself, trying to find the words. His voice did a weird, wobbly thing that Eddie couldn’t identify. Eddie didn’t pressure him, waiting patiently so he could find the words he was desperately looking for to express himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and yet half Hawkins still give you those looks, and it’s fucking infuriating. Yeah. And you’re not—you’re not even angry, man. You’re not even mad about it. I’m mad about it. I’m fucking upset about it!”

Steve didn’t look at him while he spoke. He raised his tone a little bit at the end, and Eddie’s gut did something funny. He’s seen people get angry, and mad and upset at him, but he didn’t remember if someone has ever felt that way on his behalf. What a time to live in.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, Eddie. It is not okay. Don’t say it is, don’t fucking dare to say it’s okay, man. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this shit. Just—please. Please.”

And there it was, the missing fear in his eyes. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this, he has said. Like you deserve this. Something clicked, and the knot that was forming in Eddie’s throat fell heavily to the pit of his stomach.

“Harrington—”

“You don’t deserve this. It is not your fault. It is not.”

Steve still didn’t look straight at him, all brows furrowed, distant look and blue underlight. Steve didn’t look at him while his fear was showing through his voice, and probably, through his eyes, too.

“I know that. I know it’s not my fault, and of course I’m angry. I just—I just can’t blame them, y’know? I can’t blame them for being scared. They fucking think I killed her, like I summoned a fucking demon to tear her apart. I’m not exactly thrilled either for being the object of their fear, but—I don’t know, man, it gets to us all. Fear, that is.”

Eddie parroted those very same words that Wayne told him that night all those years ago, probably because they got tattooed to his very soul as soon as he heard them. With this, Steve turned his gaze to Eddie, so straightforward, so piercing, that made Eddie feel a little bit lightheaded.

“Tell me ‘I don’t deserve this.’ I wanna hear it.” Steve lowered his voice, discarding the roach of the cigarette.

“Who the fuck would think they deserve a hell like this?”

“Please—”

“I don’t think I deserve it, okay? I don’t. I’m just saying that I get it. I know what fear does to people. That's all I’m sayin’. Jesus fucking Christ. Why would you think I’d agree to a fucking mob after my ass to burn me on a stake, huh? Who would—”

And he stopped. He stopped dead because now he could see the source of Steve’s fear. He could see now, in the gleam of his eyes what Steve was afraid of.

“Steve, I’m not—I don’t think I deserve it. I really, really don’t, okay? Fuck, I need you to believe me when I say I’m not there. Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

“Not even fucking close, okay, man? Oh, my god.”

Eddie felt a tingle creeping from the tips of his fingers, a thin coat of cold sweat damp his forehead. The air grew thin as he learned to read the fear in Steve’s eyes. As he understood.

“Why did you think I felt this way, Harrington? Why—fuck, Steve, why did you assume that?”

Eddie spoke softly, trying to swallow the thickness in his throat, trying for it to go to the pit of his stomach, as it happened before.

“You weren’t expressing any emotions that I thought you’d show,” Steve said, almost apologetically. “You weren’t getting angry, or scared, or—”

“Loud, or obnoxious, or fighting the system. I see it now.” Eddie smiled, and Steve almost smiled, too. “So you became angry and scared for me?” Eddie’s voice was slim, barely audible. A tightness grew in his chest.

“I just—I didn’t want you to feel like this thing was some sort of karmic response, or any kind of cosmic atonement that you deserved. You—You just don’t. This situation, this is all fucked up. I just wanted you to understand it.”

“I know. I do.”

“Good. Cool.”

The question that Eddie was willing to ask was boiling in his mouth. He had a feeling that he didn’t want to really confirm. He didn’t really want to, because if what he was thinking was true, well, fuck him. That would break his fucking heart. It took him a full minute to speak again.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why—Why were you afraid that I felt that way?”

Because I know how it feels, and it’s awful.

Because that goes along with deeply hating yourself.

Because I care about you.

None of the options that lied unspoken comforted Eddie. Not a single fucking one of them. Every one of them scared the shit out of Eddie’s guts. But Eddie, you see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew what fear could do to people. Eddie knew the many very ways someone could react to fear. And by the way Steve was keeping his mouth shut was a clear answer.

“It’s not your fault either. What happened to me, or what happened to you. You understand that, right?”

Steve snorted, still not looking at him. That sound might pass as the breaking of an hysterical laughter, but not a muscle in his face indicated that. Eddie noted that he was holding himself in the middle, and that his fingertips were white. Steve swallowed around nothing. He must have had that knot in his throat, too.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh, come on, Steve. Give me a break. You don’t really think that a bunch of douchebags murderers paid by the fucking government for experimenting on kids that eventually tore an opening in time and space to another dimension was really your fault, do you?”

That earned Eddie something closer to a laugh, but Steve didn’t look apart from the pool.

“Not that, no. But—”

And he fell silent again. Under the blue lights of the pool, so still, not blinking, his face morphing into an unreadable expression, Steve seemed a statue. One of those that appeared in the Art History books, an old Greek god or something. All perfect locks and gorgeous factions and sad eyes fixed into the void. When Eddie realized that he was staring, he tore away his gaze. He wondered if Steve could see that his cheeks were getting darker, too.

“Do you know what happened to Barb?” Steve asked, mimicking the soft tone, still not looking at Eddie. “Have we—Have we told you what really happened?”

So, that was it. Eddie knew what he’d been told, though. She died in 1983, attacked by one of those creatures from the underworld. She was Nancy Wheeler’s best friend. A year or so after that it was told by the news that she was accidentally killed by a chemical leak. And that she died in Steve Harrington’s pool in a clandestine party. He only got to learn the mystical part a few months back, when Dustin told him briefly about it. Eddie nodded, quietly.

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“She was there, you know?” Steve pointed at the pool with his head. “I saw the picture that Jonathan took of her, and she was there alone, sitting in the pool, when she was attacked.”

“Hm.”

“I was in my room having sex with Nancy. Barb—she got hurt, Nancy told her to leave, but Barb stayed there, alone and bleeding. For Nance. And I was fucking Nancy Wheeler.”

Eddie looked over at the blue pool, and let Steve talk. His voice was tight.

“The worst part is that at that time Will was still missing, and I fucking slept after. Nancy went back home on her own. I didn’t even drive her back. Didn’t even fucking offered. That thing could’ve gotten her, too, and I was fucking asleep. How fucked up is that?” Steve stopped to visibly ease the knot in his throat, and by the force of his attempts, it must have been a killer one. Still, Eddie didn’t interrupt him, just let him space to find the words. “I didn’t even have the excuse of not knowing that something fucked up was going on in Hawkins, there was a middle schooler missing, and nobody knew fucking why.”

Steve tightened the grip in his own arms, and took a deep breath. Eddie looked at him for a bare second. His eyes were glassy, and his back was stiffened.

“I have no excuse for that. I have no excuse for what I did after that. I was seventeen, I should’ve known better. I didn’t know what to do with—with that. With what I did, I mean. Nancy saw the bullshit I was, the shitty person I was, trying to ignore what happened. I tried so fucking hard, Eddie. So hard. For her. For Nancy. To—to cover up for what I did to her, to Barb. I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t—I just—”

Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie could recognize it quickly and easily in other people’s eyes. Eddie could read the dormant terror, the trauma, in Steve’s voice, without even looking at him. Eddie could feel Steve’s knot in the throat, his voice growing thinner and shaky, the hard, white knuckles grip. Eddie was no stranger to Steve’s fear.

“Nance knew what to do with that feeling. She used it to give Barb’s family closure, to drag the government in the mud along with it. She’s so fucking smart. She knew what to do. She did it without me. Years later, and I still don’t know what to do with it. I still—I just don’t know, Eddie.

“Then the fucking Russians infiltrated in Hawkins and got us. They got us, me and Robin. They kept us for a few hours, they drugged us, they tortured us. I kept talking to protect Robin, and Dustin, and Erica. I just kept talking, keeping them busy, y’know? That was all I could do, buy some time. And there was this moment, this one moment, they hit me so hard I swear I couldn’t hear, or see anything for a full minute. And all I could think about was her. Barbara Holland. And I—I thought—I, fuck—I thought—”

“You thought you deserved it.”

Eddie’s voice was low and quiet. Eddie saw Steve’s hand travel to his own face. He heard Steve’s few deep breathings, letting it out slowly, calming himself the best he knew. Eddie lifted a hand, to comfort Steve, but he didn’t reach out. Not now, that Steve was all raw, and emotional, and vulnerable. Not now, that Eddie’s hand was also shaking. He put his hand in a closed fist in his own lap and took a deep breath as well.

When Steve talked again, he did it with a much calmer tone.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel that way. Not for one moment, not ever, because you did nothing wrong, Eddie. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, I used to sell drugs to kids, but whatever.”

Eddie was unsure that dropping a joke would help the mood, but Steve laughed. He laughed. For a moment, but he did.

“Well, yeah. There’s that. You’re clearly no saint, no.”

Eddie smiled. Yeah, that was a good call. They fell into a comfortable silence that didn’t last.

“You know, in all these past years I didn’t even step in my backyard if it wasn’t strictly necessary. After Barb died, I turned off the pool lights with no intention whatsoever of turning them on ever. My folks didn’t question it, they weren’t around that much, anyway. I don’t think they didn’t even notice.” Eddie looked at the very much alight pool. “After we got to learn that the Upside Down, where her body is, is stuck on 6th November 1983, I turned them on again. In that Hawkins, Barb was still alive that day. So I—I like to think that she’s still somehow alive, I don’t know, trapped in time, maybe? In a—a time loop? Like, stuck two days before where she was still hating my ass for going after her best friend. And I know that she’s gone, alright? For good, but—I—I turned the lights on. Just in case, you know?”

“In case they flicker?”

“Yeah. In case they flicker, and it’s her.”

The air in Eddie’s lungs got stuck under the heaviness of Steve’s words.

“You’re asking yourself to be haunted by Barb’s ghost, Steve?”

“I wouldn’t blame her.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being so fucking damn familiar to fear. For reading too well in between lines. Fuck him for knowing beforehand that his heart was gonna be shattered. Fuck. Him.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie spoke, fondness impregnating his tone. He took air, to tell him how nothing that happened was Steve’s fault; how he wished he could just talk him out of the guilt, shame, and regret he spent years perfecting; how he wished he could forgive himself because, yeah, he took some bad decisions, but he was just seventeen. But then Steve reacted at his own name, and redirected his gaze to Eddie’s eyes, and then again, Eddie saw a twinkle of fear, and a whole lot of rifts in his insides. The golden boy in front of him was absolutely cracked, and probably this was nothing he could share, not even with the Party, or Nancy. Probably with Robin, but, by how he was still slightly shaking, what he had just told Eddie, was probably the first time he said it out loud. So, under the expecting gaze of Steve Harrington, Eddie said, “thank you for telling me. It must have been scary. It was brave of you for putting it into words.”

Steve’s hazel eyes, under the blue light of the haunted pool, searched something in Eddie’s face. Eddie wanted to look away, he really wanted to, but he let him search whatever he was hoping to find. He let Steve study him, wondering if Steve would notice that he was definitely blushing.

“I think you’re brave, too.”

Steve’s statement was accompanied by a soft smile. Eddie gulped, and took a sharp breath. He smiled widely to shake away the sudden awkwardness.

“Look at us, the bravest men in Hawkins, Indiana. Not afraid of the apocalypse, not afraid of small-minded folks, not afraid of ghosts. What are you afraid of, Steve Harrington?”

The easy tone, suddenly loud and unnecessarily dramatic put an honest smile in Steve’s full—and fucking pretty—mouth. Eddie didn’t look long to Steve’s smile, but long enough to see it flake for a moment. A moment, when Eddie realized that Steve was, too, staring at his lips.

And see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew fear, and knew how to read it in other people’s eyes. And there was a trace of deep, everlasting, inherent fear behind Steve’s hazel pupils. Almost a trace of panic when he fixed his gaze again in Eddie’s dark eyes, after realizing that maybe, just maybe, he’d been staring at Eddie’s lips a couple seconds too long. Steve’s eyes, who dared to wordlessly answer Eddie’s question of what he was afraid of. Steve’s smile, that flaked until it was barely a smile anymore, gracing his face with the ghost of an unspoken truth.

Yeah, Eddie knew Steve’s fear. It was the very same fear he felt after he laid on his mattress, seven years old, battered and bruised, his hair half buzzed, heavily breathing, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold another boy’s hand ever again. Feeling wrong, a big error of nature. Feeling terrified of ever meeting Mark Harvest’s eyes whenever they crossed paths. Yeah, that fucking, disgusting fear.

He had so damn much to thank Wayne. That awkward conversation when Eddie was fifteen, the one that lasted no more than a minute, but it was all Eddie needed to know, that not in Wayne’s household was ever gonna take place any kind of hate for whomever he chose to love. It was that conversation that fueled him to, finally, at age sixteen, kiss a boy in that sweet summer camp in Indianapolis. It gave him strength to actually find a safe place, and meet people like him, and inform himself about safety and what was going on in the world for people like him, and going with Wayne to a clinic to get tested, and learn about his own preferences. He had indeed so fucking much to be thankful for.

But you see, Eddie knew fear, and he could read in the negative spaces of Steve’s family story, the constant absence of parents since he was thirteen, the loveless marriage and picture perfect nuclear family, money based, status based, that Steve Harrington had nothing close to a healthy, safe space to learn whatever he wanted to do with it. But Eddie, bless his soul, he knew fear. And Eddie had a soft spot for helping others to get rid of it. He could guide him out of that pit. Fuck, he could—

Eddie was no longer smiling. Neither was Steve. Eddie raised a tentative hand, slow and soft, toward Steve’s face. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, wordlessly asking for permission to touch, like it mattered, and Steve leaned into his touch, holding his breath, closing his eyes. And then Eddie learned about that other negative space of Steve Harrington, another thing never told, never spoken how damn touch starved that young man was, in that big, empty, lonely house for that long. By how he leaned into the warmth of Eddie’s touch, how he melted into it, how he closed his sparkling eyes with fear and curiosity. God, Eddie could help him, give him a way out, a chance to explore until he was no longer afraid. Eddie could help him feel safe to be him.

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear, fear was familiar, it has always been to Eddie. In the middle of the night, under a blue, pale, eerie pool light, and a clear sky full of stars, with their heart in their sleeves, his soul lost in Steve Harrington’s breathy, quiet moans in between kisses, his mind and his body fully given in to Steve’s hands in his hair, or his waist—or wherever it felt right for both at the moment—; even at that very moment, Eddie felt a new fear that didn’t surprised him. Not a bit. Because it was a logical fear, the one that got him reading his fate in Steve’s soft, wet lips, that he, sooner or later, was going to be broken hearted. It was reckless, borderline dangerous to get experimental and unattached with someone Eddie’s been having a crush on since high school.

But Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear. He knew his odds in this weird, new situation. His mind a mile a minute, he knew that they should be having rather soon a conversation about what was really going on there. Eddie absolutely knew that maybe he shouldn’t be kissing Steve that night, not after all the vulnerability, and the secrets spilled out. Not after talking about bad decisions, and regrets, and dead girls’ ghosts a few feet away from them. Not until Eddie made sure that Steve felt confident, and safe with him. Not after Eddie made clear that he would never hurt him, that while Steve was good at protecting people, Eddie was really good at protecting hearts. Not until Steve knew that they could take care of each other.

He knew that he would have to work rather sooner than later about what was going to happen to him whenever Steve decided to leave him when he’d had enough. But it was worth it if it helped Steve through this. Steve, who was growing confident with every kiss until leaving Eddie breathless; who needed, desperately, to feel safe, and cradled, and taken care of. Steve, who cut himself raw to explain Eddie why he didn’t want him to feel like he deserved everything bad. Steve, who totally missed the pool lights flickering for a second.

So, yeah, Eddie was no stranger to fear. And the panic rising in his soul at the melting touch of Steve’s taste in his lips was absolutely no surprise. Because, you see, that was the first time in Eddie’s life that he thought that he could live in this fear, as long as it was in Steve Harrington’s arms.

And that—that was really scary.

---

Hey, y'all. I am absolutely in love with these two. This is the first fic that I've ever fully written (or posted), so I'm kinda nervous, not gonna lie. Thank you very much for taking your time and reading this.

Tbh, I've been using Tumblr for awhile now as an espectator, so, yeah, if I do anything wrong, I'm sorry. I promise I'm doing my best. I'm still learning (do we ever stop learning?).

Also, English is not my native language, so, if you detect any mistakes, I'm sorry about that, too.

The link to ao3 of this fic is in the title.

Again, thanks a lot, and I hope you're having a wonderful day. See you around!

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 #first fanfic #please be kind #kinda scared ngl #stranger things #fanfiction #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #survivor guilt #late night confessions #vulnerability

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letters2moon · 1 year

Text

Our late night calls

Filled with needlessly

Mundane things

Still I love the drunken laugh

And pure baloney we hd

The late night calls

In our darkest times

End in mirth tht we feel the same

The late night calls

were i feel like sleeping after hearing ur voice

OUR late night calls

Suffused in our heart

by sharing every moments

In the late night calls

Where I would finally say

' The moon is beautiful, isn't it '

-seulbi

#i love him #love #poetry #writers block #young poets #writer #clouds #love letter #vintage #late night confessions #late night #a post of mine #moon

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missrosiewolf · 1 year

Text

Catti-Brie and Drizzt never really appealed to me as a ship. Idk why. They just didn’t. Maybe I didn’t (and still don’t) see the chemistry.

They’re cute (I guess?) but I never really cared for them as a couple.

And that’s okay.

#legend of Drizzt #Drizzt #catti brie #late night confessions

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ramblingsofaporcelainheart · 1 year

Text

The hour of dreams drifts in

It is late

My mind and hands busy

In a way they never can be in sunlight

Your body clock flipped

From long hours worked in the dark

‘Come over later and we can talk

I’ll be awake’

‘You still up?

I’ll be there soon’

The wee hours find us

Our minds spinning, hearts pondering

We two as awake as the moon

My brother went to visit his new lover’s family

Yes, the one he started dating last month

Yes, he only broke up with his fiancé five months ago

Your sister made it official with her fella this week

You’re afraid she is settling for him

You’re afraid she has forgotten to look for love in the distraction of his arms

We love them so

But they must find their own way

Break their own hearts

They dance with the fireflies

Brief and fleeting

We tread in the moonlight

Distant and lingering

Sometimes, we muse, sometimes

It would be nice to have a hand full of fireflies

A dance with a stranger

But still, we remember, still

It will be miraculous to share the moonlight

With a love, a child, a family

The half-dark of my living room

Bellies full of soup, hearts full of friendship

Sprawling on my giant couch

‘I think about having teenagers—

My husband and I close to an empty nest.

My children coming to me for love, for advice,

And the pride that will well up in my heart…’

‘I think about my family completed—

The raucous laughter of my children,

The warm arms of my beloved wife,

And the gratitude that will fill my being…’

I am afraid to dream these dreams

If we say them out loud, if we reach for them

Will they be snatched away before they come

‘Are you crying’

You joke, but the water in my eyes

Is equal parts hope and fear

‘No, shut up’

Quiet for a moment

The conversation drifting away to sillier things

But it is still late

And those dreams linger in the shadows

#original poetry #yearning hours #late night #late night confessions #late night conversations #poetry #sad poetry #emotional poetry #future #existential thoughts #existential poetry #ramblings of a porcelain heart #pining #pining poetry #yearning #yearning poetry #friendship

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realthoughtsreal · 2 years

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Asexuality: complications

The hardest part about being in the acearo spectrum, is not the alienation or isolation feeling from the rest of people that feel attraction ‘normally’ and the experiences ‘everyone’ relates to. For me, the hardest part is the dating.

Because I actually want a relationship, I want the love and the romance! It’s not that I don’t, I just want it in a different way from what is expected of me, and I haven’t felt anything for anyone in about 6 years! It’s so incredibly frustrating, to hope for that love and know that the chances of me finding another asexual person who I actually feel attracted to and feels the same for me in such a tiny ass country, are minuscule. Or even just any person of any sexuality who is okay with me being asexual and won’t pressure me or feel bad about it or rejected or try to force me or ‘convince’ me into something.

I want the late night cuddles, laying in bed and watching moves together while we share popcorn, I want to hold hands when we’re out outside, go for a hug whenever we want or need to; I want us to turn the lights off and just hug each other in bed while we talk about silly things and giggle, I want to cheer them up when they’re sad and be supported in turn when I’m feeling down; I want to listen to them just talking and be able to smile and just stare dreamily as they do and say ‘I love you’, I want someone who can bear with my rants and the excitement in my eyes when I’ve just read or watched something great and look at me with love and not annoyance or boredom when I do.

I want to hold that someone in my arms tightly all the time, caress their hair, hold their hands, kiss their face when I think they look cute; I want to fluster them and make them stutter, I want us to just be able to walk into the room for a hug whenever, and just leave naturally; I want to hold their hand when we go skating and gently wipe their mouth if they’re eating messily; I want to make them laugh until they’re crying and laugh when they tell a joke; I want to defend them when they’re being put down by someone, I want them to hold my hand and be there to stop me from losing control when my family is treating me like shit, I want us to be there for each other in all ways that we can be.

I want us to kiss if we want to, never feel pressured to, I want us to wake up in bed together in the mornings, legs tangled and feet cold while we get up and make breakfast; I want us to bake cookies together and then get takeout when we’ve forgotten to cook dinner; I want to come home to a dinner in the fridge and someone waiting for me in the couch so we can go to sleep together; I want them to sit on the shower and just let me wash their hair gently; I want to write them little love letters and litter them around the house so they can find them while they clean, I want them to give me flowers when I’ve accomplished something or just because they wanted to; I want us to sleepover and just be close in a non-sexual intimate way; I want to lay my head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat to fall asleep and hold you tight in my arms, just to make sure you’ll be there when I wake up.

But finding love like that is just too hard in these times, and statistically, ny chances are really fucking small. I might have better luck with online dating or if I live in another, bigger country for a while, but that doesn’t make me feel better.

Sometimes the fear of never finding that someone for me just brings me such despair I lay down to cry on my pillow.

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flippyspoon · 2 years

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I never know what I’m doing with tomatoes.

#late night confessions

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stelarose9 · 2 years

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Chapter 1: You Are Just What I Needed Tonight

Light My Way Into The Dark

On his way to meet Lyanna Stark, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen spends the night at an inn.

Back from Oldtown, Princess Elia Martell spends the night at an inn.

When the two of them exchange words for the first time, the future of all of Westeros may change.

Published Ao3

-Elia. 282 AC-

Elia gets out of the carriage and sighs in disappointment. It is a great misfortune that Baelor Hightower fell ill and died before she and her uncle could reach Oldtown. Of all the suitors she had, it was the one she liked the most, she even decided to accompany her uncle Lewyn when he told her that he would travel to Oldtown to speak with Lord Leyton about a possible marriage between them. Elia almost had to beg her mother to let her come because due to her ability to get sick so quickly her mother didn't want to let her travel to this colder climate, but eventually Oberyn helped convince her.

When news of Baelor's unfortunate death reached them, Elia must acknowledge that tears gathered in her eyes.

She really liked him.

"Are you alright Elia?" Asks her uncle putting a hand on her shoulder.

She blinked sadly but tried to put a smile on her face. "Yes, I had high hopes of reaching a deal with the Hightower’s, but I guess it wasn't for me".

Her uncle smiles at her fondly. "Whatever is meant for you will come to you". Then he grabs her arm. "Now, let's go inside this…lovely inn that awaits us". His last words show great insecurity.

Elia wrinkles her nose when she looks back at the place where they will spend the night. She would be surprised not to find a rat in her bed tonight.

……

Elia has been trying to sleep for hours, but sleep has been elusive with her.

She trembled with frustration, and finally decides to get up and walk a bit through the corridors of the place. Something that her uncle would strongly oppose but, on the other hand, Oberyn would support her. Her brother always tells her to bring out her more rebellious side and this is a good time. What would be the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, after having seen a couple fucking in a corner, drunken men lying on the ground and a man running naked, Elia believes that there has been enough "rebellious side" for one night.

She is returning to her room when the figure of a man catches her attention, he is standing in front of the balcony but there is something in his posture that makes her believe that he seems distressed about something.

Elia hugged herself when a cold breeze hits her and watches in amazement as a pair of blond hair peeks out from under the hair of the man who until now she thought was black.

Although more than just blond it looks like silver-blond.

She only knows of one family that has that particular hair color.

Despite all the alarms in her head telling her to go back to her room, that this is none of her business, her feet bring her closer to the man.

"If what you're trying to do is go unnoticed, I'll tell you you're doing a terrible job".

She sees the man's shoulders tense as he replies "Do I?"

Elia stands next to him but does not look at him; she just looks at the immensity of darkness that can be seen from the balcony.

"Well I think the person who dyed your hair is also guilty". She laughs a little.

The man does not respond and she begins to get nervous, she did not think much about the situation when she decided to approach him.

"Well, it doesn't seem like I'm the only one standing out in this place".

She ran her hand through her curly hair. "But it's not me who changes her appearance to look like one of them..." Elia finally decides to look into his dark indigo eyes "...Prince Rhaegar"

Elia had only seen the crown prince once before, at the tourney at Harrenhal. Honestly, she didn't think much of him, and even less once she saw everything that happened with Lyanna Stark. You had to be very blind not to realize how awkward the atmosphere became when he handed the flower crown to the young Stark.

"Princess Elia Martell". He bows his head. "Is a pleasure seeing you again".

She chuckled "I'm surprised you even remember me".

"It is impossible not to remember you". He says it seriously, more like a thought than a compliment, but it still makes her blush a little.

She clears her throat. "So...I guess if you try to be inconspicuous is it because you don't want anyone to know you're here?"

Rhaegar Targaryen seems to doubt his words, but finally responds to her. "I suppose the princess of Dorne is right". He says leaning his body forward and resting his hands on the wooden railing.

"Mmmm" Her brother Oberyn told her that Rhaegar spoke to him and other Westeros lords at the tourney about overthrowing his father. She imagines that perhaps his stay at this inn has something to do with it.

"What about you? Why are you so far from Dorne princess?" He asks after a while.

Elia rubbed one of her shoulders, a gesture her mother hates but which she makes whenever she feels uncomfortable. "A marriage proposal"

"Marriage?" Rhaegar asks curious and interested in the conversation.

"Yeah, but it didn't go well. We didn't even make it to Oldtown with my Uncle Lewyn to make the proposal. I guess I was just late".

"Why?"

She stared at the woods and think about her unfortunate fate. "He died".

"I am sorry, it seems like you and him were getting along".

"Baelor was kind and smiled all the time. When I imagined my life with him I imagined a life full of laughter".

"Did you love him?" His question makes her uneasy and she looks at him, when she does it she realizes that he has his full attention on her. He seems genuinely interested in her words.

"I don't know about love, prince, but I know about duty. It is difficult for people like us to find happiness and duty in the same person. I wanted to hold onto that, but apparently my fortune remains the same". She feels her treacherous eyes fill with tears. "I'm just the sick princess of Dorne".

Her words seem deeply ingrained in Rhaegar, but she doesn't understand why until she remembers Lady Lyanna. Perhaps he found happiness and duty in her, but he was also late. Lyanna was already engaged to Robert Baratheon and Aerys would also not allow his son to marry a woman who did not have Valyrian blood.

He takes a deep breath. "What if happiness and duty are in the same person but following your heart would cause terrible consequences?"

Elia is scared by his words, and any sadness she felt is replaced by alarm. "What are you going to do?" She whispers but she is terrified to think of the possibilities.

"What I have to do". He answers vaguely but without much conviction.

"You don't seem to be quite sure that's the right thing to do".

"I thought I was sure, but tonight I find myself doubting what I will do tomorrow". He hung his head. "And I do not understand, all my life I have been sure of this. When I saw her for the first time I knew it was her but...suddenly lying in my bed I could not sleep thinking about the prophecy". He lifts his head and looks her straight in the eyes. "What if I'm wrong? What if the love I think I feel for her is nothing more than me trying to hold on to something that isn't real, but how do you know something is real and what isn't? And what if running away with her tomorrow is not the right thing to do". He seems relieved to make that confession to someone, to reveal his thoughts to someone else.

Her eyes widened. "If you do that, you will start a war. There is no way Lord Rickard won't do anything if you escape together". Elia desperately takes his hand that was still on the wooden railing. "Rhaegar listen to me. I don't know what prophecy you are talking about but nothing, listen to me, nothing and no one can define our destiny. If that is why you think you love her, then that feeling is not real. When you truly love, it is like fire that expands throughout your body and you feel that it burns you, but you embrace that feeling because it consumes you in such a way that you burn with the person you love, you become one with him or her. If that is not what you feel, do not do something that will leave the kingdom in ruins". She puts her hand on his cheek "We make our own destiny".

He denies with the head. "Not for us, not for my family".

She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Then be better than them".

His breathing quickened, the thought of something haunted him. "There is a war...one from the future where-"

"I don't know what you are talking about...what is this war of the future but I have news for you. We are at war right now, your father has broken the kingdom and there are people who trust you to lead them". Elia lowers her hand to his neck and applies pressure to the area, desperate for him to understand what she's saying. "My brother told me that you want to defeat your father and I know he would support you if you rebel against him". She was surprised that her brother Oberyn will think about supporting the crown prince. Her mother is another matter, she would not do anything unless it benefited her and Dorne but Elia knows that if her brother really wants to support Rhaegar he is capable of going to war alone.

Elia loves that about her brother, how passionate he is for his ideals, how she feels that he lives each breath with fervor.

Rhaegar slowly wraps his fingers around her wrist, the one of the hand that she had pressed against his neck and held his breath before asking. "When you look into my eyes, what do you see?"

Her eyes are so deep when he asks her this that she feels the need to tell him exactly what she sees. "A broken and unsure man, but that gives me hope...because deep down you know that this is wrong". She feels his thumb move against her skin. "Defeat your father, be the King that your people need and then if your destiny is really with her, I know that your paths will unite again but now, Rhaegar, leaving with her now is like lighting the flame of a fire that you won't be able to stop".

"Rhae-" A man's voice surprises them both, suddenly separating them. When Elia looks at the man, she thinks he's Jon Connington. "I'm sorry Lord Durran, I was looking for you". He says awkwardly correcting his mistake.

"It's alright Jon; Princess Elia Martell knows who I am".

Jon looks at her suspiciously but still bows to her. "Princess Elia".

"Ser Jon". She responds in greeting and then her eyes return to Rhaegar. "It is late, I have to go back to my room but it was very nice to be able to speak with you, your grace".

Rhaegar seems disappointed that his time with her is over. "Of course. I'm sorry our conversation was not what you expected".

Elia would like to say more, but she can feel Jon's eyes on her and she doesn't really know how much the prince trusts him. "I hope that my words can help in something".

He walks up to her and grabs her hand to kiss it. "You are just what I needed tonight". He says quietly, not answering her question, but making her blush for the second time that night.

Elia nods once and then walks toward the hallway entrance. "Good night, Ser Jon". She says as she walks past the man.

"Good night princess". Jon's words, unlike Rhaegar's, are not sweet and Elia believes that she even hears resentment in them.

…...

When Elia is lying on her bed, she goes over her conversation with the prince. In Dorne they are quite far from all the drama of King’s Landing but that does not mean that they are less informed of everything that happens.

Everyone knows that big changes are coming soon, and to be honest, she thinks everyone is hoping Rhaegar will take the crown. But if he escapes tomorrow with Lyanna Stark, there isn't much chance for a better future.

She told Rhaegar that we make our own destiny, but meeting him tonight, what are the chances of this ever happening?

Elia sighs and closes her eyes, maybe there are things that are destined in somehow after all, because now lying in her bed she has realized that her conversation with him eliminated all the feelings of sadness that her heart had, she needed to speak in confidence with someone and he needed it too.

Two souls in distress united by a strange coincidence.

…..

"Where are you going Elia?" Her uncle asks the next morning when the guards accompanying her are loading some trunks into the carriage to start the journey back to Dorne.

"I need to ask the inn owner a question; I'll be right back Uncle Lewyn". She says walking fast where she can see the lady.

The owner of the inn is a lady with prominent wrinkles and apprehensive eyes. "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"

The woman looks at her disinterestedly "It depends".

Elia raises an eyebrow and takes out a gold coin for the lady. "And now?"

The woman takes the coin, examines it, and then nods her head.

"Do you know if...Lord Durran is still at the inn?" She remembers that this was the name Jon used for Rhaegar, so she hopes there won't be another Durran here.

"No, they left at dawn, he and his companions. They seemed to be in a hurry".

Elia starts to think the worst; maybe her words had no effect on him after all. "And you don't know where they were going?"

The woman stares at her "You told me one question, I answered you one question. But just so you know, I don't get involved in the lives of the people who spend the night here". And with that she turns around and continues washing some dishes.

Elia sighs in frustration.

"My lady?" Elia looks down and sees a child. "Are you looking for Lord Durran?"

"Yes". She says quickly.

The boy smiles. "My lord gave me three golden coins. He said that if a beautiful woman with curly hair asked for him that I should tell her this: Brandon and Catelyn's wedding will be soon, the prince is not invited, but Lord Durran will be there, perhaps Lady Helaena should attend as well".

Elia has a little trouble understanding what he means, but after a few seconds she thinks carefully about the words.

Durran is clearly Rhaegar, but Helaena?

The boy is still in front of her, so she asks him. "Didn't he tell you anything else?"

"No, only that. I must clean the floors. Have a nice day Lady Helaena!" He says cheerfully taking a broom and going up to the second floor.

Elia is in the same place blinking. If Helaena is her, then...

"Elia we have to go". Her uncle yells.

Brandon and Catelyn's wedding is at Riverrun...

Durran will go...

He wants her to go...

But that can only mean one thing.

For "Durran" to be in Riverrun without arousing suspicion, he's not escaping anywhere with Lyanna or at least not for now.

But there must be a reason why he wishes they were both there, under other names and she assumes that presumably with a different appearance.

Which for her, with her olive skin is almost impossible. She would have to dress up as a septa and it would still be challenging.

Elia walks with a frown towards the carriage, but with a thought that doesn't leave her mind.

She has to delay her trip to Dorne and find out what Prince Rhaegar's plan is.

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stelllanovela · 3 months

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Loss.

How do I word this. Is it grief and loss if it feels like something was never mine. I sit at the edge of the table wondering how I could miss someone this much. Without realization I fell in love with you. Enamored by your smile, the crow's feet by your eyes, your soft light hair, your laugh, your dreams and the linings of your soul. Despite the longing, no longer or ever mine.

#late night confessions #writers and poets

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pupkashi · 9 months

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Heyy Jess!! Congrats on 1k wooo 🎉🥳 so I'll be doing multiple ones if that's alright with you. I'll start with late night confessions.

• Do you watch Castlevania?

• How many Kpop concerts have you been to? Which one is your favorite so far?

• Describe yourself in 3 words <3

• Who do you admire the most? (Real person &/or Fictional)

• Would you rather see things nobody else can see or smell things nobody else can smell?

• What is something you love now that you never imagined loving before?

• If your house catches on fire, aside from your family and pets being safely escorted out, what is that one item you go back to save, and why?

hi gigi my beloved !!! of course that’s fine with me :3 thank u so much i love u <3333

join the party!

- i have no idea what castlevania is im so sorry 😭

- I’ve been to two kpop concerts both txt !! they were both amazing but i think the second one (sweet mirage) was my fave bc tyun waved at my section <33

(rest below the cut!)

- silly, nice, understanding

- irl i admire my mom and fictional i admire naruto bc if that were me i would’ve killed everyone who wronged me 😭

- see things no one else sees ! what if it’s really stinky 😣

- believe it or not i have to say kpop , i just never thought i would get into it even when my irls would tell me to listen to it

- my stuffed dog plush !!!! i literally cannot sleep if i don’t have her by my side 🙁

#we just got a letter #pupkashi’s 1k follower bash!#late night confessions

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jjamboard · 1 year

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i have recently become the sort of person who wears both socks and shoes to bed.

#late night confessions #i have no excuse for this #if it helps i also sleep under 3 weighted blankets and 2 duvets #autism

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thisisnttwitter · 1 year

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Sometimes I lay awake next to my new partner and I miss you.

#late night confessions #I don’t know how to get over her #she was toxic #but I loved her.

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realthoughtsreal · 1 year

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Unstable

I struggled with my depression and suic!dal ideation, and actual PLANNING OF MY DEATH for 90% of 2022. I wrote notes, recorded videos and audios for my loved ones. I did the research; I knew exactly what would kill me and how much of it I’d need. This was every week. I was struggling like never before, with suic!dal ideation and self-harm urges.

I only started to get better during and after Christmas. I was hit by very strong, overwhelming, and confusing feelings; because I had not expected to live to see Christmas, nevermind New Year’s. I spent a large part of the 24th and 25th sobbing, bawling, wailing like I haven’t in a while, feeling inexplicably overwhelmed. For the first time in my life, I felt grateful for being alive. I actually was feeling good. I felt grateful for getting to see my family and spend time with them.

And my good mood lasted for a while. My bad thoughts disappeared entirely, until February 7th, when my dad accidentally triggered me, after I was already starting to feel increasingly anxious and vulnerable. The 7th I actually put the blade to my skin and pressed; I was seized by the urge and sudden desperate need to do something, anything to release the pressure in my chest, my pain.

It was a wakeup call. I’m saddened, disappointed, but not surprised. It seemed too good to be true, for my depression and problems to suddenly just disappear entirely, like a Christmas miracle.

Dad spoke truth, harsh, cruel truth. And what bothered me the most, was that I knew it to be true. Disgustingly so.

And he did it without understanding me. It’s not his fault, but it hit hard.

Waves of self-hate and disgust hit me instantly and I closed off. The currents took me and I was helpless. I cried in my room, quietly. Put the blade to my skin and perhaps for the first time actually put pressure to my skin with the intent to cut for real. I barely caught myself and immediately threw away the blade, and curled into a ball, forcing myself to look away from it.

I felt horrible, all over again. The urges to self-har have been awful, but so far I’ve held myself back and found alternatives to actual cutting.

That day I felt like a storm broiled and simmered inside my chest. I was furious, hurt and sad. I considered seriously going for a run in the morning (something I’ve never done before because I’m scared of going out on my own so early and dressed in sport clothes) and disappearing for a few hours to give him a scare. (I was too tired though, couldn’t wake up early to actually do it. Shame).

I was still pretty quiet the day after and barely spoke a word. Dad didn’t poke, or approach the subject. I was still so mad and hurt, and to top it, I had to go to night classes on my own.

Going to night classes on my own scares the fuck out of me because I was born as a female. And I’ll never be safe. It’s just fact. To make matters worse, the area I gotta walk by on my own late at night to get to the bus is NOTORIOUSLY DANGEROUS, people have gotten killed, harrassed, assaulted, etc.

To my fury and discomfort, dad has expressed 0 understanding or sympathy towards my anxiety and concerns when it comes to going outside on my own. Then again, he’s a man nearing his 60s who has never been assaulted in his whole life. He’ll never understand what it is to fear for your life, your dignity, your everything everytime you step out if your safe space. He doesn’t, and will NEVER TRULY understand, what it is to live in one of the countries with highest r4pe rates in the WOrLD. All women I know, all my friends, have horrific stories to tell and have suffered terrible experiences of assault or abuse or harrassment or r4pe by men. Dad can be such an idiot when it comes to this, and it infuriates that he can be so clueless and insensitive sometimes.

These last 2 weeks I’ve been hit by a strong feeling that I need to talk to someone about this. My problems. The depression, the suicide, the self-harm urges. All of it. It’s like the words are flooding my lungs and trying to choke me. Yet everytime there seens to be a chance for me to open up, I close up. A vice tightens around ny throat and I cannot speak. I cannot bring myself to say it to anybody.

For some reason, it feels… almost humiliating. Denigrating. Shameful. To speak of this. Of how deeply I fell. And I’m afraid of being brushed off, not taken seriously. That’d hurt me worse. I’m scared of more pain. I cannot tell anyone.

But I know I must. I need to go to therapy for real. But I don’t want dad to waste money on it. Isn’t it just a temporary fix anyways? It’ll come back. It always does.

I don’t want dad to waste money on a useless cause, when he could spend that money in a house.

I need help.