#apparently I can’t see messages when I’m on the other blog

[e2castiel]

Hi are you able to make a gif set of the Cullen turner convo/hug from the Gotham knights episode 1x11?

sorry just saw this but yeah I can make it tomorrow

[jewishbarbies]

Look I’ve not seen many antis who like Britney Spears, so I’m going to leave this message here because you’re like the OG anti blog. So I apologise if you’re not a fan.

Taylors themes in this album were being “tortured” and mental health. She has lyrics implying her love life is torture and that loving these men has made her manic and that she grew up in an asylum. And now apparently her music video is in a mental hospital. Britney Spears has literally been tortured. She’s literally had her mental health used against her. She’s been forced into treatment clinics. And Taylor Swift uses it as an AESTHETIC. REALLY?! I am all for accepting other people have their own struggles and to never compare apples and oranges but it’s so classless. She sends her own ex bf of 6 years to the wolves blaming his mental health and goes onto to say oh woe is me my mental health struggles are so hard. What is it?! Is it hard to struggle with mental health issues or is it a joke to you Taylor, an aesthetic?! It’s actually infuriated me because Taylor gets to put this hat on as an act (I do believe she has mental health problems and needs therapy but that’s another conversation) but Britney doesn’t. This is her life and she is mocked and ridiculed for it. I’ve seen Swifties literally call Britney crazy and say she doesn’t deserve to see her kids and she needs the conservatorship. They mock Joe and tell him to kill himself. And they’re what going to support Taylor’s mental health struggles now? No you don’t get it both ways. You don’t get to berate other people and then say the way Taylor’s been treated isn’t fair. And Taylor doesn’t get to use mental illness as an aesthetic and walk away from it when this no longer serves her narrative. It’s infuriating and insulting. I can’t wait to see her downfall.

I couldn’t have said it better myself honestly. watching swifties evicerate britney at every possibility and generally acting like ableist freaks, just to turn around and act like taylor fucking swift is the most tortured person on the planet is so incredibly infuriating. britney hasn’t had comments turned on for months. at some point, it’s all going to catch up with her and taylor won’t be able to throw anyone else under the bus to save herself, and only then will she ever face any real accountability.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part IV)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, once again Eddie flirts with bullies, sex shaming, discussions of anxiety, dom!eddie increasingly present, fingers in mouths and other places, oral (f and m receiving), first time blow job, cum eating (a theme of this story now as much as shyness, apparently). New named characters, hopefully it’s clear who’s important and who’s not.

Word count | ~11,700

A/N | I’m late! It’s late. Thank you for the patience and the very encouraging messages. It’s wonderful to hear that people are enjoying this fic. 

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Your fingers twist and pull at your scrunchie, turning the stretchy patterned cotton around your wrist. You think about May’s face; one you know better than anyone else’s. Long eyelashes, pink smile; friendly and warm. You can keep her that way if you just say everything right. 

Eddie is kind to me, you imagine yourself explaining. I like him and I want you to give him a chance. 

You hum as you cross the street, not entirely happy with how that sounds.

Eddie is kind to me. That works. I think it would be really nice if you’d speak to him, so you could see how wonderful he is.

You chew your lip. You are getting ahead of yourself. Even if, by some miracle, you can explain properly, even if May accepts that Eddie is important to you now, she still won’t ever want to be seen with him. May likes being popular, and people hate Eddie Munson. 

It doesn’t matter that he’s the Eddie who made you a mixtape after one date, Eddie who doesn’t mind speaking when you can’t, Eddie who holds your hand and kisses you sweet. It doesn't matter because he is Eddie Munson. The way he dresses, the music he listens to, where he lives, the game he plays, how he makes money, who his parents were. He’s like a ticked list of everything people don’t want to understand. 

To think, now, that you ever let yourself believe he was anything other than lovely makes you ache with regret. You think of that word you found in a Welsh poem; hiraeth, like nostalgia, like homesickness. A sinking feeling, the realisation that you should have followed through every time you thought that people might be wrong about him. 

You saw him hold doors open, take Jeff under his wing, play his guitar exactly the way he likes even in the face of relentless mocking. You knew. Knew he was funny, knew he was interesting, knew he was kind. Knew that, somehow, life would be better if you just spoke to him.

What would you be like, now, if you had?

For a second, you’re sure you must be thinking about him too hard, because you can hear the howl of the music that plays loud from his van. But there he is, pulling up at the corner, looking both ways until he spots you and waves wildly like you might not recognise him otherwise. The tyres of Eddie’s van screech as he makes the turn, again when he halts next to you on the sidewalk. “Thought I’d lost you,” Eddie laughs, leaning over to open the passenger door for you. “Hop in, sweetheart.” 

Eddie waits for you to climb up into his van to press a chaste hello kiss to your lips, so casual and domestic it makes that longing to have had him earlier worse. He watches you buckle your seat belt and get yourself comfy with an excited grin, clearly waiting until he has your full concentration to say what he desperately wants to say. 

Eddie peels off from the sidewalk the second you are settled and looking at him expectantly. 

"Guess who met your Dad this morning!” 

You blink. “You went to my house?”

“Of course,” he says matter of factly, peeling away from the sidewalk. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m gonna be driving you to school from now on.” You almost fight the smile, but let it show when Eddie continues. “At first he thought I was there to mow the lawn? Had me all the way to the garage before I realised. My guess was he wanted an expert opinion on the quality of the grass.” Eddie grins conspiratorially, laughing at his own joke. “But I explained that I was there to pick up his beautiful daughter. Thought he was going to attack me with the weed whacker.”

You shake your head, giggling at the image of your cardigan clad, slipper wearing father wielding such a weapon against Eddie. You look him over, giving yourself a moment to gaze at his handsome profile. “But you’re miraculously unharmed.” 

“Oh yeah, it was no problem. Just turned on the signature Munson charm, you know?” He gives you a dimpled smile. “Then he told me you’d left early to catch the bus so I had to abandon my new best friend and speed on over to find you.” 

You like him especially like this. The way he weaves fantasy with the truth so easily, refusing to let reality get in the way of a good tale. He’s a better storyteller than anyone you’ve ever met, so much so that you don’t know exactly how much of this account is real. You won’t know unless you ask your Dad. 

You probably won’t. Eddie’s version is better. 

You watch his adorned hands while he drives, steady on the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts up his lithe arms to his face, bathed in Summer light. His dark hair is shades lighter like this, flyaways made golden by the sun. “Eddie?” He hums a questioning tone, eyes on the road while yours are fixed on him. “Are you really going to drive me every day?”

“Well, yeah. I thought I would.”

“You won’t…miss a day?” You’re not trying to dissuade him, but one thing you have known about Eddie for years is that he is prone to arrive late, if he makes it to school at all. 

“Princess, if there comes a morning that I am not ready and waiting for you with this, your carriage, know that I will have been slain by dragons.”

You are so desperately fond of him. “Really?”

“Nothing but talons and fiery breath will keep me from your door. I promise.”

The van slows to a stop, but you’re too occupied by him to question it. Eddie looks serious, even as he makes such a whimsical promise, and you know he wants you to believe him. Heart fluttering, you lean over to kiss his soft cheek, leaving a little spot of pink gloss on his skin that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You grab his hand and bring your clasped fingers to rest on your knee, cherishing the warmth of him, the weight and feel of him. You sigh, chest sore at the loss of all the times you should have held this hand before. Your fingers find the smallest of his rings, this one is less chunky than those on his left hand. The stone at the centre is dark, flecked with grey. Eddie lets you twist it smoothly, run the pad of your first finger along the textured metal. When you look up from his hand, Eddie is already watching you. You give him what must be a sad smile. "I wish-"

“I think I speak for all of us-” You jump at the voice along with the door at the back of his van opening. Feeling caught in an intimate moment, you fight the urge to drop Eddie’s hand, instead squeezing it tight to get out the sudden nerves. Into the van climbs three boys. Eddie’s friends; including Jeff, who waves at you while the youngest, dressed in a sleeveless flannel, establishes his disbelief at your presence. “-when I say I did not think for one second you were serious about getting a girlfriend.”

Your face heats, the word fluttering around your brain like a swallow diving and gliding in Spring; girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You don't chance a look at Eddie, even though you see him glance at you in your periphery. You can't, not when the desperation would read so clearly on your face the second you get a real glimpse of him. 

You watch the three boys shuffle and sit together along the bench seat in the back. Arms and legs squish together, and soon elbows appear to try and gain ground. Protesting grunts and curses sound even as Eddie starts the van.

When Jeff widens his legs in the middle, forcing one boy almost off the end and another to slam into the door at his side, a final frustrated groan sounds. “You know, Monday's are supposed to be my day riding shotgun."

“If you’ve got a problem, Gareth, I'm sure your Mommy would let you ride in the front every day of the week.” 

“I-” You rub the gem of Eddie’s ring with your thumb in a circle. “I’m sorry I took your seat.”

Gareth’s eyes seem to light up as if he’s spied an opportunity. “Well, you didn’t exactly take my seat. It was given away before he even picked you up,”

“Gareth-” Eddie starts, a warning sound.

“If you think for one second,” Gareth says, voice matching Eddie’s unique tone almost to a point. “That a woman like that is sitting anywhere but by my side you’ve lost your God damn minds.”

The three of them giggle like real schoolboys until Eddie’s head snaps around like a cat locating its prey, silencing them in an instant. Something about the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his eyes makes you feel warm between your legs. It also makes a long quiet, mischievous part of you want to push him a little bit. 

“When- when was this exactly?”

Four sets of eyes turn to you; one incredulous, the other three shifty like they’re weighing up the consequences of being the first to speak.

“Friday,” the final boy says, eyes darting to Eddie whose face is swiftly turning pink. “He said you were going on a date, that he might be driving you after. Never seen him so excited. And hey, looks like it went well, Eds?”

“You know something crazy?” Eddie grits. “I could've sworn I just heard Matthew’s voice. But that's impossible, because he’s dead to me.”

“Eddie!” You chide, watching his sweet, angry face, his lips set in an unintentional pout. This time, the kiss you press to his cheek is long, and in full view of his friends. Your heart pounds as you do it, aware of their eyes right on you, but it's entirely worth it to see Eddie’s pink cheeks darken further. You tap your feet a little, your own face heating while you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “I was excited on Friday, too.”

You expect he might glare at his friends again when a chorus of ooh’s starts up behind you, but instead Eddie settles back into his seat, trying and failing to fight a happy grin, his dimples appearing even as his eyebrows are pulling together in an attempt at keeping up his anger. He squeezes your hand tight before he lets go to make a turn, then reaches out again immediately to take your palm back in his. 

“Hey, have you done any of the Chemistry homework?” Jeff asks, head appearing in the front, hiding Eddie from you. 

“Yes,” you nod, remembering the brutal questions you’d spent the rest of your Sunday on after returning from town with Heather. “In between bouts of tears.”

“Jesus. I know. Do you remember ever being taught anything about retention factors?” 

You shake your head, humming the negative. “We weren’t.”

“What does Mr Brown get from that? I mean I thought he wanted us to say, hey, you old bastard, you never fucking taught us this. But literally last week Jessie told him we hadn't learned molecular orbitals when it was on the test, and she got detention.”

“Note to self. Don’t do AP Chemistry.”

“I really don’t think that’s a choice you’ll have available to you, Gareth.”

“Hey! I got a B+ on the last assignment-”

“I’m your lab partner!” Matthew cries, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “I wrote the whole thing!” 

You watch them sitting uncomfortably together on the small back seat, arguing from either side of Jeff, whose stone faced grimace makes you giggle. When you turn back, Eddie is stopped at the lights and gazing at you, looking proud. 

You shrug bashfully, because talking to Jeff isn't so impressive. It's always been easier to speak to people who understand what it’s like to lose your words. 

You feel eyes on you when you jump from Eddie’s van in the school parking lot, uncomfortable prickles crawling up your neck. When you catch the eyes of two cheerleaders you rarely speak to despite sitting with them every day, you see their lips moving, smiles turning, and hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

Then it’s just Eddie, eyes level with yours, close enough you could count the long dark eyelashes that frame them. “You alright?”

You nod, giving him a brave smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting his hand again. “Okay. I have to, uh, meet somebody. But I can leave you with the guys, right?”

You nod again, wanting to tell Eddie that you’ve always liked Jeff, that you think you could like Gareth and Matthew, too. Suddenly you’re thinking about your own friends, and how hard it will be to explain this arrival on top of your dates with Eddie over the weekend. A part of you wants to beg him to get back in his van with you. You could drive to his trailer, hole up in the room that smells like him and hide in his arms. 

Another part wants to grab his face and kiss him in front of anyone who might be watching, scream at anyone who might hear that you've been waiting for this joy for what feels like your whole life. 

But you are stuck here, in an uncomfortable place between the two. 

“Eddie, will you-” You swallow, pressing the toe of your shoe into the tarmac.

“Just tell me what you need, sweet thing. I’ll do it.”

You could cry at how earnest he sounds, how much he means it. Instead you step forward and press your face to his shoulder, wrap your arms around his lithe waist in a hug. You hope he knows you want to give him more, that you’re trying for him. When Eddie’s hands come round your shoulders, giving your body a tight squeeze, you’re sure he does.

“Hey, you wanna come to my place after school?” You nod into his shoulder, sighing happily at the thought of time spent with Eddie removed from pestering eyes. When you force yourself from him, he gives you a final once over. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Mm.”

As Eddie walks away, you feel a bump on your shoulder and turn to find Jeff grinning at you. He raises an eyebrow and you find yourself covering your face and giggling. “Stop!”

“I didn’t say anything!” He bumps your shoulder again while you walk to the door, past intent stares and whispering mouths. You grab the hem of your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your fist. Next to you Gareth and Matthew are talking about a new album they like, as if people turning to look at you over their shoulders don't matter one bit. Jeff speaks soft. “Hey, you wanna compare the homework before first period? I found an old textbook in the library and I think I have the right idea, but if you’ve given it a try, too-”

Your name comes in a distinctively curt call, the way your Mom used to say it when she found you playing in mud and pretended not to be angry. Your heart drops, toes curling your shoes. May’s expression is tight, eyes fixed on you to avoid looking at the boys you are surrounded by. 

Your mouth opens to speak, but what do you say here? Introduce them? Apologise? Fabric twists in your shaking fingers while you look up at Jeff, knowing that you need to be left alone with your friend now. 

“Let’s go over it another day,” Jeff says, giving you a brace filled smile and May a quick worried look. “See you later.”

Gareth and Matthew follow the farewell, and you’re left alone. Looking at May's face, you can't help but feel guilty. 

She knows. 

“You went on a date with him?” 

Oh. She knows. 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and nod, trying to remember the words you were rehearsing this morning, trying to picture how this scene could play out in a way that ends with May’s smile. You are left empty by the disappointment, the exhaustion in her expression. You just twist your sleeves in your thumbs. “How did you-”

“Tracy's boyfriend works at the diner in town. He didn't know your name, but he told her the freak was there with that one girl that never says anything and well, it wasn't that hard for her and everybody else to work it out." She shakes her head, shrugging incredulously. "Were you even trying to hide it?” You shake your head, wanting it to be a proclamation that of course you weren't hiding, that you didn't want to hide Eddie one bit. Instead, it feels like the action of a scolded child admitting fault. “It’s like-” she starts, touching her forehead as if it’s aching, then clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “It’s like you’re determined to make life difficult for yourself.”

“May-”

“I mean, of everyone, everyone in school, you pick Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. What is the aim here, exactly? To tank what reputation you have left? What are you going to say to Caroline at lunch when she asks about this?” 

Caroline, something of a Queen Bee in the cheer squad. May has been trying to impress her for years. She's half the reason May joined cheerleading, why she saves up for those weekend trips instead of drinking smoothies and gossiping with you and Heather. Caroline is also the reason May is embarrassed of you more often than not, these days.

Caroline thinks you are strange. She has told you to your face. Conversations with her are limited to sharing the answers of your homework, asking you to do her makeup before a competition, comments about your silence, the fact you can’t look her in the eye, the way you fidget with your clothes.

You could probably ignore it, if you didn’t know it hurt May just as much because of her association with you.

“Oh wait, you won’t say anything. You’ll just sit there and wait for me to explain it for you. Well, I really don’t think I can do that. I mean, do you even know how much time I spent defending you after the Andy thing?” She waits, and you realise she’s expecting an answer. You shake your head and you feel pathetic. “It took up entire practices sometimes. But I did it, I defended you, just like I always do. No, guys, you don’t get it! She hurt cause Andy embarrassed her and she’s shy! Too shy to even try talking to any of you instead of just hanging around all the time, but not shy enough to avoid dating Eddie fucking Munson!”

It’s your longest shame. The memory of the first time you found it hard to speak to someone is hazy, but you know you were young, and that the dread involved in talking to new people, important people, popular people, has never gone away.

You sniff. “I- I’m not trying to make it hard for you.” 

“Of course you aren’t!” She cries, exasperated. “But you’re not putting any effort into making it easy for me, either.”

“I didn’t- It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was- I wanted to explain everything.”

“What? So I could defend you properly?”

“No!” You cry, reaching for her hand and feeling relieved when she lets you take it. You stare at your fingers holding hers, your matching pale blue nails. “No, May. I hate that I made you feel that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had to defend me. I’m sorry I've left you to explain, but this- I wanted to explain it myself so you could try to understand.”

“Try to understand what? Why you need to date Munson?”

“Yes. I know you don’t like him but he-” Is perfect for you, makes you feel safe, touches you like you’ve been waiting for. “He’s kind, May. And it’s like he- he knows how to talk to me when I…you know, get quiet.”

Her gaze snaps to you. You feel her fingers flex like she wants away from your touch. “And what? I don’t?”

"No, you do, May. You and Heather, you’re the only ones who ever really have. You know that. But, some of the others, like with Andy. It annoyed him.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it gets annoying.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding your understanding. 

“I’m sure Andy didn’t mind it in the beginning either.” May says. “Give Munson time. He might not like it so much when you’re six months in, still barely talking and all you’ve let him do is fucking dry hump you.”

You wince, hating to think about everything that happened, hating that she knew all that before you told her, hating that thought that Eddie could ever act the way Andy did. The tears that have been building finally start to spill, and you drag a sleeve up to your eyes, sniffing desperately and looking up to try and stop the pooling. 

You hear May sigh, feel her squeeze your hand in what you’re sure is an apology. 

“Okay. Fine. You like Munson. You told me that before and I should have taken it seriously but instead I sent you out into the woods to talk to him alone so, wow, I guess this is my fault.” You’re not sure if she’s joking, not sure what she wants you to say to any of that. “But I’m not justifying it to the cheer girls, okay? I mean it. If they want you gone, you’re sitting at the freak’s table for the rest of senior year whether you keep dating him or not.” 

There is a single moment, fleeting in your mind, where the thought of that brings you relief.

She’s not wrong. You let your worries be taken up with explaining it to her, but you find yourself answering questions from just about everyone else all day. 

A boy in Spanish you’ve never once spoken to, asking if you really got a ride to school with Eddie Munson this morning. Your desk partner in Math who always copies your answers passes you a note asking if it’s true you’ve been secretly dating for months. A freshman in the hallway whose brother you babysit asks if the freak is your boyfriend now, if you’re going to try and sneak him into her house when her parents are out. 

Yes. No. Sort of. Of course not. 

Maybe you should feel prepared when you walk into the cafeteria, ready to be questioned. One look at Caroline's picture perfect smile and your packed lunch is shaking in your trembling fingers. 

You spy the empty seats directly opposite her as you approach. Like it's planned, like she wanted to keep your options closed. Instinctively, you look over to the other side of the cafeteria as you sit, wishing Eddie were with you and not at the head of his table, gesticulating with his hands with each beat of the story he’s telling his friends.

“Oh, my God. It’s true.” Your gaze snaps back, feeling caught out even though you weren’t trying to hide. Caroline’s own eyes move from where she had followed yours to your face, eyebrows pulled together like she can’t believe somebody so strange as you could be real. You stare at her chin, shaking your knee under the table. “You are dating Munson.”

“Yes."

You hear the chair beside you pull out, see May sitting in your periphery with a light smile. “Hi, girls!”

“Did you know about this?” Caroline asks, gesturing to you with her head like you’re a red wine stain on a white shag carpet.

“God, no." She did warn you, but it still feels like a betrayal, still hurts your chest like one. "Not until Tracy phoned yesterday.”

“I mean, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” Caroline replies, widening her eyes and smirking. “If anyone was going to have a thing for the freak.” 

You would like to be strong. You would like to sound eloquent and speak with finality. Instead, you force out quiet words. "He’s kind.”

It’s as if you didn’t say anything at all.  

“Is this because Andy broke up with you?” You glance over down the table at the curious face of another girl, her hair tied back in the familiar green scrunchie. “Like is this you trying to make him jealous?” You flinch, shaking your head, but she continues, voice half a giggle. “Cause I mean, I think you may have picked the wrong guy.”

“I’m- I’m not trying to make anybody jealous.”

“My God. Imagine being jealous of Eddie Munson,” Caroline laughs, earning herself a chorus of agreement. 

“Have you seen that van he drives?”

“He's been a senior since I started high school.”

“I had to go to his place once to pick up. You know he lives in a trailer, right?”

“Yes.” You answer, the judgement of his home, cosy and safe, filled with Eddie’s presence, so personal that it lends you a moment of defiance. 

“Oh, you've been?” Caroline again, her pretty blue eyes set right on you. She tilts her head, hair falling in a smooth wave over her shoulder. “What have you been getting up to with that boy?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as dread settles. She's looking at you like she knows every salacious thing you have done in Eddie's bedroom, like she was standing over you during every intimate moment, and is now excited to share. Taking a breath, your mouth opens even as you have nothing to say. 

“I think it’s cute.” 

Erin Maclean sits with a forkful of salad ready to go into her mouth, grinning to the side. Clearly she's happy to have interrupted Caroline's excitement at having caught you out. You suspect displeasing Caroline is a bigger motive for Erin than any righteous feelings she might get from defending you. 

She has been one step out the door of being able to sit at the table for months, since everyone found out she slept with Caroline’s boyfriend at a party, a perfect high school scandal that made its way round the school and culminated in Erin being shunned by the whole table…until she threatened to quit cheerleading entirely. More talented than any of the others, her tumbling won the cheer team second place at regionals. 

Even Caroline's influence wasn't strong enough to go up against the desire to win. Now they content themselves with iciness to Erin's face and talking viciously behind her back.

You judged her at the time. It was only later, after Andy, that you saw the hypocrisy. It was like he had no part in things going wrong. Then the injustice became clear, that cruel insults are written about Erin in bathroom stalls months later, while the boy involved, the only one of the triangle who cheated, suffered a single week of pouty silence followed by a public reconciliation that flicked the single spot of dust from his reputation away for good. 

You stare at Erin now, amazed at the ease in her voice, the way she plays them all to her tune. 

“It’s kinda like," she waves her hand in the air. "Who’s that teen actress with the red hair?”

“Molly Ringwald! I love her!”

“Yeah! They’re like Molly Ringwald and the punk guy in the Breakfast Club.”

“Don’t spoil it! I haven’t seen it yet!”

“Damon finally watched Sixteen Candles with me last week, it was so romantic.”  

Just like that, the discussion has moved past you, to someone else’s much more suitable boyfriend, one worthy of their time. You feel your bottom lip shake with the beginning of relieved tears, blinking them away when you find Erin’s gaze. 

She gives you a close lipped smile, but she looks sad with it. The sweet relief you were feeling is dulled by the pity in her eyes.  

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By last period, you are exhausted with answering questions and explaining yourself to people who have never before taken an interest in you. You drop yourself behind a desk and let your head fall forward into your notebook, hoping that hiding your face will prevent any questions from the students filtering into the History class. You filter out the chatter, your head noisy enough on its own. 

Gentle fingers brush at the hair on your temple, and when you turn your head, you find Eddie squatting down beside your desk. At once, the sight of his tender smile soothes the tightness in your chest. You gaze at him, the features of his handsome face, and know that every question, every moment of frustration, will be entirely worth it if he will keep looking at you like this. 

“You okay, sweet girl?”

You almost nod, almost lie, but the truth comes easily with Eddie. “I’m tired.”

“Needed to talk to everybody and their dog today, I bet,” he says, rubbing the curve of his finger over your cheek. This time you do nod, realising he must have experienced the same thing all day. Eddie sighs, as you had. “'S my fault.”

That makes you sit up straight, registering the guilt in his expression. “No, it isn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes follow your movement, and he gives you a dejected smile. “It’s because of me.”

You shake your head, hating that even more, hating that he thinks he’s the problem when just the sight of his face is what makes the real problem disappear from your mind. 

“It’s because of us,” you correct, thinking about reaching out to curl a lock of his hair around your finger but curling your fingers into your palms instead. “And I-” You look away from his eyes, focusing on his forehead so you can say it. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Eddie’s face goes from concerned to soft in an instant, eyes wide and shining as he tilts his head, face splitting into a smile. “That’s true.”  

“Move, Munson,” 

You both glance up at Mark; stocky, scowling, clad in green and white. Shaking his head, Eddie looks at you and rolls his eyes. “If only the class were set up in some kind of grid system, then he could get round me so easily.”

You giggle softly until Eddie is shoved with a knee, almost toppling him until he grasps your desk, looking up again in disbelief. 

“I said move.” 

“Well, if you insist.” Eddie straightens up, taking a step right into Mark’s space to wrap his arms around the back of his neck and swing them round like they’re dancing. He waggles his eyebrows, tilting his chin up with a grin. “This is so romantic.”

“Jesus-” Mark pushes Eddie away from him, sending him crashing back into his seat in a way that must hurt, not that Eddie's laughter would give it away. “You are a freak, Munson.”

“Don’t talk to me like what we had wasn’t special!” Eddie calls after him, adjusting himself in his seat and pouting at you. “They always run.”

You rest your chin in your hand, in awe of him. Eddie looks like he's already moved on. He can deal with cruel words and physical intimidation like it’s all a joke, when an off tone on a single word can leave you wringing your hands all day. 

Eddie sighs, resting his own head on his hand opposite you. “You know, I really wanna pass this class, and if I’m gonna pay attention, you’ll have to stop that.”

You hear the teacher starting up at the front of the room, but you have to ask. “Stop what, Eddie?”

He tilts his chin up. “Lookin’ so pretty.” 

You make distressed sound like you want him to stop, but you can’t fight the cheek aching smile that sits on your face the whole class.

When the final bell rings, you are desperate to get out of the building before anyone new can approach. You find yourself grabbing Eddie's hand the second your bags are packed, half dragging the giddy looking boy through the halls and then outside to the safety of his van. 

When the doors are closed and you are speeding away, listening to Matthew and Jeff argue about what should be on the stereo, hearing Eddie snapping at them and starting up a Dio tape without further discussion, you feel you can breathe properly for the first time since you got up this morning.

Eddie grabs your hand the second Jeff and the others have jumped from the back of his van, the three of them calling out goodbyes to both of you by name. “Still happy to come back to mine?” 

You nod, wanting that desperately. “We could do the History homework.”

“Shit. I told you I wanted to pass that class, didn't I?” 

“Mm hmm.”

"Always setting yourself up, Munson," he mumbles, sighing. "Okay, Princess. For you, I will sit with you in close proximity to my bed and…do homework with you.”

“It’s always easier with two people. May and I-” You cut yourself off, reminded that you don't entirely know where your longest friendship stands. Telling her did not go at all how you’d planned. You’ve annoyed her, something you’ve been doing more and more recently. But maybe it hurt her, too, that she found out from somebody else.

“I guess you told your friends?”

“Mm,” you sigh. “I didn’t get to tell May the way I wanted to.”

“Right. Just checking, you think there’s anything you could have done that would have made her cool with this?”

You consider that, opening and closing your mouth a few times before shrugging. “I don't know. But I wanted- I mean, my plan was...” You squirm a little, finding your new favourite thing to play with, the gem set into Eddie's ring cool to the touch of your finger. “I wanted to tell her why I…like you so much.”

You expect a little tease. Nothing terrible, but Eddie brand mischief at least. Instead, his shoulders roll back like you've given him a bout of new confidence. He glances at you after turning the sharp corner into the trailer park. 

“I’m still not entirely used to that,” he admits. “You know, three different people came up to me today, asking if you were really my girlfriend.” You sit with him when he stops outside his home, pressing one shoe to the top of the other.

“And what did you say?”

“I told them it had nothing to do with them and it was weird as hell to be asking when they don’t even know me.” Eddie gives your hand a squeeze. “And then some guy called Jeff says, what are you talking about Eddie, we’ve been friends for years? So I thought I’d tell him anyway, cause I sort of wanted to talk about it.” Eddie’s face is serious, looking into your eyes. “Told him I hadn’t asked, but I am going to."

“Okay,” you whisper, heart fluttering. Eddie watches the way you sit up in your seat, and brings your hand to his lips to lay a soft kiss at your knuckles.

“Not yet though,” Eddie says, tone suddenly lighter as he opens the door at his side, hair flying behind him as he jumps out of the van. “Gotta be at just the right moment, you know?” 

You blink after him, close to a huff, but the sound of his boyish laugh is so sweet that you find yourself climbing out and jogging after him to keep yourself close, where you want to be.

The TV is on in the space of the living room, but Wayne is standing in the kitchen. Water sloshes. You hear the sound of scoured metal against a pan over the serious voice of a newscaster reading headlines.

“Hi Wayne!” Eddie calls, removing his jacket and throwing it on the couch unceremoniously. 

“Afternoon." Wayne catches you standing at the door when he looks up to greet Eddie and gives you an acknowledging nod. "Hi again.”

You wave briefly and give in to the temptation to hide, pressing the side of your face to Eddie’s arm when he takes your hand. "We have homework. For History." 

Wayne nods again, glancing between the two of you. "Not a problem. Just cleaning up after my breakfast. You want coffee or anything?"

"I do. Sweetheart?" You shake your head, the urge not to be a bother always present. Eddie bumps your hip with his. "I can make one how you like it in case you change your mind, mm?" 

"Okay, Eddie." You let go of him reluctantly, feeling out of place watching him and Wayne fluidly move around each other in their kitchen. 

"You wanna get us set up at the table?" Eddie asks. You nod, glad to have been given a task to stop you standing in the middle of the room feeling at odds. You sit at the little fold out table by the kitchen, retrieving your History folder, notebook and pencil case from your bag while dishes clink and coffee is poured to your right. 

"You two got a lot of classes together?" Wayne asks, setting the washed pan on a drying rack next to the sink. 

"Not this year. This one's working for college credits in a bunch of subjects."

You smile at the pride in Eddie’s voice, digging a toe of your sneaker into the floor.

"You heading to college next year?" Wayne is asking you directly, leaning back on the counter and drying his hands on a kitchen towel. You nod, hum a little positive sound. "Where you headed?"

"Mm, my friends are probably staying in Indiana...”

Wayne’s face is serious, edging on concerned. “Didn’t ask about your friends. Wanna know about you.”

Your face heats. You glance at Eddie, who is already looking over his shoulder at you like he knew you’d need him. He gives you a little smile, an encouraging nod, and you glance back at Wayne. “I mean, I guess I might just stay with them. But, I don’t know, I might try for NYU?” 

"She's gonna write about old poems in other languages. That’s right, isn’t it, sweetheart?" Eddie places your mug down on the table and throws himself down in the opposite chair, immediately searching through your open pencil case. You see his eyes widen in delight, landing on a pale blue pen with a fluffy top that you sometimes play with when you’re in class and the teacher is calling on people to speak. Eddie presses the softness at the end to his face, strokes it up and down his cheek. “Why aren’t all pens like this?”

You watch him adoringly while he tickles his own neck and laughs softly to himself. 

"It was nice seeing you again," Wayne says, suddenly closer. When you turn to him, feeling sheepish that you had, for a second, forgotten he was there, he's giving you a small, but genuine smile. 

You realise that you've been caught. You can only imagine the way you look at Eddie, especially in the moments he acts like this, sweet and silly and him. Maybe your expression showcases it, the fact that you’d rather look at Eddie than anything else.

"You, too.” You mumble, clearing your throat to try and get the next words out more clearly. “Thanks, um, for letting me work here."

"Course. Anyone my boy wants around is welcome. You take care. I'll see you later, Eddie."

Eddie finally pays attention, bringing the soft fluff down from his chin and grinning. "Later, Wayne." 

You smile shyly when Wayne’s out the door, remembering the last time he left the two of you alone in this trailer, Eddie’s hands and mouth exactly where you wanted him most, where you are fighting against the want for him now.

You search through your pencil case for a slightly more practical pen. “I thought, maybe, we could do the questions together? I can start at five if you do one, and we could meet in the middle?”

Eddie’s head tilts, his hair falling across his mischievous face. “You actually wanna do the History homework? It's not due till Wednesday."

"But you have a gig tomorrow." 

Eddie considers this fact for a second, then leans his head back and groans into the air. He slumps, bum sliding forward on his seat until his body is a diagonal line from the back of the chair to the floor. He looks so much like a grumpy little boy with his big pouty lips and wide eyes that your heart aches a little even while you’re close to laughing at him. "I hadn't considered this,” he sighs, arms crossing over his chest. “You're really gonna make me do my homework all the time, aren't you?"

"Oh. I mean, I thought-” You suddenly feel a little silly, find yourself playing with the paper of your notebook, curling up the corner of the top page with your thumb. “I guess I thought it would be nice. But I can- I’m happy to go home, next time.”

Eddie shakes his head decisively, grasping the table to help sit himself up. "No, Jesus. I don’t want that. I’d choose doing my homework with you over doing anything else without you. Always.” He rests his elbows on the surface, leaning in close enough you can smell the smoke and the mint of his breath. “I guess I’m just wondering how much of the time we’ll spend on homework is time I could have spent with my tongue inside you." 

The space between your legs pulses with sudden heat, leaving you rubbing your thighs together. You could curse him for having this amount of power over you already, that he can say something so casually that leaves you with the beginnings of an encompassing ache. Eddie is grinning, proud of himself, watching your eyes keep darting from his face to the table and back again, searching through your blank mind for a reply.

“But you call the shots here, sweet thing,” he acquiesces, satisfied by the shadow of regret on your face. “Question one, you said? I’ll get right on that.” 

You watch him write his name at the top of the paper, leaning over the table. The concentrated look in his big eyes as he reads the question, his pink tongue coming to rest at his top lip. His soft hair is asking to be stroked as well as pulled. The pale column of his neck begs for kisses. The curve of his arms and the tattooed skin peeking out from his shirt want your tracing fingers. 

“Stop it,” you mumble, pressing a toe to the end of one of his Reebox under the table.

“Stop what?” 

You tilt your head. “Mm. Looking so pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Me? He mouths, pressing a palm to his chest as you nod. That hand moves to drag some of his hair across his face. Eddie plays it up, but you know that you have made him genuinely happy because, when he is done fluttering his eyelashes, his gaze moves to the table and he looks, for a second, earnestly shy.

“Well, I guess I’ll try. But no promises.”

Eddie writes quick, once he’s settled. As you finish your first question, he has written his answers for two. Your agreement, to work on the third question together, gives him a moment of pause that his busy brain latches onto. It drags him on to the next activity as soon as he’s written his last word, and then he’s offering you more coffee and searching through the cupboards for a preferred snack. He even disappears into his room for a minute, emerging with a mug he’d used yesterday that he throws in the sink before returning to his snack hunt. 

It reminds you of the way you’ve seen Eddie in class sometimes. Deeply focused, then suddenly playing with the ends of his hair, drumming a distracting beat, doodling on his notebook around the beginnings of what must have been good notes. 

It’s only when you’re finished with your own questions and reading through his that you bring him back to the table. It doesn’t take much, just an exclamation of, “Eddie, that’s a really good point!” 

He is sitting down opposite you the next second, looking just as pleased at that as he was to be called pretty. 

The second your pens are down from writing the final answer, Eddie is round your side of the table and pulling you up from the chair by your forearms like he wants to run away from the books and paper in case you suggest any more work. “That was exhausting,” he says, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, briefly tripping over a discarded magazine but otherwise walking with practised ease. “You do that all the time?”

You giggle to watch him throw himself back on his bed and give a tired groan as if he’d just written ten thousand words and not five short paragraphs. He toes off his shoes carelessly, kicking them from his feet while you kneel to tug at your laces

“You really never do your homework?” You ask, loosening the tongue of your left sneaker and pulling it off before shifting to the right one. 

“I try. Sometimes. I just, y’know, get bored,” Eddie says above your head. “Then I get distracted, and I can’t get back into it.”

“Well, we can work together, now.” You finish with your other shoe and look up at him from the floor, finding Eddie’s gaze intent on you already. You swallow, glancing at his knees, bare through denim, spread apart from each other on his bed. If you shuffled forward a couple of feet, you’d be between them.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s shoulders roll back, hands behind him on the bed. “You gonna keep me motivated? Reward me when I’m good?”

A shiver runs up your back, the ache that had never truly gone away now roaring its presence. It is a strange feeling, to know that Eddie likes looking at you on your knees, that he must like the thought of what you could do for him, positioned like this. And then, to still feel unsure. Maybe you’ve misunderstood. Maybe you haven’t and doing what you think he wants would be a mistake anyway. You don’t know what you’re doing, and he won’t like it. If he does like it, if you’re good at that, what would that say about you? 

Do you ask to do it? If he asks you, what do you say back? You know he likes the things you say to him when he is touching you. But to beg and praise and thank him when your body is alight with the pleasure he gives happens naturally. It happens without the involvement of your brain, when your ecstatic body tells your mouth the things Eddie wants to hear. 

What do you say when you are the one giving? When your brain is working full tilt to ensure you are doing everything right?

You look briefly between his legs, the metal buckle of his belt, the black denim that hides him from you, and you are both wanting and scared. You find his eyes, and they are kind.

“Eddie,” you whisper. 

“C’mere.” 

You clamber up to him, almost a familiar position now to be sat in his lap with your knees bracketing his thighs. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be soothed by the softness of his shirt against your cheek and the smell of him; smoke and weed, his cheap and pleasant aftershave. Eddie hums low, stroking a hand down the back of your head, massaging gently at your neck. 

“I wish-” You mumble, regretting it immediately, the end of the sentence too embarrassing to say. You think he might prompt you, but instead he keeps rubbing at the back of your head with his thumb, his hand a delightful warm pressure on your neck. You breathe in the boyish smell of him, mind settling on Eddie who is kind, Eddie who won’t judge, Eddie who wants to look after you.

“I wish I could talk like you.”

“I’m not sure this town could handle another person who talks the same shit I talk, sweet thing,” he laughs. “Besides, I’d miss the way you talk.”

You hide your whole face in his shoulder, voice coming out muffled. “But I mean…in bed.” Embarrassment crawls up and down your spine to be saying this. “It’s like it’s easy. You just make me all- make me so-”

You unconsciously wiggle on his lap, a desirous little movement that doesn’t escape Eddie. He huffs a soft laugh into your cheek. “I make you so…hot and wet in your little cunt?”

You squeeze your eyes shut even though the world is already hidden by his shoulder against your face. “Eddie,”. 

“You know, it’s probably easier than you think.” Eddie’s big hand locates yours where it was pressed to his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your palm before he lowers it. “Cause, you? Fuck, sweetheart, all you need to do is say my name.” Eddie presses your palm to his crotch, where you can feel him, thick and hard under the zip. “Say it again.”

He lets you curl your fingers, getting a feel for the girth of him, the length hidden by denim. You turn your head from his shoulder, glancing up at his face to find that the warm brown of his eyes has vanished behind pools of black. You whisper. “Eddie.”

You feel the excited twitch of his cock at the sound of his name from your lips. He is hot and ready against your palm, and the thought of touching him more, seeing him like he’s seen you takes over your brain. “Eddie,” you murmur, earning yourself another twitch, followed this time by his soft lips on yours. Your shoulders release their tension, content to feel Eddie’s mouth, to taste the promise that you are allowed to get things wrong because it’s him. You gasp softly when he releases you, your eyes fluttering closed when he dots kisses over your face, breath heavy when your palm rolls tentatively over his swollen cock. “Eddie, I want-” Your throat protests, and you pause to build yourself up to it again. 

“Do you want my mouth?”

Your pussy throbs, the memory of Eddie’s tongue at your entrance, how soft his lips were kissing your clit. “Oh. Yes, please.” 

“S’fucking sweet,” he says, grabbing your hand from his crotch. “Lie back, baby-”

“Wait,” you gasp, tightening your legs on either side of him to keep him from turning you over. “I want- I want to-”

Your toes curl, wishing again you could be more like Eddie, who offers his tongue with the same ease as a cup of coffee. 

Eddie strokes his thumb over your wrist, feels your racing pulse under his fingers and shakes his head, soft hair moving with him. “You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I know,” you answer with certainty, chest warm. It’s the knowing you don’t have to that makes you want to. It’s the fact that Eddie doesn’t expect you to offer anything more than what you’re willing to give that makes you want to give so much. 

You can’t say it, not how you want to, but you can still tell him.

You turn your wrist out of his hand, grab his own. Your heart pounds when you curl three of his fingers down. You clasp his wrist with both hands, hoping they can keep each other steady, and bring his fingers to your lips. Chancing a look at Eddie when your tongue flicks out along his rough pads, you find his mouth hanging loose, eyes blinking and intent on your lips. He tastes like his last cigarette at the tips, like skin further down. You breathe heavily through your nose as you press your head forward, sliding along his warm fingers until your lips meet the cool metal of his rings. Your tongue curls naturally around the length of the digits, and the noise that escapes the back of Eddie’s throat when you suck gently stokes the heat between your thighs, the sticky feeling of cotton pressing to wet skin. 

“Okay,” he breathes, face flushed. “Okay, shit.” 

You pull back, dragging the soft inside of your lips along his skin, and Eddie makes a low groan in the back of his throat, one of his legs shaking between yours. “Will you-” His voice breaks, a soft squeak at the last word, and you hear him clear his throat desperately through your heart beating in your ears. Eddie sighs, speaks soft. “Open your mouth a little for me, sweet thing.”

It takes you a second, still wrapping your head around the satisfying feeling of your mouth being filled, the taste of Eddie’s skin, the ability to speak taken away. Your mouth opens wider as soon as the request registers in your brain. You let Eddie press his fingers deeper, your eyes fluttering at the smooth glide over your tongue. Just as you get a taste of the metal of his rings, your body protests the depth,  our fingers twitching at the gagging sound your throat makes. You blink away the first spring of tears as Eddie coos softly, tilting your head so you’re looking right at his intent gaze, his gentle pout. He draws his fingers in and out of your mouth, skating along your drooling tongue. 

“Just wanted to see what I’m working with, mm? My girl wants my cock in her mouth, is that it?” 

You try to make a positive noise, but it comes out as any other sound would with your lips wide open like this. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He gives another deep prod with his fingers, grinning when your prepared throat lets him in a little deeper before protesting with a short gag. 

Eddie pulls his fingers from your mouth and grasps your cheeks with his wet hand, the curve that connects his forefinger and thumb sitting at your chin. “I think you’re gonna be a natural. You wanna get on your knees for me?”

The tears that had sprung up from your gagging pool a little more at the relief of Eddie taking over. You’ve told him what you want without words, he understood, and now he’s going to give you it. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Okay, baby.” He helps you off the bed, kicking shoes out of the way and replacing them on the floor with one of his pillows, making you feel soft for him even as you’re trembling in anticipation. Your head feels light when you sink down, settling your knees on the pillow before you look up at his flushed, smiling face. “Comfy?” 

Eddie’s fingers push back stray hairs from your forehead when you nod, his thumb rubbing soft over your cheekbone. “You can stop any time, you know that, right?” Another nod from you, your hands coming to rest at the inner seams of his jeans, feeling the radiating warmth there. “Even half way through, even right at the end, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“I want a God damn recording of you saying that,” he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a quick kiss wet with your spit and his. “I’d play it on a fucking loop everywhere I go.”

You hum, body tingling in a mix of excitement and worry. Waiting to touch Eddie, wanting it to be good for him. Knowing he’ll help you, hoping he doesn’t mind. Chewing your lip, you rub your hand up his thigh, staring at his face the whole time. You find him hard and straining still, a soft whimper edging from his mouth at the pressure of your fingers. 

“Baby, I’ve got to-” He groans at the back of his throat. “Can I take it out?”

You nod quickly, the ends of your fingers rubbing the bulge of him as Eddie attacks his belt, his desperation to get it open making his fingers clumsy, fiddling with the clasp until he starts shaking his knee in exasperation. You hear the gentle clink of the buckle when he finally succeeds with it, followed by the differing metallic sound of his zip.  

Eddie’s hand disappears under the grey band of his boxers, and you feel his fingers slide under yours through his pants. His shoulders shake, like he’s been waiting for this relief, like it was hurting, when his hand jerks under the cotton. You stare at that place, the thick, dark curls of hair that peak out from his waistband, the movement of his hand under shifting fabric. Your tongue peeks out to wet dry lips. 

He laughs softly when he catches the anticipation on your face, dimples appearing at his cheeks. Eddie sounds like he’s only just realised what’s happening. “Fuck. Fuck. You want my cock in your mouth.”

Your cunt clenches and you find yourself nodding, watching his hand drag his cock out from his jeans, pulling his fist over the thick length in a few quick strokes. “You ever seen a dick before?” You shake your head, eyes fixed on the round, smooth end of him that peeks out from folds of pink skin when his hand glides back. “Shit, man. It’s fucked. I know it’s fucked but that’s so hot.” 

His hands speeds up, drawing out some liquid from his tip, pooling at his slit. A primal part of you resents being made to watch, your fingers digging into his thigh in protest. Eddie’s body shakes up his back. “I’m sorry, baby. ‘S all yours.” 

The fear that he might leave you on your own to work out what to do rises and falls away when he grabs your hand and shows your where to touch him. Eddie wraps your hand around him at the base, and you feel the twitching you’d only known through fabric, now directly in your palm, along your fingers. 

You swallow as Eddie guides your pace, feeling the soft skin wrapped around firm flesh. “A little tighter, baby- yeah, yeah, shit. Wait, fuckin’, shit, spit on your hand a little. S’better if it’s wet.” It’s like a call and response, the way you take barely a second to spit into your palm and return your hand to glide along his cock. It is easier, your hand moving smoother. “Twist a little at the end.” You follow his advice, turning your hand at his tip, and he groans through his teeth. You watch more cum leaking from him, dripping from his slit, pooling within the skin that covers his head every time your hand moves up towards the end of his cock.

You hardly expect it yourself when your tongue lathes over the end of him. Eddie cries out above you but you hardly notice, considering the new taste of him, musk and salt like the sweat on your top lip after a long run. Strange and new but not unpleasant. Your tongue peeks out again to lap softly at his head, licking away pooling cum and leaving the head of him wet with your spit, unknowingly teasing him beyond what he can handle.

“That taste good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, voice strained. You look up at him with wide eyes and hum positively, any thoughts of embarrassing desperation miles away when Eddie is watching you like this. “You gonna let me fuck your mouth now?”

Your pussy throbs when Eddie brushes your hand away from his cock, grasping the base with his own ring covered hand and tapping himself against your tongue. The wet dirty sound of it, the feeling of his spongy head bouncing on your tongue makes you squirm, opening your mouth wider so he has the space to take it how he wants it. 

His cock glides easily along your wet tongue until his head, heavy and warm, is past your lips entirely. “If you- if you cover your teeth you can- yeah,” he laughs when you instinctively bring your lips over your top teeth to suck at the swollen flesh filling your mouth, Eddie’s big hand rubbing at the length still exposed to the air. “Was right, baby. You were fucking made for this.”

Eddie seems torn between letting his head fall back on his neck to focus on the feel of you, and remembering every detail of how you look on your knees for him; eyes wide, mouth stretched open. His face keeps disappearing and reappearing, thrown back then staring down. You keep sucking gently, enjoying the weight of him on your tongue, the constant drip of salt slick from his cock. Praise from Eddie has your clit twitching, and you think distantly about dipping your fingers into your panties to rub at the swollen button. But you want Eddie’s tongue more, the thought of it making you whine around his cock. 

Eddie’s hips buck, his cock pushing deeper until it hits the same place his fingers had prodded, your throat clenching in protest. You pull away from him, leaving him wet with drool, to take a breath. “M’sorry, m’sorry,” he breathes, stroking the back of your head with one hand and pressing his tip into your mouth with the other. “Get back on my cock.”

You squirm as you take him back inside, bobbing your head in time with his hand moving along his cock. You rub his thighs, still hidden in his jeans, feeling the ocassional twitch under your fingers from him fighting the urge to ignore your protesting throat and fuck himself deeper. “We’re gonna do this all the time now, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, wanting this feeling again, as much as he’ll let you have it. Sitting at Eddie’s feet, making him feel good, the heavy thickness of him filling up your mouth. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you up, baby. ‘M gonna help you take it deeper till you can take my cock in your tight little throat. Till I can feel myself here.” He rubs a thumb over the hollow of your neck, pressing down like he’s imagining massaging his cock through the skin. “That sound good?”

You groan, feeling desperate now. Your panties are uncomfortably wet, your hips grinding into the air in the search for friction. Wanting him to cum, wanting him to cum now, you reach up to brush his working hand from his slick cock, replacing it with your own, trying to replicate his pace and jerking him into your bobbing mouth. 

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, both hands threading through your hair at the scalp, a tight painful grip that only makes your core throb, encouraging you along. You feel his cock twitch desperately in your mouth, under your fingers. “So warm, so fucking good on my cock, you’re unbelievable. This can’t be real. You’re a siren- a fucking succubus, you’re gonna kill me- fuck!”

Eddie’s ramblings make you more desperate for him, things only he would say, pushing you to take him deeper, the head of him finding the tight beginning of your throat. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum now.” 

He pulls his cock from your mouth rapidly, leaving your hand to work him through his orgasm. You watch wide eyed at the twitch along his cock, his heavy balls underneath, followed by ropes of white cum from his tip. It covers your hand, warm and thicker than what had been dripping onto your tongue. 

You rub a thumb over the end of him, taking the last clinging drop before you bring your hand to your mouth, licking tentatively. The taste is almost familiar now, the texture new. “Holy shit-” You lap at it on your hand, a mix of curiosity about your own ability to taste and swallow him and the knowledge that boys are supposed to like it when girls do this. With anyone else, you might be worried about seeming desperate. You don’t mind Eddie knowing that you are. 

You gather spit in your mouth to help you swallow down what was on your hand, blinking at his softening cock for a second before kissing at what is left there. Eddie hisses, eyes closing tight while you lick up the rest of it. 

“You swallowed everything, sweet thing?” Feeling a strange, salacious pride, you show him your tongue, wet and clear of his cum, only for Eddie to grasp your face and lick along the muscle, groaning into your mouth at what is left of his taste there. “Okay. Okay, come up here, I’m gonna- fuck. Have to eat your pussy.”

Eddie tucks himself away in his boxers, and then he’s hauling you up to him, dragging your dress up and off before pushing you down on his bed. Eddie lacks all the gentle finesse he’d brought to this yesterday. Gone is the boy who rubbed his cheek against your thigh while playing with the edge of your panties. He tears this pair down your legs like he’s angry at them for being there, pressing his face to your cunt like he needs the taste of you the same way he needs air.

“S’fuckin wet,” he groans, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your twitchy clit. “Imagine that. Sweetest fuckin’ girl in town, and getting on your knees for me leaves your cunt sticky.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking at the sensitive nerves until your toes curl in your frilled socks. Your hands find his hair, stroking through the soft, broken curls at the top of his head. Teeth brush your clit, your hips flying up against his face and your fingers grasping his hair tight enough it must hurt. 

Eddie spits, saliva pooling at your wet entrance to ease the way for his fingers, sliding through your slick and his to target the delightful spot at the end of you. 

“Eddie,” you cry, the build of it so much more intense than any time before, his fingers fucking your tight cunt while he sucks ungracefully at your clit. You gasp, high and desperate, your thighs closing around his head. Your fingers dig into his hair, keeping his wet mouth between your thighs while your hips roll desperately, using his outstretched, lapping tongue for your pleasure while your pussy clasps around his invading fingers. Your high is a quick, overwhelming thing. You feel it gush wet around his hand, the sounds of him playing with your hole increasingly sloppy until you’re keening, batting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

Your tense limbs loosen when Eddie’s mouth leaves you, tensing up for just a second at the final kiss Eddie gives your clit to feel the excited twitch of it against his lips. He crawls up your body, laying kisses on you at every level. Your mound, stomach, breasts. The hollow of your neck. His face is wet with you, leaving damp spots all across your skin. When his eyes are level with yours, his hair brushing the sides of your face, you reach up to tuck some of it behind his ear. 

Eddie laughs softly, his breath warm and humid on your face. “Congratulations,” he breathes. Eddie presses his sweaty forehead to yours and the world becomes his big soft eyes. “You’re going to be in every wet dream I have for the rest of my fucking life.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him right down on top of you, stealing more kisses from him while his body weighs down on yours. 

 “How do you feel?” He asks, big hand rubbing your hip.

Another hum. Strange is the answer. To have been so in a moment just minutes ago, wanting something so desperately, and now to wonder what that wanting says about you. And then to resent that wonder, wanting to be present where you are, pleasured and cosy in Eddie’s bed, in his arms. 

“Liked it,” you assure, looking from his cheeks to his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Felt so fucking good for me,” he breathes, leaving you chewing your lip bashfully. Eddie shakes his hair over your face, tickling your cheeks until you’re smiling and tucking it back again. Eddie kisses your forehead, your nose and your cheeks. Then your eyes, chin, jaw, back to your nose, soft lips scattering kisses over every bit of your face, leaving you giggly and breathless, clinging to him even more, needing him like this. He sighs into your mouth at the end. “Be my girlfriend.” Eddie’s eyes close tight the second he says it, face embarrassed while you lay under him, a picture of adoration. “I didn’t wanna ask like that- shit. Don’t answer.”

“I want to be your girlfriend, Eddie.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, as if you aren’t stroking a hand over his face like a lover, rubbing his eyebrow with your thumb to ease the tension at his forehead. Your heart aches at his sweetly concerned expression. “Cause I can ask better. I can make it romantic, you know?” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews at it cruelly while he stares at your contented face. “I want to deserve you.”

You shake your head. A better speaker would be able to lay out all the reasons he already does, that anyone half as good as him deserves anything, everything they want. You are left with something more simple. “I- I just want to be yours.”

It seems to work just as well. Eddie’s sigh is long and shuddery. The release in his shoulders is the loss of a long held tension that you are trying to rub away with gentle hands.

Next Part

[taeminscoconuthead]

You know what, this makes so much sense.

Whenever people send those nasty messages, it seems as if they’re not actual Shawols and instead trolls trying to harass us.

I have a screenshot of an account who has harassed me in my art blog and as you could see, they don’t even look like a Shawol at all. (I could be wrong, but they tend to look exactly the same — also I didn’t save the message since it was very triggering)

Which makes me wonder, why are they ONLY doing this to Shawols and not other fandoms? I don’t see them doing the same with TechnoBlade, XXXTentacion or even Michael Jackson. I could name someone who has also commit suicide but NEVER gets treated like this. Etica. I’ve heard NOTHING from them and apparently he doesn’t get treated well by his fans. Never did I see a post telling them it’s “disrespectful to a deadman” but when Shawols try to celebrate his life that works for us, then all of a sudden we’re doing a bad thing.

I feel like this also plays on with the whole “terrorising K-pop fans because I’m edgy” trope. Yet, that doesn’t give you the excuse to harass someone who just want to grief in their own terms.

If they are a K-pop fan and they’re saying shit like that then, how would it make you feel if you bias passed away and then everyone treated you like shit because you’re expected to mourn and then pretend they never existed in the first place.

What if a member of Loona passes away and you’re not even allowed to say your favourite quote from them without people harassing you to “stop talking about her?”

What if a member of Stray Kids passes away and you have to pretend he never existed just to gain the approval of people around you.

What if a member of Enhypen passes away and there are people spamming his funeral pictures and clips that you can’t even go onto YouTube or Google anymore without it being shown to you.

What if a member of BTS passes away and you can’t even celebrate his life because “oh, you’re disrespecting the dead.”

What if a TXT member passes away and you have to constantly check every single person just to make sure they are comfortable to talk about him.

You could apply any group to this, and would you still like it? But oh, you was just telling people, right? No. You go up to them when they are vulnerable and start to harass them. For what?

Sorry, that was a vent here…

No, you’re totally right. It seems as if the messages are an attack on K-pop fans which makes sense due to the fact that people love to make fun of them for their music taste. This has especially been happening since the early days of when K-pop went worldwide and it has became this “alternative pop world.” I think it’s also the fact that since he’s the first idol that has killed himself, people use that to harass and terrorise others that may be otherwise trying to cope with no longer seeing their idols on vlive anymore and even music without them. You don’t see people doing the same to Sulli or Goo Hara. It’s only Jonghyun that gets this treatment.

People need to start being considerate and stop thinking that they have the rights to control how people grief and cope. Regardless if it’s a Shawol or not, they should really keep to themselves and focus on what coping mechanisms works for them. And if they’re not a Shawol and they’re harassing people for coping with death, they should be ashamed of themselves for terrorising them just because they do something that you don’t like that you’re otherwise not even a part of. They need to really shut the fuck up and know their place. They are NOT a Shawol mourning over the death of Jonghyun by referring to him as “dead man” and mentally harassing other grieving Shawols in their vulnerable state because they think they’re doing something “right” or they’re the “hero” in their story when really they’re making it so much harder for those people that they become traumatised and may need to go to therapy because of those people.

I’m not going to let that comment on hyunjin gf’s blog slide. The fact that they have the audacity to harass someone who is MENTALLY not in a good place by gatekeeping other ways to cope with FUCKING DEATH because they expect us to not treat him like he ever existed. For most people, that’s not how they cope, and it’s such a fucking unhealthy coping mechanism for most people since it could cause depression. Some people can do that whilst most can’t, and they need to understand that this is a thing that they can’t gatekeep for their own sake.

If any of these dumbasses decides to challenge me, I’ll screenshot their ask and I’ll report them to Tumblr because this terrorisation of K-pop fans needs to end. I would even bring them to the wall of shame so they can’t take back their words.

If you guys had gone through something like this, please note that you’re not alone and you don’t need to change how you cope with Dec 18th for anyone. You are allowed to grief, mourn and cope in your own terms. Remember, this is YOUR experiences and not others so YOU figure out what works for YOU and don’t cater to what those stupid delusional idiots like them say because most likely, they aren’t even Shawols themselves or even if they are, they cope with death differently than you and you don’t have to copy them just because they told you so. Please look after yourselves and make sure that you guys are putting yourselves first since mental health was the thing that killed Jonghyun, and he wouldn’t want you to be next in line.

[possibleplatypus]

Steve rogers is not real y’all need to relax

Oh boy 😂

At first I thought anon was a Disney stan or casual MCU fan who doesn’t want to see MCU criticism...

And then I thought maybe anon is concerned about my mental health since I can sound a little unhinged (though I prefer the term “passionate”) in my posts...

After thinking about it I’m pretty sure anon is the former, but just in case you’re the latter, I assure you, I’m fine. The stuff I post on Tumblr really has no effect on me in my life outside of Tumblr. I never discuss the MCU with my family. I don’t go shouting at strangers on the street about how much Disney has screwed up. I have much bigger concerns outside of what I choose to blog about. Rest assured that Steve Rogers, no matter how much I love him, does not consume my every waking thought.

But anon does bring up an interesting point: Steve Rogers isn’t real, so we shouldn’t be angry when we feel that his corporate owners have ridiculed him. Steve Rogers isn’t real, so we shouldn’t make a big deal about it when his corporate owners disrespect him. Steve Rogers isn’t real, therefore he can’t be disrespected, and we should just relax and let everything that’s been done to him roll off of our backs, like water on a duck.

I know Steve Rogers isn’t real. Everybody knows. He is a fictional comic book character created by Jewish men to inspire action against Nazis during World War II. He isn’t real, but you can’t tell me that his influence also isn’t real. He isn’t real, but he tells us that all of us, no matter how small or unloved by society we are, can rise to the challenge. We can be heroes and fight for something bigger than ourselves. That inspiration, and that message, I think, is very important.

Steve Rogers isn’t real, but our love for him is. And I don’t think you should belittle this love. You might as well belittle the love that others have for other franchises that are meaningful to them, other storybook characters, other video games, other hobbies that “aren’t real.” Why is our love not valid and worthy of note? I am sure anon loves things that I don’t love-- things that aren’t “real.” I would never tell anon to “relax”-- unless they’re hurting themselves, or hurting real people. (Honestly, the fans who tell other fans to kill themselves over fictional characters are the ones who need to relax 😬)

Steve Rogers isn’t real, but Disney’s impact on popular culture is. How real? A quick Google search told me that the MCU earned over $25 billion worldwide. 25 billion dollars, can you imagine that? $25,000,000,000. Google also tells me that in 2021, the Walt Disney Company held assets worth a total of over 203.61 billion U.S. dollars. That is more money than the GDP of some countries. That is certainly more money than most of us will see in our lives, no matter how hard we toil. That is power. That is real. That is power to buy politicians and influence real lives, such as in the United States when Disney supported backers of the Don’t Say Gay Bill in Florida. And Steve Rogers is just one small cog in the MCU machine, which is merely one cog in the bloated Disney monopoly.

I make blog posts that get reblogged maybe over a hundred times if I’m lucky. Usually they never hit triple digits-- it's a good day if I get a dozen likes. Most of these posts are really vent posts-- I vent my frustrations with likeminded fans. Compare that to Disney churning out dozens of movies and shows nonstop, and how much am I doing, really? (Honestly, Disney should be the ones told to relax-- they’re burning out VFX artists and churning out subpar content.)

Forbes tells me that the Loki series was watched by 2.5 million households when it debuted. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier debuted to 1.8 million viewers. WandaVision, to 1.6 million. That is real power.

She Hulk apparently had 1.5 million viewers. 1.5 million people watched Jennifer Walters wail and moan about how tragic it was for Steve to die a virgin. That’s Disney wailing in our ears, anon. That’s Kevin Feige and his extremely real insecurities telling us that it’s tragicomedy for a man to not have sex. And it doesn’t matter if you’re an ordinary man, or a hero who helped save the universe-- they’re still going to laugh at you. And I can tell that it’s wrong, but how many others are going to have their misguided beliefs reinforced? How many people will feel inadequate if they don’t have sex? We do not live in a bubble. We are constantly bombarded by messages from without telling us to have sex, or don’t have sex, or have the right amount of sex, etc. It is a toxic mindset that they are perpetuating, and I don’t think it’s wrong to call them out.

So Steve Rogers isn’t real. But the love that his fans have for him is. And the love that we and other likeminded fans have for the MCU translates into very real power for Disney-- the power to influence popular consciousness.

So-- maybe we should stop loving him, in order to stop supporting Disney? That’s difficult, considering how much Disney owns (and they weren't his original owners to begin with). They are a Hydra of their own making, inescapable, choking the life out of popular culture, swallowing up studios and VFX artists. And besides, Disney doesn’t want fans like me. They don’t want fans that criticize their writing, that tell them they’re not funny, that call them out when they’re toxic. They don’t want fans that have queer readings of characters they insist absolutely have to be straight. So I think that fans like me are something they desperately need.

This quote from Neil Gaiman is very apt:

“We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort. And that is why we write.”

Somewhere out there, someone needs Steve Rogers' stories, even if he isn't real. And Steve Rogers deserves better stories. We deserve better.

I will love Steve Rogers for what he was made to be-- a symbol of inspiration, a bulwark against fascism-- and not what Disney wants him to be-- a cash cow for people to point and laugh at. And I’ll relax when I want to, thanks.

(Fun fact: the second comic of Steve is from a She Hulk comic. Can you believe that? From standing up to Nazis to being laughed at for presumably dying a virgin. I know what Disney values.)

[kyra45]

This is kind of sad but I think I know what's going on. You posted some harassing anons, and people blocked you maybe because they didn't want to see things like that (based on how somesone said not to post that content untagged,) then someone sent rude asks and now you're attributing it to one person who blocked you. Do you know how many other people blocked you? What evidence do you even actually have that proves they're connected to the asks? I blocked you too! You say you're trying to avoid drama or smearing other people but you're just making passive aggressive remarks trying to smear them like a concern troll, truly despicable, rethink your life.

I've been following you on another blog for a while, and it's very obvious what the url is because you've been posting their posts left and right for days. And if sending an ask telling you my thoughts is "harassment" just because it's calling you out on something you've done that isn't nice, I don't know what to say, holy crap. What.

The only reason I'm still here is because I'm scared you're going to call me out for blocking you too. And the whole "please don't harass them" after practically spelling out their name (what other blog calls themselves "scam archive" that has interacted with you?) is like putting a pile of meat in the middle of a pack of dogs and expecting them not to lunge for it. It's fake kindness. It's like people making callouts and telling people "don't harass them", it never works lol. Now I'm really mad lol, christ. I was expecting better from this blog.

Literally know that and read it, the emphasis is on NOT REPLYING. Takes half a second to delete the messages as they come in. You're feeding and enabling them and they're getting a laugh out of it.

But sure, I’m lying about the asks I got that made me cut ties with someone. I even had the original post not rebloggble because I didn’t want it to go anywhere.

Before the last ask, I was literally told “Saying you can’t do anything is learned helplessness” when i had explained:

1. My stalker uses a VPN

2. VPN’s get around blocks

3. My stalker can/will make multiple accounts to send me asks even if I’ve continue ignoring/blocking them

I am also making this post not rebloggable but apparently I’m ‘lying’ and acting ‘suspicious’ just because the whole situation made me extremely uncomfortable and I don’t like discussing it to people using anonymous. These asks only stopped when I blocked someone and no more has been sent since. While I can’t say for sure it was who I think it was, I remain clear when I say don’t harass them. I’m still doing what I do here.

But don’t you dare come here and dismiss what I went through and accuse me of something. They talked to me and all they did was call me a child and blame me for harassment towards them when I don’t condone anyone sending it. I’m not a child. But if the harassment is that bad then I’m sorry but I’m not telling people to go harass anyone in any fashion and it’s not my fault if someone does it. If they say I sent them their lying and I make it quite clear that no one should be getting harassed just because I talk about them.

Do you think people will publicly admit to sending someone anon hate on this hellsite? No. Because we all know what would end up happening.

[beevean]

Hey it’s so called this morning’s anon back with more things to say I suppose…

I supposed I wanted to elaborate on some things, I know you said you didn’t wanna start discourse but I really wanted to elaborate on what I meant by that proshipping comment. The term proship, from what I heard, has gone from let people ship what they want and if you don’t like don’t look to… This person is a disgustingly vile subhuman and their death should be celebrated.

Funnily enough I openly ship problematic stuff, but I constantly over complicate things to prove that I’m still better than ‘those guys’, to say that I have morality and ‘they’ don’t… But it’s so fucking exhausted. My life wasn’t good and moral and pure so why does my art have to be?

I’m sick of fearing I’ll have someone genuinely threaten my life because I cope differently than them. Ironically I used to get mad when people say it was their coping mechanism, calling it a shitty excuse to be a whatever [You can insert all kinds of fun and degrading terms there] and yet… I was doing the same thing.

So yeah… I don’t like everything but I’m realizing that everything has its place and if that makes me a proshipper then fuck it I guess I’m a proshipper

[After reading all those kind messages I wanted some way to reveal myself because surprise you actually know who I am! But I wasn’t sure how to do that without outing myself so openly… I read your Hevor fic and told you about it on Discord, it’s the only thing we ever discussed. So yeah if you manage to figure me out based on that alone then congratulations! Purity culture is ruining my life so bad I can’t even say my own name! ;3]

fdjskfksdngksjdhk talk about efficient secret codes lmao. Yes I understand now 😄

That's pretty much what happened. "Proship" started as a countermovement to the "anti" culture budding around 2016 who were all like "Sheith is actually incest because they're like brothers and that's gross guys!!!!", and at first it meant simply "ship and let ship", but then it got twisted into meaning "someone who enjoys problematic ships/ships with incest, pedophilia and/or abuse", which inevitably leads to "this person has Something Wrong with them and they're a Bad Person who Hurts people like me with their Degenerate Art! Pedo alert pedo alert! PUNISHMENT FOR A THOUSAND YEARS".

The problem is that "enjoys" means a lot of things :^) there is a difference between "aww they're so cute <3", "welp this is a kink now", and "wow this would be incredibly fucked up but I am intrigued to explore this story". But nuance is not allowed, apparently.

(fun fact: I don't really go through proship blogs because I swear they all ship sibling incest. I hate sibling ships lmao, especially when they're wholesome. But of course they're all in the "will accept anything" community, after being pretty much shunned and painted as horrible abusers who deserve to be hurt and worse - and just because I don't want to see those ships, that doesn't mean I think they're bad people who condone real-life abuse. So yeah, proship is not about having all the grossest ships in the world, you can be exclusively into the most vanilla M/F ships ever and still think "yo do what you want I'll respect you from a distance")

I also hear similar stories like yours, of people who twist themselves into pretending to be antis and be morally "purer" than others when in private they were doing the same things they were insulting others for, just with tons of shame and denial. Not judging you and I'm happy when people realize that this behavior is harmful, definitely more than being into the Problematic lol... I'm just disappointed and frustrated that the internet culture has come to this. I reiterate my points about surrounding yourself with friends who don't make you feel like you have to walk on eggshells.

Also real talk: you don't really have to psychoanalyze yourself. Maybe your tastes are tied to an easily identifiable reason, or maybe they aren't or the reason goes too deep to explore without outside help. In any case, it doesn't matter. You don't have to justify yourself in any way, let alone showing to everyone the "I'm Coping With Trauma" badge in the hopes they will forgive you - because it doesn't work. It's never about the mental health of victims, it's about "i feel icky and i don't want to :("

Disgust is not harm. You (general) have every right to be disgusted by something - I myself am not above it :P But it's not a personal attack against you, and it's your responsibility to walk away and coping with your feelings in private.

[batboyblog]

LOUISVILLE — She wanted to hear Henry’s voice again. So she went to her son’s room on an overcast February day and started digging through the boxes he left behind, looking for something he’d written to give her guidance.

Henry Berg-Brousseau always knew what to say.

Eight years had passed since he’d told Kentucky lawmakers how it felt, at 16, to be the only transgender student at his high school. Eight weeks had passed since he’d killed himself, at 24, at his Northern Virginia apartment.

It was Henry who’d inspired his mother, Karen Berg, to run for Kentucky’s state Senate, helping her win a seat in an overwhelmingly Republican legislature now contemplating a pile of anti-trans bills.

All morning long, the doctor turned Democratic lawmaker had been pacing around her Louisville house, trying to figure out what she could say to stop them.

“Don’t shake. Don’t cry. Don’t let your voice waver,” Karen, 61, muttered to herself as she did the laundry. “Short and sweet is better.”

Henry, who’d worked as a press secretary for a major LGBTQ advocacy group, often reminded her to speak in sound bites, to repeat phrases so listeners could absorb the message.

But would the people with power in Frankfort pay attention?

It was an election year in Kentucky, and amid America’s widening cultural rifts, Republicans were pouncing on gender identity issues. Already, almost a dozen new anti-trans laws had been proposed in Kentucky: censoring books on gender, barring doctors from providing hormone therapy to trans teens, banning them from certain restrooms and locker rooms.

Five days earlier, a senator running for lieutenant governor had stood a few feet from Karen and introduced legislation to allow teachers to use students’ birth names and pronouns against their wishes. He was greeted with thunderous applause from colleagues.

Karen, one of just six Democrats in the Senate, couldn’t believe it.

Now she headed down to the basement and sat among the 30 boxes that had arrived from Henry’s apartment in Arlington.

“I keep searching for his smell, but I can’t find it,” she said, rooting through his old shirts.

She found herself returning to his childhood bedroom.

“God, I could use his advice right now,” she said quietly, as she leafed through his high school yearbooks.

It was in ninth grade — when Henry came out as transgender to his classmates — that the cruelty and isolation peaked. Parents Karen had known for more than a decade called to say they didn’t want Henry talking to their kids anymore. Bullies hacked his Tumblr blog and repeatedly sent him messages telling him to kill himself. The first of several suicide attempts followed soon after.

From one crate, she pulled a thick stack of binders from Henry’s time at George Washington University in D.C.

“These must’ve been from his classes when he came home during covid,” she said. As she flipped through them, the neatly penciled handwriting on one college-ruled page jumped out at her.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as she made out the first words on the page.

“What am I living for?” it read. “Why? What is keeping me?”

Underneath, her son had written out in tidy columns across two pages the apparent pros and cons of killing himself.

“I can’t,” Karen said, struggling to breathe. “I didn’t expect this. I’m not ready.”

She laid the pages down.

She thought about the hour-long drive to Frankfort the next morning and the eight-week legislative session still ahead. She thought about the fellow state senators she planned to plead with in private. And about the floor speech she was still composing to persuade them to back away from more anti-transgender laws — for her sake, for the sake of her son, for the sake of others like him.

“If they’re going to pass these bills,” she said, “I want them to see me and my dead child and know that they are killing other Henrys out there.”

Continue

every single line of this is heart breaking.

[2dfd-simp]

This Blog Is Now Dead

FYI: This is a semi rant.

TLDR - I won’t be active on this blog anymore

I’ve only been back on Tumblr for a couple of months. And already I’m remembering why I fucking hate it. For a multitude of reasons.

1) Every single type of media allows for explicit material. It’s about managing who sees it. The internet made it even more accessible then ever before. And yet Tumblr removes so many posts that the censorship becomes more obscene than the material that’s being censored. And having over 10 blogs deactivated it gets tedious starting again from scratch. Fuck Tumblr.

2) I’m here to goon to the amazing content that gets posted on here. That’s all I want to do. I enjoy gooning (obviously) but this blog is just getting full of shit to the point it feels like a chore. Gooning while getting shitted on isnt wxactky what I’m after unless that’s literal rather then metaphorical. Incase it’s not obvious I’m submissive. I’m a beta loser and well aware of it. I’m not even a switch and the rare times I do do it I don’t enjoy it. I do however enjoy encouraging each other to be worse. There is a line though between making each other worse and just trying to get domme’d for free. If you just want to be dominated pay a femdom. Guess what? You have to pay for literally every other service out there too, even ones essential to living such as water and food. The amount of people on here trying to use reverse psychology to get me to domme then is insulting. The fact you think you’re being clever is even worse. Fuck You. And this bit is to one specific guy who has messaged me over and over asking to be controlled and then saying his wife is his Mistress and that I’m a loser for not controlling him and his wife thinks the same. Firstly, here’s a secret about me. I’m a sociopath. Genuinely. What does this mean to you? It means I don’t care what you or your “wife” think about me. Your strangers. I don’t have empathy towards people I do k ow and have to fake it. I certainly am not going lose sleep over what you are what is probably the nickname for your hand think of me. Secondly if you had a wife who was your mistress you wouldn’t be asking for others to control you over and fucking over again. Because you already have a Mistress. It’s not Pokémon. You don’t need to find and collect every person to domme you, you only need one and apparently you’re married to one. Fuck you and your bullshit

3) Fucking exposure. People who have known me across multiple blogs will know I’ve done exposure captions or invaded your privacy with your consent etc, starting back years ago from when I met x-loservirgin-x. When I’ve done things like log into your Facebook etc I’ve only ever done what was agreed same as with people who have done the same with mine. Today has been the second time I’ve been interrogated because somethings been found out about someone. As mentioned above, I’m here to jerk off and goon. If you want exposure then be prepared for the risks that come with it and when you talk to multiple people about it. I’ve seen posts about both people on other sites and captions I’ve made saved and posted on other sites too. I can’t control that. Being hassled over the consequences because you didn’t think it through is t exactly what I’m here for so from now on I won’t be doing exposure at all. It’s not worth the fallout. Also aimed at one person: if what you did to your sister is true then you deserve anything that happens. Anyway. Fuck Exposure.

4) Fucking Findom. As soon as my pinned post was about paying money to a girl with screenshots showing it had happened i’m suddenly flooded with Findoms messaging. Sorry but I shut most of you down. Would you want your betas giving money to another Findom? And I would guess half of these “Findoms” don’t even have any losers paying them to begin with as they’re nothing but scam artists. There was one other Findom. I did pay because my biggest fetish is Asian Supremacy and @reigntina is amazing as fuck but that was only a small one, and I apologise. Please dont take my non reply the wrong way, my best friend was a Findom before…welll long story. Anyway, I fucking hate free loaders with a passson. And the fact I had only sent a small gift meant I didn’t want to waste your time as I felt like a free loser myself. Anyway, if anyone does want a Findom I seriously suggest you visit (and pay) her. And as for the guy who wanted a small tribute and I said I would on payday and then you kept nagging and using reverse psychology on me, go fuck yourself.

4) You know who you are. Yes I love to be made a worse person and corrupted. Yes, I’ve jerked to non-nude social media pics of 15yo before. But holy fuck. The amount of people “encouraging” me to find pre teen? No. I’m not searching on my IP for it, I’m not saving it, I’m not sharing it. That’s not corrupting me to be worse, that’s you getting me to do your dirty work for you. Most certainly fuck you.

So yeah. Between fake Findoms and others telling me to send, people regretting choices and being asked for stuff that I’m not doing I’m not having fun any more in this blog. I won’t deactivate it as there’s posts on here you isn’t enjoy, and I know people like to goon looking back on messages and I’ve made about 10 AI chatbots which can only be accessed via links I sent in private message so I don’t want you to lose them, but I’m done on here. But I do love Tumblr despite the hate. So I’m starting a new blog. No I won’t share it in here as I’m burning ducking bridges. If you find me you’re more than welcome to follow me, I know people always do in the end. And despite the frustration and amount of fucks being given out, I do enjoy chatting and not just about gooning etc. I’ve talked to others about Sword Art Online, Destiny etc as well as the girl I saw in the street and I rushed home to jerk off to. But I’d I get the inking it’s gonna become one of the things that’s pissed me off about this blog, I will just block you going forward. I’m here to goon and be as pathetic as possible. The only frustration I want is from not cumming.

Namaste

[countdowntotwinpeaks]

WONDERFULXSTRANGE - rules

Copypasted from the blog page because those aren't really visible on mobile are they. So, better safe than sorry. If you're on desktop, it's still all linked in the sidebar

Final edition in this format! What a journey this has been. Thank you, everyone.

How does this exchange work? It’s a fanworks secret santa. Participants sign up to create and receive one piece of Twin Peaks-related fanwork that’s as tailored to their tastes as matching will allow. First we will create a shared pool of characters and relationships to draw from (“nominations”). Then every participant will choose from that pool, submit their preferences and prompts privately (“sign-ups”) and, after sign-ups end, be matched to another participant, so that every participant will have one assigned recipient known to them and a different assigned gifter unknown to them. The finished works will be privately shown to this blog before the deadline, just to confirm that they exist, and will be posted by their authors on Twin Peaks day 2024, so that everyone gets to celebrate it with a present. When does it run? Nominations open: January 3rd, 2024 Signups open: January 12th, 2024 Signups close: January 19th, 2024 Assignments go out by: January 24th, 2024 DEADLINE: February 17th, 2024 Works are posted: February 24th, 2024

How do I nominate?

By submitting a list of up to 8 Twin Peaks characters, character groups or character relationships HERE (full nomination rules and formatting at the link)

You can find the nominations pool so far at the nominations page HERE

How do I sign up? By filling this form, which will be available after nominations end.

Please use an email address that you check regularly in case we need to contact you - and notify me of any url changes on your tumblr! Just shoot me a message, “hi I was X and now I’m Y”, it means a lot. I will need to contact everyone throughout the exchange. May I default? Of course, but please do so as soon as possible once you realize you can’t make it, because we’ll need to find a substitute artist for your recipient. Please. Just don’t disappear, okay? If you can’t make it, just say so. That’s okay. Disappearing is rude. Don’t be a Coop.

What if anything else goes wrong? Please contact me immediately through tumblr or replying to your assignment email and explain the situation! We’ll sort it out.

Who can pinch hit (aka substitute a defaulting participant)? Everyone. Pinch hit notices will be posted on the blog and will be claimed via message to this blog.

Does this exchange welcome treats?

Treats are additional prompt fills and they are very, very welcome. Are you done with your assignment and see another prompt you fancy, be it from your recipient or someone else? GO FOR IT. Are you not a participant but something in the prompts list catches your eye? GO FOR IT. Already written five things? WHAT’S ONE MORE (better still, make it two more because 6 is bad luck apparently) The sign-up form includes an option to make your prompts public. All public prompts will be listed on the blog, so that anyone can fill them to their heart’s content and give recipients even more nice things (even past the exchange’s deadline)

What can I nominate?

You can find both examples of how to nominate different types of relationships and the list of all the nominations so far at the nominations page HERE

All sources of canon are allowed, up to and including minor book-only characters.

You can nominate up to 2 crossovers between Twin Peaks characters and specific characters from any other canon.

This exchange does not allow ships with big age gaps, canon or otherwise. Rule of thumb is the “half age plus seven” rule.

Nominating original characters is also not allowed for this year (will be considered for next year if there’s a demand for them)

Contact me via Tumblr ask or message about any questions

What can I offer in my signup?

The exchange has a preliminary nominations phase since this show’s cast is just too big. Therefore, offers are a multiple choices list of all of this year’s nominated characters and character combinations that you can check to your heart’s content.

Offer anything you feel happy and comfortable producing. Having broad offers helps matching and broadening your range of characters and themes can be an interesting experience, but you’ll want to have fun creating too! What can I request in my signup?

Requests are also handled via multiple choices. You will select 4 to 20 options from this year’s nominations. There will be an optional space to prompt specific ideas for any of your choices

For getting an idea of how specific a prompt can get, you can check these old public prompts

While prompting, please keep in mind:

No glorification of abuse (which is not a blanket ban on unhealthy romantic/familial/whatever dynamics. Hell, it’s Twin Peaks)

No character bashing (eg please request all the Donna/Maddy your heart desires without insulting James in the process)

Request at least 4 non-crossover options

What do I do once I get my recipient’s request? Once you get an e-mail with all your recipient’s requests, you pick the one that appeals to you the most and do your best to create something that you believe they will enjoy! Fics have a minimum required length of 500 words, pics should show a comparable minimum effort. Just make something that you can be proud of and try to make your recipient happy. What do I do once I have finished my assignment? You submit it to this blog so I can verify that it exists and then draft it on your blog, tagging it #twin peaks, #wonderfulxstrange and whatever else you usually tag (and maybe mentioning in the description that it was created for countdowntotwinpeaks’ wonderful x strange exchange, for $recipient, filling $prompt). Alternatively, when you submit it to this blog, say “please post this for me” and I’ll take care of the posting.

Posting day is February 24th, why is the deadline one week earlier?

Because nothing ever runs perfectly and we’re gonna need a week for the inevitable cat herding. People disappear, people get last-minute issues! It happens. What will happen on September 3rd? Everyone will post their work(s) throughout the day! You are of course encouraged to show appreciation for your gift by reblogging it with love… along with anything else you might enjoy. It’s a party! Bunch of cool fanworks in the tag to celebrate the anniversary of pt18 collectively wrecking us!

So, in short…

By nominating, you help create the pool of eligible characters and character relationships for this year’s exchange.

By signing up, you commit to create one piece of fanfiction (500 words or longer) or fanart (a finished picture that’s more than a sketch) filling one prompt out of at least four, between July 24th, 2022 and August 25th, 2022, while another participant will be filling one of your own prompts.

[jess-moloney]

Hate to tell the haters but there are at least over 50 people I know personally who read this blog and agree. But you Jess Stan’s are so fucking insane we can’t have an opinion openly, so sorry for wanting to protect our identity just as much as you do, the fact that you don’t send non-anon messages are just as justified.

So yeah, there is a lot of people are are agreeing with this blog, but we’re just scared, I’m sorry we don’t give our support publicly, but the this blog has way too much evidence to turn a blind eye, you have this warped image of Jess that you won’t even try to think of the possibility of Jess being this way. And it’s embarrassing and sad.

-🩸

I get DMs and things from other people who read the blog and don't want to publicly acknowledge it. I know it must be read and supported by people who are too afraid to say anything publicly. I know how this website is and that they have a penchant for attacking people for joining in or even liking posts. I get it. When there are people like Alex around ready to tell other people to off themselves at the drop of a hat (and spam them with hate messages like crazy) I could see why no one would want to put up with it on their blog. I don't think my blog is famous for much of anything but it certainly must get more traffic than is apparent to other people because a lot of it has to be so covert. Thank you for your message and support, I appreciate it.

[charleslebatman]

📊 bestie here,

I’m a little disappointed in Lance, like the Tweet said “his silence is truly questionable”. Even though Lance himself said nothing about the war that’s happening, he still willingly hangs out with Zionists daily.

I believe we should constantly remind people that Marilou is a bigot and should be held accountable for her actions, from what I’ve heard about her lately isn’t good. She’s a total diva who apparently cares what people think because she wants to be F1’s sweetheart. She’s constantly putting herself in a selfish way first (you can literally see her pose for her cameras in pictures).

I’m glad that she got exposed along with his sister who’s always been a Zionist apparently and her brother. I know Lance doesn’t have control of their beliefs as family/friends/gf views ≠ his own view. But it does make me question his own stance on everything. Maybe he needs to reevaluate as from what I’ve heard, Marilou and him are only together to make each other look good. Give each other a good reputation and make them look desirable.

Meanwhile, this completely destroyed that purpose since that tweet is everywhere. It’s best we constantly promote that tweet (by retweeting, posting it to other platforms, etc). Marilou’s reputation is definitely hurt now since people know she’s not a good person. While Lance’s has always been bad since he got to F1, whoever you make Lance date, they will NOT save his reputation. It is too far gone.

If you do not want to support Zionists like Chloe and Marilou. Do not stream Chloe’s music and unfollow her on all platforms. For Marilou, she has a collab at Ardene, DO NOT BUY from the collabs at all (There are better alternatives to Ardene) and unfollow her as well. You can message the companies she models for with the tweet linked saying that they have a Zionist employed but I doubt that will do anything unless a LOT people others DM or email them. You can choose to comment on their posts, calling them out but that will also give them interactions and you’re more likely to be blocked. But still nothing wrong with calling them out or tagging them in stories saying “this is who you support”.

Bestie, your post is a rightness but so much bitterness. I’ve the impression, we’ll struggling in way to support with all the passion we’d our favorite driver lately. I can’t imagine with Lance, at first, you need a sort of bravery with the reputation people gave to him and then with this and what is happening lately.

I’m broken in way for you. When you’ve convictions, your ethical values in all your soul, how people can ask to put this away and say skipped out, you’re obsessed?

Today, in my view, we can’t ask to fans to not be aware and skipped as a little winking what drivers are doing and not doing too, even if it’s a part of their private life. Plus, for me, it’s not even private at this point.

I’m really sad the 🏎️ bestie doesn’t seem to be on the blog. My grumpy must to be too strong for them, I’m sorry. Cause they were a Lance’s fan and talked about Marilou too, they were angry and disappointed too by his choice.

[diari0deglierrori]

D:

Hiiiii!!!! @omarfor-mp3 I’m diari0deglierrori, I’m alive and (almost) well, sorry to appear like this out of the blue but I was desperate and I’m feeeling awful and I need to vent so I figured I’d make a new blog to explain a bit. I saw your post about a mutual disappearing and figured it could be me (in the eventuality of it not being about me, feel free to ignore). So! Where do I start.

It all started on a dark January afternoon, the sky was grey and the air- ok I’ll go straight to the point: so I was just chilling, using this app as usual, and then all of a sudden, the Wi-Fi went down for like an hour and I couldn’t use it anymore, so ok, I go on with my life (although very annoyed because I had things to say). So then it seems that the Wi-Fi is back, at least insta is working, so I come back here to make a post about it (I don’t even know if it got published or not though? Something about the Wi-Fi who stopped working right when I was about to watch a movie ?) But when I hit post an error message appeared, the one that usually appears when there’s not Wi-Fi, so I try turning on my phones data and all to make it work but it doesn’t change a thing, I only get error messages. Then foolish little old me thinks it’s only because of a bad connection again so I check everything else to see if they work or not, every other app seems to be working so I come back here and when I check on my blogs they all seem to be gone, only my main’s name appears (it kind of happened once but only lasted about 5/10 minutes) so I start to worry and check other peoples blogs to see if it’s just the app or me. I figure I can go on the trending page, I can search things and go on blogs, so I go on yours and see the post about a mutual disappearing and it hits me. I’m simply gone. My whole life for the past 9ish years, vanished. I’m devastated. Oh but the problems are only getting started! I somehow still think my phone is the main problem, maybe it crashed a bit somehow so I go on settings and turn it off, thinking that maybe it’ll kind of reset things (not like reset reset, you know? Just like when you turn it off and on? I can’t explain right, my brain feels crushed). So I do the usual, turn it off, wait for a couple of minutes and try turning it on again. It does, the screen turns on, it says it’s locked and to swipe up to unlock, which I do. But it doesn’t work, the screen doesn’t move. I touch the buttons and they work just fine, I mean I can put it on mute and stuff, but nothing that needs the screen. So I start to panic a bit, tell people to call it so I can see if it still works, so they do and I see it can ring but I can’t swipe to answer, it’s like it’s frozen or something. But like not completely, I don’t know how to explain. Anyway, long story short I think I broke my phone, I can’t use it anymore, but the screen stays on and the hours go by, as if it was just mocking me. This is when you realize you’re stupid and wished you did a backup before, which I never do because as I said, I’m stupid. So anyway I tried to go log on my tumblr on my laptop but it didn’t work, so I tried changing the password too but then it said that my account got terminated and that I should report it to the staff or something… so I did, I’m waiting to see if they’ll ever answer.

I looked it up and apparently it happened to a lot of people, someone even explained it better than me: 

“Originally it wouldn't load and said I needed to log in. I logged out and attempted to log back in, but it said my email/password was wrong. I tried to change my password and now it says my account was terminated. I've had this account for 10 years.”. 

Same thing happened to me. 

Aaaanayway, I’ve been dying inside ever since, hahahahahahejsfbkand 

(I’m tagging you because of the post btw, sorry to bother) 

[ofdarkestdesires]

This may not be the best place to put this, but despite my follower count being decently high (thanks porn bots /s) this blog is honestly pretty under the radar and a lot of my personal posts get ignored, so let me just vent for a bit.

Christmas was so good, but it was also so, so exhausting, and it is precisely because of two forces—my sister, and my grandparents.

For context, I have three sisters—let’s call them Thing 1, Thing 2, and the Grinch (just because I wanted to play up the Seuss theme). Thing 1 and Thing 2 are the ones I’m closest to—they’re dorky nerds just like me, and one of them is really good at animatics (if you’re interested, you can find her stuff under becky_weber on YouTube). But the Grinch and I were always a bit more at odds with each other. I’m the oldest, she’s the second, there’s barely less than two years between us, it comes with the territory.

Anyways, as far as the Grinch goes, Christmas time was alright…aside from the fact that she spent most of it on her phone calling up her boyfriend, chatting with him, texting him, and otherwise being curled up on the couch far away from the rest of us. She even left the after-dinner games early so she could FaceTime with him, instead of spending time with her family.

Mind you, the Grinch is already spending all of her free time with the boy. They’ve moved in together—with roommates, but still—and it has been implied that though she has a separate room she shares his bed instead, but even before that she’d spend every chance she got hanging out with him. What few times she came to visit the family, she is always on her phone texting him, or leaving early so she can spend time with him.

And even now, on Christmas—even in the middle of the gift exchange that was meant to be a nice little private family tradition—she not only called up but FaceTimed the boyfriend for a good chunk of the morning. I just…I know I shouldn’t throw stones when I’m perhaps the least qualified man to talk on relationships (me being an ace man and all), but can’t she go one day, one very special, family-centric day, without clinging to his messages like a hopeless little puppy?

Anyways, that’s my sister, and that’s an ongoing form of frustration. My grandparents, though, are another story.

More context, and we’re gonna need to turn the tone down a bit. Two years ago, my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s—and by the sounds of the tests, she’d been going through Alzheimer’s for a while already, but my grandpa had been putting off taking her to get checked because “it’s just old age, you get forgetful in old age.” Which, yeah, you do…but you typically don’t forget what your grandchildren and children look like.

My grandpa is a very proud man, too proud one might say so I’ll say it here and now. He doesn’t like the idea of not being able to handle something on his own, and he won’t admit needing help. He also lives in a house that’s larger than my childhood home, in the middle of the nowhere part of Utah, and refuses to move because it means giving up his big home, downsizing into a smaller place, and giving up all of the many, many things he has.

My grandpa is a lover of things, you see. One may even call him a hoarder of things which I will here and now.

All this is just set up to explain the shock we all had when my mom got a message from her brother, who had brought his family up to spend Christmas with the grandparents, telling her that my grandma had had a seizure during the gift-opening process. Seizures are apparently a part of late-stage Alzheimer’s, as the disease eats away at the motor-control section of the brain, and as it turns out this is not the first time this has happened.

It’s the first time we’ve heard of it, though, and only because my uncle and his family were at the house to witness it. Which means my grandpa has been understating how my grandma’s been doing, and giving false accounts to the doctors for my grandma, because he doesn’t want to admit it’s getting to be too much for him…or that his Jo is slipping away from him.

It’s…it’s sad.

It’s sad, but it’s also so…infuriating. I hesitate to say this, but I hate my grandpa. I hate him for the man that he is, the proud, selfish, stubborn man he is that refuses to sell his massive house that’s so big he can’t even keep it clean, who snubs his nose at the concept of moving to the city into a smaller home, who willfully obfuscates the truth about my grandma and unwittingly gatekeeps her from care and attention that could help her.

Again, they live in the middle of nowhere Utah. My family is a good two and a half hour drive away from them, and I’m a good three hour drive. If something happens—if she has another seizure, a bad one, or a fall, or she tries to run off because she doesn’t know who my grandpa is—they don’t have the high-end medical attention readily available to them, and it’ll take hours for us to get to them too! If they were closer, everyone could feel a bit more at ease, but as it is…

…I genuinely don’t know what day will be the day my mom calls and tells me my grandma died. And when it happens, nothing in my mind will be able to stop my heart from hating my grandfather for letting her waste away and perish so far away.

I love my family, I truly do…but gods, some days really let me see the parts of them that are the worst.

[juliette-bishop]

Okay time to discuss some not nice things. I’ve been trying to avoid posting this for months.

It was brought to my attention a while ago that my content has been stolen without consent, my characters have beeb copied, I’ve been shaded and people have been told to stay away from me. But the odd thing is? I have this person blocked on every blog I know of from 3 of my side blogs and my main. So I’ve also been informed that legally that is stalking and harassment. It really sucks to not even have anything to do with you and yet constantly be told by mutuals that you’re saying shit about me, copying ideas that I’m proud of and work hard on and in attempts to attack my friends and I saying shit that pretty much attacks this whole community.

Before posting this I decided to give you one more chance. Friends of mine put together a polite message to ask you to stop. You claimed that you were sorry and didn’t know you were copying but we have literal side by side of comparisons and you have continued to copy from my blogs and make nasty comments that have driven anons to deactivate even after we had asked you to block and leave us be. I will state again that I’ve blocked you from said blogs so why am I still being told you’re trying to come for me? It’s like I can’t even breathe without you having something to say about it.

I don’t know what has prompted this either. I changed things about my oc for you and when I realised who you were I stopped interacting because I knew of your dislike for me. I tried so hard to be civil. I am asking for the final time before I take legal action. Stay away from me and my blogs. Block me, it’s that easy. I have left you be since I realised who you were, so you leave me. Seems like a pretty fair deal.

And I’m merely tagging people to spread awareness. because they’re the ones who have been looking out for me. They can see through your bullshit. Some of them are victims themselves and I hope not yet have to courage to speak out one day.

And you know I’ve asked you to leave me alone. I have posted indirects without naming names asking to be left alone by said person. These have apparently been ignored. I assumed that if I refused to acknowledge this person they would give up because who could be so petty? People must look at your blog and only see these horrible posts so that they don’t want to make friends and that makes me pity you. Nobody should have to hurt others to be happy.

I have filed a harassment case. I do know lawyers. I do know how to obtain virtual restraining orders. I have the required evidence. I will take action. Please let me live in peace. I once again implore you to just simply block me and I guarantee we will both be much happier for it. This is not an attack, it’s another plea to be left alone. I only make it public because you have refused to listen before. Please stop, you are making myself and others feel very unsafe. I’ve been putting this post off for so long despite my friends asking me to post it because I’m so scared and I just want to live in peace

I will not engage in discourse after this. Please do not try to get in contact, I’m past forgiveness now and I want nothing to do with you at all.

Please please please just block me and leave me alone. I don’t know how you access my blogs but stop

@lilyjane-anon @jennierubyjaneanon @alissavioletanon @elhopperanon @ivy-anon @devacasselanon @theolivestheory @regulusblackanon @mattheoriddleanonn @doveolivia @jonathanbyersanon @annachan-anon @violetharrington-anon @eddiemunsonanon @mikewheeler-anon @rivadewan @leo-woods-anon @eloise-woods @nailea-anon @sadiesink-anonn @amelia-anon @alexis-tonks @emmetthopperanon @lucas-anon @kyleknightanon @rileymayfieldanon @jonahmaraisanon @matthewanon @charlotte-anon @fredweasleyanonn @julie-harrington-anon @fleuranon @poppy-anon @broghan-rplife @theodoreanschutz @daniellalaurent @ross-anon @abbyrussellanon @violetjune-anon @nailea-anon @jadenhossler-anon @sodapop-anon @avery-brookeranon @steve-harrington-anon @nessabarrettanon @madisongrey @beckymunsonanon @xavierdior @abigail-anon @paigejohnson @erichendersonanon

[putschki1969]

2022/09/06 Blog post by Wakana 雨の中ありがとうございました！〜楽しい大阪滞在記〜

❗This is Fan Club EXCLUSIVE content❗ ❗PERSONAL USE ONLY❗ Do ❗NOT SHARE❗ on other sites ❗Join her FAN CLUB! Check out my detailed TUTORIAL ❗

Thank you for coming despite the rain! 〜An Enjoyable Stay in Osaka〜

I got some pears a little while ago! (°▽°) There’s someone who always sends them to the agency, they are super delicious every year (*^^*) Thank you! One of them is this big(°▽°) Crazy, right?? It’s quite heavy too! But funnily enough, I can easily eat a whole fruit in one sitting 🙄← I can’t help it, I end up eating too much. This makes me feel like autumn is close…🎑 [Note: YAY, we got our pear pics just as expected. Wakana is quite vague about the generous donor but I wanna believe that these pears are from Hikaru]

Hello, this is Wakana (0￣▽￣0)／

It's going to be a little cooler from now on~. I'm super happy that because lately the air has been fresher and more comfortable in the evening😚♪

Well, last week I held my Billboard Live in OSAKA! I felt a strong urge to rattle the glittery curtain at the back of the stage. And this is what the venue looked like in the midst of preparation ♪ I was happy to see everyone being able to relax while attending both of my performances that day. I am truly grateful that we were all able to gather in this amazing venue, spend precious moments together, and share our love for music. I think it's nothing short of a miracle to be able to stand on stage together and perform with such talented musicians. I want everyone's faces to be engraved into my memories. I hope you can all treasure these memories forever in your hearts to look back on them fondly.I wanna come back to Osaka soon to see all of you again! Thank you very much for coming!! (*'▽'*)

And here we have the delicious Billboard meal I had after my performances (´ω｀) This time they had a buffet so I was greedy and put a ton of stuff on my plate! ! \\\\٩( 'ω' )و //// It was delicious〜〜〜〜❤️ I wonder what everyone else got to eat and drink? I got a glass of beer for myself. Even though I don’t usually drink it😂 I thought it was the most delicious drink in the world! It's amazing... wheat beer... 🥺🥺✨

Since my Osaka performances started pretty late in the day, we decided to stay overnight and return the next day. The next day, I wanted to use the opportunity and do some sightseeing! I was so excited that I asked all the members in the audience to tell me their recommendations. It was quite sunny the following day in Osaka even though there had been a big thunderstorm on the day of the event! 🌞 (Why is the weather like that...??!!) However, heavy rain was predicted for my shinkansen route and there was a high possibility of delays so we decided to take an early train home. Unfortunately that meant that I didn’t get a chance to check out any of your recommended places😭😭*sobs* There were a lot of people who took the trouble to send me a lot of recommendations on my social media, some of you even included a bunch of photos. I'm really sorry that I didn’t get to go to any of these places...😢 But next time!

By the way, I was thinking of going to this exhibition here [It Went Extinct For Some Reason] Sounds like a lot of fun! ? ! ? ? They apparently have a large collection of fossils and specimen...! Seems like it was a limited summer exhibtion ←So I am too late. I randomly found this little flyer in the taxi on my way to the train station and immediately thought, "This must be a message from God!" It’s very disappointing that I missed this, I really wanted to go😢 Oh well, I will continue to live my life dreaming of the day when I can eventually come back to Osaka! !

Well, next up is my Billboard Live YOKOHAMA this Friday, September 9th! I'm looking forward to seeing everyone in Yokohama! ! Please be patient a little while longer! (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o))) 

Until next time☆(*'▽'*)/

＊＊＊Wakana＊＊＊