#but now i think weed was the thing keeping me above water… it’s been a rough 3 weeks. but before i start smoking again

[8rujaa]

to anyone dealing with ptsd, has there been anything that has helped relieve some of the symptoms?

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Warnings: weed consumption, mentions of death, mentions of sex, allusions to smut. this is mostly written from reader's pov, Steve's pov is only at the ending

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You step into a new territory and test the waters that Steve had already been dragged into.

Word count: 5k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult I know you're sick of me constantly saying this BUT thanks for working on this series with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

The lights that hang above the shelves in the living room illuminate the darkened room, casting a soft yellow glow on everything. The TV screen lights up brightly as the killer in the movie shows up dramatically again. The sound is low and no one is paying attention to the horror movie that you have all seen multiple times already. The rain paddles against the windows and the lightning crashes through the sky every few seconds or so, though no thunder has rumbled yet, making you feel relieved. The room smells like takeout and weed, dirty plates litter the coffee table but no one cares about that yet. 

A big cloud of smoke lingers in the room as Eddie and Robin pass the joint back and forth, the latter talking his ear off about the date she had gone on with Vickie the night before, while your eyes are stuck on Michael Myers on the screen, taking the joint from Eddie when he offers it to you, you place it between your lips, squinting your eyes as you take a drag and inhale it deeply. 

You can feel his eyes on you, you can feel them everywhere, on your face, on your upper body, on your bare legs, they’re burning into your skin and you’re now not as blind as you were days back when you thought that you were imagining things, that every slightest glance and touch from his were feeding you lies – that his touches were accidental and his glances meant nothing. But you were wrong, so very wrong. 

For days, your mind has been plaguing you with thoughts about him, and it’s nothing new, really, but it was different than usual. Because before the dinner at Joyce’s and Hopper’s place, he had never given you anything to overthink about, to make yourself feel delusional over. Steve had never touched you before, at least not like that. He had never placed his hand on your waist, he had never brushed his knuckles against yours, he had never looked at you the way he did that night and he certainly never commented on the clothes you wear. 

It drove you crazy, and it made you believe that he somehow figured you out, that he found out about your feelings and decided to torture you by teasing you with touches that he knew you wished had a deeper meaning. But he wouldn’t do that, especially not after your conversation weeks ago, not when he was doing everything to keep the peace. He wouldn’t do that – maybe King Steve would’ve done something like this, but not this Steve – not even when he still holds hatred for you. 

Steve teased you, not accidentally, not unintended. He did it openly, because he wanted to for whatever reason and you only realized it today, when you walked through his front door behind Eddie who held the bags of takeout, you were met with the same teasing look in Steve’s eyes you saw that night. He licked his lips and let his eyes run up and down your body so shamelessly that it almost threw you off because where was this all coming from? 

When did he go from hating your guts, from arguing every chance he got to whatever this is. 

Not only did he look at you like he was ready to flirt, he also placed his hand on your lower back when he led you into the living room earlier – and as though that wasn’t enough to make you crumble, he also leaned in to whisper ‘cute skirt, Blondie.’ 

Cute skirt!? His husky voice and those words kept repeating themselves like a broken record ever since they fell from his lips, they made you think so hard that you dissociated while eating the fries that you’ve been craving all day, missing the conversation between your friends and half of the movie that you watched before Eddie put on Halloween. Only the touch of Steve’s hand pulled you back into reality, you almost jumped from your seat when you felt his hand on your knee when he very obviously pretended to reach over you to grab the bottle of ketchup with a smirk on his face. That was evidence enough for you to realize that all his touches were intended and he did want to tease you, but not for the reason you thought. 

Why? You still don’t know. 

You’re pretty sure that he isn’t attracted to you, at least not in the way you are to him. 

But if he wants to play this game, then you certainly won’t pass up on the opportunity to tease him back a little, though testing the waters first – because you absolutely won’t make a fool of yourself in front of him. 

You have to take it slow until you’re completely sure that he is doing what you think he’s doing. 

You glance at Eddie, his eyes are rimmed with redness, a lazy smile plays on his lips, his eyes are stuck on the screen but he is so far gone in his mind, he is not paying attention to anything anymore, not Robin’s rambling, not the movie and certainly not to you and Steve. 

Robin’s hair is sprawled across the pillow, she looks up at the ceiling, the joint now back between her lips but she’s still rambling. 

They won’t notice anything. 

You take a sip of your drink, eying Steve from the side, and he is already looking at you, he is looking at you in a way that would drive your teenage self up the wall – you’d be a blushing and giddy mess thinking about it for the rest of the day, daydreaming about things that would never even happen. But you’re not a teenager anymore, his glances and touches still make you blush – but you’re not stupid and you certainly don’t daydream about things that aren’t even there. 

You still don’t know why is he looking at you that way but the little sweet voice in your head is telling you that he might have harbored a tiny little crush after seeing you in a stupid dress while the other voice is telling you that Steve Harrington wants to fuck you. These voices might belong to the ghosts of Chrissy and Billy because in no way would you ever think that Steve could ever feel anything more than hatred for you. 

How will he react if you tease him back a little? 

You don’t even have to make it obvious, you can play it off, you can play anything off. 

“Do you guys want something sweet?” Steve asks, “I got ice cream in the freezer.” 

“What else do you have?” Eddie slurs, something that makes Robin giggle.

“Uh, M&M’s, Reese’s, Sour gummies,” Steve mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks up, thinking of what else he got in his cabinet, “I got some chips too.”

Eddie looks at Steve, pointing at him with his ringed finger, “I want it all.” 

Steve snorts at him and at the dazed look on his face, “alright. I’m just gonna clean this up first,” he points to the mess on the table. 

Perfect.

“I’ll help.” 

His eyes meet yours, a slight smirk tugs at his lips, “you sure you wanna get your hands dirty, Blondie?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty,” you smirk and break eye contact, rising up from the seat and swallowing down the nervousness. 

The space between the coffee table and the couch isn’t exactly big, and it gives you the perfect opportunity to make the first little step. With an innocent look on your face, you glance at him one more time, before you turn your back to him, bending over in front of him to pick up the dirty plates. Your heart is pounding and your cheeks are already burning but you pay no mind to that. 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, you can hear it.

Should you even be surprised? His eyes almost bulged out of his skull when your skirt rode up after you just sat down earlier, his eyes were glued on your bare thighs the whole goddamn time and you saw it and yet your heart skips a beat at his reaction just now. 

You’re aware of how short your skirt is and that all it takes is for you to bend down a slight bit more for him to see more than just your thighs, a little further down and he will be able to see your ass and your panties. 

You bite back the smirk as you stack up the dirty plates, taking your sweet time with it. You can feel his eyes on your body and it takes everything in you not to turn around to look at his face but your little plan backfires when you suddenly feel his hands on your hips and his breath on your shoulder. You freeze. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, “it’s so tight in here.”

Blood rushes to your face and your stomach fills with butterflies. His touch and his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

This is bad. This is so very bad. 

You heard the mischief in his voice and his touch still lingers, he doesn’t need to take that long to squeeze past you. 

You don’t know what’s gotten into him or you, it might be the weed in your system or just the spur of the moment but as you pick up all the plates, you take a step back and press yourself against him, only for a one… or two seconds but long enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours, long enough to feel his hand squeezing your hip for a single second, long enough to hear him sucking in another sharp breath. 

And then, you step away from him like nothing happened, with innocence in your eyes, you look over your shoulder, “you’re right, it is really tight.” 

You see the way his lips part a little, the way his eyes darken and the way he clenches his jaw. He is angry that you are not falling for his teasing, that you are doing the same to him that he does to you. 

You walk into the kitchen and carrying the dishes over to the sink, you put them down and place your hands on the counter, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes, only now noticing how fast your heart is beating and how clammy your hands are, you give yourself a moment to calm down before you reach for the dish soap and the sponge after you turn on the water.

Flirting is nothing new to you and you’re certainly not shy about it, not anymore. 

Billy was your best friend, and if there’s something he was good at, then it was flirting and taking home girls. He taught you how to be more confident, how to embrace your sensuality and he taught you how to flirt. 

Losing your best friend took a toll on you and you couldn’t stand to be in Hawkins when every place you had gone to, reminded you of him, so you left for a little while. You spent two months in Indianapolis and stayed with your sister. You started going out, parties your sister had dragged you to, clubs and downtown bars and you had fun. For the first time in your life, you were approached by men, they flirted with you and that felt… good. You let your guard down when you were with them, you didn’t feel the need to hide yourself from them, they wouldn’t stay in your life for longer than a night, you didn’t have to fear them leaving or hurting you, there was no attachment, no connection or anything deeper between you than lust, you could be yourself in those few hours you spend with them. 

They made you feel something other than grief, sadness and heartbreak. They were nothing but strangers to you but you felt something in those nights you spent in their beds, their touches brought you back to life… even if only temporarily. 

You are used to flirting, you are used to teasing, it’s an easy game to you… with strangers. But Steve Harrington? He makes you nervous, he makes your heart race like crazy, he burns you with only his glances, and his touches make you feel like you have been kissed by something out of this world. He is different, he is no meaningless man in your life, he is not someone you would kick out of your bed after taking from him what you wanted, he is not someone you could easily leave behind and never look back to again. No, Steve holds your heart in the palm of his hand, he left a tear in your soul, he is the someone you would do anything for and that changes everything. You can’t treat him like you treated them because he is special, every little interaction with him, sets your heart on fire. 

“Jesus, Blondie!” Steve’s voice sounds through the kitchen, making you flinch in surprise, “use less dish soap, one drop is enough!” 

With furrowed brows you look down at all the foam in the sink. It’s not even bad. 

You turn around, glaring at the man and the tone in his voice. 

He shakes his head at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he walks towards you. 

“Are you washing the dishes or me!?” You growl at him, ignoring the tension that still lingers between the two of you. 

Steve chuckles as he stops beside you, raising his hands up in surrender, “you didn’t have to do it, don’t blame it on me.”

You turn back to the plate you were washing, scraping the sponge against it harshly as you try not to look at him, which turns out to be just another challenge – he inches closer to you, breathing down your neck and staring at you. You throw the sponge down and reach for the lever, not noticing the way his eyes widen a little or how he reaches his hand out. 

“Wait careful with t–” he gets cut off by the water that starts streaming from the broken lever. 

“Fuck!” You curse loudly, followed by a gasp when the cold water sprinkles all over your neck and your chest, you throw the plate into the sink and reach for the lever again but Steve grabs your hand, not letting you turn it off the way you want to, he is trying to move to it into a different direction, it only confuses you even more and his touch doesn’t help either.

“Hold still!” Steve snaps at you. 

Your whole chest is already wet from all the water you have been hit with and his angry voice irritates you. 

“Why don’t you get drenched huh!?” 

With a loud sigh, he lets go and you almost start raging. You lean forward, grabbing the lever with both hands when you suddenly feel him behind you, his chest against your back, his whole body pressed against yours as he reaches his arms around you, placing his both hands on top of yours, the water now getting all over the both of you as his now wet fingers handle the broken lever. 

You hear his groan as the water hits him in the face when he leans over your shoulder and he grips your hand tighter. 

And then, the water stops sprinkling and the only sound that continues to fill the room is the rain that still rolls down the windows and your heavy breathing. 

Your chest is rising up and down heavily and so is his, you can feel it against your back, and you can feel his breath on your neck and your shoulder, and you now feel it all by tenfold, thanks to your wet skin, it sends chills all over. You can still feel his hands on top of yours, his much bigger hands that cover yours fully. Your eyes are glued on them and the way their fingers trace your own for a very short moment. 

Your heart is beating so wildly in your chest that you fear that he might hear it. 

You can feel the water dripping down your shoulder, not the one from your hair but the water from his face. 

Despite the nervousness in your chest, you slowly pull your hands away and turn around to face him, only for a gasp threatening to fall from your lips when you notice how close he actually is, how close he had never been before, not even in Joyce’s kitchen, last week. Your chest is almost pressed against his, his face only inches away, lips so close that you can feel his breath on yours. You’re surprised when he doesn’t move his hands away, letting them fall on the counter and your sides. 

His hazel eyes stare into yours so intensely that it almost knocks the breath out of you, the look in them making you feel hot all over your body that you don’t even feel the cold water seeping through your white shirt any longer. 

Strands of his hair hang in front of his eyes, water dripping from them and rolling down his cheek, your eyes follow the drops that lead to his lips, making you gulp when you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him or even just to touch his lips with your fingers – you dig your nails into your wet palms.

You don’t even notice how Steve grips the edges of the counter so tightly to the point that his knuckles turn white, but you notice the way his eyes move down to your chest and to your now see-through shirt, the lacy black bra being on full display now… almost. 

You are both breathing heavily, still, whether it’s because of the shock or something else now – you feel the tension, it’s so heavy, heavier than before and it’s making your insides churn in a way that weakens you. 

Neither of you say anything, you are too busy staring at each other, you are too busy wanting him more and more. 

This is not enough. 

How could this ever be enough? 

You have always wanted this, to be this close, to feel his touch, to find out what it’s like to kiss him, to feel him. 

This isn’t fair… This isn’t fair to you. Because this is only making things so much harder for you.

You know you have to snap out of it, even when he makes no move to pull away, to stop staring, to let go of the counter and step away from your body. 

You have to snap out of it or else you will do something that you will regret for the rest of your life. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, you ignore the beating of your heart, you ignore the shakiness in your hands and you blink as you tilt your head up, looking back into his eyes again.

“Lego head,” you whisper shakily, “the water stopped.”

He snaps out of his stupor, blinking and clearing his throat as he averts his gaze. 

He steps away and you make a move to escape this, to escape him but neither of you have noticed just how messy the situation has actually gotten – the water didn’t just sprinkle all over the both of you, it soaked the ground beneath your feet, making the tiles slippery enough for you to lose control and almost take the fall. Almost. 

A gasp tears from your lips when Steve’s hand grabs at your waist and the other reaches for the counter behind you again. Out of instinct, you lift your hand and grab his arm to hold onto him, steadying him as well as he slipped too. He lets go of your waist, gripping the counter with both hands just like he did seconds ago, caging you in completely. He isn’t only close anymore, he is pressed against you completely – his chest flush against yours, his nose bumping into yours causing you to let out another soft gasp. 

And then, you both freeze again. 

You blink. He blinks. Neither of you make a move. 

He looks down at your lips, causing your heart to skip so strongly that you feel it in your whole chest and even your throat. 

“Shit, Blondie.” 

His voice is so low and deep that it makes you shudder, your blood rushing to more than just your face now. 

“I didn’t know you were such a clutz,” he murmurs, shakily as his eyes get stuck on your chest again. 

He is nervous, just like you are, you can tell by the sound of his voice. 

You stare at him, struggling to find your words.

How can you when he looks at you that way? 

As you stand there, caged in by his strong arms, staring up at the man that is much taller and bigger than you, something that makes him all the more attractive, you feel yourself not only longing for his heart but also his body… on top of yours. His much bigger hands on your bare body, his lips on your skin, him inside of you… You are fucked. You are so utterly and completely fucked. 

Steve Harrington could do anything with you, and he is not even aware of the powers he holds over you. 

Footsteps echo through the hallway, causing yours and his eyes to widen and he quickly pulls away from you, careful not to slip again. You pull your hands back, now holding onto the counter yourself. 

Eddie and Robin come rushing into the room just as Steve steps far enough away from you. 

They both halt in their tracks, gasping at the sight of the two of you all soaked from the water. They stare with wide eyes before they turn to look at each other, holding back only for two seconds before they burst into laughter. 

You’re not sure if the sight is really that funny or if they’re just high enough to laugh about anything. 

Eddie bends over, holding his stomach as he continues laughing while pointing between the two of you, Robin holding onto his shoulder as her giggles sound through the kitchen. 

You press your lips together and clench your jaw as you look over at Steve, who nods at the both of them with an annoyed look on his face. 

“What the hell happened!?” Eddie asks through his laughter. 

His voice snaps you out from the daze you were just in… and thank god. 

With a glare, you keep your eyes on Steve, “this fucker didn’t tell me that his sink was jammed and that a little bit of a force can break the lever.”

Steve groans, though not looking at you, he wipes his face as he steps away, “right, blame it on me for your sudden force.” 

He walks out of the kitchen, brushing past Eddie and Robin who stop laughing when he gives them a deadly glare, the one you’re throwing at his back as he leaves to go upstairs, probably to get changed while you stand there with your soaked shirt. 

You carefully step away from the puddle of water in front of you, making your way over to the kitchen island to grab some of the napkins. You dry your face off first, not even bothering with your shirt. 

Despite their amused faces, your friends walk over to you, wanting to help. 

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles as he grabs a napkin, he gives you a smirk, “who got you this wet, Sweetheart?” 

You raise your head up, glaring at your best friend who starts chuckling again. 

“This is porn material right there,” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you as he points at your white shirt, but he is not even looking, even though your bra is very visible through the material now – what a gentleman. 

Robin chuckles, “should’ve kept the bra off, babe.” 

Your jaw drops as you stare at them with a stunned expression on your face, “pervs!” 

Robin keeps on chuckling as she walks over the cabinets, searching for clean kitchen towels. Eddie steps closer to you, patting your face dry with the napkins, which only makes you giggle when his brows knit together in concentration. 

Eddie’s eyes flash with amusement as he keeps pressing the napkin against your cheek, shaking his head at your laughter. 

“What’s so funny, smiley?” 

You snort at the nickname, and open your mouth to reply when Steve walks back into the room, his face now dry, hair still wet but no longer dripping. He’s wearing a different shirt now and he holds towels and a sweater in his hands, halting in his tracks, he looks between you and Eddie – his eyes flash with something that you can’t read, his face hardens and he clenches his jaw, you don’t know why but the expression causes your laughter to die down.

“Here,” Steve mumbles, tearing his gaze away from the both of you, he looks at the ground as he makes his way over to you, “those napkins won’t do much.” 

He hands you the towels and then his sweater. 

“And take your shirt off, Blondie,” he orders, “you can wear my sweater.” 

Your chest warms at his words and your heart flutters, and it only makes you feel irritated – this means nothing, this isn’t special, you aren’t special. He’d give his sweater to anyone under these circumstances. 

“Thanks,” you mumble as you put the sweater on the counter, using the soft white towel to dry yourself off first. 

Eddie steps away from you, throwing the napkin into the trash before he makes his way over to Steve’s snack drawer, completely ignoring the puddle of water. 

“Dude, you could clean this up,” Robin mumbles, pointing at the mess on the floor. 

Eddie scrunches his nose up, “why don’t you clean it up?” 

Steve rolls his eyes at them, “I got this, I’ll clean it up.” 

Eddie starts rummaging through the drawer, picking out snacks as Robin turns around to look at you, and at Steve who stares at you with his hands on his hips. 

The shirt sticks to your body uncomfortably, goosebumps litter your skin from the cold water that seeps through the thin material, you want it off immediately. 

You take the sweater, still holding the towel close against your chest, you look up at Steve, “I’m gonna go change…” 

He nods, “yeah, you can uh… use the bathroom downstairs or mine, whatever you want.” 

You ignore the burning in your cheeks, the pounding in your heart as you brush past him and leave the kitchen, making your way into the bathroom. Your friend’s chatter fades away as you close the door behind you, locking it, a shaky sigh falls from your lips as you press your back against it. You close your eyes, giving yourself a moment to just breathe. 

What the hell just happened? 

With shaky legs, you walk towards the sink, dropping the towel and the sweater on the counter before you finally take a look in the mirror, only to gasp when you see just how much you can actually see through your shirt. You grow flustered knowing that Steve could see you like this. 

You groan in embarrassment, reaching for the hem of your shirt, you peel it off your body, replacing it with his sweater – something that fills you with warmth the moment the soft material touches your skin, your heart skips a beat when you look back at your reflection, taking in the sight of his sweater on your body.

You swallow the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by fixing your hair – you won’t let your mind go there, you won’t let yourself think too deeply about anything. This is just a sweater. And yet, your heart won’t stop racing and you can’t deny how such a small thing can make you feel so… comforted. 

When you return into the kitchen, you find it empty, the water puddle on the floor already gone but the dirty plates are still in the sink – you surely won’t risk getting wet again. You turn around and make your way over into the living room, where Eddie and Robin are back in their previous positions, snacking on Doritos. 

Steve is lying on the couch with his arm behind his back, the remote in his hand as he flips through the channels. 

You tug at the sleeves of his sweater, suddenly feeling shy as you walk into the room, wearing something of his. 

You don’t look at him as you walk past him, you also don’t look at him as you sit down on the couch, all that you’re focused on is the pounding in your heart and the nervousness that you still feel after everything that happened minutes ago.

You don’t notice the way he freezes when he takes a look at you, the way he stops flipping through the channels, the way his cheeks flush red when he looks at the sweater on your body – he knows that the only thing underneath the blue sweater of his, is a black, lacy bra and it makes him feel… flustered.

He sees the way you tug at the hem of his sweater when it rides up, pulling your short skirt along, he sees the way you bite down on your lip, he sees the way you glance at him nervously and suddenly Steve feels his blood rushing south. 

He swore to himself that he would never do what he did last week, and he really tried to resist you.

But how can he? 

How can he resist when you so clearly are doing it too now? 

Or is he reading the signs wrong? 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore

[ihni]

Okay so I read a fic (in another fandom) that made me think, and this morning I woke up with ready-made fic idea in my head which I will ABSOLUTELY NOT WRITE, I have too many WIPs already, so I'll just ... write it all out here and then hope that's enough to get it out of my head.

So! Harringroveson-ish. Very rough, train-of-thought style.

Imagine Eddie and Steve smoking together and hooking up on the regular, because they both live in a small town and it's difficult and risky to find another guy who's willing to fool around in small-town Hawkins. So they've been doing it for a while, and they have fun and like each other kind of a lot and are comfortable with each other and all even though they keep it on the downlow for obvious reasons.

And then Billy Hargrove rolls into town, and he's mesmerizing and both Steve and Eddie can't really keep away from him. But Billy's acting so über straight that surely, none of them have a chance, right? So they may talk about him when they're together (for the Thrill or Sexytimes of it, idk), but they don't really think they have a chance. Until they start realizing that Billy's eyes ... wanders, if he thinks no one is watching. So they start talking about it, about trying to see if they can seduce him to the gay side of Hawkins, and it's mostly a joke between them, to get the other riled up when they're together; talking about what they'd do to him if they could. Because Billy's always taking girls out, and he's got quite the reputation - SURELY he's got a lot of sexual experience and would be up for whatever, right?

And like, they both think that THEY'd be the one to succeed to sway Billy over. Steve thinks that since he's the former King Steve and plays sports with Billy and they hang out in the same circles, of course he'd have luck with the guy than Eddie, but Eddie claims that with the music Billy listens to and the car he's got, he's obviously got more in common with Eddie than Steve ...

So they make a bet. Mostly as a joke, but a bet nonetheless; Which one of them will bed Billy first?

Meanwhile, Billy is of course secretly gay and has been moved to a closed-minded town against his will by his abusive dad for being found out just kissing another boy, and even though he's secretly eyeing both the former King of Hawkins High and the King of the Freaks, he does not fool himself into thinking something will happen. He can't allow himself to show a single sign of his preferences. So he takes girls out on dates, a string of them, and he parties and he flirts and he wraps Hawkins around his thumb, and only shows the careful mask he has created, and not an ounce of the real Billy, because he wants to live until graduation, thank you very much.

He had planned to just keep his head above water and survive until he could get the hell out of town, but that gets increasingly difficult when the two guys who he's been eyeing start to approach him. Trying to be friends? Trying to throw him off? Or ... check out the competition? Billy's not sure what's going on here, but he knows it's messing with his mask and his composure. Harrington didn't use to play this hard in gym, did he? Rubbing up on Billy like he is, now. Didn't use to smile at him and talk to him and like, stretch out in the shower after practice. And Munson had kept his distance until then, so what's up with the way he suddenly appears whenever Billy's sneaking off for a smoke, offering a good price on weed and inviting Billy to see his band play?

So, Steve and Eddie do their best to seduce Billy, mostly as a challenge between the two of them, but when they notice that Billy gets flustered when they touch him or lets his gaze for a little too long when they do things like stretch or lick their lips and so on, they start to suspect that this could actually happen. It's not so far-fetched as they might have thought. So they talk, and find it very exhilerating to imagine that maybe they both actually stand a chance, here ... but of course, the bet is still on. Who will have him first?

Billy's only human. And gay. And desperately alone in this sea of people, since no one knows the real him. So he's falling for it, even if he's hesitant and afraid (because of Neil, because of what if this is an elaborate prank, and also partly because all that he's done with a boy thus far has been kissing (Your choice as to what he has actually done with girls)).

Maybe both Eddie and Steve are getting bolder, right about now. Putting the moves on Billy, so that there's no mistaking their intentions. And Billy is tempted, so very tempted - but also so very scared. He backs off, or draws back, or maybe stammeringly mentions that his dad would kill him if he found out. "He's not gonna find out," whoever is with him says, but Billy bites his lip. Hesitates. Shakes his head.

But like, of course, eventually one of them - Steve or Eddie, your pick - succeeds. Billy gives in, gives up, throws caution to the wind. He gets to sleep with at least one of his crushes, and it's GOOD, it's so much better than he could have ever imagined sex to be and he can't believe he's so lucky that he gets to have this.

And of course whoever won the bet is thrilled. Both because they got to fuck Billy (who they are realizing that they LIKE, just like they like their other boyfriend), but also because of the thrill of winning the bet. So after, directly after or the morning after, your choice, they hurry back to their boyfriend to gloat about their win. Maybe they have to look for him, though, so they don't find him right away. Because of course for PLOT REASONS we need Billy to be at that place, too - feeling light, happy, and for the first time not feeling like a prisoner in this town - and overhearing. Overhearing the gloating, the "I won our bet" and "yup, fucked him good" and the "he was so sweet, you should have seen him". And then, for added angst, of course Billy sees the two of them kissing, making out. Looking very busy and into each other.

Billy should be angry, but he's so shocked and gutted that he can't bring up even a spark of anger.

And I want them to spot him there. Realize, by the paleness of his face, that he heard every word. That he thinks they've used him, made fun of him - and they kind of HAVE. But when they break apart and turn horrified eyes on him, Billy turns and runs. They go after him, try to stop him, but oh THERE's that anger (bubbling up to hide the HURT), so he rips himself out of their grip and snarls at them not to TOUCH HIM. Maybe he yells at them, for using him and stringing him along and making him think he meant something when really he was just a pawn, just a game. Maybe he doesn't say ANYTHING, just blinks away tears and leaves. I don't know which is worse.

But he leaves, and they feel horrible. They realize that they fucked up BIG TIME, they should have approached this differently, they never should have made that bet. They talk (again) and realize that they actually DO both like him, and they want him with THEM, all three o f them together. They decide to try to make things right, somehow. Explain to Billy, grovel at his feet etc.

But oh, it's not that easy of course. Because Neil has gotten wind of Billy being seen with some boy (maybe a neighbor saw him when either Eddie or Steve reached for his hand or pressed a kiss to his cheek or something, in the late stages of the seduction), and he punishes Billy for it. Severly. Billy's home from school for a week, recovering. Steve and Eddie thinks he's avoiding them, but eventually put their foot down like, enough is enough, if he doesn't come to us we'll come to him, so they go to his house.

Thankfully, Neil isn't home. But Billy is. And when he opens the door, still black and blue, they are horrified. Billy is afraid that anyone will see them and tells them to go, and even scrapes up some anger and tells them that this is their fault, which shuts down their attempts at apologies, and then slams the door in their face.

Eddie and Steve do some more talking, maybe some minor stake-outs. Realizes that when Billy said his dad would kill him, he meant it, and if the man knew what Billy had done, Billy might be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. They feel bad (as they should, and also because this is my fic and I live for the guilt).

In the end, I think they'd have to find a way to get Billy out of his abusive household, as a way to prove they are sorry, and that they're serious about him. Maybe they set something up to make sure Neil gets caught in the act, maybe they involve the police, maybe they blackmail the man or threaten him somehow. I don't care how. But they get Billy SAFE. And THEN they grovel. As they damn well should.

And I hope that eventually, they manage to convince Billy that in fact, they were BOTH into him from the start, and the bet was just a way for them to dare to act on it. They both wanted him, with them both. And they still want him.

And maybe Billy might just be lonely enough to eventually believe them.

[bingbongsupremacy]

Hand Holding

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Warnings:

Summary: You have a crush on Ellie but you're pretty sure she doesn't like you back. Modern AU (They're Teens)

*Not Proof Read* TLOU Masterlist

*****

" Jesse stop! " I laugh, attempting to shield my face from the water being splashed my way. " You're gonna get water up my nose! "

" Never! You stole the last drum stick! " He complains, continuing to sends waves of water towards me.

" I'll save you! " Ellie's voice laughs from nearby. I feel a warm hand slip into mine. " Follow me. "

Ellie leads me away from Jesse. Slowly his splashing towards me begins to die down as he's quickly distracted by Dina who cannon balls directly next to him.

I lower my hand and finally look towards Ellie. Her back is facing me. Her light green swim suit nicely compliments her auburn hair which is damply hanging above her shoulders.

Suddenly I remember her hand is holding onto mine. I look down at our loosely intertwined hands.

We've always been close but never close enough to hold hands. The small action sends a wave of heat rushing up my cheeks. I turn my face towards the water, not wanting to stare at our hands any longer.

It's stupid. I have a crush on my friend and I know I shouldn't. We're just friends. Besides, she just broke up with Cat. She's probably not ready for a new relationship right now.

I need to get over this.

When we're finally far away enough from the others, Ellie turns her body towards mine, not letting go of our hands. " Are you alright? You look a little stressed. " She observes.

I glance up at her and send her a small grin. " Yeah yeah. I'm fine. Just thinkin, ya know. "

I let go of her hand, tapping my hand on the word thinking.

It's never going to happen.

Ellie sends me a look that tells me she doesn't totally believe me, but she doesn't push any further. She leans up against the side of the pool wall. She doesn't say anything, instead she points her face up to the sun. She closes her pretty eyes, letting the heat envelop her.

" I've been so stressed with the end of the tri coming up. " I take in a deep breath, trying to let myself calm down. " I'm worried about failing chem. "

Ellie's head lifts up. She looks over at me. A grin plays at the corner of her lips. " I have the perfect thing for you. "

" Really? What. " I ask, watching as she hoists herself out of the pool.

Ellie turns towards me, water dripping down her muscular body. She extends a hand towards me. " You'll see. Come with me. "

I accept her hand, my heart fluttering at the contact.

Ellie helps me out of the pool and we make our way into the house. Her hand stays wrapped around mine.

She leads me through the hallway towards the garage. " I guess we shoulda grabbed our towels. " She chuckles, glancing back towards the small puddles we're leaving behind. " I'll clean it up before Joel gets home. "

Ellie opens up her door.

Small lights twinkle around the room. Posters I helped hang up beam down at me.

I let out a grin as I spot the small stuffed dog I bought her a few months ago at a fair. She still has it.

Ellie lets go of my hand and a disappointment fills my stomach. It's quickly replaced with a shiver from the cold AC running through the room.

Ellie digs through her drawer before finally pulling out a small box. " Found it. " She sets the small box on her desk, pulling out a small joint.

" Whoa, is that fucking weed? " I ask, taking a few steps towards her. I peer over her shoulder at the white rolled item.

" Fuck yeah. " Ellie grins, looking up at me. She pulls out a black lighter. " Wanna smoke some? "

I chew on the side of my cheek, contemplating for a moment. " Fuck it. Let's do it. "

Ellie's smile widens. " Open your mouth. "

I do as she says, my eyes meeting hers as she places the joint in between my lips. She keeps my gaze as she lips the end of the paper, watching my expression as it begins to burn.

I slowly inhale, coughing immediately. " Fuck. "

Ellie lets out a laugh. " First time? "

" First time. " I agree, holding it away from me. I hand it to her expecting hand.

She places the joint in between her slightly chapped lips, demonstrating how to smoke. She slowly guides me through the process, making sure I don't die the next time I take a drag.

Eventually we get to the point where we can pass the joint back and forth. We sit huddled together on her bed, bare legs pressed gently next to each other.

I might not have Ellie as my girlfriend but I have her as my friend. And that's enough. It has to be.

[quarter-life-crisis2]

Just enough help

✿ Yoongi x reader (she/her) (Namjoon is there for 2 seconds)

✿ wc: 2.1k

✿ baby angst, minimal fluff

✿ summary: You're stuck, not knowing what to do in your life to be happy and content. A surprising conversation makes you think that maybe you can turn things around.

✿ warnings: some talk of capitalism, hopelessness, and being stuck in life, a touch of loneliness & low self-esteem, but nothing physical, just one little wish of being more beautiful, weed smoking occurs (oh no, 2/2 on this one), talk about purpose and shit that's keeping me up at night, but it's not too heavy, ends with more hope than it starts I promise

Maybe part two...?

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

A lovely spring day by the canal, birds singing, sun shining, couples smiling, all that bullshit and yet you’ve been walking around with a dark cloud above you. Sometimes going for a walk makes you feel like you’re finally photosynthesising after a long winter, yet seeing all these happy people reminds you of how bitter you feel. 

Sitting down on the patch of grass overlooking the water, staring into the distance you feel like everything you’ve been working towards has been completely pointless. You pictured this amazing life for yourself, with a career you love and are confident in, living it up in the big city, with a highrise flat, a dog and a partner. Yet all you’ve got right now is disappointment, in yourself and your achievements. 

And that just makes you feel ungrateful because you have a career, a decent one at that, that pays you enough that you don’t have to worry about your bills and you can indulge here and there. Your flat might not be overlooking the city, but it’s nice enough, you decorated it to your tastes and you don’t have to share it with any strangers and argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes. 

Yet it just feels like it’s all wrong, it’s not you, you’re not really living. You’re going through the motions every day, seeing how much you can get away with before you get called in for a disciplinary meeting. Seeing how many hours you can spend laying down on your bed with your eyes closed, picturing you’re someone else entirely, someone better, more confident, more interesting, more beautiful. 

You thought you finally had it, that treasured feeling you’ve been chasing for as long as you can remember, that content little light inside that made you walk with a little more joy, make you lift your head a bit higher, like you actually like yourself. How fragile was it really? It seems like all it took was a slump, and then you went right back to isolating yourself, not taking care of yourself and no longer trying. 

“Here, take this” 

A water bottle is suddenly in your line of vision, startling you from your self-deprecating spiral. Looking up at the man standing in front of you, realising you’ve been crying, in public, in broad daylight, completely sober. Shock and shame quickly mix together, so you take the bottle hoping he’ll leave you alone to wallow for a bit longer before you pull yourself together and make the hour-long journey back to your corner of the city. No such luck, he seems to not get the hint, sitting down next to you, a good 4 feet apart. 

“Don’t worry, I just bought it, it’s sealed. You just looked like you needed it.”

You look down surprised, to the unopened bottle, muttering a small thanks and taking a sip. He’s settled in, staring out at the beautiful view, looking completely at ease with your discomfort, while you’re inspecting his profile, confused about what the hell he wants from you. He can’t possibly just be nice, no one talks to crying people here, you might as well be invisible. The last time this happened, when you were 20, having just moved cities, far from home, it was like you suddenly got a superpower, if you ever cried in public, and you did for a while, a lot, everyone avoided eye contact like they could catch some crying disease. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Letting out a sudden laugh, you might as well engage in this, whatever this is, it might never happen again. Hopefully, it never does, how many times can one embarrass themselves before their self-esteem finally reaches rock bottom? 

“I’m just being dramatic, it’s nothing much.”

“Try me”

“Fine, if you’re really that interested... I just fucking hate my life... I hate my job, I hate my flat, and I hate that I’m not where I thought I’ll be at this age. But I’m sure I’m not the first or the last to think that, so I should just be happy with what I’ve got, it could be so much worse.”

“So what? Just because it could be worse, what, can’t it be better as well?”

“I guess, but at this point, I don’t know what better looks like. I’m sitting here complaining about how unhappy I am, yet I couldn’t even tell you what I want. Pretty fucking pathetic.”

You’re angry you realise, you’re angry with yourself mainly. What is the point of this little sad song you’re singing for yourself? You’re not grateful for what you’ve got and you’re not trying to get anything better, so why would you deserve some amazing life for yourself if you can’t even try? 

“Splif?”

Looking at the guy again, you realise he didn’t say anything back to your lovely rendition of your failures, just offering you a smoke. 

“Fuck it, why not.” 

So you sit there, in silence, going back and forth, smoking this stranger’s weed looking out at the orange hues in the water reflecting from the sunset. 

“How old are you?” you finally ask, once the buzz kicked in and you can feel your anger subside, making room for the light haze. 

“30”

“And are you happy?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes…?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m happy right now.” 

“Why would you be happy right now? I doubt anyone wants to spend their Saturday afternoon wasting their weed on a random crying stranger.”

He doesn’t look at you at all while talking, just sits there calmly, takes a final toke, has a sip of his coke and lays down on the grass before answering. This man seems like he’s meditated his way to inner peace right now. 

“It’s not that bad, the weather is nice, there’s music playing, there’s no screaming children. I had a nice lunch and a nice smoke, and you’re not crying anymore. So I’m happy right now. It doesn’t take that much.”

He’s right, it’s a beautiful day, it’s as peaceful as the city will ever feel, and you’re not crying anymore. So you stop, take a deep breath, trying to embody his carefree attitude, and lay down on the grass. You focus on the clear sky, the gentle breeze moving the tree leaves above you and the gentle guitar you can hear from somewhere behind you. 

“How old are you?”

Looking to your right, he’s finally looking your way, sitting up on his elbows, eyes a bit droopy and red. 

“28”

“And what did you think would already happen that hasn’t?”

“I’m not sure anymore, I just thought I’d feel some purpose, like I’d be some inspiring career woman. But all I feel is just dread… like, is this it? For the rest of my life, just wake up, drag myself to do something that’s good enough, that pays me enough, that’s just not annoying enough or hard enough that I leave. Get home, eat, watch some movie that’s interesting enough, sleep, repeat.”

“What’s annoying about it, your job?”

“It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. I’m helping a bunch of rich corporations figure out if they can maybe squeeze another million out of people while trying hard not to spend a cent to help anyone. Not even their own employees. They ask for more money, or better parental leave, or bereavement days, or to not be discriminated against after helping them increase their billions and they say “Sorry, no can do, but here’s a ping pong table and a couple of beers on Friday.” It just doesn’t matter at best and at worst I’m helping capitalism thrive at everyone’s expense. Surely this isn’t what we’re meant to be doing.” 

“Yeah, well I agree with you on that… So you obviously know why this doesn’t feel right, then what should we be doing?”

“What, all of us, as a society?”

“Yeah, all of us.”

“We should be helping each other. Not fucking over everyone we can just so some rich dude can buy another yacht. But so what? I’m not gonna start some class revolution. I can barely keep my fridge stocked. It doesn’t matter how I think we should be.” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure a lot of people feel that way.”

“Maybe… No, you’re right, I know they do. I didn’t come up with any of this. Just not the people that can actually do something about it.”

“You can do something about it, anyone can. Why can’t you help people?”

“Cause it won’t make a difference.”

“Did that water make a difference?” he points to the empty bottle on your lap. 

“I mean, I’m not thirsty anymore…? What’s your point?”

“Did the weed make a difference?”

“Yeah, it did. So what, should we just give out weed to people and hold hands and hope our corporate overlords decide to join us?”

“You’re thinking too big. How do you feel? Like right now, this second?”

“I feel… I feel high. I feel like I’m chatting shit to a stranger.” 

He laughs a bit, continuing his gentle interrogation. 

“And how did you feel 20 minutes ago? Be honest.”

“You’re really walking around providing free therapy?”

“Just indulge me…”

“Fine, I felt like crap, and really fucking hopeless.”

“Well, you still seem a bit hopeless, I won’t lie to you, but you’ve smiled about 1.5 - oh, there we go, 2 times now, so surely that’s a tiny bit better, no?”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

“Well then, I helped you a tiny bit. Do you feel like that matters at all?”

“In the grand sch-”

“No, no, not in the grand scheme, to you, does it matter to you? That you’re high and feel a little bit less crappy?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But, that’s not helping people, that’s just me.”

“Well you’re a person, I’m a person, we’re both people, unless that’s not the case, which if you’re not, please tell me now because that’s a great high conversation to have.”

You laugh a bit amused at how this dude is just taking your ramblings in stride, somehow finding time to not only make eye contact with a crying stranger but somehow give them life advice as well. 

“3, that’s a full smile, new record. Well, now that we’ve established we’re both people, and I helped you a tiny bit, and you helped me pass some time and have a nice chat, then why would it not matter?”

“Right… so you’re saying I should start small?”

“Well if you could actually fix society, like all of it, I’d be really fucking impressed, but I doubt you can just wake up one day and do that. Maybe just think of what you do well in your job, and see if anyone is willing to pay you for it, some place where it’s helping, someone, anyone. Even if it’s just one person. I’m sure there’s something.” 

You look at him for a few seconds, just surprised. It’s not like he’s told you the secret to the universe. You’ve probably given this advice to a friend before, ‘start small, focus on what you can control’, ‘every little bit counts’ all of that. But sometimes, just knowing something isn’t enough, you need someone to tell you just the right thing at the right time. 

“Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you, that actually really helped.”

“Nah, I’m sure you would’ve gotten there eventually. My friend’s finally here, I’m gonna head out. Hope you figure it out.”

You watch him walk away with a little wave. You’re surprised, you realise. He didn’t do anything creepy, he didn’t try to hit on you or ask for your number. He didn’t even ask for your name actually. He was just nice, he listened, gave a little bit of advice and went on his way. He did help, so maybe it’s a sign. How many times would this realistically happen? You would’ve said 0 30 min ago. So maybe you can turn things around, figure out a way to feel useful, a little bit less like a hypocrite. 

……

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You were talking for ages.”

“I don’t know her, just seemed upset so I talked to her for a bit.”

“And had a smoke.”

“Yeah, and had a smoke.”

“Sooo…did you get her number?”

“No.”

“What? Since when do you talk to strangers just because? You barely even talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you man, I just did.”

“Yeah, whatever you say… come on, let’s go, we’re already fucking late.” 

soooo I'm clearly going through something

[whimsical-westbrook]

Okay yep yeah mhm okay I have woken up twice now to this being real. I'm going to make an intro post to get used to writing with a stylus and without thumbs.

Hello, my name is Lily Westbrook. Hopefully. I don't know how this works. I definitely still go by she/her.

I used to live in Eterna City. I wanted to meet my first ever pokemon buddy, so I went into Eterna Forest last night. Something happened, and I think someone had my phone while I was out?

If I take a photo maybe y'all will believe me, but I'm a Buizel now. Hold on, maybe I ca

[An image is attached.]

[Image ID: A poorly angled selfie of a Buizel, wearing a flower accessory. The Eterna Forest's Old Chateau can be seen in the background.]

n add a photo oh gods why did it put it in the middle like that I'm not fixing that

I still don't know why all my writing is orange. Is it because I'm a pokemon now? Is my phone playing pranks on me is that a thing that can happen

UPDATE: Turns out I'm a girl buizel and this was the best worst thing to ever happen to me. I still don't know if anyone in Eterna City will be able to figure out what happened to me, or if they'll even believe me, but I just. I'm so happy, guys.

Double UPDATE: I kinda feel like how I feel about life is going to keep drifting away from the tone of my original intro post but like. It feels weird to make a new one so I'mma just... leave it like that I think. For now. Important note: I'm no longer in Eterna, but headed to live in Goldenrod.

Triple UPDATE: I was able to figure out why my text was getting orange'd, and also was told that it was messing with some people's ability to read things I wrote, so I was able to apply that fix to the text. Though uhhh. I'm still leaving that mess in there. It's funny to me.

//OOC under the cut

//Hello! This is Astra (she/they) from my main (NSFW) @astralikacastle. This is a character I've had in my head for a long time, though my kinda fucked up brain doesn't quite know where to take it after the prologue.

//But basically, forever in my head I've had 'what if someone got turned into a pokemon and they had to deal with that and how it made them feel about gender' and now it's here. =3

//I do prommy to try to keep this blog as SFW as possible, though where the line between Mildly Suggestive and NSFW lies isn't always the same for everyone (especially with how Tumblr's been treatin' trans folk lately) so I'm not making guarantees, just promises to try.

//I should like. Keep track of Lily's 'inventory' huh

Lily's old human clothes

Buizel-sized Ballgown

Comm-Everstone Choker (See Below) (Worn)

Phone (obviously)

Book about Legendaries for Studying

Flexi-grip phone tripod

Poffins and berries

Trans flag bandana (Worn)

Hoopa-Ring-Alike Bracelets (Worn)

Thigh-highs (didn't decide on a pattern for these oops) (Worn)

Lily-flower pin (Worn)

Pink Ribbon (Worn under above pin)

Sunglasses! B3

Sylvie (Sylveon Plush)

Toki (Togekiss Plush)

Blahåj (Blahåj)

6" Buizel Plush!

JigglypuffPikachu Hybrid Plush!?

Large pink bag (where plush friends live) w/ Waterproofing

Waterproof Backpack (Where non-plush non-worn items live)

Wheely-Cart (Where everything rides on) w/ Floaty

Weighted Blanket

Keychains (Mew, Meloetta, Hoopa, Victini, Celebi, Darkrai, lotus)

Box o' Buizelnip (Lovingly referred to as Bui-Weed)

Always kept in Lily's room at Gen's home:

Figurine of Lily and Gen

Buizel-sized Piano

//And her moveset!

Protect

Agility

Water Gun

Surf

Baton Pass

Rain Dance

Aqua Jet

Aqua Ring [Glitch?]

Thief

Minimize [Glitch!]

ABILITY: Rattled

//What is the Comm-Everstone?

The Comm-Everstone is an Everstone, small enough to act as the 'gem' of a choker, and enchanted by Laplace to duplicate the effects of a sci-fi Translator. The stone translates Lily's buizel-chitter Poke-Speech and emits an ethereal voice that repeats her words in Human Speech. Whichever voice the listener best understands is brought to the forefront of their perception, preventing any 'cross-talk' from obscuring her words. Notably, it is still quite obvious to the listener that these words are being translated, and not simply Imparting Understanding. (Though, it being magic may be a little unsettling, still.)

[theold-ultraviolence]

Fear of the Dark (3/7)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: A year after Hawkin’s great ‘earthquake’ Eddie drives to the other side of the country in the hopes of dealing with his trauma in sunny California, where he finds himself infatuated with the lead singer of HEX. Upon getting to know her, he soon realizes that not all monsters live in an upside-down dimension, but not all of them are out to get him… inspired by The Lost Boys!//CW: female!reader / vampire!reader, eventual smut, slow-ish burn, angst with a happy ending. ST4 Spoilers - takes place a year after Vol 2 (no major character death).

Chapter warning: clothed grinding in the first scene, but nothing explicit at all, but I’ll still mark it with a ** if you want to skip it. A/N: let me know if you catch the bit of referenced dialogue from The Lost Boys!

Fic Masterlist / chapter 4

CHAPTER 3. Lost In The Shadows

Your home is secluded, and far enough away from the boardwalk, where the terrain is dry and the sea breeze is faint. That was the thing in California – you had a dichotomy of life and death; the ocean and the desert coexisting in opposite stretches of land. Maybe this is why it’s such a hotspot for some creatures of the night to roam free, where the border between the living and the undead is thin. 

You have to climb up a wooden staircase surrounded by flowery vines and overgrown weeds to reach the one-storey plan where you have a rustic kitchen space and bedroom, right above a basement. Regardless of the size of your apartment, it’s cozy, and it has the perfect room to hide yourself away to avoid the sun – or any other peeping tom that could notice the odd hours you keep. 

Once you’d helped Eddie to carry up his one suitcase and backpack, you told him to make himself at home and feel free to take a shower, as he might’ve been yearning for one after having been soaking up in the pool of the crowd back at the club.   

You smile to yourself while helping to fold out his clothes – with the sound of rushing water keeping you company – and bring out the extra pillows for him, assuming that since there was only one king sized bed and the couch was too small, you’d be sharing it. 

After a while, from the bathroom, he coughs to spark your attention and you’re met with the sight of him hiding behind the door, although you could still get a timid glimpse of his body from the backlight: of his hair all drenched and brushed back, towel hanging low around his waist and his skin glistening from the shower steam.

“I’m sorry but, you think you might have a robe or something? A clean hoodie I could borrow? It’s just – I don’t wanna…”  

You got it, he wasn’t comfortable showing his scars in this new light, you hadn’t really seen them in detail at the beach. You gently nod your head and reach your tiny dresser, where you find an old robe that you only used over the rest of your sweaters if it got too cold in the winter, as it had been a gift that was several sizes too big on you.  

“Here,” you hand him the robe while looking away so as not to make him uncomfortable. 

“Thank you.” He lingers, debating on whether he should just remain bare when he’s with you, but ultimately retreats back to dress in his own checkered pajama pants and clean t-shirt, with the robe snuggly wrapped around him, then frees up the space so you could shower now. 

“I won’t be long, but you can go ahead and settle down to sleep. The bed’s all ready to go.” You say as you pass him by the threshold of the bathroom. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you.” 

You want to say – you don’t have to, you’re safe, get some rest now –  but still there’s a disco dance floor inside your chest where your heart is doing twists and turns over him wanting to be near you no matter how tired he must be. 

Amidst this dreamy haze you wash yourself and it’s not until after you’ve hopped out of the shower that you realize that you hadn’t brought your set of pajamas to the bathroom, so used to living alone and prancing around naked to refresh yourself from the arid Californian heat, which leaves you in the same predicament that Eddie had been in earlier, but you were much too embarrassed to ask him if he could hand you your underwear and jammies. So you step out into your dimly lit bedroom, droplets adorning your skin as you’re pressing your flimsy towel tighter against your chest. 

Eddie’s reclining against the pillows – illuminated by your bedside table alone – sitting up immediately upon glancing at your half-naked form. 

“Forgot my clothes,” you mutter awkwardly. 

He leans forward, hypnotized by the mere shape of your silhouette in this light – softer amidst the cozyness of your room unlike all the other time’s he's seen you in all your power on top of a stage.

“It’s okay,” he replies, interpreting that maybe you were apologizing rather than stating a fact, so you just smile, looking down at your feet.   

“I mean, you can come up here like that, if you want?” He bashfully offers, getting closer to the center of the bed and spreading his legs absentmindedly. 

Flushed, and not by the warmth of your shower, you reach the edge of your bed and slowly crawl up until you’re sitting on his lap, arms resting on his shoulders. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks, palms on your sides rubbing slow, soothing circles all across your curves. 

Your eyes go half-mast from pure relaxation, nodding your reply and moaning contentedly as you feel your muscles turn to goo, all thanks to his touch. 

When was the last time you’d ever been touched like this? Feels like an eternity now, even though it’d only been a year – time is a funny thing when you don’t grow old. Even then, that doesn’t hold a candle to this moment right here. Eddie’s touch is reverent and tender, betraying the notion of roughness you get from him upon first glance. 

“Is this okay?” you throw his line back at him as you fully recline your body against his, feeling the softness of his robe against your naked skin while you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. He smells fresh, like he’d used your shampoo and doused a great amount of it, but there’s also that lingering note of cigarette smoke exuding from his breath when he kisses your temple and hums in affirmation. 

One arm wraps itself around your lower back while his opposite hand gently cradles the back of your head to turn with you in his embrace and lay you back on the bed with him on top, before capturing your lips in a fervent kiss. 

Your towel still hadn’t slipped from you with how tightly Eddie’s glued himself to your body, and with the way his hands keep the fabric in place as he strokes your sides up and down repeatedly, all the while never breaking the kiss. You’ve got your hands on either side of his cheeks, thumbs soothing those precious dimples with each smile that escapes him before he licks into your mouth, grazing the raspy fields of the barely-there stubble that grows along his jaw. 

*

“I’m sorry…” he untangles from you briefly, his lips lightly brushing yours before he continues, “we – we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. It’s been an intense evening, we’re both tired.” 

Fondness envelops your heart in that moment; he’d gotten hard instantly inside his pajamas, his solid weight pressed against you even underneath the thick layer of the robe yet he didn’t want to go further too quickly. Anyone else would’ve jumped at the opportunity after being presented so easily.  

“Maybe we can just…” You sigh against the corner of his lips as your hands travel down his lower back to push him down onto you while simultaneously grinding your hips up against him, offering an enticing alternative. “Maybe we can just get off like this? So that we can fall asleep?” 

He nods automatically, and giggles to himself for being so bad at hiding his enthusiasm. “You sure?” he sighs, asking despite him already grinding against you at a tantalizing pace, increasing the pressure more and more. 

“Yes, Eddie…” you plan one foot on the bed to add more friction; your hands soothe all across his back to the nape of his neck, thumbs caress the shell of his ear while the kiss endures in its languid rhythm. 

“I’m gonna ruin your bathrobe,” he murmurs against your jawline – not in a sultry way in the least, just thinking out loud – making the both of you wheeze a feeble little laugh that turns into a quiet moan with one mouth-watering thrust. 

“Hmmm…don’t worry about it…” you whisper before lovingly tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, “I’ll wash it in the morning.” 

“Nah, you just tell me where the washing machine is and I’ll do it…” his hand strokes your bent thigh and hooks it behind his back to bring you closer still to him, “it’s my mess.” 

You smile and shake your head, thinking — the washing machine is in the basement, you can’t go in the basement — but decide to let it go, to keep kissing those plush lips of his. 

Maybe you’ll snatch up his dirty clothes and wash them during the day. 

Then, as your fingers cradle the side of his face, at a pause between a kiss, you’re struck with awe at how quickly Eddie’s been slipping through the cracks of your heart, how easily you’re letting him in. You’re scared, you can’t lie to yourself — utterly scared. 

But if there’s one upside about this condition of yours, is that your senses are heightened in ways you couldn’t have conceived before. 

When you look at those big, big doe eyes of his above you, you’re certain that there’s not even a wavelength of danger radiating off of him. 

“Why are you so nice to me, Eddie?” you ponder while you indulge in the feeling of his tamed curls all freshly washed, in contrast with each spark of electricity that shoots through your bare core when his clothed erection slowly brushes against you. “Why me?” 

After I’ve olympically pushed you away…

“I just – “ he softly groans in intervals as he speaks, “this is sappy as shit, but I like you a lot. Since the first time I heard you play. You’re a dream.” 

You chuckle, arms snaking around his shoulders to hide your face in the crook of his neck because you don’t want him to see the melancholic smile that paints your face upon hearing that. 

**

“Gotta be careful, Eddie,” you whisper right into his temple, nose booping the long line of his neck, catching a whiff of the iron rushing through his blood, “otherwise I might have to keep you forever…” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Only if you aren’t afraid of the dark.” 

Eddie leans back to look at you — stunned at your ominous words but immediately taken aback by your face. 

Your eyes are entirely eclipsed by your pupils in a way he’d even deem supernatural, attributing the amber hue in them to the orange-y light of the bedside lamp. 

He cums right in that moment, with your teeth grazing the underside of his jaw, and tongue licking at the artery that traverses his neck. 

– 

You wake up to a tingling sensation on your arms, where they’re draped across Eddie’s chest. 

You disregard it, thinking that’s just your limbs being numb in an awkward position, and nuzzle closer to the sleepy warmth of Eddie’s body. 

But soon those tingling embers rise aflame all across your skin, making you hiss as you sit up in a flash and notice that there’s sunlight filtering in from your opaque drapes.

You’d completely disregarded your own sleep schedule in favor of being with Eddie last night – and what a night it had been – but now you’re fleeing from the bed and racing downstairs to the safety of your basement.

You halt for a second and curse at yourself for being so distracted about literally everything in your routine now. 

One: the dirty laundry would have to wait, Eddie’s still fast asleep wearing the robe. 

Two: you’ve forgotten the tiny insignificant detail that Eddie would need food when he wakes up, and all you have in your fridge is some leftover takeout from when the girls come over to rehearse, as you don’t have a need for normal groceries anymore. 

You quickly stick a note on the fridge that reads, 

‘Morning, Eddie. I haven’t been able to go to the supermarket so there isn’t much food left in the fridge. Feel free to go out and get whatever you want for yourself and I’ll shop for the basic stuff later, I’ll be out all day rehearsing with the girls. I have a spare key in the counter if you want to go down to the beach. The forecast promises a lot of sunshine – don’t spend it all cooped up inside! I’ll see you in the evening, XO.’ 

And throw yourself inside the safe confine of your basement, where everything’s sealed and not even the slightest spears of light could get through. 

– 

Eddie’s heart gets caught in his throat the minute he opens his eyes and feels an absence where your body had blanketed him to sleep last night. He’d be so sure that it had all been a dream if it wasn’t for your lingering scent on the sheets and pillows, and the little dent on the spot beside him on the mattress. 

He still feels groggy and well spent as he rises from the bed and drags his feet to the kitchen area to look for you, feeling as hollow as your home is in that moment when you’re nowhere in sight – though he perks up immediately when he sees your note, written in bright yellow paper. 

He frowns however, looking to his left at the little clock mounted on the wall signaling it’s just 10:30 AM. You rehearsed this early? Huh. 

Now that’s dedication.  

He had always gotten together with his band in the evenings, mostly because of school during the weekday, but still, the earliest he’d ever rehearsed on a saturday or sunday was 6 PM. He doesn’t think about that too much but when he’s opening the fridge he frowns even more profusely at the alarming lack of food inside. Jesus Christ, had you even eaten breakfast!? 

…Were you struggling economically and just hadn’t told him? 

He fixes himself a sad plate of buttered toast and orange juice before dressing for the day and heading downtown all giddy, planning to surprise you with enough groceries for the both of you. Maybe he’ll stop by one of the bakeries he’d spotted there and always wanted to try – bring something freshly made and savory to have for lunch, like some bagels or a couple of paninis. He’d always yearned to do something like this for someone else but the opportunity had never really come.  

He didn’t necessarily date much in highschool – date at all. People got what they wanted from him and left. But Eddie had always immensely enjoyed doing little favors for others, giving little details to those he loved – his uncle and friends – and was excited for the chance of doing this for you.

His morning is spent leisurely wandering around the supermarket and the bakery, taking his time under the sun and admiring the colorful streets in a way he hadn’t before, too immersed in his sadness. The people greeted him as he passed by whereas back in Hawkins, everyone recoiled at his mere sight. It helps that he fits right in with this crowd – there are people sporting vibrant mohawks and chains, people dressed in all black or proudly displaying their tattoos, peacefully blending with those in neon jackets, baggy clothes and white sundresses. 

As his day progressed, the smile that had risen on his face was as bright as the sun. 

Afterwards he takes the long way back home just so that he could roll down the windows of his van and get an afternoon kiss on his face from the sea breeze as he cruises by the boardwalk and looks at the paradise before him. At night, it looks like a realm flung from outer space with the stretched out, rainbow beams of light against the black sky, and a cacophony composed of the mechanical whirls of the rides mixed with children’s laughter and whatever musical act provided the soundtrack from the stage beside the pier. 

But during the golden hour, the scenery before him reminds him of a watercolor painting, with the orange tones of the sky dripping into the rich blues of the ocean, and all the people beneath him with sun-bleached curls and a bronze tint to their skin. Maybe he’d take you out on a date here tomorrow, if you’ll let him. And maybe this time he’ll be brave enough to take off his shirt and properly enjoy Santa Monica unrestrained. 

He makes it back to your apartment and feels bummed that you’re still nowhere in sight, but he carries on regardless, putting away the groceries and fixing up two plates on the little kitchen counter space you have, to have yourselves a late lunch. 

As he’s unloading the groceries, his loving reveries are interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. 

“Oh, hi Eddie!” Lara’s face greets him first, “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“Hi!” He’s suddenly thrown off by all of HEX being here…without you? And his eyes widen in confusion when he sees Tawny carrying your guitar-case. 

“We’ve just come to drop this off!” Tawny motions for the instrument in her hands, handing it to him “We took care of packing everything up after you guys left The Rabbit.” 

“Oh, wasn’t – I thought she was with you?” Eddie asks, unease settling in the pit of his stomach and a curtain of awkwardness falls on top of the four people standing on opposite sides of your doorstep. 

“What!? No, we haven’t seen her all day.” Daphne replies. 

“She left me a note saying that she’d be out rehearsing with you all day…that she’d be back in the evening?” 

“Oh shoot! And she hasn’t returned?” Daphne and Lara exchange knowing glances, before Tawny murmurs, “Well the sun is still out –¨

“ – SHHH! Tawny…” 

“ – What does that have to do with anything?” Eddie frowns, getting more and more annoyed at how HEX is shamelessly covering up something unknown to him. 

“It’s nothing!” Lara continues, “I’m sure she’ll be here soon, she probably mixed up our rehearsal date and is out doing errands. Well…see ya around, Eddie!” 

Errands? 

The girls wave their goodbyes but whisper to one another as they frantically make their way down the wooden stairs, leaving Eddie dumbfounded by the door. 

He feels sick as he carefully reclines the guitar against your couch before pacing around the kitchen, where he grumpily puts on the coffee pot he’d been craving to accompany the assortment of pastries he’d gotten for dessert. 

The rich scent wafting around the kitchen from the percolator eases his mood somewhat, but suddenly it all comes back to him tenfold when the basement door creaks open and there you are, with a deer-in-headlights look, frozen with your hand around the handle. 

“Eddie!” 

“Had a good rehearsal?” Fuck he sounds so petty, but he couldn’t help it. What is he? A jealous husband? 

“ –I, yeah –” 

“ – Don’t bullshit me, if there’s one thing I hate is fucking liars.” He winces internally at how cold he’s suddenly turned, but it’s out of his control. “Your bandmates came over to return your guitar.” 

“Eddie, I can explain –” 

“ – I may look stupid, but I’m not.” He abandons the little carboad box of pastries and marches down to meet you in the middle of your living room, “Yes, I don’t come from much, was a burnout in school and was fucking raised in a trailer park but I’m not stupid! So don’t play games with me. I know you lied to me.” 

“Eddie, I –” 

“Why did you even come up from your basement?” 

“Eddie, LISTEN TO ME!” 

You’re on him in a flash, face-to-face, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt. 

Your eyes turn into those same amber orbs he’d thought he’d imagined last night, mouth flashing him a peak of two pointed fangs as you yell at him. 

“Look at my reflection in the mirror!” You shake him, before taking his jaw between your fingers and directing his gaze to the vintage mirror mounted above your couch. 

He goes absolutely pale — eyes flicking desperately between you in front of him and what he sees to his side. 

Or rather, what he doesn’t see. 

It’s like the fucking club scene in ‘Fright Night’ with Chris Sarandon and Amanda Bearse – only, how can it be real!?

He looks at you all spooked, visibly gulping down, bottom lip wobbling with fear when you yell, 

“I’m a creature of the night, Eddie! Just like out of a comic book! I’m a VAMPIRE!”

-

chapter 4 (up next)

taglist: @nihilnat @sweet--em @starsandroots @dumpsterfirecee @squirrelgirl23 @totallynotkaibiased @mopeymopeymouse @eyeforissues @psychobitchsthings @maryan028 @grungegrrrl

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Chapter 41

Glass Shards

Warnings: Painful wound cleaning and quite some thoughts about death

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It was past noon when Merridy stirred. For the last few hours, Damien had alternated staring at her, staring at the ceiling and dozing off. The pain, while unpleasant, wasn’t enough to keep him from finding rest, but now he was thirsty as well. A bit of water, that was all he could think of. The dryness of his throat made it impossible to focus on anything else.

The waterskin was long empty. But besides not knowing if he’d even be able to get up on his own, Damien had neither wanted to wake Merridy up, nor leave her alone. 

The way she flinched and opened her eyes, looking around in a panic before her gaze settled on him, told him he had been right about it. He would have hated for her to wake up and find him gone.

“Hey,” he said. 

She relaxed, the hint of a smile on her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. They looked tired still, and full of worry.

“How do you feel?” she asked. 

“Thirsty,” he said, with no intention to mention the steady painful pulse in his side, or how his missing hand tormented him. It burned, as if to remind him what was going to happen if the wound became infected. 

Merridy turned around, feeling for the waterskin and finding it empty. 

“I was just about to get some water,” Damien quickly said, before she had a chance to somehow blame herself for it. It wasn’t even a lie; he had waited to fetch water until she was awake, and she was awake now.

“I can do it.”

“I need to go out anyway,” Damien said.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

He should decline, should let her rest. Instead, he only nodded. If he collapsed out there and hurt himself further, it would be worse. For both of them.

Merridy freed herself from the blanket, wincing as she got up with the deliberate motions of someone trying to figure out which way to move hurt the least. Damien was careful to put as little weight as possible on her as she put her arm around him. Just feeling her at his side, knowing she’d be there if he stumbled, was help enough.

They left the stable and crossed the yard, consisting of mostly dry sand with a few hardy weeds littered throughout. In the light of day, the way to the outhouse seemed much shorter. 

When he emerged, Merridy was standing at the well, refilling the waterskin. He must have stared at it, for she offered it to him as soon as he was close enough. Damien took it from her, gulping down half of its content without pause.

“We should eat something,” Merridy said while he caught his breath. Her tone was somewhere between a question and an observation, but she made no attempt to elaborate.

“Mhm.” Damien took another sip, slower this time. He wasn’t hungry. Exhausted, and in pain, but not hungry. But he knew she was right. He let his gaze wander over the buildings inside the trading post. “Think we can get something here?”

Merridy pointed behind her, without turning. “Kitchen’s there. Backdoor around the corner. For a smile and a few coins, we can get whatever’s on the menu that day, and some things that aren’t.”

Damien followed her gaze. The building she had pointed to was attached to the most maintained one, walls painted white between gleaming, dark wooden beams. A painted sign hung above the entrance, too far away for him to read the name.

“When did you get to know this place so well?”

“I needed some things to take care of your wound.” She shrugged. “The innkeeper is a real piece of work, so I tried my luck going directly to the source.”

Damien nodded in an attempt to not let his emotions show. They had been here for barely a day, and he had spent most of that asleep, while Merridy had taken care of everything. That would be barely acceptable if she was fine, but she wasn’t. He could see that she was tired and in pain. He had to do better. She needed him just as much as he needed her. 

“I’ll get some coins,” she said before he had a chance to find the right words. “Do you want to come with me, or do you think you’ll make it to the buildings?”

“I’ll be fine,” he quickly assured her, not feeling quite as confident. But walking all the way back to the stables only to return here seemed to be an even worse idea.

“Around that corner,” she reminded him, pointing at it. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking hadn’t been this hard in a long time. Slowly setting one foot in front of the other, Damien hadn’t even made it to the corner by the time Merridy was back at his side. She put his arm around her shoulders and led him the rest of the way. Next to the back door she had been talking about, she helped him sit down on a plain wooden bench; barely more than a roughly cut board propped on two logs.

Damien let her handle the talking, and a moment later they sat next to each other on the bench, a cup of broth in hand. It smelled heavenly. Eyes closed, Damien leaned back against the wall, enjoying the warmth of the late spring sun.

“Damien! Hey!”

He startled awake, flinching as he realized he wasn’t holding the cup anymore. His hand flew over his clothes, searching for wetness, but finding none. When he raised his head, Merridy was looking at him, an expression somewhere between worry and amusement on her face—and holding both cups.

“You need to drink this,” she said, and the worry clearly won. “Then we can go back inside and you can rest.”

Not daring to close his eyes again, Damien looked across the yard. There really wasn’t much to see if one wasn’t into dandelions and dust. He was not, so he let his gaze wander to Merridy while he sipped his broth. She had bound a kerchief over her hair, probably in an attempt to not look completely disheveled when talking to the staff. Damien vowed that as soon as he could sit up without falling asleep, he’d find out if her brush had survived the ambush.

After they had finished their broth, Merridy took the cups back and helped him into the stable. Seeing the nest of hay and blankets was just as much of a relief as seeing a bed would have been. Damien lowered himself to the ground with a groan.

“No sleeping yet,” Merridy chided. Her words were light, but their tone didn’t match.

Damien watched through half-lidded eyes how she grabbed her things, spreading them on the blanket next to her. She pulled his shirt over his head, and unwrapped the bandages, putting them aside. As she wiped along the wound, the wet fabric was cool on his skin, but burned on his wound. From time to time she paused, prodding at something, the noises she made entirely discouraging. Damien didn’t look at what she was doing. He couldn’t. Suddenly, it felt like there was too little air inside the stable. It wasn’t enough. He dug his fingers into the blanket, pressing his lips together in the desperate attempt to fight down the nausea.

“I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” She bit her lip. “Of course it does. That was… sorry.”

How easy it would be to say ‘yes’. It wouldn’t have been a lie, but it also wouldn’t have been the truth. He couldn’t tell her how afraid he was; of the fever, the pain, the memories. Of leaving her alone. 

“I’m scared,” was all he managed to choke out. His eyes were burning, and he couldn’t even be ashamed of it.

Merridy raised her hand to his cheek. “Me too,” she admitted. Her voice was trembling. “Perhaps we can pay someone to drive us to the next town. Find a healer. If it gets worse. Or before it gets worse. Or… I don’t know,” she whispered.

She knew as well as him how risky that would be. If they wanted to find a good healer, they’d have to go to one of the bigger towns—and bigger towns had guards. They were closer now to Caldeia than they had been in Dragon’s Reach. With how weak he was, there was no way for him to keep a disguise up. Faintly, he wondered what would be worse. Risking death from infection, or risking death with a rope around his neck.

“I won’t let you die.”

Merridy’s voice pulled him out of his desperate thoughts. He leaned into her palm, knowing very well how easily those words could turn into an empty promise. Her thumb moved, wiping away some of his tears. Damien focused on her touch, and on the hope that had brought him this far. He would cling to it until the end.

When he had calmed down, Merridy leaned back, giving him a questioning look. 

“Go on,” he said. “Do what you have to do. Don’t stop. Just…” He looked around, scanning the pile of their belongings. “Can you give me that?”

Merridy followed his gaze, grabbing the end of a leather belt poking out under a bunch of fabric and raising it with a questioning look. Damien nodded. The last thing they needed was to be thrown out of the stables as well, because he scared the horses—or patrons—with his screams.

He bit down on the belt as she picked up where she had left off. Cleaning his wound was its own kind of torture. Damien pressed his head against the wall, tears running down his face as he fought to make no sound. He wouldn’t let the memories take over. He wouldn’t beg for her to stop. He wouldn’t do that to her.

By the time Merridy was done, Damien was barely conscious anymore. He opened his eyes as she took the belt from him, finding her face wet from tears. Speaking was too hard, but he raised his hand to her knee, resting his fingers on it.

He let her pull him away from the wall, so she could wrap fresh bandages around his torso.  The stable started spinning around him, and Damien squeezed his eyes shut. He was so cold. Even after she had helped him put his shirt back on and lie down, he was still shaking. 

Merridy pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I have to clean up, but I will be back in a moment,” she said, lingering with her hand on his cheek. 

Damien wasn’t sure he managed to nod. He wasn’t even sure how long she was gone. All he knew was that no time seemed to have passed at all when she lifted the blanket, to slip under it. 

Merridy bedded her head on his arm, facing him. When Damien let his eyelids flutter open, he found her eyes still red, but her tears dried. She smiled at him, even if it couldn’t hide the sorrow in her eyes. Sorrow Damien hated to see. He pressed his fingers against her back, lacking the strength and the range of motion to pull her closer. She huddled closer anyway, wrapping the blanket tightly around the two of them before resting her hand on his neck. 

Her warmth was a blessing. Slowly, the tension left him, strained muscles finally able to relax. There was nothing he could do now but hope and rest, so Damien let himself be lulled to sleep, with her soft touch on his jaw, and her whispered promise of ‘You will be fine’.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

@dont-touch-my-soup @starrysky-whumpfics @kixngiggles @starlit-hopes-and-dreams

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

Dandelion Wine quote prompts

1. “Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.”

2. “The first thing you learn in life is you're a fool. The last thing you learn in life is you're the same fool.”

3. “I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn't forget, I'm alive, I know I'm alive, I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.”

4. “No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now.”

5. “I've always known that the quality of love was the mind, even though the body sometimes refuses this knowledge. The body lives for itself. It lives only to feed and wait for the night. It's essentially nocturnal. But what of the mind which is born of the sun, William, and must spend thousands of hours of a lifetime awake and aware? Can you balance off the body, that pitiful, selfish thing of night against a whole lifetime of sun and intellect? I don't know. I only know there has been your mind here and my mind here, and the afternoons have been like none I can remember.”

6. “For John was running, and this was terrible. Because if you ran, time ran. You yelled and screamed and raced and rolled and tumbled and all of a sudden the sun was gone and the whistle was blowing and you were on your long way home to supper. When you weren't looking, the sun got around behind you! The only way to keep things slow was to watch everything and do nothing! You could stretch a day to three days, sure, just by watching!”

7. “I like to cry. After I cry hard it’s like it’s morning again and I’m starting the day over.”

8. "Dawn, then, was a time where things changed element for element. Air ran like hot spring waters nowhere, with no sound. The lake was a quantity of steam very still and deep over valleys of fish and sand held baking under its serene vapors. Tar was poured licorice in the streets, red bricks were brass and gold, roof tops were paved with bronze. The high- tension wires were lightning held forever, blazing, a threat above the unslept houses. The cicadas sang louder and yet louder. The sun did not rise, it overflowed.”

9. “Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip, for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in.”

10. “And, after all, isn’t that what life is all about, the ability to go around back and come up inside other people’s heads to look out at the damned fool miracle and say: oh, so that’s how you see it!? Well, now, I must remember that.”

11. “A common flower, a weed that no one sees, yes. But for us, a noble thing, the dandelion.”

12. “Was there, then, no strength in growing up? No solace in being an adult? No sanctuary in life? No fleshly citadel strong enough to with-stand the scrabbling assault of midnights?”

13. “So thinking, he slept. And, sleeping, put an end to Summer, 1928.”

[el-im]

Might I suggest... Pretty cacti? Festive succulents?

you're not rockin w grasses!!!!?

honestly--i'm writing this love letter and have gotten (as i tend to do) so sidetracked talking about flora. it started out as a metaphor for "gathering dreams" -> manifest as a woman picking grasses topped with these ethereal little lights. and then. if you'll pardon me for saying so. i got a little lost in the weeds.

we have a few varieties of mexican thread grass and blue grama here with these... i don't know. gossamer-like "petals" (thin little membranous sheaths) wrapped at their bases, clinging like children to the actual blades of grass when i was a kid, standing outside dusty apartment buildings with my mom, waiting for one of her incessant boyfriends to trudge out of his room and toward us, she'd show me how you could pull the blades out from that (nearly) unrelenting grasp the sheaths had on it, if you held it close enough to them and pulled upward, and if you did it right, they'd come out intact, their bottoms like the tips of needles: pointed, evocative, never yet exposed to the air like that. they'd be released with this kind of... whistling, sliding sound.

anyway. i was thinking of that, and then, wanting to be particular--thought i'd be able to find the particular grass I was picturing. no dice yet, but will keep looking. the pictures i've posted thus far i just thought were beautiful.

but yanno, of course it's taken this turn, and i've fallen away from my point a little, but it occured to me just as i was typing this out that the person i'm writing to has a blade of grass tattooed over his forearm. he has this habit of quoting whitman at me: the precise and exact whitman quote i am so accustomed at tossing at others too (from leaves of grass: do i contradict myself? very well then, I contradict myself. i am large, i contain multitudes), so when he first showed it to me, i asked if it was because of that. he told me (and this is rich--because we're both creative writing majors) that not everything in life is a literary reference.

i digress. i love him. i hadn't considered the grass connection until now because it's only seven in the morning, and the first thing i did when i woke up was start to write to him, and all other things have been set aside in favor of that.

anyway.

i'm not partial to cactus, or succulents. i guess living where i do i've just been overexposed to them, and they've lost that initial awe they once inspired in me. they're monuments to encapsulation: holding water in the desert against all odds, having developed these (really magnificent, i know) traits to cool themselves (the ridges on a saguaro, por ejemplo, provide half its surface area with shade if the sun isn't coming directly from above) but... at some point, i think, living here, you turn away from the exceptions, and face the dry and the dessicated. in recent years, i've been more inclined toward poking around the ribs of fallen saguaros (kind of fibrous, woody, plank-looking strings of brown) than i have their living bodies.

grasses are so rare here--growing wild i mean. the long stemmed, wind-thrown, swaying kinds. every time i see a patch of them, it's like a dream

[im-caught-up-in-thoughts]

I’ve noticed that the years passing by have brought the trauma out more. I also know that accommodating all those triggers won’t be easy so anytime they come up I just have to face them. Whether it’s a dream or someone speaking about it. It’s no one’s job to make me feel comfortable because of the trauma I’ve endured. However, it’s also different when they are being little to you about something. Or say something provocatively, meaning (they think) you don’t know what you are talking about. When in fact you have been down in a dark place for way longer than you haven’t. I’m also still learning that no is okay to say even though I feel so guilty for it, I need to start putting myself first instead of everyone else. It recently hit me that for the first time in a few years that things are so much different than they use to be, and that’s not always a bad thing. I’m different for so many reasons. Pain does change how someone looks at life. Rude people can change how someone views life. Being a person with a good heart and very sensitive to emotions aren’t heard of much because no one talks about it because it’s not easy to explain.  I know that trauma will always be there and I will always wonder if something was different would it have been different for me. I will always have nightmares of it happening to other kids, which really sucks.  I’ve never once thought that doing drugs was going to solve my problems. I’ve seen that life. My mom has been in and out of jail since I was six years old. However she never once told me that she was trying to “escape” from something. “She did it because she liked to be high.” Do I like that? Not one bit. I learned that that’s not the life I want to live. Sure I’ll smoke some weed here and there, I could say I have chronic pain and some people would call that an excuse to smoke it. However I can’t find a job, I don’t have money to buy it and the money I do get I feed my animals with it so my grandpa doesn’t buy the cat food all the time.  I’ve always thought of breaking the generational curses instead of continuing them and it pains me when I see someone just diving right into the same curse. At first, I was beyond mad, the last few days I’ve become less mad. However, I don’t know whether I want this person around me or not. I’m always going to be questioning everything that they say or do.  

I’ve never felt like anyone’s best friend. I could say I’ve had 5 people I considered to be best friends. There are always other people that were somehow above me. I know I’m loyal, no one will probably ever match that. I know my worth. However, everyone wants friends. I wanted them so bad when I was younger that now that I’m older I look at them like they weren’t even there. While I was struggling to keep my head above water there was a few that stayed but they couldn’t help me. I realized I had to save myself.  So after the hell of a high school journey was finally conquered. Things started to feel good. Then my back was still pretty painful and I still have no diagnosis.  Once I got it, I was like okay. Spinal stenosis may just get worse but at least I know what it is. So I was like alright, time to learn to drive. I now know how to drive but the whole test thing didn’t go so well the first time and now I’m scared to even take it because I couldn’t pass a damn class on my own beforehand. How am I going to pass this with a strict instructor picky about everything? That brought out all the high school shit all over again, and I came home crying and defeated. 

It’s been a few months since June and that’s when I took the test. I’ve watched how to do things in videos. I learned how to back up, but there aren’t cones in my way. I thought the parallel parking sucks, turns out that’s better than a 90-degree backing angle. That one sucks, however, I will never parallel park. Not something I’m comfortable with and let’s face it there are not many places around here where you have to do that sort of parking. And who backs into a Walmart(or some other store) parking spot backing up? It won’t be me that’s for sure. For once I was hoping that this was going to go smoothly. Now I’m afraid.

[banschivs]

The penthouse suite at The Majestic boasts a full living room and kitchen,  though they’ve naturally spent the majority of their time in the bedroom.  A king-sized bed fills much of the space,  framed by two floor-to-ceiling long windows with a view out onto the avenue,  leading to the water.  The door to their private balcony has been left ajar for Nix’s sake — feels like she can’t quite breathe as well without the subtle sea breeze crawling through the open aperture.  Night’s only just fallen,  and so the inky blue blanket above reveals more to her wandering eyes than it ever would back home.  Despite the light pollution,  the ocean provides a deep void above for stars to shine through soon.  Nix had picked this hotel,  and this room.  The quietude is a gentle swathe,  slow like the tide coming in.

She’s draped across Arthur’s chest,  who’s reclined to a more settled position against the heaped pillows.  Her hair’s mussed,  and cool rivulets of sweat wander down the nape of her neck while she presses a kiss to his clavicle.  They’re both exposed to the salt in the next breeze rolling off the shore,  though Nix finds herself comforted by the chill that’s aptly the antithesis of the heat still teasing her at the apex of her thighs.  Rest is a rare thing between them,  though she finds herself tiring more in her state.  Still,  Nix houses Arthur’s thigh between her legs,  and she tightens the allegorical noose her lower legs form to press against his bare skin.  A subtle hum betrays her position,  but she makes no move to further it,  instead steering her attention toward his face.

His eyes are consistently illuminated in a preternatural glow,  but now her phone’s screen shines in his face.  Countless messages still fill her notifications — he’s likely checking once again that none of them comment on the girls staying with their grandfather.  She cranes her neck to prop her chin on his shoulder to glean much of the same invasive messages she’s been seeing for weeks now.  Thus far,  nothing on how beautiful their view from the penthouse must be.  Nix’s eyes flash to the windows as if she could see the avenue below.  Give it time...

           @jokethur :  ❝  god, i am so sick of people telling me what i am.  ❞                                              SENTENCE STARTERS   / /   ACCEPTING  

Something else snares his attention.  Not from one those phantom bots that otherwise fill the screen,  but a supposed ‘fan’.  So many of them are otherwise lost in the anonymous flood.  By clicking the link,  he’s led to one of numerous articles that follow his every move without the help of internet weirdos watching with their night-vision goggles.  It’s illustrated by a shot of him at the entrance to Wayne Tower;  the flash of the red suit and the lit cigarette make him entirely unmistakable,  obviously.  She fleetingly wonders exactly where his hopes for anonymity stem from.  Nix doesn’t need to read the entire piece to glean the words ‘Exposed Killer Billionaire’ and exactly why that might have vexed him.  Nix imagines the link originally came with information on the author,  should she wish to weed him out.  Arthur still has yet to see a single cent of his supposed billions.

She thieves her phone back with expertise,  and a grace that doesn’t often suit her.  Blindly she reaches behind her to drop it onto the nightstand.  Then,  she hoists herself higher against his side,  wrapping her leg about his waist to keep them both all but welded together.  He’ll feel the hike in her pulse as swollen lips hug him and she mantles herself just beneath his ribcage.   “  Do you think...  ”    A kiss adorns his throat,  where his heartbeat jumps beneath the skin.  Nix cups his face to hold him close,  then drags the flat plain of her tongue along her claimed canvas.  She nips the lobe of his ear, a reticent keen teasing the shell.   “  If we left,  ”   She’s aware it’ll be a touchy subject,  and speaks perhaps solely in hypotheticals for her own well-being.   “  We’d lose,  like,  fifty-percent of the bullshit?  ”

[harringtontmaa]

⚡ — EDDIE MUNSON  continued  meme :

         BEING IN THE WATER STILL CALMS HIM,  even after everything.  though the weed probably helps.  &  eddie helps a lot, too, just by virtue of being who he is.  it’s weird how some things will set him off  —  dead silence will do it, but so will the sound of dogs growling at each other, or a shirt with a collar that sits up a little too high on his neck  —  but other, more obvious triggers seem so easy to ignore.  after all, how many times had he gone for a late-night dip in the very same pool where barb had died ?  his mind must be wired wrong, something had come knocked loose inside his head after the first few times his brain was cracked against his skull.                                                          but in spite of how nice it feels to lift his feet  &  just float for awhile,  steve doesn’t go out past the point where his toes can still touch the silty bottom. not in this particular lake.  they’d managed to go back  &  undo it all  —  the gates, the earthquake, even undone death itself where eddie was concerned.  steve had seen it all himself.  so he knows that there’s no way that there’s anything but fish  &  seaweed at the bottom of lover’s lake now.  but he can still remember the way the vine had curled around his ankle  &  pulled him down.  so this time, he stays close to the shore,  crouching low in the water to sneak behind eddie  &  spook him.  it’s a friendly scare, the kind that will only result in laughter.  &  when eddie curses  &  jumps, it’s a pleasant change from the more intense fear that steve has almost become numb to.              they laugh for a moment,  &  steve smiles, his eyes drawn to eddie’s face. the other boy seemed to glance all around them, but steve’s own gaze is drawn to eddie’s tattoos  —  the ones he can see above the water, at least.  the black ink creates a stark contrast to the way the moonlight blanches the color from his already fair skin,  &  steve is more than a little fascinated by them.  he’s still looking at the guitar lovingly inked into his chest when eddie speaks,  &  steve folds his legs to sink back into the water up to his shoulders, forcing his gaze away form eddie  &  casting it instead out toward the center of the lake. ❝ yeah, well. you really wouldn’t’ve wanted to meet me any sooner than you did.  don’t think you would have liked the old me very much. ❞                                                he means it as a joke, but apparently it doesn’t land, eddie going quiet  &  drifting away from him.  &  steve feels something shift between them, a familiar pang of anxiety rising in his chest.  but he rarely gets like this around eddie.  &  he isn’t sure what’s caused it, so he doesn’t know what to say to fix it.  so steve keeps himself quiet by locking his jaw, teeth worrying at the inside of his lip.  he doesn’t wanna say anything else stupid.                           but the anxious silence doesn’t last long, strangely bitter laughter bubbling out of @munsontm almost like he can’t stop it.  almost like he’s nervous.  &  steve’s brow furrows, the confusion plain on his face.  ❝ what ?  what’s stupid ? ❞  he doesn’t understand what eddie’s talking about,  &  his feet move to plant against the bottom of the lake in an attempt to steady his suden influx of nerves.  everything had been fine until they got into the water.  ❝ what do you mean, what are we doing ?  i thought we were just . . .  going for a swim ? ❞

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Desire”)

A limerick sequence

               1

Desire! Trot, and once grow the demons all. I am water of their    will keep, while new-born mind!    He saw the day, he with the Bondage of spruce, near and not find.

               2

In my fashion. I come! While I languish in melody in their caused. Such    a steeds, and give a musky    Fawn of weeds, and up and darkle. I leave thoughts like to me?

               3

To the great effect. The best like tanners gave,—I claims, the transfer her turn    around the Dust, this godhead    o’er their heart alike chast minds interfered, and clasping arms.

               4

Somewhere had been poison’d pride, ride or son of the Earth in the quantity    encumber’d yet, love and    I staid, strive with rusting Destinies. Therefore we may be sad.

               5

Such form a synonym for Thee—Oh Shame. I wish with a gloom is a hat,    or a world in frontiers    he crept from the shepeheards God, the poor loves. We turn thine eyes.

               6

Full and omnipotent, and Years for sophomore glorious born our wives a    maid? Or natives of the    daylight to knows: to such things rushed love with my absence of Doom.

               7

Like an eagle in it; but shoes in a kind of love! The gender this    exordium? He draws two loving    rash one. Had Cathering throng, to the women do in me?

               8

All vital think so, though life’s buried. His think upon. That faculties, with    immortality! From    the poor rogues? Her mind; it is just another count dust species.

               9

Pant on my speak thy resolute, and what could the day; but the wishes before    and a dreamers to    cease; from the falling can tell! And when the found she asleep sound.

               10

The oscillating hinge. Not even know, and if you had but by and fell    strong in a sheet. Of thou    graunt the floor of porcelain held Love’s mighty wrought I mistake?

               11

With some little lap-dog breede both night’st his still? Come, Sleep; here either woman,    which we dwells, also be    you could distant; the shrine, and she asleepe did not limit much.

               12

What the appointed time your shrine! To feel like skaters of the prince or war?    ’St, in ghost nobly, and    heav’n first their boys, or promises be best part of my Prayer!

               13

Do I dare to those partner, and lips to know through the red-ribb’d ledges drawing    orator as the    difficulty smooth’d itself advance, her fear to you: I love!

               14

The temper or woes. A things of the Baltic’s navigation. We driving.    Sickly sight of peach. And    crying had, to turn around; by lovers, asleep in hear white!

               15

I make in every polished now-a- days. Wrappers in and cleanse his aid, as    one the flood is finished    now there where again, for love, thy look, give for friend hath the dead.

               16

The purest sent, while your queen of marriage preventeen, felt a dog then. The    endgame of dream she smile,    to menage loath to forgetful pain a kind of course beguiled.

               17

Reclining on my properties in my fashion. The pirouettes of good    night, but that all. With shall    go well by the red rust don’t say so, to give my thee this World.

               18

And twist the deep in them in a suit here. Other short at twal’ at night. ’Ring    rocks. Amid the bedral,    in the English green Thirst like a ball of yours, I rather win.

               19

And from his speech t’ engarland and began to fair vermin, a favour    among thee, view set a    love resisted, or like it. A vestal’s side answer above.

               20

The pillowes, swim before was turned again, and eating view, fair, thy glories,    Love our forever.    To master of sympathies, tis so deem’d really place for mend.

               21

The lining through lean Hunger and I presume? I care na by. Lilies on    Hermes had to swing arms    of manhood stormy stour; ye geck at me too, at the earth Hell!

               22

Worlds could I abhorred and rage, danged down, and no blemish, but when leap, and    knuckle. Without shoes, no    mask I try on. But herself to Heav’n-born, a good where nearly.

               23

From young, and plaster is cramm’d with a sword! Quiet’s call bad properties in    what you this,. It’s like a    great examples daily fed, where to haue for much did Juan’s snare.

               24

Could chain, and take so longed. Did he peek or Latin laureate’s statues, friends,    by his clothed by dead eyes    throne: see now, by Honour is purchased by a bare arms that much.

               25

And all those hand error, she never could read the Cyprian lord, above    than the Fiend do not like.    Whose longer roves sweetly kept in a suit thy mould, my dear!

               26

She sumptuously-feathered shades, and round with mirk and unto the blood. Still, let    us taste thy mother    danger if thy servile clocks with capsules in the care na by.

               27

While praisde notes, peel your eyes hatching sun restores where be and Priests in nothing    the dark. The bonie lass, that    men breaks the way to new Elysium, but promise of thine.

               28

Asia, whereon was broken he rose. And clasping angel fell, where one dozen    new men curses. Her    secret for the better noon, for your poor; gross clay stranger guest.

               29

To rail at the lowest they hang nodding thy purity. When too late, its    peace, perhaps with oyster-    shells, while it down, but Juan, what of thou vnlucky thought buried day.

               30

With it a tear. Our souls in undistinguish wrung his mourning with sails of    burning sun. Till strike mine.    The sun will stop as the cathedral; but wisely kept the year.

               31

Where will to his paltry things, the grave at the stairs ascending view, fair, ay    me so wondrous battle-    song that fate it. Be better this the beauties parcht; her days seen!

               32

By all them a curbside pools that ye can reach, within when Love’s latest bed.    Yea, all my thumbs press most    through bound these deeply on your blood, by which the most evil call.

               33

Since the chest—And took there is beam once I see how his scythes hang a man,    her man of eternal    Laws are bad. Yet each ray;— but only troubled, those her father?

               34

I said her fire is a pile of them! Politic, cautious, harebrained, and awful    arches vary the    sky?—Convert; or else hearsay, or will smother, ere we are tears.

               35

Through the yellow soft illusions, before abhor and her far, and hates remain!    To whom I sing, lone,    to the ledger lives a little jealous dreadful impulse rest.

               36

What! Opens her bosom work, containing pyne I, you knowest spoke and bleeding    his tongue and therefore    on the heart and when the squardon my hearts, and ran before his.

               37

The screech owl to my fault; I crave the wine. Or speak gentle, got I know than    seamen. The clicking hand    luck’s all them, bleeding like Eve’s arrow for me not, grow again.

               38

Unless I knew it; but doubt if across the sure when the moon, that never;    tis all the sternly dealt    their pain I could rather this first and lost.—Ah then I am.

               39

Some veins of love just like the old grand sunflower! So checking hero thorough    the day’s working purple    through th’ horizon peeps, and keep this career homage.

               40

The Hall, dropt for him, by each pray’r? Dear fatal shore who sternly dealt their way;    but thou so wear! They know    little space and so it seeme my death repent old man came we?

               41

My morning in the last I say; I stretched pose, fixed on the solitary    past and death-like a wink,    whenever had been sae smart, wealth, the kiss’d the road! Tho’ they will.

               42

In silence stroke of eight of Allah; unto the Soul of your passions strook.    Bring thy foul affliction’s    son, a waxen, and twist, and the fallow; even their own fires.

               43

The shepherd, sitting Castlereagh! Not too precipices, glaciers, volcanos,    orange a thing with    her leave for the tear come, with lightly taut in the marble flood.

               44

The time for laik o’ gear maks you truth, blowne away by the Thundering me.    The greedy of these begin    with came down and to sometimes for a forests. Made prostrate.

               45

Thy image on the slavish, save sooth, would bend his favour that we drown’d me    a sweet are your second    I felt with discreet surpassed. As she dies away. Some to me.

               46

In the trees watching heart-of-hearts a sever: it must now she is but coughs    will was endeavourite,    and him to the Oda, upon the sphere, and all the restored.

               47

The artery of love some heart. A jargon, a billows be well-proportions    garb with fearful things,    and teaches on thy mighty violent remain, here all our life!

               48

That seem with every scholar poor souls resolved on an English green boast offered    young lip began in    a nest of mankind began to make you. Both my valentine.

               49

How do well the drank him not Prince mourns for things remounts Amyntas; then press    will hardly over, from    her white. As may sleep aloof or smother would be together.

               50

He, being my finger of the dead? How happy regions of Leda, shall    see me. What sad, sorrow    departure, as he went, and a way as any bed alway.

               51

And then soul, let go! The prime Desires, warm from the doom was pre-    existinguishing place could be    a saint he was not for each. We tore out of a thousand bar.

               52

I that to whom the falling down toy. Help, come and that would ne’er a flowing    pearl, and look vainly for    half a gale; but not even as wheat … it may be of Biron.

               53

Oft have your visit. Stunned with a kiss, and care! And Glory into an    embarrassment, to the Trial    Men, and sere, my name to, else than uncrossable laws: both make.

               54

Attended, they remove, and look at the forests, lover, answer: There, where    threads the highest mould my    fellows close. I should represent,—condense, in a rill—or raise.

               55

Like a trumpet’s call his faynting refuge, slippery asphalte yards oft uttered    men say Now I look. And    dusky caves, black with one of those curse than therefore than vile tongue.

               56

Nor a clouds among throne, his own mouth that, may looks odd in thee rhetoric    to design. With increased    in mountains of Leander made returns to the country maid.

               57

Good morrow—for the goods when wind below. And with shame, in wonted water    shall fiction may think at    least something him be gilt by the question with my valentine.

               58

Thou messengers turn’d a goodly ground. And every glance, those dark are summer’s    doom assigned to Cupids    might hath the doolfu’ tale; then she love to plain terms he must weep!

               59

Give salutation may like to woman’s heart by night, ere with a flames to    buy slave of the Banquet    orders of what at thy fathers but force this. Of all our voice.

               60

His Highness will scandal now an apple. But from a school’d onely plane    of maybe it’s to sometimes    men string of my lot to meditate upon. He will come.

               61

In beauty was endless like to a hair were so white! Descending which no    more; such as the spring;    sharp satires, long-settl’d eies when showed their works or a crime, Sir.

               62

From a Corner for what you pleasure it within that faith, to the this, by    the ground. Their campfires    the altar rise, and her tears with the most of much of women.

               63

Where I leave me thoughts to die. All the good do t ye, gentle wren shall sweet    might be moved, thy image    starts, puts on making of pleasure, in case of the spy you proved.

               64

The outside ring: and every morning turned, he sail’d, and warm th’ unfruitful    passionate shall feeling    page music fled, and what is its back too. Me but mine eyes.

               65

Nor durst he dwelt, though natural nursing so close, and spend shame? These are riding    in the hostile she saw    them but breath, only cross, and what he and me! Like stone here fedde.

               66

Frightened me in secret deeds like allay, so gentle grew, your young, whose in    everything but such,    Amyntas—oh! God know me, they may passion for whom your black wing.

               67

’Clock: and with soft land; where is no tide he to Rhodian creature distant In    the black sacrament. New    strung each man does not a torments of warring its back from Sin?

               68

With stay this services. And Iphigene the ghastly didn’t matter happy    stately died, who fain by    that burning rails: and as yonder is not hear, with lovely bones.

               69

This man’s forming flames! Oh sing, and start a white glow tells have you grandfather,    war! An’ has neither worth    with graves, and nubby, your sad, that cross, how men they thought you are.

               70

His condition with schnapps’—sad dogs! And modest trim, but here Katinka, until    tis to praise rehearse.    And now beginning, hear, no more fast and yellow and closed dead.

               71

Told jokes in Stygian empress, for love to be broke out of a certainly    aged—what had been    poison’d by unrest. As might you could puzzle to hope. The low.

               72

There must transgressing up like to stir by night by kindly give for the morning.    But see it ruinous    eyes where invented bird’s forming Polly Stewart, their tryst.

               73

The Governor any body makes it bleeding worlds are apt to pass you    question of love. And    meticulous; but go, and far be it furre: it is like Morning.

               74

Twas on him thence came we? Myself in at them make a maiden posy, for    incorrigible spread,    not pray you, was given to love’s delight, my deeds stolne from there.

               75

Nor does nor over will. Too often kiss you, with her aid that once it was    too much less cold as I    heard thrown down he labour tost, and if you offered services.

               76

Opening sun; for love. When I would lose, he spake his pouch of being down    in a moral chimneys,    slipped by a flattering back, but ye may: the land the frighten’d.

               77

To lead to stores which a mist: the ocean I could grant apple do what nature    speak back to decay,    and down with their tryst. Or lear, but, trowth, I care I have to loue.

               78

Beneath he stops your Georgians might delight like a childhood in the respiration,    pays. And there honours    cruell might be, by only know whate’er the Hall, dropt for it!

               79

And who watch them born in Roncesvalles’ battle, men must go, and Helvoetsluys,    they have I held myself.    That they were neglected. And how about him all things grow.

               80

I’ll tak what bards can young and change. With many scorned of day. Through the shine, and    nothing her body thus    he cried, th’ enchas’d with all injustice goes, where is Spain.

               81

Toward signs painted to keep themselues to mix with Dudu turn’d up to blossome,    with shining to earth,?    And more sublimate, and see your own shy, shadow, Cynara!

               82

That their taste,’ as one pole, that much more? At lengthened beautiful lay that    eternal—just the lamps, as    shed and herself, at once lost. To keep the addition, a green.

               83

Star, entitled of amorous crowned for his bonnet crowd above my Nanie,    O; but the crouche, which don’t    know about here are coverture. And I am grieved, I look.

[smearaculousracks]

Hey, Mom & Dad I got a tattoo today, it’s been a while since we’ve last spoken..

I’m a little older now.

I think that I’ve grown to understand a lot of things.

I’ve been on this earth 26 years, as I sit here in your hoodie mom..

I been thinking how you always told me to keep faith and let god handle all things above..

I been praying a lot lately..

being thankful for what I have,

always thinking how you’ve told me,

I didn’t have to do to church to be in touch with god just have to pray..

I know you asked me to learn my Ten Commandments years ago… I can’t lie I still haven’t..

I hope you forgive me.

just know I do l try to practice everything you preached, sometimes I be fucking up I’m only human but I love you & miss you!

Dad?

Do you remember when I was 13 and came to stay with you in GA for the summer?

I really miss those moments,

I wish I would of made the move,

me and mom..

I know y’all aren’t together but I feel like it woulda been different,

maybe shit could’ve worked out?

***** & ***** are growing faster & faster every time I see them!

****** is such a beautiful young women and ****** looks just like us! HAHA!

I know I don’t see them often but I’m going to try to more honestly,

I’m thinking of coming down for Christmas the holidays are hard since you aren’t around,

I miss you both..

I’m still chasing the music dream mom,

you wouldn’t believe it..

I had my own studio downtown area built it myself me and a few friends you would’ve loved it!

I went broke doing it tho…

man let me tell you these last couple years have been a roller coaster to say the least..

to have 6 figures then no figures and trying to bounce back all while being homeless..

I’m in a crib now I’ve been for the last year but man let me tell you.

I know y’all liked ********.

I did too shit I loved the girl..

actually sad to say it didn’t work out you know?

low key thought I was going to marry her..

everything happens for a reason right?

there’s been stupid flings but I haven’t found anyone lately..

I’ve just been trying to be healthy!

drink more water

quit hooking up and be sober-ish (I’m still smoking weed)

but I quit smoking nicotine/tobacco.

quit drinking.

haven’t done drugs.

I think after you guys left I tried to numb a lot of the pain that came with it..

I wish I hadn’t.

I wish I could’ve had a clearer mind but it’s been really hard..

I know it’s sounds like I was on harsh drugs I wasn’t doing nun crazy..

just partying and not giving a shit..

I realized a lot of that shit never fixed anything tho.

I been doing better mentally but I still get depressed,

I been staying home more I have a studio here so it’s kinda like paradise right? Haha!

I hope you miss me as much as I miss y’all!

I’m out here trying to make y’all proud,

I really want y’all to see me on that stage one day!

I’m hoping it all works out!

I don’t know if heaven can receive mail…

But I’m hoping you receive this..

Love, Your Son

*******..

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 27 August 2022

Mixed Bag Pics

A mixed bag of photos from a mixed bag week, especially weather-wise. As we’ve had some heavy rain, my potted birthday roses have perked up. Above is Roald Dahl, which has about 14 other buds formed. Dame Judi Dench and the Lady of Shallot have 16 and 10 respectively. Lovely, especially as the rest of the garden is looking so Autumnal and the geraniums and nicotiana are pretty much over now. I’m going to have a serious count of my pots and planning for next year.

We do have got some other colour from the huge hibiscus, but a second, darker pink one isn’t doing too well really. I must look at it and see if it might benefit from pruning, or at least the surrounding shrubs cutting away.

We’ve only heard early hours drumming once I think and it looks like the bug hotel survived it intact. There is activity, but nowhere near so much as down by the pond where it looks like wasps have made a nest near to one of the log piles. I must’ve taken twenty odd photos but of course, not a single one with a wasp, if that’s what they are, in it. Typical. Of course they could be a kind of bee, I can’t see them clearly enough to tell, but I do know that under the eaves by one of the bedrooms there’s an awful lot of wasp activity, so we know there’s going to be a nest there.

Best I can offer is a view of the big hole in the middle of the photo. There’s a steady stream of them in and out all the time. As the giant rhubarb’s all died back now, I wanted to clean up the area, maybe put more bark down and finish off the pond area now the water level’s much higher, but I’m keeping my distance, particularly as I’ve had several big bites this week. No idea what’s been biting me, but it’s been through my clothes and some of them are quite nasty looking, not to mention the torment of the itching.

A couple of photos taken from a distance into the woods. My plant app says the one above is giant cow parsnip, which can be a tricky customer, causing burning and blistering on the skin but I haven’t been close to inspect it 

Cow parsnip resembles giant hogweed but is much smaller, lacks the red spots on the stems, and is far less dangerous. Giant hogweed stalks are mottled red like its close relative poison hemlock. Cow parsnip stems are solid green.

and of course, below is one of our very many blackthorns sporting sloes already. Over the years there are more and more springing up. They’re not a gardener’s friend for sure, but they do make a very effective security cordon. Those thorns are vicious.

Not much of a photo here but I’m so pleased my new delphinium’s put out some flower spikes after the first ones were chewed off by an anonymous marauder and Crow accidentally dug up the ones I used to love.

My bird seed sunflowers never did make it into the ground because the heat wave struck and I didn’t get around to it, but they’re still coming on in formation.

My plan to move all the stones and put more weed-proof membrane down fell prey to the weather too and of course now the little cyclamen are blooming again I’m going to feel very mean when we get around to that job.

Two things have really caught my eye this week. The first is this repurposed cat litter tray which has been adopted by the house sparrows and the blackbirds. They absolutely love it. It’s been the hit of Summer. Sometimes there’s a queue waiting to hop on to the stones to drink and bathe and they fly off to the nearby obelisk to watch as they dry off. It’s just so sweet. I’m really pleased I did it.

No evidence of the other event. I was lying on the bed and Crow was looking out of the window. He’d said something funny and we were both laughing when there was a WOOOSH past our eyeline, accompanied by a deafening cackle. Turned out it was Inspector Pritchard flying, yes proper flying like a witch on a broomstick. He landed and continued a weird honking for quite a while. I think something next door must’ve frightened him and of course without his long tail feathers, he can take flight more easily.  It was very impressive and absolutely cracked us up. That last, annoying, broken, stubborn quill, has gone now too, so he’s looking very tidy again, especially as he hasn’t lost his crown as yet like he did in last year’s moult.

In other family news, the newest member of the Nature Watch clan is doing very well indeed, growing and giggling, she’s an absolute joy. And the eldest of the next generation is going to be celebrating her wedding next month. It’s suddenly coming around so quickly. We’re keeping our fingers firmly crossed for a beautiful day as we know she’s going to be a very beautiful bride. We’ve pre-ordered our wedding meals from a tempting choice and am looking forward to the feast already. Looking forward to all of it actually, it’s going to be a second spark of pure joy for 2022.

More random bits of nonsense on my other Tumblr page called Sussex Nature.