#shitty half poem half rambling

[spocksgotemotions]

Look I just think that if you’ve ever loved Star Trek, Like really loved it (not just had a passing interest or casually consumed it) then it’s gonna be a part of you forever. It injects a little whimsy in you. A little thoughtfulness and curiosity and wonder. I’ll watch Star Trek and every time I do I feel like a little kid staring up at the stars holding onto the grass. I’ll watch Star Trek and every time I’m sitting out sharing a sweater with my friend as we talk about Spock and the sun starts to set. I’ll watch Star Trek and it’s the same feeling of calm awe that I get when I sit in the aquarium.

Aliens aside it’s about humanity. It’s always about humanity and trying to understand despite it all (which I think is a core tenet of humanity). And if that compels you then it’s going to stay with you. No matter if the packaging is a bit silly. Maybe even because the packaging is silly.

Also once you love Spock I don’t think you can stop

#captain’s own #star trek #star trek tos #mainly talking about the earlier treks cause I can’t speak for post ds9 #shitty half poem half rambling #I just really love Spock you know

[retconjuration]

elaborate on autistic lanque pls 🤲

oh, don’t mind if i do. before i begin:

this contains some major spoilers for hiveswap: act 2, and some minor spoilers for lanque’s friendsim routes(but those have been out for like three years).

disclaimer: i don’t care if you disagree, i’m not claiming this as canon, i am autistic and projecting.

now that that’s out of the way.

point one: possibly the most important thing to note is that lanque is incredibly good at masking. given this quote from his wiki:

“Lanque's writer has stated that both of his Friendsim routes are heavily exaggerated for comedic purposes, with one being more true to his actual personality. As shown by his attitude in Hiveswap: Act 2, it's heavily implied his NSFW route is the truer one. However, this leaves his personality to be drawn from his Friendsim routes to be dubious for readers to interpret what the actual "balance" of his personality is.”

the actual tweet has been deleted, but one of the assumptions that can be made from this is that both the sfw and nsfw routes are, in some way, true to his personality. this would mean that he is actively and drastically changing the way he interacts with the people around him according to the setting, or through imitation. effectively this would make him a social chameleon, another thing often attributed to autistic masking.

and the idea of constant masking fits, given his whole Thing- he’s already being set apart from all the other jades by his transness, and from how he acts in act 2(this will be mentioned later), he doesn’t quite enjoy this difference being pointed out. it would make sense that, given the opportunity to hide something that would lead to more attention(maybe more accurately, attention he doesn’t like), he would take it. this being said, i don’t think lanque sees his transness or unchecked neurodivergence as a bad thing- rather, he sees how other people treat him for it as annoying and something to avoid.

point two: lanque seems to have a very strange range of emotions. while he usually presents as very calm, when he does express true emotion(like when he’s caught off guard by the reader shouting for bronya), its often overstated, and in some cases, a total non sequitur from what came before. the way he reacts in the valid ending scene specifically reminds me of times when i have been startled out of masking- especially since he goes from formal prose straight to “what the fuck, dude?”

the only time he expresses emotions neurotypically is when he’s doing it through another medium(his poetry in the sfw route).

point three: lanque repeatedly is shown to not be the best at conveying or reading tone.

at the start of his sfw route, lynera ends up rambling on about something or other. it’s immensely awkward.

lanque doesn’t register it as such, and while this could just be attributed to sfw lanque’s overexaggerated kindness, i raise you: i’m building a case here, let me twist my evidence.

in his nsfw route, we have some gems such as:

lanque is shown to use a tone entirely unfitting of the words that he’s saying, and its specified that this demeanor is nearly indistinguishable from how he was acting before. could this just be an example of professional bitching? yes. play on my court for a second, though

and perhaps my favorite example of lanque totally misreading tone/a situation in general(which is both the aforementioned act 2 scene AND an example of his abnormal reactions to things) is the scene where joey asks lanque about the hatched2dance magazine from lynera’s locker. immediately, he (incorrectly, and without much reason except prior experience) assumes that joey’s intention was to harangue him about being a male jadeblood.

after joey specifies what she meant, he refuses to respond until xefros tries to actually ask him about being a male jadeblood, and lanque tells them to fuck off. personally i think this is as close to embarrassment as lanque will willingly show in public

point four: lanque is Painfully straightforward. this is obvious in the everything about him, but best summed up with:

lanque sees no use in not just saying what he means, which often leads to him being(often rightfully) seen as a bitch. again, it’s hard to say things for certain with what little content there is, but i wouldn’t be surprised if some of the things he says- for instance certain parts of his calling out lynera(mostly the parts about her talking shit, not the parts where he’s outright insulting her) were just intended as honesty, rather than animosity. this is a common trait in autism, but i see a lot of neurotypicals look over it because it’s seen as rudeness. ultimately he still uses that honesty to be a bitch on purpose on several occasions, so don’t take this as me saying he’s free of flaws or whatever

another thing i like to point out, though admittedly it’s much more of a stretch, is this bit where lanque has to ask for specification when joey uses a less direct method of asking him what he thinks of the other jades:

take that as you will

point five: mildly connected to point four, lanque shows possibly one of the most out-there forms of rejection when it comes to social norms. he’s able to skate by in the wider lens of alternia because people of most castes participate in shitty parties, but doing it as a jadeblood gives it an entirely different context.

he also(and this is maybe half speculation, but let me be) seems to have issues sticking with quadrants as a rigid construct. when bronya says this to lanque:

many people took it as evidence that lanque was abusive to his partners. and if people want to hold that headcanon, i really don’t care, because it can be an accurate reading of how he is presented in the nsfw route specifically. my personal opinion, however, given that his personality is said to be exaggerated in these routes, is guided by this section from his sfw route’s poem:

i believe that lanque is just extremely prone to vacillation, because he doesn’t truly grasp why quadrants are divided in the way that they are, only that others “press” him to do the dividing. thats autistic attitudes towards social constructs baby

point six(and here’s where the trial spoilers come in): lanque has a very unusual way of solving problems, apparently. when confronted with the issue of his impending ordeals and the idea of having to spend his life as a celibate space nun, lanque’s solution is.... to attempt to join a boy band, using the chaos of the trial(that He caused by stealing the book) as his cover. when joey presents this theory to tyzias(a theory that lanque confirms is more or less correct before chucking joey off of the train), she responds with:

meaning that not only are his problem solving skills out of the box to joey, but to other trolls as well.

there’s also something to be said about how little he values personal space, but i’m wary of claiming that as an autistic trait of his, and if it is, he is very purposefully weaponizing it.

oh, and point seven: i’m autistic and i want him to be

thanks for reading

#long post #lanque bombyx #hiveswap friendsim #hiveswap #homestuck

[arthur-adhd-hastings]

Nick Lightbearer ramble

A long, maybe a little self project-y ramble about Nick, and how he acts, and some thoughts on how he’s treated, and how he became to be

I'm 90% sure Nick has some form of anxiety... Also RSD. Half of what he does is because "that's how it should be done.". He gets with women because that's what he should do. Acts all cool and suave because it's what he should do. Looks the way he does because it's what Virgil said he would look good as (See: When they say Virgil shaped Nick into what he is). 

Hey, remember when Petunia says that Nick wanted to be a poet? I'm still stuck on that "soft boy poet thing", because i'm positive that's what Nick was. An anxious, panicky mess who didn't know what he was doing half of the time, but made poems to get it out and was probably a huge romantic. Then, he sees a way to numb the anxiety and panic, and grapples onto it, seeing no other alternatives. Especially after the band splits up. THINK ABOUT IT! I'm pretty sure it was either the drugs, Virgil's convincing, or the anxiety that made Nick kick Morrie out. We all know how anxiety can make decision making a fucking nightmare. Chances are, he just fucking shot in the dark with half of his mind in piece.

And honestly i think he probably also started taking it due to guilt. Started off as a little bit. Joy, a bit of liquor, coffee to keep him awake while he made songs. Then it continued. He got more and more stressed at the increase of security and rabid fans, and the pressure of making more and more songs, better lyrics, better songs, Speaking of. Y'know what? It's a definite that his and Petunia's relationship was horrid. Yea, he did a lot of shitty stuff and a lot of it is unacceptable, but chances are Petunia did a lot of shitty stuff too. Not supporting him in his music, not trying to help him with his addictions, the list goes on. (I’m not excusing how Nick acted here) 

Oh yea. Going back to Nick doing everything because it's "what he should do". That whole schtick definitely drove people away. It drove Petunia away, it drove all the band members away, made people think that's all he was, and it probably (eventually) even drove Virgil away! (Though that’s mainly due to his drug taking and irresponsibly, isn’t it?) Honestly, i'm positive he somehow got himself to believe that the moment anyone ever found out the "real nick lightbearer" they'd immediately start insulting him (Past trauma that his brain has repressed (Joy), but still has the fears hanging there?)

Definitely has a lot of identity issues. He's Nick lightbearer. But who is Nick Lightbearer? The lil ol’ bad boy rockstar, what the public wants, or someone else entirely? Oh let's not forget the HUGE amount of self hatred and self destructive tendencies in there. The drugs, alcohol, the amount of scratched out paintings he has in the hotel of SPECIFICALLY his face and name, the "USELESS" on the mirror. Anyways. tdlr nick needs therapy and also genuine care and love. give him better coping mechanisms

#we happy few #whf #nick lightbearer #whf nick lightbearer #rambling #arthur.txt #if anyone feels differently on nick that's perfectly fine #this was just a rambling i did on discord and thought i'd post it here #since the fandom has been quiet

[likeshipsonthesea]

post script poetry

okay i’m going to preface this with a lot of rambling so buckle up my dudes

i started this i don’t know how long ago when i saw a post about how fun it would be if dex ended up being the one to wax poetic about nursey and i saw it and thought the only way that would happen would be by accident, like if he was complaining and started getting mushy

so i wrote this. like, half of this. and then tonight i found it and i liked it and finished it. so here you go. and yes, i did this instead of fulfilling the hozier prompts. sorry not sorry?

Hey Lardo,

I attached my schedule for the week of the 15th. Depending on how long you need me, I can also work this week. I know the sculpture doesn’t have to be done until the end of the month, but I also know how you get close to a deadline. Let me know if any of the free times work for you-- if not, we’ll figure something out.

Dex

P.S. I was going to text this, but since I’m typing I might as well tell you that there’s a horrifying new regular at the café. Every time he comes in he orders something so convoluted and complicated that he has to be fucking with me, and the drinks are so damn sweet he must need to see a dentist every weekend. He walks in with this stupid fucking smirk on his face too, like he derives joy from ruining a perfectly nice--okay well not nice but I’m perfectly civil to customers at least-- barista’s day.

He’s come in consistently for three weeks now. Pray for me.

P.P.S. Did I mention that he’s taken to sitting at a table with nothing but his stupid sweet drinks and a journal for hours on end? Sometimes he’ll buy a muffin and try to talk to me, like I’m not fucking working. Asshole.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

5 on Wednesday works for me. Should I bring anything aside from the regular tools?

Dex

P.S. It doesn’t matter if he’s attractive but since you asked, yes, but only in the way that statues are attractive. They’re carved and perfected and gorgeous, yeah, but when you look at them you’re admiring it, idolizing it-- your own inferiority is entangled in the attraction.

P.P.S. And no, I’m not telling you his name.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Sorry to hear about the issues with the sculpture. The earliest I can come for emergency repairs would be tomorrow after work. Hope it holds together until then.

Sorry,

Dex

P.S. This seems to be a theme in our emails, but I’m mentioning this only because it literally just happened. The horrible regular was just here in a sweater and jeans. A sweater and jeans. It’s fucking snowing. Below freezing, high teens, stupid kind of cold, and the guy left his jacket home for what? To show the world how pretty he looks in that sweater? The asshole probably looked in the mirror and thought that people noticing how the green in the sweater enhanced the fucking tree top, sea-glass shiny green of his own eyes was more important than not getting frost bite. And he looked so fucking proud of himself too, smiling all big and wide and stupid like his lips weren’t chattering! And then he stayed in the shop forever, obviously, because he can’t go out in the cold wearing nothing and he just sat there and wrote in his stupid journal and looked over at me with his fucking budding-leaves-at-the-beginning-of-spring eyes like he knew how infuriating he was. That kind of stupidity just pisses me off.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Was going through my messages and saw the last thread. How are the repairs holding up?

Dex

P.S. Shut up.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Glad the emergency repairs are holding. The piece looks great so far, I can’t wait to see the finished product at the end of term.

Dex

P.S. I’m not going to fuck an asshole just because he’s pretty.

P.P.S. Don’t bring up the LAX bro.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

My phone crapped out in the middle of a shift so I’ll be communicating via email for the next few days. I’ve got a bunch of leftover muffins from work. Want me to drop by the studio on the way home?

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

I’ll grab all the banana nut and any double chocolates that look good. See you soon.

Dex

P.S. Just because we’re on email doesn’t mean you have to ask about my horrible regular. But yes, to answer your question, he is still a regular and maybe a little less horrible, thank God.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Okay, I’ll get some blueberry ones for Shitty too.

Dex

P.S. Well, he’s less horrible because his orders-- while still stupidly complicated and overly fucking sweet-- have narrowed down to one of two options, so I know what they are now. When he lists off all of the stupid steps, I can just ignore him and stare at nothing, or how he gestures with his hands when he speaks and barely avoids knocking over the tip jar. I guess it’s nice that he talks with his hands, though, because sometimes when he’s sitting at a table and writing his hands start shaking and I much prefer the gesturing to that.

Also he seems to have decided to wear a coat for the foreseeable future, and even if it’s this deep green pea coat that probably cost more than what I make in a month, it looks good on him-- aesthetics and functionality, at least he’s compromising. It’s like cut or whatever, so you can still see the line of his waist, tight to his chest and everything. And he has a matching beanie that doesn’t seem that warm, but he tugs it down just over the tips of his ears and a few of his curls above his forehead poke out of it, all soft looking and stuff. He still needs gloves though.

But, I guess, overall he’s less horrible.

*~*~*

Lardo,

The sculpture looks great! And with the deadline still a week away you have a bunch of time to do all your last little nit-picky things.

Dex

P.S. Okay reading over that last post-script I do sound a little mushy, but in my defense I was coming off a double shift and I’d had a big deadline for CS the night before and I definitely wasn’t all there. This cannot be held against me.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Just because you put it in the P.S. doesn’t make it okay. I am not In Love with anyone, especially not the guy who writes poetry on the twenties he leaves in the tip jar.

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Why does that matter?

Dex

*~*~*

FINE some of it was other people’s stuff-- I googled it and some were Emily Dickinson I think? Some of the lines didn’t return anything, so I guess they were original? Anyway it doesn’t matter-- he’s defacing money.

Dex

*~*~*

Your idea of romantic is weird.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

I can’t get my phone fixed until Sunday, but I wanted to double check that your show is on Saturday at 7:00PM?

Thanks,

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Thanks for clarifying.

Dex

P.S. Actually yeah, I guess there was an update, or whatever.

So he came in with a book last night, late. Not a lot of people come by the cafe at night, obviously, so it was just me and him, and he was there for a while but then we were closing. I went over to tell him we were closing in a few minutes and he asked if I’d sit with him for a few minutes and, well, he’s a nice tipper, so whatever. I did.

And then-- I shit you not-- he started reading me poetry. Actually. Just started reading poetry to me out of nowhere. He’d gesture with his notebook as he did it, his eyes were all lit up like treetops at sunrise or something and his voice just filled up the whole shop, like it was bouncing off the walls and going through me and shit, like he was trying to make me listen in my soul or something. And, like, I’m shit at poetry and I didn’t really get what it was supposed to be, but you know when you hear a song and even without really hearing the lyrics it makes you feel some kind of way? That’s what it did.

Then he stopped reading and asked me what I thought and I couldn’t just say that it made me feel things so I said that the guy in the poem sounded kind of obsessed, and then the guy-- the regular-- laughed, like a full bodied laugh, his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook and he tucked the notebook against his chest, against his heart, and laughed in public, in front of a stranger, like it wasn’t weird. And you know when something good happens? Something unexpectedly good? Your favorite song comes on the radio or you find a random twenty in your pocket or you catch the sunset on your walk home and its pretty and warm and just makes you smile and think, huh, I’m glad I get to be here for that.

That’s what his laugh felt like. I know it’s fucking sappy but it’s the only way I can come up with to describe it.

Anyway. See you Saturday.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Yeah.

I’m fucked.

Dex

*~*~*

Hey, fuck, I’m so sorry about last night. My phone is still fucked up otherwise I’d call you but your friend-- the one in your painting, Nursey-- he’s my horrible regular.

Small campus, huh?

He was a little drunk-- he kept drinking the champagne for some reason, I think it was to stop his hands shaking, I don’t know-- but I didn’t want to just send him off alone so I helped him back to his dorm and as I was taking off his shoes he kept reciting poetry or whatever and he was drunk, yeah, but he said it so nicely and he kept looking at me with his ridiculous eyes and then he touched my cheek-- like actually fucking caressed my cheek-- and I kissed him.

And I know he was drunk, I tasted the champagne when I kissed him, and I felt horrible and I ran out of his dorm and-- then I fell asleep and woke up and wrote this email.

So, I probably fucked up beyond repair and if you need me I will be kicking myself for the next fifty years. Thanks, goodbye.

Dex

P.S. I forgot to say-- the show looked great. The sculpture, the art, everything. You’re amazing, dude.

*~*~*

Thanks for his number, but I can’t just call the guy out of the blue and say, “Hey, sorry for kissing you when you were all drunk, won’t happen again, please keep tipping me?”

Also, I still don’t have a working phone.

*~*~*

That’ss the problem with falling in love with a stranger, youknow? Like, I never mett the guy really, I just made his stupid sweet coffee drinks and listened to his poetry that one time and stared too much when he talked with his hands and at his stupid eyebrows-- how do eyebrows look soft?? It makes no sense

And he’s beautiful, you know, like can’t stare too long or you’ll go blind, and I felt like he was a good person youknow, an asshole but good, the kind you want. And I could feel it he would probably argue with me over everything but I think I could likee that, like arguing, at least with him, because I know it wouldn’t be out of anger or whatever, he would be coming from a place of understanding or shared values or whatever

and i fucking KNOW that I can’t know all this frm looking at him, but he had his stupidd fucking g journal that he scrippled in all the time and his hadsn were covered in ink with notes to himself and I want to be the person who egts to listen to his poetry at 2 in the morning and watch him ramble about things he loves and tell him how fucking good his writing is because it IS lardo it’s so good, he’s so good, i never spent any of those twenties witb his writing on it i hung them in my dorm isnt’ that fucking stupid god i love him, i love him and I don’t even know him

Love scuks.

P..S yeah, if you couldnt tell, i’m a little drunk. oops

*~*~*

Dear Lardo,

It’s very rude to forward drunken, rambling emails about someone to that someone without the consent of the drunken rambler.

Dex

P.S. Thank you.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #check please #dex #william poindexter #nursey #derek nurse #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #do i have a tag for non-prose fic? #who knows #anyway enjoy #i very much enjoyed stumbling upon this #and finishign it #i feel like i never finish things sometimes #also if you're wondering the drunk bit was just me typing #and not correcting my typoes #lol

[tfwhynoy]

Mtmte Megatron with a soon to be s/o who’s a newbie (?) at poetry and isn’t very confident in her works? Maybe some fluff and a confession? If not I understand, and while I’ve only read a bit of your work I believe I can say you have some writing talent!! (Sorry if it seems like I’m trying to get on your good side to do this more (?) not my intention!) (( and sorry do that was worded weird I’m rambling on text yay!!))

I’m never good at fic endings rip. I hope you like it though!

It was just poetry, some random form of art like anything else. It’s something almost ingrained in humans like song or dance. There was no such thing as a bad poem! Art isn’t something you can be ’bad’ at.

Still, as you read over your most recent haiku you couldn’t help the feeling of shame build up. It felt too short and poorly put together. Each word was stretched to fit together into a cobbled mess only the poorly read could even consider poem.

Crossing out the whole thing you tried to move on and think of something else. Most people wrote about love or sadness, right? But you had already tried that and all it came across as was some highschooler’s cheesy love poem or ‘deep’ tweet.

Hell, you didn’t even know the basic terms anyone who knows anything about poetry did. The fuck is a sonnet? Literally everyone else but you knows! How can you even think you could make something decent?

You thought about asking for some help. Magnus was a living dictionary who loved anything word related; he wrote plenty of his own and had a particular love of poetry. 

It’d be a cold day in hell before you genuinely considered that an option though. Asking him for assistance on anything had him correcting you on the right use of ‘can’ and ‘may’, let alone in when he held a day to lecture you on ‘too’ vs ‘to’ and ‘effect’ vs ‘affect’ in your reports. You go to him and he’d just belittling you for each mistake or typo. You sure as hell weren’t in the mood for more nagging about how you spoke.

You jumped out of your seat at the sound of your habsuit door opening. Quickly you set a datapad over the old notepad you had been working on. Yes ociffer, paperwork on a weekend is your faaavorite.

“You’ve been busy I see,” You turned as Megatron walked in. You hadn’t realized it was six o’clock.

As usual, he came with a small box for you to take from his fingertips, within was your dinner. He sat beside your small working platform, carefully placing the box beside where you are sitting.

You open the box and retrieve the silver ready-made tray of dinner. Some alien language you haven’t seen is scrawled across it. The writing almost forms what looks like a mutant strawberry. It’s highly unlikely but you can’t help the small bit of hope that whatever food you got may just taste like it too.

You go to move the stuff on your desk but pause. Paper was a peculiar thing to be writing on since it wasn’t exactly common in the middle of buttfuck nowhere space. You preferred the more tactile writing of a physical copy so you had been using it for your poetry. You’d rather not get Megatron questioning about it though.

“Is something the matter?” Apparently, you had taken a noticeable enough pause for him to notice.

“Na, just a little scatterbrained today,” You reply in an all too chipper tune.

You ignore his raised eyebrow and set the tray on the datapads. You’re always so careful with these things, treating them the same as the fragile tablets on Earth. You still feel odd doing this, your back is somewhat stiff as you carefully peel the silver topping off the tray.

“Are you sure nothing is wrong?” You ignore him, you’ve already opened this can of worms, now you gotta lay in ’em.

“Liaison?” His tone was firm. The particular word was abrasive as a pineapple to the face coming from him. You hated it when he called you that. Hadn’t the two of you moved passe passed all that formality after the universe jump?

“Yes?” 

“Is something the matter?” Megatron seemed genuinely concerned. How had you let some stupid poems rock you so much?

“It’s nothing.”

He looked at you from the corner of his optic for a moment. “You sure? You seem rather tense for a weekend. Is something upsetting you?”

You grimace. No point in drawing out this stupid point langer than necessary. 

“It’s just a shitty poem I wrote. Wasn’t satisfied and you didn’t exactly give me the chance to prevent it from ever reaching the light of day.”

A raised eyebrow and your immediately turning back to dinner.

“Something as small as a poem doesn’t seem big enough to upset you so much. There’s more going on isn’t there? ” The concern and care he had towards you at the moment almost pissed you off more than the fact he was right.

You had just hoped to try and write something for him. You expected something a bit cheesy but you refused to consider giving him the roses are red or some shitty haiku poems you kept making. Sadly that was all you really knew how to write.

“I just…” the smell of seafood wafted from your fork as you took a bite. If you tried hard enough you could almost believe it was just the fishy oyster smell turning your stomach to knots.

“I wanted to make something of worth. Not perfection, just something worth the half a minute it took to read it.”

“Why are you so focused on a good result?” You held back a scoff. How could you not? What would the point of writing shit be?

“I had someone in mind when writing it” you set the food on the desk with a huff, “I wrote from the heart and put all my mushy-gushy feeling into it. I tried following the rules then tried fucking them up. Everything turned out even worse than the last.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

You snort, “You haven’t read it.”

“If you let me read it I may be able to help. I’m not the best with romance but I can try to help.” 

“Ya, no,” You take another bite.

You silently scoff at the idea of him helping, “Like I’d ask someone for help on a poem I want to give to them,” 

Fuck

A small glance at Megatron to see him almost frozen staring at you. 

“Did I say that out loud?” you squeak. 

His eyes narrowed, “Why would you stress over something for me?” Megatron seemed more suspicious than anything.  

Sinking slightly in your seat you struggled to find something for your eyes to focus on. “Uuuh…” Another glance and he was completely focused on you. A mix of suspicion and hurt was painted across his face. You couldn’t figure out why that was but you weren’t happy about it.

“I’ve just been trying to find a good way to say I love you..” you mumbled.

You don’t have to look ate Megatron to see he’s flabergasted, the loud sound of shifting metal as he lurches back. You sink furth into your chair, pushing the tray of food back. Your biggest worry about telling Megatron how you felt seems to be coming to life.

“Let’s just forget this okay. I know it’s a bad idea, sorry.”

The silence is thick in the air for a minute before Megatron speaks again. “I… Why don’t we talk about this,” a glum look at him and he’s focused on the floor while he talks, “I do love you. We don’t need to worry about Earth or anything like that now since you aren’t actually Earth’s liaison now,” he turns and you two make cautious eye contact, “If we are to have a relationship we need to sot down and have a serious discussion about this.”

You’re quite as the gears in your head start turning. “Seriously?”

He nods, “Of course.”

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, “Ya okay. I can do that.”

#mtmte #megatron #mtmte megatron #I have an ask that mentions that I have a lot of Megatron on this blog #and they are so right #Guess I attract the Megatron lovers #more than meets the eye #x reader #reader insert

[losersclubbitches]

Cuddles After a Long Day Is Just How Much I Love You

It had been a long day for Freddy Freeman. First, he’d missed the bus and had to have his foster parents drive him to school, making them all late, then, he’d forgotten his lunch and couldn’t eat and then passed out in gym class. The nurse couldn’t get in touch with his foster parents and he’d had to go back to class. He’d forgotten his homework on his desk at home and another was completely destroyed by his shitty bullies. His whole awful day was topped off by those same bullies, Martin and his goons, hanging him by his underwear from the hook on the bathroom stall and dumping old lunch foods on his head. He’d just finally gotten down when the janitor came to clean the bathroom half an hour after school had ended. Freddy had missed the school bus home and had to take the city bus back. Subconsciously, he realized he’d been going not to his own house, but his best friend’s. He got off seven stops past his own, at 30th, and walked the five minutes; which took him ten on account of his leg, to Billy’s house.

Billy Batson had been Freddy’s friend for as long as he could remember. They were in the same first house together until the parents turned out to be abusive. Both boys were moved to separate houses but went to the same school up until just last semester. Billy was probably the only person Freddy trusted with everything. Just as he was knocking on the door to Billy’s house, his decrepit backpack broke not only at the shoulder straps, but at the bottom, too. The backpack fell from his shoulders and dumped his books on the ground. Freddy’s bottom lip quivered and he broke down on the front doorstep of Billy’s house. He heard the door open and looked up, tears streaming down his face.

“Freddy? What are you doing here?” Billy’s foster mom, Rosa, asked. “It’s freezing outside!”

“I...I...I.” Freddy couldn’t form a proper sentence.

“Oh, honey. Come inside. I’ll get you a cup of hot cocoa and call Billy, okay?” Rosa offered, leaning down to pull Freddy up. Freddy grabbed his books and crutch and let her help him inside.

“Ok-kay.” The tears were slowing now, but his voice still shook. Rosa sat him on the couch and went to the kitchen to boil hot water.

“Why don’t you go take a shower while the water boils, okay?” she suggested, handing Freddy a towel from the closet and taking his coat.

“Thank you.” Freddy took the towel and headed upstairs to shower. When he was done, he changed in Billy’s room, grabbing pajamas that were his from the last time he’d stayed over and one of Billy’s hoodies. Freddy dressed himself and tugged on the hoodie, breathing in the scent of pure Billy. He got back downstairs to find Rosa on the phone.

“Billy, amor, Freddy’s here,” she spoke to the person on the other line as Freddy walked into the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. Just be safe, alright? I love you. Bye.” She gave Freddy a mug of hot chocolate with seven mini marshmallows. “Billy’s on patrol right now, but he said he’ll be home soon,” she informed.

“Thank you, Rosa,” Freddy expressed, blowing on the cocoa slightly.

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re always welcome here.” Rosa kissed his forehead and left the room. Billy had told Victor and Rosa about him being Philadelphia’s newest hero after he and his foster siblings had disappeared to fight Sivana. His parents were super cool about it as long as the kids got their homework done and came back safe and sound from patrol. Freddy hadn’t told his own parents for fear they might make him stop hanging out with Billy. Freddy sat on the couch, history textbook open and jotting down notes as he carefully sipped his hot chocolate. Seconds later, Billy was running down the stairs(he’d probably flown through the window in his room), jumping over the bump step, sliding across the floor, and skidding to a halt in front of the couch.

“Freddy! I wasn’t expecting you today!” he exclaimed before he saw Freddy’s downtrodden face and ripped backpack. “Wh-what’s wrong?” Billy sat down next to Freddy and pulled the boy into his arms. Freddy relayed everything that had happened to him throughout the day and Billy just nodded, taking in the information.

“Oh, Freddy, I’m sorry that happened to you. Want me to kick their asses?” Billy spoke when Freddy had finished his ramble.

“No. They’ll just hurt you,” Freddy replied.

“Aww. Even when you’re having a bad day, you’re worried about me,” Billy cooed, holding Freddy’s hand and rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “I’ll be fine. I can handle myself.” He brought Freddy’s hand up to his lips and kissed each knuckle in turn.

“Please just don’t do anything stupid, Billy,” Freddy urged. “I can’t have you getting in trouble because of me.”

“Mmm.” Billy kissed his cheek. “But I’d love to get in trouble defending your honor.”

“You wouldn’t be defending much,” Freddy refuted, looking down solemnly. Billy reached out and cupped Freddy’s face, making the boy look at him.

“Hey. Freddy, you’re the most important person in the world to me and if it takes all night, I will make you believe it,” Billy insisted. Freddy laughed, looking into the emerald green eyes of his best friend, his lover.

“I have to get home at some point. Mark and Junie will freak if I’m gone for too long,” Freddy replied.

“I don’t care. You’re mine now and forever,” Billy declared, leaning forward and capturing Freddy’s lips. One hand was still cupping Freddy’s face, thumb running along the boy’s cheekbone, and the other balancing himself against the cushions of the couch. They kissed; softly, yet passionately, for a moment before pulling away to take a breath.

“Forever,” Freddy repeated, resting his forehead against Billy’s.

“Got any homework to work on?” Billy asked, nudging his nose against his boyfriend’s.

“Yeah. A bit.” Billy pulled away reluctantly and went back to his room to grab his own books. When he got back, he was carrying two backpacks, his own and a spare which he handed to Freddy.

“Here. For your books.”

“Thanks.” Freddy’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing the face of his foster father show up on the screen. He answered it. “Hello?”

“Freddy, where are you? You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!” Mark exclaimed, clearly concerned. Freddy checked the time. It was nearly 5:30. He’d gotten off of school at 3:30, been stuck in the bathroom until 4:00 and got to Billy’s house at around 4:45. The school bus should have dropped him off at home around 4:15.

“Sorry. I got stuck at school and then accidentally took the bus to Billy’s house. I was hoping I could stay the night?” Freddy answered.

“Is it okay with Billy’s parents?” Mark asked. Freddy looked to Billy, who nodded.

“Yep. They said I’m welcome any time,” Freddy relayed.

“Alright. Just make sure you catch the right bus tomorrow for school and you thank them for letting you stay,” Mark reminded.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mark.”

“I love you, Freddy.”

“I love you, too.” With that, Freddy hung up, looking to Billy, who was smirking.

“What?” he asked. Billy didn’t answer. “What you dork?”

“Nothing. I love you.” Billy’s tone was teasing and Freddy laughed.

“What, you never loved your parents?”

“No, it’s just nice to see you get a family you deserve,” Billy chimed, smiling his signature smile that made Freddy’s heart melt.

“You got one, too, dummy,” Freddy refuted, cheeks heating up as he shoved Billy’s shoulder.

“We both did,” Billy replied, grabbing Freddy’s hand and pulling him close. Freddy rested his head on Billy’s shoulder, taking in his distinctive smell. He couldn’t exactly describe the smell as anything other than home.

“I love you, Billy Batson,” Freddy whispered into his boyfriend’s neck. Billy turned his head to kiss Freddy’s curls.

“I love you, too, Freddy Freeman.”

@freddyfreebat, @lyrics-poems-other-musings, @httpgrazer, @toesure, @heartislubbingdubbing, @billiesbatsons, @maggotqu33n

#freddy freeman #Billy Batson #Rosa Vasquez #Shazam #dc #fluff #kisses #freebat #lovers #foster care #original work

[theyorthemrecords]

imaginary toads in real gardens (I)

a/n: the soft college!cashton fic i’ve been promising the group chat, focusing mainly around their shared poetry class! also a little barista!ashton, if you squint. also linked below are the two poems mentioned by name, if you’re interested in reading them! (both are personal favorites of mine hehe)

tableau by countee cullen

the helmsman by hilda doolittle (h.d.)

word count: 1.7 k

warnings: a light sprinkling of cursing, but nothing else in this part! enjoy ~

Calum wasn’t quite sure how this morning could get any worse. It started with him oversleeping, causing a chain reaction of trying to brew his own coffee, spilling said coffee all over himself, changing his shirt because of the spilled coffee, and ending up in, quite literally, the ugliest outfit he had ever seen. To make it all worse, it was a Tuesday, meaning the class he was rushing to was poetry, which just so happened to be the one class he shared with the absolutely dreamy barista from the on-campus coffee shop, the Bee-Hive. 

Calum had been crushing on the guy, from afar, since his freshman year, and couldn’t believe his luck when he materialized in his spring semester poetry class two years later. Throughout the first few weeks of the semester, he had collected a few key pieces of information about the other boy, using it all to fuel his romantic daydreams, when his mind wandered. First, his name was Ashton, which technically Calum already knew, but it just felt so different to hear Ashton say it himself as opposed to simply reading it on his nametag. Second, Ashton was a junior, like himself, but unlike Calum, Ashton wasn’t an English major. He was a Philosophy major, making his enrollment in the class perplexing to Calum at first, but he pretty quickly understood why Ashton had picked the class. It was obvious that Ashton loved poetry, the art of crafting words into something larger, something new, from the first class discussion they had about Claude McKay. Calum liked to believe, especially since he was now an upperclassman in the English department, that he understood poetry, but it had rendered him speechless to hear Ashton discuss poetry. He just seemed to feel everything so deeply, to be able to grasp the author’s intent and purpose immediately, breaking the poem due to purest essence before Calum had even figured out the rhyme scheme.

Which all looped back to why Calum was hellbent on not only showing up to poetry class on time, but putting all his effort into the discussion they had, in order to desperately try and impress Ashton with his dazzling and insightful textual interpretations. Has it worked so far? Technically no, but he was too stubborn to stop trying and too chicken to actually just ask the other boy out. What if he said no? Then Calum could never go to the Bee-Hive again and his caffeine addiction would be limited to his shitty dorm room, french press brew. That was a horrific reality. Worse than that, what if Ashton wasn’t even gay? The question had perplexed Calum since the first day of class and he bounced back and forth on the answer every time they had class. The closest he had gotten to an answer was the day they discussed Countee Cullen and his poem “Tableau”. Ashton had talked so passionately about the poem and Cullen but managed to do so without actually saying whether or not the poem applied to him. Calum concluded that day that Ashton had to be gay, that there was no way a straight man would talk that emotionally and beautifully about one of the most stunning gay poems in existence. Still, he didn’t have a definite answer, and that was enough to scare Calum out of asking Ashton out.

Too lost in his train of thought, and the blasting volume of Jimmy Eat World currently pumping through his earbuds, Calum failed to notice the body in his way until it was too late and he slammed into whatever unfortunate bystander in the Quad, scattering the books in their hands all over the ground. 

“Holy shit” Snatching his earbuds out and bending down to gather the books that fell to the ground, Calum was amazed when the voice that answered him was none other than Ashton himself, seemingly materialized in front of him by how hard Calum had been daydreaming about the man.

“Hey man, no worries. You’re Calum right, from poetry?” He winced as soon as Ashton spoke, glancing up at him from where he was positioned on the ground, picking up Ashton’s books, which, upon inspection, were obviously from their assigned book list. Of course Ashton barely knew his name, when it seemed that all Calum could do was daydream about him. It had gotten so bad that his roommate, Michael, had taken to throwing pencils at Calum to get his attention, as most of the time he was zoned out in his own private Ashton fantasy. Standing up to hand Ashton his books, Calum gave him a small smile as they finally stood face to face.

“That’s me. Sorry for barreling into you like that, I was just -” Calum paused mid-sentence, too self-conscious to admit that he was rushing to class. Especially because he was rushing to class to see the person that now stood directly in front of him. Luckily, Ashton filled his silence with an easy laugh, a sound Calum found particular delight in.

“No worries, I definitely don’t want to be late for poetry either. Dr. M always bites people’s heads off if they’re not on time. Since we’re going the same way, wanna walk together?” Calum could feel himself gaping at him, scrambling to find something to say to Ashton’s offer. This was too good to be true.  

“Erm-” God, pull it together. Now or never Hood. “I’d love to.” For an English major, he felt like he should be able to say something a little more eloquent. Ashton just let him so speechless, it felt like every word he had ever learned simply departed the minute Ashton’s hazel eyes landed on him.

“Perfect! Lead the way” Falling in step, the two walked in silence for a beat as Calum gathered the courage to say something, anything, to keep a conversation flowing.

“You’re a Philosophy major, right? Why take an English class?” The walk was just long enough that Calum could get some answers to the questions he’d had all semester, and he decided this was the most neutral one to start with. Wouldn’t be very becoming to just launch out the gate with the good old “Are you a queer?” He at least had a little tact left. Again, he was met with one of Ashton’s laughs, a sound Calum quickly found himself becoming addicted to. I’m in too deep.

“You got me there. In all honesty? I’m not too sure why. I just had extra space in my semester and… I don’t know. The class just kinda grabbed me. If that makes any fucking sense.” Calum was nodding along, trying hard not to look like he was hanging off of Ashton’s every word. Fuck their poetry class, this man was a poem himself. Just grabbed by a poetry class. Could he get any dreamier?

“No, I totally get you. You picked a good one. Dr. M may be a hardass, but she’s one of the best professors in the department.” This was Calum’s fifth class with the woman and he was still shocked by how hard she made all of her exams. Still, she pushed him in a way that was unlike any other teacher he had ever had. He was happy to know her and even more grateful to have her knowledge in his life, both as a professor and his advisor. 

“Shocking to hear you say that. She eats up everything you say. On the other hand, I feel like a dumbass every time I make a comment.” Accompanied by a bashful smile and shake of his head, Ashton glanced away for a second. Calum was, once again, stunned into silence, this time for a totally different reason.

“You? Are you kidding me? Everything you say in class is amazing, you’re so insightful. I wish I could read poetry like you do… everything you say is so stunning and you just… get it. You’re great in class Ashton.” Finishing his ramble, it was Calum’s turn to be embarrassed. I can not believe I just said all of that to him. He’s going to think I’m insane, that was a crazy thing to ramble at my crush. Is it too early to consider transferring? 

“Really?” Every single bad thought Calum was having about himself halted when he looked over at Ashton when he spoke. Ashton was staring at him, with so much hope welling up in his eyes it was disarming. Calum’s mum had always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and it seemed like Ashton’s windows were flung open, displaying every emotion plainly to him. A warm summer day, gorgeous and breezy and open. “You think so?”

“I know so. And Dr. M loves you, she just has a funny way of showing it.” Calum bumped Ashton’s shoulder, half to break the trance they were in and half to remind him to start walking again. “She will, however, love us less if we show up late to this class. C’mon.”

It was silent again as the two walked side by side, but unlike before, the silence felt comfortable. Breathable. Like a shared understanding. It remained that way as they walked into the English wing of the Main Hall, finally reaching their classroom right on time. The class was small enough that there were always open seats, but everyone had settled into their unofficial assigned seats back during syllabus week. Ashton always sat closest to the door, while Calum sat across the room, right in front of the big window that faced the park on the front of campus. Ideal for gazing out of the window when he wanted to zone out and for sneaking glances at Ashton whenever he spoke. The best of both worlds. However, as they entered class today, Ashton followed him to the window and snuck into the seat on Calum’s left. When Calum stared at him in shock for half a second, still standing, Ashton laughed his adorable laugh again with another shake of his head.

“Figured it was time for a change of scenery, yea? Now sit down so we can talk about Hilda Doolittle. I’ve been dying all weekend to hear what Dr. M has to say about The Helmsman.” It’s official, Calum thought as he sat in his seat and pulled out his own book, I’m in love with this man.

#GOD first fic posted DONE! #honestly..... i'm so excited by this #cashton!college au is my drug #cashton imagine #calum x ashton #college!sos #college!cashton #calum hood imagine #ashton irwin imagine #calum hood #ashton irwin

[theparasiteofficial]

Just a little bit of rambling.

So I'm often in a horrible place, emotionally and all that. Self destructive, toxic, angsty you get the point. I pray it's a phase, just a time in my existence, a flavor I'll someday forget, but I think to myself and I know suffering isn't necessarily a phase, the shit that's fucked me over is still there, the things I lost are still gone and so are the people and they're never coming back, so can this really pass like some phase or is this my hell? So, a bit about myself to elaborate. I never had a dad, I'm the sixth child, fifth son, the runt. Growing up, I never knew one of my brothers because he's special ops, united states military, he came around every few years and then left so soon so I never got to know him. The two brothers closer to my age group were at first my best friends, I'd wake up screaming and crying every morning because of nightmares and one of them would be waiting every time to hold me and tell me "it's okay" but that soon stopped, and then the environment turned toxic. My eldest sibling brought his drama home, psychotic bitches and his children, screaming, fighting, I know the police here better than I know my family. Growing up was a shitty experience, I had imaginary friends that I could touch, like they were real, they became toxic too, I had hell on either side of me, I to this day don't make a sound when I walk because I had to then lest I get yelled at, or hit, laughed at and teased, pushed around. I enter rooms and seem to vanish to others because I learned to disappear to survive. I was abandoned more times than I can count and I've done things to people, and other living creatures but the detailed information isn't something I care to disclose publicly, I never felt sorry for the things I did and I still don't in fact the one thing I regret is not having done better, or in most people's cases "worse" I never knew what it was like to have a friend, not for a long time. I've lived a good bit longer without a single friend than I have with only a handful. My family is Christian and I am as well at least in beliefs, but the problem is I'm also gay. I wasn't interested in relationships or anything that had to do with other people up until I met the friend that actually convinced me to post my shitty "poems" here, I fell in love with him after a while of fighting myself, lashing out and threatening his life, toying with him, manipulating him and then he left me, and that's when it hit me. I never chased after someone before then, I wanted him to stay I needed him more than I'm really capable of admitting even now, I don't know how I convinced him to stay but he did and I fell deeper each moment, I confessed and came off as pushy and needy, wasn't pretty but I was also self taught so no public school, I was shut off from everything abused and abandoned so my social skills were lacking to say the least, and I didn't and don't understand people, what's wrong or right, why people cling to morals etc, clueless. Still don't understand it but I'm not the alien I once was, I'm told I'm charming but no one can ever tell me why, I find that to be odd. Summary to get my shit straight, shit childhood, I was lost on society and still am, I fell in love against the rules of how I was raised and what I believe in, I'm hurt and lost still. And also, I know he doesn't read my stuff and most likely don't, but if he for whatever reason reads this; I hate you with a passion, half the time I want to find a hammer and take it to the back of your skull, but at the same time I love you, and couldn't hurt you if it meant saving my own life.

The nightmares I suffered as a child never stopped, and often prevent me from sleeping, I have desires to see people get hurt and to hurt them still, I hear voices echoes of the past and sometimes new one's completely their own individual, and the only thing that shuts them up is hurting something, I get this burning pressure in my chest, it spreads through my body and it makes it so hard to think and breathe and it makes it so hard not to react, the only thing that makes it stop is hurting something or someone. I still at my age find myself being "bullied" and I would honestly give anything to cut those fuckers to pieces, burn their lives and show them what fear really is make them regret everything. I did something once to someone that first did something to me, it was severe what I did, and it's only due to luck and intelligence I'm not imprisoned in some kind of facility, and it made all of the pain stop, the echoes and words all those voices finally stopped for the very first time. It felt amazing, I fell in love with revenge and grew to despise law due to it's restrictions, it's absurd really just a few hundred or so years ago had someone wronged you, you had every right to take something from them, even their life. I have no sense of friendship, I try to but that part of me never really developed due to everything, and I studied shit to be able to say that, I needed answers. Most that try to get close to me run away, often the last thing they say to me is along the lines of "you're fucked in the head" which feels great, if not for self control I'd have given them the monster they wanted fucking sick of that shit, I am no worse than anyone else. I deserve a fair chance do I not? Sure a lot of my thinking is different, perhaps even bizarre to most, sick even, but does that mean I should be discarded?

I'll be waiting for the stray "edge lord faggot" comment/s that may or may not come. I encourage responses, I said a lot and questioned a lot, any responses welcomed. I'm almost begging for someone to fucking give me the time of day here, Christ.

The fuck am I doing I need sleep man. Fucking hell.

[rokkatru-rising]

The poem, as promised.

It has no title, but it is lengthy. I hope those that read it take something from it.

TRIGGER WARNING, READ WITH CAUTION.

Some say that we reflect

What is given to us onto others.

Others say that the things we go through define every ounce of

Who we are, and there's no changing that.

I say both are wrong.

I was dealt a shitty hand

Starting at fourteen

And nothing could have prepared me for it.

I was hit hard with feelings, such strong ones and for a girl too.

I would have survived. I would have been okay.

But she didn't choose me.

She tried everyone but me,

And I spent endless nights wondering

What was wrong with me?

Could the ones that treat her so awful

Be so much better than me?

And was this normal to feel this way

For a girl?

I needed answers.

I would take walks in the dead of night

Further retreating into myself

The only thing I knew how to do.

Until one night

I met a boy

Much older than me

The first word he spoke to me was

"lost"

And I knew he was right.

He told me he could help me

And being the child I was

I believed him

I followed him to a house

There were people everywhere

Finally he sat me down

And rambled on about how

At these gatherings he has

He had never felt more alive

But he also felt numb

All I had to do was drink.

I was sold.

He handed me a glass

And I drank.

I do not remember the rest of that night.

I kept going to the house

And the boy and I got closer

His friends became my "friends"

I had a family

But the drinks became pills

And then there were drinks and pills

I stopped eating

I felt I could survive on the drinks and pills alone.

Half the time

I didn't even know what they handed me

I just took them without question.

Eventually they offered a needle.

When I declined

They held me down.

I was too drunk to fight back

I felt it go in

Foreign and cold

And that was when all I saw was black.

Four days had passed when I came to.

All of them were still there

They were surprised I woke up

My heart had stopped

I was cold

So how was I there?

They handed me a drink

And I drank.

I met a boy at school

I saw darkness in his eyes

So I clung to him

And had no idea

The darkness I saw

Was evil in its rawest form.

It started small.

A shove here

A firm grab there.

He would always tell me how much better he was than me

How I annoyed him

How I couldn't do anything without his permission.

When I was affectionate

I was too much

Too clingy

I didn't understand what he wanted

And then without warning

I somehow woke the devil

I believe I went to kiss his cheek

Or some tender gesture

And instead I caught his fist

With my mouth

I learned that being kind and tender

Was not the answer.

And so I drank.

The first cut I ever made on my skin

Was very small

But it opened the door

It helped me feel something other than hurt influenced by others

A little way to regain control

But as with everything

It spiralled out of control

A vortex I could not contain

I'd lie on my bathroom floor

Helpless and desperate

One cut

Two cuts

By the third I was gone

And when I came back

My upper arms would be no longer arms at all

Still I took the pills

And I drank.

I looked at him, watched him

Waiting for the evil to surface

He did not like me going to the house

But not for reasons you'd think

He hated them, all of them

For taking me away from him

He was the only one I should be around

And for that

He pulled the metal ball bat out

And said "this is because I love you. You need to learn what happens when you anger me."

And when it connected with my skull

I learned.

He was relentless, without mercy

Every hit and blow

Was a lesson I felt to my core

Finally it ended

I couldn't feel anything

There was not an inch of me

That did not know what that bat felt like

I cleaned up the blood, both off the floor

And my battered body

And I drank.

I went to the house again but this was the last time

My friends were sad

But demanded we go all out one last time

The answers I needed lied at the bottom

Of those bottles and more needles

That were no longer foreign

I took them willingly

For if I didn't they would be forced

Many pills, some different colors

And when I walked out the door

It was not the last time for the drinks.

He still bought them for me

Delivering them to my house

I was grateful

And the next night I drank more

But alone.

The walls of my bedroom had never looked so weird.

I hid a trash bag in my closet

To dispose of the empty bottles

I would cry until tears ran out

I could not stop the pain

He wouldn't bring pills anymore

So I turned to pain killers

Taking as many as 20 at a time

After all, they killed pain right?

I still cut, but no longer felt it.

My nights became slurred words to myself

And an insatiable longing for a way out

I didn't know how, so I just drank more.

I was at his house one night

He and his mother were screaming

He stormed in, slammed the door

His mouth found mine

In a surprisingly tender kiss

But I wanted to throw up

His hands wandered and I realized what he wanted

I slowly managed "no".

His eyes darkened.

He grabbed my throat, lifting me off the ground

I couldn't breathe and I knew

If I did not give him what he wanted

I would die.

So I fought, somehow managing to get free

I ran out the door

My mom picked me up, I never went back.

But I drank.

I dated a few meaningless boys after that

But I became the evil.

I would beat them with my own hands

In a drunken blind rage

And revel in their terror

I lived for it.

It became the drug I left behind

I was heartless, and wanted everyone to fear me

As much as I was afraid of everyone else.

I don't know what it was that made me leave it behind

I don't know what made me want to

Or what gave me the strength to say enough

I just remember thinking there has to be more than this

I am better than this

So I stopped everything.

I only struggled with leaving the alcohol.

For months I'd slip up

Here and there

Until finally I left it alone for three years.

I made an exception for my 21st birthday

But after I left it be for another year.

Now I have it sometimes.

But always in small doses

Never full blown black out drunk

Because I promised myself never again.

And now it has been almost 7 years

And I am nowhere near who I was

I live with it everyday

But I do not let it define me.

It only owns you if you let it.

Your past does not give you excuses to be a shitty person.

If anything

It should give you insight

And make you the warrior

You were meant to be.

You must ask yourself

At what point do you stop being a victim

And start being a survivor?

#poetry #painful #alcohlism #alcohol #dark #drunk #survivor #wisdom #words #witchcraft #writing #woman #women #lesbian #lesbian problems #hardship

[winteriron-trash]

About Me/FAQ

Hey, welcome to my blog! This is my -well, usually- Marvel-centric blog that has everything WinterIron, Bucky Barnes, and Tony Stark, as well as some general shitposts of my own wild adventures. I figured it’s best to keep up this trend of updating my ‘About Me’ page every follower milestone. So thank you all so much for over 3,000 followers, I never expected to break that many followers, let alone in less than a year on Tumblr. I appreciate each and everyone one of you, so really, thank you for sticking around with my bullshit.

Per the usual, I don’t do drama, I don’t do discourse. If you have a serious problem with me or anything I’ve written/done on this blog, please take it up with me personally. I will delete anon hate (if I get any, I haven’t gotten any yet…) and I think it’s all just pointless. I can be salty and derpy sometimes, but I will never purposely say something malicious. I’m not here for that negativity.

Now, to the FAQs.

Do you have an Ao3/Pillowfort/other social media?

I do have an Ao3, you can find me at Gothic_Lolita. I don’t cross-post everything, and a lot of my stuff on Ao3 isn’t WinterIron or even Bucky or Tony-centric, so if you’d like to see some other stuff I write, feel free to check over there. I don’t have a Pillowfort, nor do I plan on getting one. It took me forever to get this platform right, I’m not in the place to bother learning how to navigate a new one. I don’t do Snapchat or Instagram or Twitter because I am not nearly basic or cool enough for that stuff. The only social media I use is Tumblr and Pinterest, and trust me, my Pinterest is nothing interesting enough to be worth linking.

Do you have a tagging system?

I’m… trying, honestly. I’m trying to adjust my tags and systems because of the… wildness Tumblr is having with blocking and purging certain tags. I try to be funny in my tags, and I swear a lot, and apparently ‘fuck’ is being filtered out of the tag search, so that’s fun and completely screwed me over. As it stands, the important tags are ‘winteriron-trash writes’ (my writing tag), ‘shitposting with becca’ (any wild shitposts of my own sad creation), ‘not about marvel’ (any posts that are my general bullshittery and not Marvel related), ‘becca gives mediocre writing advice’ (a new tag I’m trying to use that’ll tag any post that I give writing advice on), ‘becca spills the tea’ (a tag for whenever I post my metas or opinions on Marvel characters, plots, etc), and the citrus scale which I explain in a post here

Do you write original fiction?

Yes, but I rarely, if ever, post it. I think I have all of one poem on Tumblr, any absolutely nothing original on Ao3. I write original works all the time, especially poetry and novels, but I’m super shy about being vulnerable and putting my stuff out there. I do wanna post my original writing somehow, but considering a fandom blog and Ao3 aren’t really the place for it, I’ll just keep it all hidden inside of me, and one day I’ll die. You’re more than welcome to ask me about any of my original writings, trust me, I am always willing to ramble about the shit I write, it’s pathetic.

What type of fanfiction do you write?

For this blog, mostly WinterIron fics or gen fics focused on Bucky or Tony. I do write about OT3s on here occasionally, but they usually include WinterIron in some way. Most of the time. I’ve somehow gotten to writing some weird stuff lately, to be honest. I’ll work with MCU, Sony Venom, and Spiderverse characters and canon, with the occasionally comic canon shoved in there. I have occasionally written crossover content with DC characters, but that usually relies on comic versions -or at least my own remixes of them- rather than the DCEU. On my masterlist, you can check out all the things I’ve written!

What are your ships besides WinterIron? NOTPs?

I’ll ship almost anything, and I’m a huge fan of rarepairs/interesting relationships simply to explore the possibilities of it, particularly when they include Bucky or Tony. My top OTPs besides WinterIron are currently Phlint, FalconShield, and BlackPepper. As for NOTPs, I strongly dislike Stucky, Stuckony, Thorki, and Staron for reasons of just not being able to see those characters together romantically. Feel free to send me the wildest rarepair your mind can think of, chances are I’ve probably already thought of it myself so I’d love the chance to ramble about/write for it. I’m a big fan of weird OT3s as well, just see the weird shit on my masterlist.

Are you in any fandoms besides Marvel?

I’m into DC, Star Trek, classic literature, Percy Jackson/HoO/Kane Chronicles, She-Ra, Carmen Sandiego, indie gaming, Supernatural, vulture culture, HYDRA Trash Party, and musicals. Yes, I’m aware I was born to be a geek. Trust me, I’ve grown very used to it.

Do you take prompts?

Honestly, sending me a prompt/headcanon/idea is a shot in the dark. I have prompts sitting in my inbox that has been there for about a year that I’ve been meaning to write. Chances are if you send me a prompt yes I’ve seen it, yes I think it’s lovely, but god I do not have the time. Occasionally a prompt will really grab my eye and I’ll just have to write something for it, but sometimes even that can take months to finish. Don’t be surprised if you send me a prompt and I randomly fill it seven months later. I’m prone to doing so. I love being tagged in existing prompt/headcanon posts and asked to write it (as I have a bad habit of hijacking posts to write stuff for them to begin with…) just know that once again the chances of me writing it are about a 50/50. Also, make sure the OP is okay with you asking me to write it, it’s never my intention to steal someone else’s spotlight, I just want to take cool ideas and throw my two cents in.

Is there anything you won’t write?

Drugs and alcohol are hard nos for me. They’re personal triggers that if you really want to know more about, you can send me an ask or message about. If I’ve listed something as a NOTP, I will not write anything with it. I strongly dislike writing kid fics, mundane AUs, damsel in distress Tony fics, and A/B/O, but I’m willing to work with an idea if it’s good enough. It really depends on the situation.

Do you offer writing advice/reviews?

Yep! I’m down to answer any questions on writing fanfic or just writing in general. I love talking about writing and all that. Seriously, I like talking about writing almost as much as I like talking about Marvel. I’m more than open to reading a few chapters of your fic or book or whatever and telling you my honest thoughts, but I probably won’t have time to read all of it if it’s more than 5k long, because I’m just a busy person. And I will be honest because I want to be helpful. Don’t ask me for my honest opinion if you just want your ego stroked.

Can I ask your opinion on [insert topic here]?

Always. I am always open to sharing my honest opinions, regardless of backlash I’ll receive for it. I’d rather be my honest self online -the one place I can be my honest self- then a fake mask made to please others. Whether it be fandom ships, in-universe meta, or non-fandom related topics, feel free to ask me. I love talking meta, or just general thoughts and opinions on random stuff. Trust me, I’m far too opinionated for my own good. Ask literally anyone who’s met me.

How long have you been writing?

All seventeen years of my sad, sad life. I loved writing stupid little stories when I was a kid, that slowly morphed into shitty “books”, then I went through a poetry phase in junior high, and when I was about 14 I wrote my first fanfiction. I posted my first fanfic when I was 15, and have been posting fanfiction for over a year and a half now. I started Tumblr in late February but didn’t start writing fics here until about March because I am a shy bitch.

Aaaaaaand now for some stupid shit about me you didn’t ask for.

My name is Becca, or Winter, or Dumbass, whatever you prefer, and I’m a dumbfuck 17 yr old lesbian from upstate New York. (The ‘upstate’ part is important. Don’t ask me if I live in NYC. Just don’t.) I’m a junior in high school and planning to study English and Marketing in college, to hopefully become an editor. Hopefully. I’m actually a pretty boring and dumb bitch, which makes it all the more concerning that I am steadily gaining popularity on this hellsite. Someone help me.

I mentioned some of my interests above, but some other stuff I’m into includes knitting, playing piano, tea, collecting (hoarding) notebooks, photography, editing, music, and being a general idiot. I’m a wild child in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, which should not fool you because I’m far too shy and afraid of everything to be cool like that. I sound a lot cooler online because I’ve gotten so used to online interactions from making friends and running my own Discord server, but in real life I am unrecognizable. I’ve been in a grade of 60 people with the same people since kindergarten and some of them still don’t know my name.

I’m mentally ill and all that, but we’re working on getting… better. Writing schedules are a mess from me and sometimes I’m falling apart so, that’s fun. It doesn’t usually affect my blog because I internalize that shit, but occasionally the self-deprecating humor can get to be a little too close to the truth. And just the general spastic nature of my blog reflects the utter chaos of my mind.

So anyway, that’s me, please be my friend. Also, because this seems to come up more and more. Please don’t be afraid of me/intimidated by me. I know I look all cool and popular, but I am literally a hot mess just like the rest of us. If you want to climb your way into my messages and just,,,, scream at me about something you think I’d like, or just scream in general, go ahead. I really won’t mind, I promise. I need… friends, or so my therapist tells me.

Oh, and here’s a face reveal.

Yes, I am that absolute idiot of a person, lying splat in the middle of my elementary playground field for,,,, reasons???? I don’t really remember the story behind that picture tbh, but it’s my entire personality in a single picture, so I dig it.

And here’s my actual face, with a cheap ring in my mouth and a fox filter because I thought I looked cute, okay? Leave me be.

Tadah.

I swear I’m funny and talented sometimes, please like me.

As always, feel free to send me an ask or a message about anything you’d like. 

Check out my Masterlist if you want, and join my Discord Server.

#about me #personal #not about Marvel #now you know who i am #updated #3k

[tumblunni]

Its weird how much the perceptions of queer people can change throughout history

And like i'm not just talking about how widespread predjudice is and how shitty the education is, so that a trans person like me could grow up not only not knowing they were trans until age 20 but not even knowing that trans people EXISTED. And then of course there's how the perception of the word "queer" has made a rollercoaster journey from "unrelated quaint word for slightly odd" to "homophobic slur" to "reclaimed slur" to "so reclaimed that it's used as a common umbrella term by LGBTQ rights organizations and educational systems" to "ok suddenly its a slur again and we dont know if we'll be able to reclaim it this time". And then allllso there's the fuckin annoying subject of how bigots insist upon perceiving trans women as "really just gay men" or "straight men with a fetosh for dressing up", and then trans women as also being the only trans people who exist,because trans men (and lesbians) are apparantly "just women playing at it" or "lol sexy" and somehow can't really be real. Somehow even less real than the thing they already say isnt real. Seriously, wrapping my head around how bigots think is EXHAUSTING!

Aaaaanyway all of those recent issues REALLY SUCK but then they got me thinking about how bigotry was really different just ten years ago, and how fascinating (and depressing) i found it to hear about unrecogniseably different bigotry in ancient history. So uhh yeah lets ramble about that??

Random example that I only remember because I had a Big Norse Mythology Phase in high school. Back in those times it wasn't considered gay to be attracted to men. Like.. Seriously! They still had homophobic bigotry and horrifying lynchings,banishment, social ostracization and other hate crimes. It's just that their definition of who was 'one of the bad ones' and who was 'acceptable' was wildly different from what we have today. It was like.. Not about who you were attracted to but the specifics of the act itself? They uhh..literally had top and bottom predjudice. You weren't "gay" if you had sex with men, only if you were on the bottom when it happened. Because it was "natural" for a man to be the pitcher, but "womanly and deviant" to be on the receiving end and *gasp* actually enjoy it! You could somehow retain your straightness card by topping a dude and he was the only weird one for enjoying this sex you were having. Because yknow the top is just totally imagining he's fucking a woman, so its Not Gay. Somehow.

Like there's a whole poem about two guys slinging insults at each other for five pages, and one stanza is like "i totally had sex with you and that makes you gay!" Taken to ridiculous extremes where he claims the other man is SO gay that he was somehow able to get magically pregnant and have his children. Also they were monsters because why not. But (i shit you not) he adds that they werent even PARTICULARLY SCARY monsters and that proves that you are a terrible man. For giving me a bad lay. Which somehow means you are gay and I'm not.

And like I mean.. I can understand how a culture with so many all-male sailing crews would kinda have to deal with a lot of gay relationships happening, but its just so fuckin WEIRD that they managed to do it while retaining a predjudice against them! I mean the ancient greeks had a similar situation and they very notably went full acceptance to the point even the most LGBTQ-erasing scholars can't manage to paper it over. Not that they were perfect either, of course, there was a lot of societally accepted pedophilia. But then again britain's had a history of that too, plus even worse stuff... Okay im getting offtopic, thats another subject for another day.

So yeah. Weird alternate conceptualization of sexuality. And part of me wants to laugh at those bigots being so wrong, while part of me feels relieved thinking that at least half of all gay men managed to avoid predjudice compared to how common it is in our society. But then i think about how much the "i'm on top so i'm straight" thing is played off in really creepy ways in those mythological tales. Like seriously its horrible imagining some guy raping another guy as a sign of dominance and pulling the "he enjoyed it so arrest him" card. Or lovers selling out their other half to deflect suspicion from themself, like "yeah you caught us having sex but he was the gay one." It's such a weird form of bigotry to wrap my head around, i don't even know if these worst case scenarios would have happened but i'm scared to research more into the subject in case i find triggering stuff like that.

Tho i mean this is just a factoid i found in a mythology book to explain a weird diss poem, like not even an actual history book with sources ans examples. So for all I know maybe it isnt even true? *shrug* i just thought it was interesting to think about and i hope maybe i can bump into someone else who's better informed on the topic.

Oh and also LOL just to add that I totally fell in love with norse mythology cos of Loki,became a huge Loki stan, wrote stupid fix-it fics for LITERAL MYTHOLOGY where Loki was proven right and got all his dead kids back, and throughout this entire time dumb teenage me never once thought "hmm maybe i'm fascinated by the one gay and genderfluid character because i might be queer". What a dope! (Seriously internalized transphobia fucks you up...)

[thepatricktreestump]

Auden’s YouNow Vids!

Do you want to see me be a dork? Want to hear me ramble on for hours on end? Do you want to see me dance like an idiot and sing like Jacob Sartorious? Are you always preoccupied whenever I decide to stream? Do you want your mom to join the army of middle aged mothers who complain in my inbox about my topics of drug use, sex, and other inappropriate topics? (Yes I’m fucking bringing you up again Laura and Janice.) If so, then here you go! Whatever the reason might be, for entertainment or for finding good roast material, you’re in luck. These are my YouNow livestreams… I do them sometimes to talk to you guys, connect with y’all, and share my stories, jokes, and even myself more easily! *My YouNow is thepatricktreestump*

8.3.17 – 22min Treehouse: very first livestream, back to school tips, summer reading advice, talking about transitioning into high school, some of the classes I’m taking this year… 8.4.17 – 3min Bathtub: giving my bearded dragon a bath, that’s literally it 8.8.17 – 5min Aunt’s House: talking about fics I’m writing, Saudade plans, a shitton of tumblr updates and ideas, being hopeful for the upcoming school year… 8.14.17 – 19min Treehouse: how school is going, my love for hats, tmi period health talk, storytime my starbucks nightmare experience, guy talk and friend group drama, Ryden and Brallon, memes, my bearded dragon eating my homework, no regrets, geometry class stories, me giving my best regards to a chicken… 9.4.17 – 2sec Middle of the woods: Literally two seconds of me walking through a forest with my girlfriend at the time??? I don’t even know 11.14.17 – 5min Bedroom: Last stream with my long hair, talking about dysphoria, introduction of coconut water, showing off art on walls, apologizing for my hiatus… 11.19.17 – 20min Bedroom: Celebrating almost hitting 2.3k followers, new haircut, beanie vs hat, answering tumblr asks, I’m a fast ass typer, my anxiety with adding smiley faces and gifs, freaking out over requests, back at it again with dat coconut water life, being hype for MANIA, being paranoid, flashing a boob by accident, talking about meeting Anthony Amorim… 11.20.17 – 25min Bedroom: birth of the live ice cream mom joke, failing at making jokes, being hype for Christmas, procrastinating on writing Black & Red, answering tumblr asks, penguins, my little sister annoying me, having my writing read on almost every continent, being in a relationship, my social media moms, Twitter talk, being spontaneous af… 11.21.17 – 1hr20min Bedroom: Emo dabs, I listen to songs you’ve recommended me, return of the coconut water, being in love with blood, share some jams of my own, promoting After Laughter and Razia’s Shadow, rap one of my favorite songs, talk about musicals, lots of singing and dancing and reacting… 11.30.17 – 1hr Bedroom: I do my homework, freak out over my life being a mess, listen to some more music, I attempt to speak and sing Spanish, rant about the net neutrality issue, promoting AM and Cybersex, giving a government conspiracy theory, talk about dysphoria… 12.3.17 – 43min Bedroom/Bathroom: I play acoustic guitar, give my bearded dragon a bath, play some covers (WDBWOTV, 90210, House of Gold, Young Volcanoes), some original songs of mine (Sunday Morning, Insomnia, Rabbit Hole, etc.,), advice on how to ask people to use the right pronouns… 12.5.17 -53min Bedroom: Return of the coconut water, I listen and dance to BTS, I go through my art binder and sketchbook, I read and show the original “Poem For Emos” loose leaf, talk about the novels I’ve written, diss sprinkles, talk about the Dubai Anesthesia video…

12.7.17 – 50min Bedroom: Getting injured, finding acceptance through suffering, religion and explaining being an agnostic omnist, 55 questions, the optimism in pessimism, relationships, complaining about ortho, listening to Blackbear, Arctic Monkeys, and Fall Out Boy, transforming someone into a drag queen, more dancing…

12.15.17 - 40min

Bedroom: Listening to more music, talking about Brendon's 12 Days of Livestream, me being hesitant as fuck to livestream, doodling Santa Claus, wearing my S.O.'s christmas sweater, Brendon deciding to stream while I stream...

12.19.17 - 6min

In Bed: just a quick positivity post for you guys, keep doing what you're doing, you are enough...

12.23.17 - 34min

Bedroom: my 2017 in review, Aaron's transition, q&a, saudade, being interrupted by parents and relatives...

12.27.17 - 44min

Bedroom: Ukulele stream, sin blog got marked as explicit, dallon let panic!, playing a shitton of covers (Bad At Love, Creep, I'm Yours, Me and My Broken Heart, Skyscraper, Titanium, Hey There Delilah, This Is The First Day of my Life, Can't Help Falling in Love, Viva La Vida, Immortals, Valerie, Coconut Sharks in the Water, and much more), not really knowing what the fuck i'm doing...

12.28.17 - 1hr7min

Bedroom: reading my hate comments, giving unpopular opinions, roasting my followers, return of the coconut water, finding jeff, following Kaitlyn, jamming out to soul punk, talking about how I fell in love with brendon urie, what to do when home alone, being cheesy about how much I love you guys...

12.29.17 - 15min

Bedroom: messy hair, reading a call to love poem, book review on Pete Wentz's (not) autobiography Gray, I get all my shirts from Hot Topic...

12.31.17 - 56min

Bedroom: last livestream of 2017, talking about the Cabin album, performed my poetry program Because of Silence, read more suicide based poetry, return of the coconut water, improvisational ukulele music jam, I play covers (Alone Together, The Judge, New Rules, Fake Your Death, One Last Time, and more), happy new year's eve...

1.1.18 - 8min

Bedroom: Happy New Year, mall haul (Inside Scoop, Spencer's, Starbucks, Hot Topic), resolutions for the new year, healthy living...

1.4.18 - 47min

Bedroom: trigonometry homework, shitty return of the coconut water, listening to Vices & Virtues b-tracks, jamming out to other music, talking about how YouTubers grow up, the panic! song algorithm...

1.10.18 - 50min

Bedroom: storytime livestream, fuck apologies, changed the names in the story for privacy purposes, return of the coconut water, what happened this weekend, more tea is spilled, how my miserable day went, how I lost all of my friends, lots of drama, I am an honest person, talking about therapy and help, going to my school, mostly life problems...

1.12.18 - 32min

Bedroom: I hit a can for half an hour straight, learn how to play the dodie Heinz bean can song, troye sivan's new single, I throw a can in my face, not a big fan of corn, return of the superman pajamas...

1.14.18 - 7 min

Bedroom: laptop camera test, lots of purple glasses, bitching about finding quality guitar chords, Johnny Boy uke cover very messy and rough and low quality and glitch, me not being able to hit high notes lmfao, wearing my s.o.'s sweatshirt, tyler and josh phone lockscreen, thank you for support on my livestreams...

1.23.18 - 14min

Living room: super fucking sick, winning first place at a speech meet, I took my bearded dragon to the vet storytime, being connected to a pet, talking about joining the bts army...

1.28.18 - 44min

S.O's house: i'm still sick lol, mac and cheese, introducing my s.o. Gray, Q&A, talking about gender identity, unboxing, accidentally being sent surprise item, dad jokes, opening up christmas presents, also featuring Gray's dog Rico, complimenting other people, being addicted to lime hot Cheetos....

2.10.18 - 25min

Bedroom: got a new-ish haircut, crushed an interview for a theater internship, fanfiction recommendation list...

2.16.18 - 44min

Bedroom: valentine's day, wearing a binder, Can't Help Falling In Love cover, talking about how much I love you guys, re-reacting to BTS music videos, fangirling over the Black Panther album, we love and support Vince Staples in this household, Young Dumb and Broke cover, go text someone you miss and rekindle an old friendship...

3.13.18 - 7min

Bedroom: short summary of where I've been, "mental hospital" google doc, updates...

3.30.18 - 12 min

Bedroom: new wall, basically a drunk vlog, very delusional and out of sorts, k-pop ate me alive, being on spring break, talking about how I used to listen to music in middle school...

4.14.18 - 20min

Bedroom: all time low poster, talking about my date night, self-care tips and tricks talk...

4.25.18 - 12min

Treehouse: self-harm coping mechanisms, low quality stream I apologize...

4.27.18 - 20min

Bedroom: Patrick Stump's birthday, talking about the clique and the twenty one pilots comeback, dema theories...

5.3.18

Bedroom: with the bebe

6.14.18 

Park: talking to you after getting off of work

6.21.18

Kitchen: sick, chicken noodle soup, talking about IDKHBTFM and fall out boy

6.22.18

Aunt’s House: my sister in the background, pray for the wicked reaction, just a lot of fun idk

6.23.18

Kitchen: teaching you how to make cilantro lime rice!

6.27.18

Kitchen: ok honestly i forget what this is sorry

7.11.18

Bedroom: twenty one pilots is back bitch

#auden #Auden's younows #emo shit #livestreams #audens livestreams #thepatricktreestump #fall out boy #panic! at the disco #my chemical romance #twenty one pilots #younow masterlist #livestream masterlist #just an emo bean #storytime #ukulele covers #guitar covers #ukulele #guitar #lgbtq #a smol emo bean of sixteen #listen to me rant

[simpcitybaby]

Don't cha know I'm in love

A/N: Okay so I have the song “Uptown Girl” stuck in my head so that’s kinda what this song is based off of, ya feel? Curly is such a fucking complex character and I wrote him my way.

PSA: That Was Then, This Is Now is on YouTube also I’m on mobile so this formatting is shitty, also I didn’t proof read

Word Count: 2703 words

Curly x Reader

Warnings: Idfk, swear words ig —————– Let’s Begin ——————- In the middle. That’s what you were. You weren’t a greaser nor a soc but you had friends in both categories. You were best friends with Sherri Valance and Angela Shepard, the three of you were unlikely friends. You were always caught hanging around with Ponyboy, Johnny, and the whole gang. Cherry would constantly invite you to hang out with her and Bob to which the answer was always no. Bob was a complete asshole and so were his friends. You met Angela’s brother Curly when you were 8, he wasn’t as bad back then but he always felt the need to upstage his older brother Tim. He would always tag along with you and Angela but you didn’t see him as much anymore since he was in and out of the reformatory for awhile. He managed to be released and today the Shepard gang was having a party for him which meant that you had the job of inviting your main greasers. You inched up the stairs of the Curtis residence and the door swung open, revealing Sodapop.

“You guys! Our little uptown girl is here!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname that he had given you so many years ago. Out of the gang, Soda was the easiest one to talk to when it came to boys and relationships. He was an absolute sweetheart but he’d get down and dirty if he needed to protect you or the boys.

“Maybe you should change the name to middle-class girl.” You poked your tongue out as you teased him. “Uptown girl has a better ring to it. It also sounds cool when we’re called the backstreet guys.” “You mean the Backstreet Boys?” “No (Y/N). Uptown girl is always looking for the backstreet guys.” You sighed before shaking your head, “It’d sound better if you said downtown boys.” You were met with the sound of a pencil scribbling across a piece of paper before hearing, “Ponyboy is going to write a song about you. Did you get that Pone?” Soda peeked over Pony’s shoulder as Pony read,

“Uptown girl, she’s been living in her uptown world, I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy, I bet her mama never told her why… That’s all I have for now.” The whole room filled with laughter when Johnny brought out a guitar and started playing some chords to go along with Pony’s new poem. “I came to invite you guys to the Shepards party tonight not to have a song written about me.” You laughed before Two-Bit piped up, “Are you excited to see your Romeo?” He was met with an eye roll and a quick, “he doesn’t like me that way.” “(Y/N), man. The boy has the hots for you.” A chorus of yups and who wouldn’t’s filled the air, causing you to blush.

Curly was stone cold and hardheaded. He never wanted to admit when he was wrong and he prided himself on the amount of arrests he’s had. He was never serious about relationships but he was always there for you. When you got a lead in the school musical he was the one who dragged Angela to go and see it. The whole time he was going on and on saying things like “what the fuck is this shit? Fucking stupid that’s what this is.” and “nobody actually does that in real life.” But he was lowkey enjoying himself and his smile widened once graced the stage with your presence. Curly even brought you flowers but reminded you, “don’t think too much about it. I just didn’t want you to be embarrassed about not getting any flowers.” You just smiled at him and reassured him that his bad boy image was still present and that you were thankful for his thoughtfulness even though you had several bouquets of flowers in your hands. On your birthday he had stolen a pearl necklace for you but quickly added, “You know I can’t afford to buy you pearls but I can steal some for you, so be fucking grateful.” Unbeknownst to you, his face lit up every time he saw you wearing the necklace.

Darry pulled you out of your thoughts when he said, “Don’t let them bother you. Just go home and get ready, we’ll pick you up say 8 o'clock and then head over to Buck’s.” On the way out you were met with Cherry’s smiling face, “I knew you’d be here! I want to help you get ready for the party.” She wiggled her brows suggestively before pulling you towards your house which sat directly in the middle of the South and East side. Sherri decided that she wasn’t going to go to the party because she didn’t want to be the reason that Bob started shit with the gang. So instead of being your wing-woman, she was going to dress you to the nines. ——————-Time Skip —————— Your body was clad in a yellow pinup dress while your feet were snug in your white vans. Your makeup was ideal and it accented your (E/C) eyes, making them glisten in the moonlight. Your stomach erupted into a flurry of butterflies as time ticked down. You were about to see Curly for the first time in months and you didn’t know what to expect. He always bragged to Angela that you were his better half but what if that changed? You wouldn’t be able to blend into the scene and hide from him since you were wearing a bright ass yellow dress but you wore it because Curly loved the color on you. If you had it your way he wouldn’t be in and out of the reformatory, he’d be home with you.

Meanwhile, Curly had dragged Angela into his room and said, “What the fuck do I wear, Angel?” Angela smirked at the nickname because she knew that she was anything but. “Since when were you worried about wearing the wrong thing?” “Since (Y/N) is fucking going to be there! Is that what you wanted to hear, you cold hearted bitch.” “Wear one of those nice button ups that you stole and some jeans. Oh! Also wear your jacket, not that you could forget it but bring it just in case she gets cold.” “Angela this isn’t a fucking movie and I’m not going to sling my jacket over her shoulders and be cold myself.” “You know you’d fucking do it you big softie. You really like her even though you wouldn’t say so. If you want a girl like that, you’ve gotta treat her right.” “Get out of my fucking room.” Angela exited as Curly threw himself on the bed, burying his head in his hands. He always went for broads but with you it was different. You couldn’t be classified in that category, you were too good for that label. He wanted to prove to you that he’s good enough and that he’s worth your time. You were his better half and maybe if you were around more he’d change his ways. Not fully of course but enough to stop going to the reformatory. “Ready to go, you little shit?” Tim’s head peaked into Curly’s room and with that, they left. ————- Bitch it’s party time ————– When you stepped outside of your front door you were met with the boys dressed fairly nice. “Shit, you guys look sexy.” You announced this as you guys started walking to Buck’s. “Don’t you look beautiful as ever, (Y/N).” Steve slung an arm over your shoulder as he said this, causing you to let out a snort while laughing. “Aren’t you something, Randle?” It was a fairly nice walk filled with banter and giggles but upon arriving at Buck’s you started to freak out.

All of the guys made their entrance while Dally stayed back with you. “Stop freaking out, man. You’re making me feel nauseous for you.” You glared at Dally and responded with, “Dallas, what if he’s changed? What if he doesn’t like me anymore? I should’ve stayed home.” You rambled on and on which led Dally to put his hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up already. You look like an angel among us all and if he doesn’t like you then he can go suck a dick. You can find someone better than him if he’s going to mess with your emotions. You’re a good kid and you’re gonna have fun, yadda yadda yadda. Let’s go fucking party now because this pep talk is over.” You smiled because you could tell that Dallas cared for you. The two of you walked in an were met with dim red lights and alcohol.

Out of everyone, Tim spotted you first. “Hey (Y/N)! Angela’s over there. Have a good time okay?” He ruffled your hair before pushing you in Angela’s direction. “FUCKING SHIT! MY BEST FRIEND LOOKS LIKE A GODDESS. I’M ABOUT READY TO DIE OVER HERE, YOU LOOK SO FINE.” You were met with an embrace and a whisper in your ear which said, “Bitch, Curly is over by the stairs leaning against the wall. He’s been waiting for you all night. If you were anyone else I wouldn’t let you talk to him but you’re you so go get your man.” She pulled away and stuck her tongue out before grinding on some dude. “How much money did someone pay you to wear that?” You yelled this over the music while walking towards Curly.

“Get lost broad, I’m waiting for someone.” The boy was glancing at the door, his eyes were looking at anything but you. How stupid is he? How did he miss you walking in if he’s been staring at the entrance all night. “Call me a broad one more time and I’ll punch your fucking teeth in.” Curly froze and slowly turned around before pulling you in by your waist. “I’ve missed you so fucking much, you don’t even understand.” “Curly, are you sniffing my hair?” He rose a brow and said, “Yeah. Problem?” You shook your head before gesturing towards his outfit. “You look nice! Why are you so dressed up?” If you looked close enough you could’ve sworn that he was blushing. “Just wanted to look presentable for a certain Uptown Girl.” He was met with a shove and giggles. “Curly Shepard got all dressed up for lil ol’ me?” “Shut up before I leave.” “You can’t leave, it’s your party.” “I’ll leave and I’ll take you with me.” “What’s stopping you?” Next thing you know you’re being dragged away from Buck’s and all the way to the alley down by the tracks. “As much as I like it here, I’m not looking for any confrontation tonight. Let’s go to the lot.”

You began pulling him in the direction of the lot before he said, “You make me want things that I can’t have.” Stopping dead in your tracks you turned to him and asked, “What are you thinking about?” “When ever I’m out of the reformatory I come to see you. It’s always been you. I scare away anyone who even has the thought of hitting on you because you make me feel things. I hate myself so much for these fucking feelings.” You walked closer towards him and urged him to go on.

“I should’ve told you that I felt this way a long time ago but I didn’t want to screw things up. You have everything going for you, (Y/N). You’re the Uptown girl and I don’t want to drag you down with me. The Shepard gang only gets worse with age and I don’t want to be the reason that you don’t succeed in life because damn it, you deserve so much more than this.” Curly sighed and ran a hand through his hair while his eyes became glassy.

“Curly Shepard. I am so in love with you that I want to throw up whenever I’m near you. You make me a good kind of nervous. You’re always there for me when I’m doing productions or feeling down. You have this whole, I hate the world, persona but with me you’re different. You just need someone to love you and show you that there’s still good in this world. I can be that person.” Your arms looped around his neck as he let out a nervous sigh. “I feel like I can’t breathe, (Y/N).” Your fingers danced across his face, tracing every single trait and then they played in his curls. “I can’t let you get mixed up with me. I can’t lose you. I can’t let you throw your life away for me. I can-”

Soft lips were met with another pair. Delicate and pillow like. He tasted like cigarettes and alcohol mixed with a bit of icing from the cake they had at the party. You tasted like chocolate covered strawberries and all things sweet. He couldn’t pull you in any closer but he damn well tried. You guys ran your fingers all over one another in the most passionate kiss there was. Although you initiated it, he deepened it and kissed you softly as though you could break. Both of you guys pulled away in a dire need for air after your tongues just battled for dominance. “I’m willing to help you better yourself if you’d let me. I don’t necessarily want to change you because I love who you are. But if you’re scared of dragging me down, we can build each other up together.” “I’d like that. So we’re in agreeance that you’re mine and I’m yours?” You nodded before leaning your head on his shoulder as you guys continued your walk to the lot.

You shivered a bit, swearing because you were going to bring your jacket but Cherry didn’t let you. “Here.” Curly slid off his near and dear leather jacket then proceeded to help you slide your arms through the sleeves. “Shit. I’ll have to thank Angela for this later.” He whispered it under his breath but you caught on putting two and two together. Angela and Cherry must’ve planned it out so that this moment would happen, you definitely had to thank them later. At the lot you guys stared at the stars and traced each other’s features. He stared at you with loving eyes as you fell asleep in his embrace.

Johnny and Ponyboy happened to be on their way to the lot and when they saw you two, Pony whipped out his notepad. “Why were you carrying that, Pone?” Johnny gestured towards the notepad and pencil “New song lyrics, man.” He scribbled before turning the notepad so that Johnny could read it. “She’ll see I’m not so tough Just because I’m in love with an uptown girl You know I’ve seen her in her uptown world She’s getting tired of her high class toys And all her presents from her uptown boys She’s got a choice” After seeing the lyrics, Johnny dragged Pony to the Curtis household in dire need of his guitar to put the lyrics to music. ~ Fin ~

Jk there’s a bonus part: “I swear to who ever the fuck is up there in the sky that if you hurt our little uptown girl, I will personally take care of you.” Dally had Curly’s shirt balled in his fist but was met with laughter. Right in Dally’s face, Curly said, “Hey Pony did you hear that? No? I could’ve sworn that I heard a little bitch!” “We’re serious man, we’ll hurt you.” Curly nodded and said, “I could never hurt that girl in a million years and if I did, you guys could personally kill me but make sure you let Angela get in on it.”

#Curly Shepard #the outsiders #that was then this is now #curly x reader #curly Shepard x reader #the outsiders imagine

[not-close-to-straight]

Letters to Bucky (One)(WinterIron Pen Pal AU)

Completed  MASTERLIST!

--------------------------------

To: Master Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes

--The rehab facility I am trapped at has encouraged me to work through my depression and regain my mental balance and health by becoming pen pals with a soldier. Definitely their words, not mine.

--I pulled your name from the box, so lucky you. I'll be perfectly honest, I think this is a terrible idea, and I can't see how it will help me, but they are insisting and I don't really want a crazy stamp on my forehead so here goes.

--You know what? Before we start, I guess I should emphasize that this isn't a rehab center for narcotic abusers, even though after months of these heavy duty pain killers they are giving me, I might need a stint in that kind of place as well. This is more of a physical rehab place.

--Anyway. My name is Tony. On Thanksgiving Day I was in an accident that nearly cost me my life. I broke my sternum and several ribs and they had to restart my heart twice on the operating table. Several other broken bones, a breathing tube and liquid only diet for way too long. And now a stint in a rehab/hospice, where all I do is stare at four walls all day and try not to go crazy.

--(You know as I'm writing this I realize I may in fact be depressed. Who wouldn't be?Maybe the doctors do know what they are talking about.)

--Anyway, whether you write back or not (and I won't blame you if you don't because I am just terrible at this) stay safe out there. You and all the other boys making sure jerks like me sleep well at night.

Tony

************************

************************

To: Tony

--Well, the letter was a nice surprise, I had to sit and think who from home would be writing me at all. I forgot I put my name in that whole penpal program, same as you it was a program to encourage soldiers to look out for our mental health by keeping in contact with someone back home.  Apparently writing letters counts as therapy. Who knew?

--By the way, I wouldn't care if you were in rehab for drugs, everyone's got their own demons, you know? But it sucks it's rehab after an accident. What happened, if you don't mind me asking.

--Depression is a bitch, Tony. If writing me helps then write all you want, I'll answer every time. Even shitty letters like your last one. Seriously man, write better than that. Tell me something about yourself at least. Are you married? Single? Somewhere in between?

--Are you just Tony or is there more there I want to know about?

--Did that come across weird? I was trying to make a joke but that doesn't seem to translate super well with hand written letters I guess.

--I've been in the military since I was 18, enlisted right out of high school. I enjoy old school music, parties that don't require a tie, and I have been known to write the occasional terrible poem,

--I'm safe tonight. We are all are. The good vibes are appreciated.

Write back Tony

**********************

Tony folded the letter with a small smile, placing it on the nightstand in his hospice room.

He hadn't expected the soldier to reply to what had been, at best, the half drugged ramblings of his depressed mind, but the short letter made him happier than it probably should, and he knew he would be writing back. It was the least he could do after James had taken the time to reply, right?

It took more effort than he wanted to admit to sit back on his pillows, and his chest ached even with that small movement.

Tony rubbed gingerly over the heavy bandages that were holding him together. His ribs were wrapped as well, there was a cast on his left hand, and some days he felt like his back and legs would never stop hurting.

“How are we doing Mr Stark?” the overly cheery nurse came in with an annoying mega-watt smile and Tony mumbled something rude under his breath.

“What was that now?” she paused expectantly. “Something uplifting and encouraging, no doubt?”

Tony pasted a tense smile on his face. “Right. Uplifting and encouraging. Time for medication?”

“Time for physical therapy!” she actually clapped her hands, and Tony wanted to throw the lamp at her.

She had no right to be that cheerful over something that caused him so much pain.

“Lets get your chair!” She announced, pulling the wheelchair from the corner, and motioning for him to get in. “Come on now! I know you can get in here by yourself!”

“Patricia my dear.” he managed between clenched teeth. “Didn't we establish last week that I can walk just fine, and have no use for the wheelchair? So maybe you put that back where you found it and I can walk the hundred yards down the hall.”

“Oh nonsense Mr. Stark! You need your strength for therapy!” her smile didn't even flicker in the face of his annoyance. “Let's go, let's go!”

Tony leveled her with his fiercest glare, but Patricia had faced crankier patients than him, so after a moment Tony just sighed and stood from the bed, giving himself a minute to find his balance before dropping into the chair.

“Alright sunshine.” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

*******************

Two hours later, Tony was wheeled back into his room and lifted  onto his bed with the help of one of the physical therapists.

The nurse arranged the pillows around him, tucked the blankets around his legs so he wouldn't be cold and with a wholly sympathetic smile, pushed the box of tissues closer to the bedside so Tony could reach them.

Then she put a few pain pills and a glass of water on the table, dimmed the lights and slipped from the room with a quiet reminder to call her if he needed anything.

It was a full ten minutes before Tony's hands stopped shaking enough for him to reach for a tissue, and another few minutes before he stopped crying long enough to swallow the pain pills and take a sip of water.

Tears were still tracking down his cheeks as he reached for the letter from the soldier, reading it over and over as he tried to take his mind off how badly he hurt, how unproductive the physical therapy had been.

Of course, the nurse had assured him that no physical therapy was unproductive, that every little bit helped, but Tony didn't believe her.

She was supposed to say things like that, wasn't she?

Tony took a deep breath to gather himself, and reached for his notepad to write the solider back.

****************************

To: Master Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes

--I can honestly say I would never pass basic training, because physical therapy just about kills me. I have just buckets more respect for you guys since I couldn't even do a push up right now if I wanted to. I've never wanted to do a push up? But right now I definitely couldn't.

-- Just Tony will do for now. I am single, can't seem to keep a relationship with my schedule. I stay super busy with work and I like to tinker in my garage here and there, so there just isn't really time for more than a date every now and then. (And  I have yet to come across a man or woman who can keep my interest past one night.)

--My accident. Well, long story short, I was heading back from the airport on thanksgiving and a big rig slid through a light. Clipped my car and sent me flying over a guardrail and down a hill before I wrapped around a pole. Not fun at all let me tell you. Hospice stay was mandatory after I was released from the hospital, so here I am, trying to get through physical therapy and wondering if I'd go to jail for throwing something at the nurse.

--How long have you been overseas? What branch are you? All the letters by your name don't mean anything to me. No offense or anything. I know a lot of things, but military rank has never been one of them.

--Your joke definitely fell a little flat. Leave the funny to those of us who are actually funny. I wouldn't mind a sample of your terrible poetry though. If it's really as bad as you say, maybe I'll use it as wall paper. Spice up this boring room.

--Stay safe soldier

Tony

PS sorry I really am terrible at this whole letter thing

***************

***************

To: Tony

--I don't think you are as bad at writing letters as you think? But I'm happy to be a guinea pig if you want to improve your skill. Any letter over here is a welcome letter.

--The accident sounds like a real bitch Tony, I am really sorry about that. Be thankful you are alive and thankful you don't have to do all the push ups I do for PT every week.

--I have been over here for three months so far. This is my third tour, first one was fifteen months, last one was twenty one. This one will be twenty one months, too. Hoorah and all that, am I right?

--I'm actually not really in a specified branch. Started out Army, and then was recruited for a special ops team, so not really affiliated with anyone anymore. I can't say more than that for obvious reasons.

--Yikes, cut a guy some slack for trying to be funny. You must be a damn comedian. I guess if we are only using our strengths, I'll just flirt with you all the time instead of trying to be witty. I've heard my charm is borderline lethal, so good luck withstanding it. (was that creepy? I wasn't trying to be creepy)

--Hopefully I can keep your interest longer than the other guys/girls did. Perks of writing letters I suppose. It will take us a year to get through what is basically a night of conversation, right? So you shouldn't be bored anytime before next Christmas.

--Threatening to use poetry as wall paper is pretty neanderthal, Tony. Almost enough to hurt a boys feelings. What are you trying to do to me?

--Stick with the physical therapy, it will be worth it I promise. And once you are all put back together the scars will be great stories right? I can tell your hand was shaking this last letter. Don't feel like you have to write me right away if you’re hurting. But don't STOP writing because these letters are becoming a highlight for me.

--I'm safe. We all are right now

Write me back, Tony

****************

To: James Buchanan Barnes

--Happy Valentines Day. I hope they bring in some hookers and chocolate or something for you. So… if they did bring in hookers would you want a male hooker or what? That was in bad taste wasn't it? Sorry.

--Are scars really great stories or is that something reckless people just say to make themselves feel better about their disfigurement? I imagine they make for a fairly awkward conversation starter and then... I mean, who wants to listen to someone talk about how badly they hurt themselves? Doesn't that seem boring?

--So. Black ops, secret team...you're an assassin, aren't you? It's okay you can tell me. The only person I ever talk to is Nurse Patricia and I don't think any sound gets past her gigantic smile to actually reach her ears.

--This is your third tour? Why the hell would you go back again after making it home safe twice? Was it a choice? An assignment? How old are you? What do you look like? Give me something to work with here i spend almost all day in bed staring at the wall.

--Come on, soldier, fuel my imagination.

--Did that sound sexual? It was kind of meant to be sexual. Blame the pain pills if you want. Whether you take it like that or not, at least learning about you will keep my interest, which is a total plus, right?

--I don't really know what else to say. This whole letter thing is harder than they say it is. Why don't you get a phone and just call me like a normal person?

--Stay safe

Tony

****************

****************

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes re read the letter for a third time, laughing because he could almost hear the sarcasm in Tony's words. The writing was less shaky this time, and he wondered if that meant Tony was healing, or just drugged out on pain pills.

“Bucky!” Steve poked his head around the corner and frowned. “Come on. Dinner time. We’re out in the morning, you can't miss a meal.”

“Just give me a second.” Bucky reached for a pen and started working on a reply.

“Quit writing your girlfriend and let’s go.” Steve insisted, “I can't have you at less than 100%, Bucky, you’re my right hand man.”

“K, I'll write over dinner.” Bucky sent the Captain a grin. “But only cause your blond ass would be lost without me.”

“Truth.” Steve nodded, and motioned for him to hurry up. “Now come on.”

--------------------------------

#winteriron #tony stark #james bucky barnes #steve rogers #love letters #tony/bucky #soldier au fic

[newt-grundy]

some rabble

Holy shit. I am being swarmed with thoughts and emotion right now, so I’m just gonna write it all out. First off, fuck, that flew by. It seems so unreal that I’m already leaving, and in a huge way I feel shame and regret for wasting my time. I can’t help but think I should have played with Holland more, or I should have drew with him, or read him books, or just did a lot more than just hang around, play video games and such. I mean, that’s not all we did, but still. That little bugger gave me a big long hug and it’ll be the last “big hug” I get from him for a long time coming. I have to remind myself how unconditionally he loves me and he probably doesn’t even feel a fraction of disappointment in me. Regardless I still feel like a shitty older brother and I want to cry, I’m literally holding back tears right now. That little bastard is the one person who makes me cry I fucking swear.

It seems so out of nowhere, like I basically just got back home and now fuck, I’m leaving. I wish I would have gotten more time with my friends and said so much more to them and made them feel loved. It’s so hard not to let Babylon just, instantly changed me and especially putting me back into my default Babylon mode. I can’t believe how much fucking time I wasted watching TV, playing video games, just scrolling that goddamn facebook wall. I fucking screens, I abhor them, it’s pretty much the main reason I left last time and a big reason right now. It’s a shame I don’t have better self control where I can just use my computer for only productive means. Instead it’s like, hours of youtube videos, hours of facebook, hours of pornography, then some writing. The entire time I was gone last I didn’t watch any porn at all and it was fucking awesome. It was great, I never had that shame or struggle or anything. I barely even masturbated and since I didn’t have porn or really the chance to even masturbate (or will) then I would just fucking, get laid, like how humans are supposed to do it.

Technologies goal, with social networking and such is to just replace all human needs of other humans with a more artificial stand in. We use porn for girls, facebook for friends. We watch groups of people hanging out (it’s most tv shows, just people hangin out) instead of spending time with others. A lot of young men now just forsake dating entirely. When you have so much porn whenever you want, you simpy nip sexual desire in the bud all the fucking time. God I hate it, I have to leave. I have to go so I wont even have the tempations of bablyon and in a way I’m just switching those temptations for others. Sure I’ll meet people, be more sociable, write and read, and barely look at screens but last time I left I ended up smoking meth so, it’s simply a matter of pick your poison.

But I feel this is right. I have no desire to get a job, or really any need if I’m home and my parents take care of everything. I have no future in Iowa and that’s pretty much darn guaranteed at this point with the mountain of slander that now surrounds my name. If I’m homeless and struggling for the basics than I’m forced to work hard and I’ll get the satisfaction that working hard entails. Ah fuck it I don’t want to explain all of it. I know what’s best and it’s not even about what’s “best”. I’m done with always trying to be healthy and stable. I’ve never been fucking stable, never really had much of a stable life, why try and force it? Why trim off the lows and tops and sort of dull myself out. Numb myself with tech, and get caught up in some job I don’t believe in and all that fucking bullshit , fuck it! I snap everytime and that surely isn’t healthy. Better to die with some tweaker smashing my head in, or the bull shootin me, or falling off a train than to die by my own hand, alone in an apartment for one with only friends around that I saw once a week if that. Don’t misinterpret I love my friends here it’s just, people don’t really need people when are those needs are met by money, and the strangers time that money buys. I crave intimacy, and it’s so goddamn hard to ever be intimate when there’s always a fucking screen on, of some stupid comical whatever. I feel it’s really hindered my relationship with my family and friends and I grew so close to people on the streets because we never had that. You spend days with someone, struggling to survive, hours just waiting around entertaining each other, you grow fucking close, and you grow quick.

I’m still just self-rationalizing. What’s really bothering me is missing my brothers and my friends and feeling like I don’t make anyone happy. That I don’t give enough love or enrich anyones life and If I don’t do that then surely it’s not a noble or fulfilling life to live. I’m always so fucking caught up in myself. The artist type with a million projects and always just strategizing and thinking how to make a song better, or a magic deck better, how to write this story, paint this ect. I turn real people into fictional subjects of them all, all their feelings and being simply relative to mine. Savannah once said I saw others as mere extensions of myself and I fear she’s right. I’m afraid I’m a legitimate narcissist that doesn’t really care or empathize with others. I habitually deny those who request my intimacy and then go give my love to some stranger who just dumps it out. I really haven’t learned. Still Chasing girls, getting high, writing songs. Same shit I’ve been doing for five years. Life is still horrifying and intense and wonderful and just fucking insane all the time.

I mean, I’ve gotten better I think. Despite the whole abbie/jesse fiasco I think most people that actually know me think I’m an alright guy. They would probably say I’m nice and kind and helpful, I’m so fucking anxious about it and I do take action to try and be all those things. Give my time to others. I’m always thinking when I’m talking to someone “now don’t just respond with how that relates to you, ask a question, get to know them, let them talk about themselves, it’s not about you” ya know? Like someone says

“hey I have a pet rock”

And I want to say “oh yeah I had a pet rock my rocks name was yaddie yadda and I got it on whever and shit”

But instead I say, “oh that’s cool, what’s your pet rocks name? where did you get him?”

Ya know? But the problem with this is I want people to be fucking interested in me. I want to show everyone all my songs and artworks and have them see me as I see me. Because if I’m being honest I feel like I’m a fucking special person. Here comes the fucking ego, sorry, but like, how could you be good at something but be unaware of it? How can you make good art without understanding what good art is, and thus making the intention of making “good” art? Because I feel like I’m one of the best goddamn artist, on any account, that I’ve even met, and I strive to be so. I put in effort fucking all the time, every day, for hours, I obsess over the stories I write, rack my head over painting, plan, illustrate, strategize.

I mean, its like magic the gathering. The best magic players are who gives the game the most thought, who thinks the most about how they make their deck, essentially. I’m pretty good at magic, because I spend embarrassing amounts of time thinking about it. I’ll be up at five am just pacing and chain smoking and thinking about what cards to switch with what. I watch several series on magic, I watch judges explain rules, I research cards all the fucking time. And because I put all this work in, I’m good at magic.

And so, I do the same fucking thing with any art that I’m working on. I research heavily on what music to download then lay there on my back in the dark, giving the entire album my full attention in one setting, carefully studying what the music is, how they made it, all the parts and how they interact, ect. I put in this effort with any of my artworks and I put in mass amounts of time into constructing my own songs, and I have no shortage of inspiration because I have fucking insane feelings all the time, like I fall in love with everyone and hate people and hate systems, and love stupid little things and am always tying ot figure out how everything and everyone works, and I understand style and how to obscure and contort ideas into a voice and blah blah blah. Point is, I’m good, ok, arts subjective yeah whatever, with anything, the more effort you put in, the better the result, but like, the thing is,

No one gives a fuck. Because everyone is doing the same exact thing, the world is over saturated with twenty three year olds makes sad songs about their past girlfriend, and writing poems about being confused and painting girls and making magic decks, and essentially just complaining all the time, and they all want everyone else to see and acknowledge but everyones so focused on themselves that they can’t really take it in. When I listen to any music it always just comes back to me, how it makes me feel, what aspects of the music can I glean to then use in my own. A big reason I even enjoy art is because it motivates me to do my own. I’ve stopped listening to albums half way through multiple times just so I can go practice because I’m like ‘fuck this shit is good, I need to do better!”

I’m certainly rambling, god this is a ramble, one I wont even bear through to read but this is one of my last chances to use this computer to type out some shit so that’s what I’m doing. It’s five am, my brothers are getting up, reading up to leave with my grandparents on vacation, I’m glad I get to say goodbye again. I can hear Holland getting up he’s so cute in the morning. He rubs his eyes in that cliché way where he uses his entire fist like what?

It’s gonna be ok. I’m going to have fun, and feel great feelings and the road will be scary and terrible, I’ll be uncomfortable and in pain, maybe contract some more diseases, get some more holes in my teeth, fuck up my spine. But I’ll also witness miracles, meet incredible people and show love to them. I’ll help feed them when they are really hungry, I’ll take drugs with them, play games, talk laugh, open up. I’ll play my songs, and they will play theirs, we’ll settle drama and rabble, some of us will fuck, some of us will fight. I’ll never know what’s going to happen and I’ll become spiritual, put my trust in the road, manifest. I’ll have to psyche myself up to do illegal dangerous things. I’ll show off infront of girls I find attractive, compete with fellow men, I’ll be humbled when I’m defeated and uplifted by others who praise me. I’ll be alone and bored, hiking along the road, or waiting for a ride, or just staring up into space as I’m laying in my bag, too cold and anxious to sleep and my mind will just be turning over and over again and maybe something will come of it. But I always sleep, days are too exhausting to not, and I’ll wake up and do it all again, with no real end or goal other than what I’m wanting that day, I’ll change my mind constantly too, always excited and always disappointed, happy and sad and at least I’ll be fucking alive and feel like I’m living alive. If I die young I die happy and if I’m 80 and still homeless with nothing I won’t regret because my life was full adventure and excitement. I had brothers I fought along side with and I fell in love with women and confided in them and held them and tried to make them feel safe. I was nice to dogs and talked to them, didn’t hurt bugs for the fuck of it, not even spiders. I tried to learn and listen and grow. I stuck to my guns, didn’t give up guitar, didin’t stop trying to force my artistic perspective everywhere. I was an entertainer, I was open, made people laugh, usually a good person to go to if you were bothered and wanted to talk about it. It’s everything I’ve already done, just gonna keep doing it over and over, try and reach as many people, be a part of as much as the world I can. Then die, and soon after be forgotten, but hey that’s how it works. Could be a lot worse, and anything in retrospect really wasn’t all that bad.

[sturmxundxdrang]

Hey Vamp! How do you think they would be if you were friends with them? *Rammstein guys* Xoxo frnk

HOW DID I KNOW YOU WOULD SEND THIS AS SOON AS YOU SAW WHAT  I TAGGED YOU IN (fuck off frnk xoxo vmp)

Hmkay, so you know a little about it ‘cause I can’t shut up about them (bless you). But here I go. Under read more again.

Richard: does he have to be my friend too? lmfao as a friend, I think I’d be (or try to be) quite close to him. Like, we’d talk about anything and I’d let him tell me everything he wanted, his thoughts on random stuff (you know me) and I’d just overall want to talk to him about everything, listen to him as he plays, let him show me his new ideas, show him my stories and my shitty poems, support him and stuff. Be that friend you know is gonna be with you no matter what, sit down on the roof at 3am and shit, that cute aesthetic thingy hahah I think I’d always be with him, like, seriously, I’d let myself be clingy (as long as he didn’t mind of course)

Till: he would be my huge teddy bear and if I wasn’t wrapped up around Richard, I’d probably be laying down on Till’s lap just so he can play with my hair. I would always want to listen to him speak, because I’m pretty sure nothing would calm me down more than his soothing voice. I’d ask him to tell me stories, and I’d be like a big child wanting him to protect me from the world haha I would also be very protective of him tbh (but like, I’d be extremely protective with all of them), probably bake him lots of sweets.

Flake: my smart lovely weirdo, omg. I am pretty sure I’d annoy the hell out of him whenever I acted like a big child around them all haha but I’d adore him. Like I said I think he’s very supportive, so whenever I had a new idea I’d go up to him (after showing Richard lmfao) so I’d get some constructive criticism from him to try and get better. I would also feel comfortable around him to go and do dumb stuff. I’m a terrible dancer and he’d probably make me dance like he does lol 

Ollie: my precious son. I’d protect him at all costs, I’d always be hugging him out of no where, we would talk a lot and he’d listen to me rambling about college and just life in general, eating two pizzas together (not sharing with anyone else lmfao). Probs random talks, random jokes, watching movies together because we’re lazy to do anything, playing video games and all, and I swear to God I would sometimes treat him like a child lmfao

Paul: definitely making jokes half of the time, and having serious conversation the other half. One minute we would be laughing at stuff that no one else understood, and next we would be talking politics because I got into the topic and I would never really know if he was being serious or just pretending to make fun of me. Probs would ask him to teach me how to play the guitar so I would surprise Richard :p

Schneider: lmfao my dude would we get in a lot of trouble together. Like seriously, he’d tell me something crazy we could do, I’d go ‘I’m in’ and next we would be hearing from Flake and Richard how it was a dumb idea to try painting my living room wall black when neither of us had any skills and ruined my floor with black paint, but me and Doom would be laughing so hard and in the end it would have been a great experience (except for the part we would have to actually clean lmfao). 

#srt-iero #asked #like seriously lmfao #i would love and protect them more than anything in the world