#to be fair i’d probably be spiraling anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

klarolinexluv · 4 months

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Y’all I had another fanfic idea.

Jegulus acquaintances (like oh yeah he exists type shit)

to enemies (regulus is a death eater, James is in the order. But it’s like proper enemies. Regulus has it out for James and James kinda just likes the attention but doesn’t know why)

to hate fuckers (where Regulus has James pinned to the wall of an alleyway at wand point where James went to apparate away. He doesn’t get to obviously and James just smiles and flirts and riles Regulus up so much that he just snaps and kisses the ever loving shit out of James. They don’t fuck here, no no, Regulus runs away and leaves James with a lot to think about. The hate fucking comes a lot later when the two find themselves locked in a duel. They are probably in the middle of the woods somewhere and their back up is no where in sight. Regulus eventually finds himself pressed against a tree, his wand held at James throat ready to use it, but James just smiles and leans closer to whisper in his ear, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” And if that doesn’t send Regulus spiralling… anyway so they kiss again and this the hate fucking begins.)

to “I still hate you but I don’t” (sort of push and pull. They keep ‘accidentally’ being in the same place at the same time. In public, Regulus hates James’ guts, he is also in denial and so far gone for James but James is in a similar position, he hates that Regulus is a death eater but gods if Regulus isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on…)

to reluctant friends who fuck (after Regulus discovers Voldemorts secret. The horcruxes and is so disgusted not only with Voldemort but also himself that he seeks out James willingly. Sending him an owl to meet and if he doesn’t come alone Regulus will do indescribable things to the people he cares about. So James goes and finds Regulus pacing manically and James does what he does best and helps him calm down. Regulus doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet but he has realised that James isn’t so bad and then they fuck because Regulus is only a man.)

to “I would kill for you” “I’d let you” (Its a war, James morally grey is my love idc. James would just tell Regulus that there is a spy in the order and Regulus would say that and James would be like, “yeah okay, fair enough, do it.” So not only does Regulus have his super secret mission about finding these fucking horcruxes without Voldemort knowing, he also has to find and kill the spy - which he is all too happy to do. He also doesn’t question why he feels so strongly about keeping James safe and still remains in denial.)

to “I’d do anything for you” (they’d do anything for the other. James is sort of pulling away from the order because he misses Regulus so much and just can’t do the slipping away and the excuses and hiding things from his parents, his best friends, etc etc. He just wants Regulus, so he ends up buying an apartment that his friends don’t know about and asks Regulus to move in with him. Regulus says yes, for some reason that he doesn’t name but he does because he can’t stand to be in his mothers presence ((she’s probably going insane or something???)) so Regulus reasons that he said yes because he wants away from her but “not because I like James”.)

to lovers (where James just says I love you one day, sending Regulus into a crisis and a little panic when he all of a sudden names that feeling that he feels for James which is most definitely love. So he fucks James about it because “how dare you make me love you” and James just ahhhh he melts because angry Regulus who loves him??? Ahhh yes.)

Anyway, at some point Regulus would tell James about the horcruxes and how he has been hunting them and James helps him. James would drop all contact with his friends and family and just throw himself completely into loving Regulus (which is has come to realise he is insane about. Like he would also kill for Regulus.) he wouldn’t take the mark just because I think that’s a line he wouldn’t cross (or he could take it for Regulus because he is possessive and wants to share how crazy he is for him. Regulus ofc is the very same. Slightly more insane and Voldemort would live for it. Regulus and James, his right hand men. Bellatrix and other high ranking death eaters are like soooo jealous but Jegulus is untouchable basically.)

So yeah, James would take the mark for Regulus and they’d be the worst of the worst together all while tearing apart Voldemort’s empire from the inside.

They’d kill the death eaters off bit by bit. Dwindling their numbers but Voldemort already has the ministry under his control so he isn’t at all worried.

They also find all the horcruxes together, using the invisibility cloak when necessary. And destroy all of them.

That’s when he becomes worried.

The inner circle has a meeting. Regulus and James didn’t kill off any of the members apart of it. However, this particular meeting is being held at Grimmauld Place, unaware of the wards protecting Regulus and James (because Regulus added him to the protection wards whilst also removing everyone else so it’s just the two of them).

It’s at this meeting that Regulus and James reveal what they did. And they formally duel Voldemort. The rest of the death eaters stay out of it because their master told them to (much to Bella’s annoyance) and eventually, Regulus or James casts the final spell and kill the dark lord. Then ofc they kill of the inner circle. Bathing themselves in blood because who doesn’t love a bloody Jegulus.

Anyway, the two take Tom Riddles corpse and apparate to Potter Manor. Now since James is still the heir, they get past the wards.

“I’m home!” James would shout, walking into the living room finding his parents, wolfstar, pandamarylily, dorlene, with their wands out ready to defend themselves. That is until Regulus drops the dead body in the middle of the room.

Chaos, immediately. James and Regulus look at eachother and Regulus just laughs hysterically while James looks at Regulus like he wants to devour him.

So he does, once Regulus finishes laughing, the make out right over the corpse whilst people around them panic.

Regulus then takes James and they disappear into the night, never to be heard from again (or are they??)

So yeah, Dark Jegulus AU, enemies to lovers.

Yay I have another WIP ☹️✌️

#regulus black #marauders #james potter #jegulus #sirius black #starchaser #sunseeker #black brothers #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #dark jegulus #dark regulus black #dark james potter #both of them are insane but they’re in love

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dailyreko · 4 months

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i forget if you've already answered this, but do you have any hcs for if she does any substances? let's just stick to smoking, drinking, and weed. personally i think she drinks occasionally, and smokes every once in a while.

DAY 184: reko and substances

i feel as though, considering her rebellious and violent behavior as a teenager coinciding with such intense spotlight in the music business, reko has definitely had her fair share of encounters with substances. sticking to the basics you listed, i’ll tell you what i think…

i’ve always imagined reko as a smoker. starting off in her younger teenage years as a form of defiance + she just thought it looked cool, it probably would end up spiraling into an unhealthy coping mechanism/addiction. throughout samurai yaiba, i picture her as an active smoker. however, after alice’s murder case and conviction, reko goes on a journey of self reflection and improvement. during this, i feel as though she would try to give up her bad habit of smoking… and sort of succeed! though, on occasions where she’s really stressed, i’d imagine she’d fall back into the habit once or twice before beating herself up about it and dropping it again.

for drinking, i feel as though she’s pretty good about that and always has been. never really felt the urge to fall into alcoholism or anything (she preferred cigarettes anyway) and she only ever drinks socially. i think the only time she would drink privately was, again, after alice’s murder case. was just a really bad time for her, and she had to hit rock bottom and wallow before she could pull herself back out again. though… i still believe it would never spiral into harmful territory. heavyweight and more into smoking than drinking… yeah, drinking is just a social-party thing to her (imo).

she definitely has had weed before, probably in high school, but again i feel like it’s a more social thing for her. she wouldn’t just get high in her room alone unless she Really Really needed to… though, if she’s offered it i don’t think she’d be as inclined to turn it down as the other substances stated above. smoking weed is probably just a fun, recreational, small hangout type of activity that stayed back in her high school days (for the most part).

#YTTD #REKO YABUSAME

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watchingroger · 7 months

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please say more about douglas being abandoned at the altar!! 👀

oho okay. Thank you for asking!

This really starts with my headcanon for Douglas's daughter, which of course requires a headcanon for Douglas's daughter's mother, and all of this has to be as painful as it possibly can be. So I merrily build up this complicated story about how Isobel's mother was the one true love of his life and their marriage ended in tragic circumstances (his fault). I was thinking she was probably his second wife.

Then Douglas said that his second wife wasn't his favourite. So I had to make Isobel's mother his first wife. Which was fine until I remembered the bit about his first stag do. Soho. 1977. His brother, Geoffrey Bernard, Peter Cook, and a Kink. One of The Kinks.

And I thought about the timeline. If they married in 1977, and Douglas's daughter is of an appropriate age to strafe her birthday party with sweets in Johannesburg in 2009, they'd have had to have been together for like 25 years before they had her and this is just way too limiting for Air England debauchery, bisexual antics, etc. etc.

So how do we reconcile all this? He had a stag do in 1977. But he never got the wedding. Or... he got the wedding but not the bride. And maybe this coincides somewhat with him dropping out of medical school. And entering a drunken spiral that lasts for 2 years.

Hang on, I have a snippet of fic about this (which also features Douglas's dead brother, because I mean, his backstory really has to be as painful as I could possible make it):

“What’s this?” Martin picked up a photograph from the counter. “Is this you?”

Douglas tensed slightly. “I was tidying my study and… well, you said something about meeting Seb. That’s the best I can do.”

Martin was quiet for a moment. “I can’t tell you apart.”

“I’m a little taller.”

“On the left.” Martin smiled. “You haven’t figured out how to keep your hair out of your eyes yet.”

“I thought it made me look enigmatic.”

“No you didn’t.”

Douglas leant into Martin as he looked at the picture with him. “Everywhere I went I was always Seb’s little brother. Seb and Doug. Until I dropped out of university and went to flight school. I turned up and nobody knew my name. It was a terrible shock.”

“Wasn’t it nice to be out of his shadow? I hated being Simon’s little brother when I was at school.”

“I suppose it was, after a while. I’d never been anywhere before where people didn’t at least know my parents. It was very different.”

“Why did you drop out of university?”

“I didn’t fancy being a doctor. Too much responsibility. Long hours. I wasn’t really clever enough, or I wasn’t studious enough, I’m not sure which. I’m not very good with other people’s emotions. I didn’t want to turn into my father. And I hate that hospital smell.”

“Fair enough.”

“It was being jilted at the altar that did it for me though.”

Martin gaped. Douglas had said it like it was nothing. “What?”

“1977. I was barely twenty-one. Our parents wouldn’t have approved, so we thought, if we got married they’d have no choice but to accept it.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t turn up.”

“She just didn’t turn up?”

“Oh, she left me a note. It was all very dramatic.”

“What did you do?”

“Got very drunk. For about a year and a half.”

“That’s it?”

“Eventually I pulled myself together and got into flight school.”

“And that’s it?”

“How much do you want? I qualified at 25, worked for Pan Am for a heady moment, went to Air England, met Julia, got married, had a baby, got fired and divorced, or was it divorced and then fired? Then I went to work for Carolyn and now here we are. Couple more wives in there but they’re best forgotten.” Douglas switched off the gas. “This is ready when you are.”

Anyway please ask more questions or poke holes in this or tell me why I'm wrong or tell me what you think Douglas's life was like instead.

#cabin pressure #douglas richardson #headcanon

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harringtown · 1 year

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sorrow is a season

a/n: ik I've been super sporadic these last few months, but book revisions and tight deadlines have had me v busy!!!! anyways I’ve spent so so long on this and wanted to pull off some wild plot stuff but then I got busy and I figured I couldn’t just let the 2k I had go to waste and so, here we are. apologies for the wait anon, its been TOO long, but I hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: eddie munson is dead. or is he? (aka a kas/vampire Eddie au)

word count: 4k

warnings: blood/death/violence mention

In the end, he is alone, like he always knew he would be.

Even the bats, either bored of a limp plaything or drawn away, fly off. The lightning seems to follow them, leaving Eddie alone on the grass in a cold, gray version of a place he never liked all that much to begin with.

The only thing that ever made the trailer park worth it was you. Though, to be fair, the only thing that made a lot of things in this shitty town worth it was you.

You. You, smiling at him from the passenger seat as you sing along to the radio, and you, whispering to him under the stars at midnight, and you, looking at him like you never want to stop.

He would give anything to see you one last time. To make sure you’re alive. Because he can’t be sure—he doesn’t know if his sacrifice is amounting to anything, or if you’re dying, too, just out of sight. Panic clears some of the fog from his brain.

At first, he doesn’t realize he’s speaking, calling out the word, “Please,” until his raw throat protests. Even then, he doesn’t stop, forcing his voice louder, screaming into the twisted ether.

Please, don’t take me away.

He isn’t sure who he’s yelling to, exactly, because he’s never believed in God, and even if he did, God sure as shit can’t hear him down here.

“I don’t want to die,” he says. Tears have mixed with the blood on his face, and his vision blurs red.

What are you willing to give in order to live?

The voice asks, and Eddie isn’t entirely sure it isn’t just some figment of his dying brain.

He shakes his head, letting it thump back against the grass. Above him, the dark red sky doesn’t hold a single star.

What are you willing to give? The voice asks again.

Later, he’ll understand what he’s about to do. But not yet. Not yet.

“Anything,” Eddie croaks. “Anything.”

A tall, hulking silhouette moves through the shadows, but Eddie can’t see their face, or anything, really. All of his senses disappear, and he’s lost in an endless sea of darkness.

Eddie Munson dies. And then, he wakes up.

Eddie Munson is dead.

Three months of telling yourself those words, and they still don’t sound real.

Two months since he was legally declared dead—there wasn’t a body, still isn’t, probably never will be, but in Hawkins, this is no longer a strange occurrence—and three months since you dragged Dustin away from his body, and it still doesn’t feel real.

You’re beginning to doubt it ever will. Maybe it will always be this way. You, looking out your front window every time you pass it and expecting to see his van idling at the curb. You, accidentally ordering his coffee alongside your own enough times that even the barista pities you.

You, still waiting for someone who isn’t coming back.

“But you’ll be there, right? 10 am?” Robin asks, her voice garbled through the phone.

Lounging on your bed, you push up, keeping the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder.

“10 am, on the field. I know. I’m not going to miss my own graduation,” you say.

“Our graduation,” Robin says. “And thank the heavens, because I swear to God, I don’t think I’d have survived another week with Mrs. Burton. If I had to read another sexist, poorly written poem by a long dead man, I was going to spontaneously combust.”

You laugh, but something about the words our graduation sticks to the back of your throat like phlegm. You and Robin’s. It was supposed to be three of you, though.

It’s as if Robin can hear your spiraling thoughts, because she says, gently, “If you want company, I can force Harrington to buy us beer and drive me over.”

You smile. “I’ll live. Besides, there’ll be plenty of beer at all the after parties I’m dragging you to tomorrow night.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Robin quips. “For once, I don’t mind hanging out with these people, considering I’ll never have to see most of them again.”

“One can dream,” you say.

“One can,” Robin says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Tomorrow.”

You exchange goodbyes with Robin and walk the phone back to the receiver, untangling the twisted cord, and hang it up. Before going back to your bed, you bring two fingers to your lips, then press them to the red electric guitar hanging over your dresser, like you do every night.

It isn’t the guitar he used to draw the very bats that killed him. That guitar was lost with Eddie.

It, along with a few tee shirts, the rings he pulled off his fingers and jammed into your hands before you left him, and a few photos, are all that remain of Eddie Munson.

You’d made a thousand plans together, and even if 99% of them were impossible, the 1% that weren’t still clatter behind you everywhere you go.

I think it’s finally my year.

1986 should have been the beginning of the rest of his life; hopefully, a life alongside you. It should have made high school and the monsters you’d fought an old story.

This, an empty grave, shouldn’t be the end.

The lock on the window in your room has been whining as long as you’ve lived in the house. A few years back, your parents tried to get it replaced, but you’d refused. You couldn’t tell them why, but you weren’t about to get rid of a built-in alarm on that window.

The whining sound pulls you out of sleep and off the mattress in under two seconds. You pull out the sledgehammer you have hidden under the bed before your eyes find the silhouette slipping through the now-open window and into your room.

Of all the nights for someone to break in, it had to be one of the miraculous few you weren’t having a nightmare. At three in the morning, that alone feels worthy of at least a tap with the hammer.

The second the figure hits the middle of your room, you lunge.

The figure ducks the swing, and jerks to the side, face illuminated by moonlight streaming in the window.

A face that can’t possibly be standing in your bedroom.

Eddie Munson. Or his ghost. Or something—

“Jesus Christ, babe, where the hell did you get a sledgehammer? Were you going to hit me with that?” Eddie exclaims, except it can’t be Eddie, because Eddie died in your arms. Because you pried Dustin off Eddie’s body. Because you’ve seen his death in your dreams every night for months.

It can’t be. It isn’t. But someone, or something, is wearing his skin, masquerading as the boy you love, and it’s the last of many, many straws.

You swing the hammer, but faster than your eyes can track, Eddie’s hand moves—you blink, and he’s holding the metal edge in one fist.

The hammer’s head is too heavy to be caught without breaking a finger—but the speed with which he moved is more troubling.

“Who the hell are you?” You snap, wrenching the hammer out of his fist, swinging again. “Get the hell out of my house, now—“

“Hold on, hold on—“ Not-Eddie backs up, hands raised, and with each second that passes, your brain files away the subtle differences. The color of his eyes, that beautiful brown, almost has a red tint in the dark. “It’s me. I swear to God, it’s me.”

“Whatever this sick game is, I’m not playing.” You raise the sledgehammer parallel to the floor and point it at him, using it to push him back toward the window. “Out.”

“Okay, okay, just—just wait.” He jumps to the side just before hitting the window, skating along the wall and darting around you. You whip around, and Eddie is there in a blink, plucking the hammer out of your hands. He tosses it onto your bed and slides into place directly between you and your weapon.

“If I wasn’t me, how would I have known how to open the window?”

Your Eddie could pop the lock in seconds. It was why you always kept it locked, because the only person who might need to get in could.

“Anybody—anything— can jimmy a lock,” you snap.

Maybe it’s your lack of a good night’s sleep in the recent past, or the darkness of the room, but you swear, he almost looks hurt.

“Harsh, but fair.” He takes a breath. “But it really is me.”

“Eddie Munson died three months ago,” you say. “I was there.”

“Yeah, I saw the gravestone. Bet my funeral had a hell of a turnout,” he says.

“Just stop. You’re not him. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not him.”

Eddie seems to chew on his words for a moment. “We met in gym class. You were a junior. I was a senior, the second time. You were hiding behind the long jump mats during the mile run, and I army-crawled my ass over to you so that ancient gym teacher didn’t bust us both. Naturally, he saw me, and the second he yelled, you shoved me out onto the track on my ass.” He grins. “I was pretty much done for, after that.”

You shake your head. “Twenty other people were on the track that day—”

“Fine. Okay.” He huffs a breath. Folds his arms over his chest. “Right, okay, so a few weeks after we started hanging out, I took you to Lover’s Lake. We ate Cheetos and drank warm Coke on the dock, and you told me about that field trip, the one to the museum in middle school. You got lost, ended up in the art exhibit for two hours until a chaperone tracked you down. After that, you couldn’t get enough of all those old—what is it? Abstract paintings.”

Your heart beats like a kick drum, so loud you’re surprised it hasn’t woken the whole house.

Eddie’s gaze darts down—and you don’t remember much of the few anatomy lessons you had, but you’d swear he looks where your heart is.

“This isn’t possible,” you say softly.

Eddie’s lips pull thin. “You kissed me outside that gas station on main because you said you were tired of waiting for me to do it.” A smile softens his expression. “And the first time you told me you loved me, we were in this room, in that bed, but you had to whisper because your parents were downstairs.” He takes a step forward. “And I said it back. Didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t whisper either, but you weren’t even pissed. Y’know, I’d only said that to one other person before you, but I didn’t hesitate.“

“No. You can’t be here.” You swallow. Shake your head. Hope is banging its fists against your ribcage, desperate to break out of the prison you locked it in. Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall.

Eddie shrugs. “But I am.”

He takes a step toward you, and when you don’t move away, he takes another. Only when there are no more steps to take does he stop, the rubber of his sneakers kissing the tips of your toes.

He doesn’t move any further, like he’s leaving the last inch up to you.

You hold his gaze. Reach a hand up and let it settle on his cheek.

“Eddie?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning into your hand. “It’s me.”

Just like that, the sob that’s been sitting at the base of your throat for months dislodges, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. He still feels like your Eddie, still smells like him beneath that overhanging scent of ash.

The moment he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, you know it’s Eddie. You’ve been in these arms so many times, you fit like puzzle pieces.

“Eddie,” you say again, voice muffled by his hair, and he just holds you tighter, so tight you can barely breathe but you don’t care.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”

And for the first time in months, you can breathe.

For ten minutes, everything is like it was. Eddie is all bravado and big smiles, like the last three months never happened, and you let the lie hang because you’ve missed him too badly to pull it back. But it’s more fog than curtain, and it evaporates fast.

Eddie pulls you onto the bed and into his arms, just holding you, and the way your bodies fold together may be the same, but nothing else is.

His skin is cooler, dryer. Covered in scars. His scent, one you can’t describe but know, isn’t totally different, but it’s not the same, either.

And his eyes. He clearly took efforts to keep them out of the light—asking you not to turn a lamp on, keeping his chin ducked—but up close, there’s no mistaking it.

The deep, dark brown is more like a deep red wine someone spilled on a carpet. It’s a beautiful, inhuman shade of red. And you may have seen enough weird shit to fill a museum over the last few years, it sets off every alarm bell inside you. Like an ancient voice is urging you to run while everything else tells you to stay.

Your first observation was right. He isn’t your Eddie. He’s something different. Evolved. And you’re not sure if it’s for better or worse. You’re also not sure if you give a shit.

There are so many questions to ask, but they’d all break the bubble you’re resting in, so you settle for the softest you can think of.

“Tell me what happened to you,” you say gently, keeping your forehead pressed to his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye; that, and because you’re trying to find a heartbeat. You haven’t. “How you survived. I’m not an idiot, Eddie. And I can only pretend I haven’t noticed that your eyes are a different color or that you move faster than you should. That somehow, you’ve been in the Upside Down for three months, and you’re not a decayed corpse.”

Eddie’s hands, steady as they glide up and down your back, your arms, your sides, stall, and his fingers curl slightly into your hoodie.

“You were there,” he says. “You saw it all.”

“Clearly, not everything. You were dead when I left—”

“Almost dead.”

“What?” you stiffen.

“I wasn’t… I mean, I was mostly dead. Kissing Death, straight on the lips, tongue and all. And then…”

“And then?”

He inhales, and says, “And then, I made a deal with the devil. A deal I can’t take back.”

You lean back. You may not have all the pieces, but you have enough to get some understanding at the full picture.

The only devil in the Upside Down is Vecna. And if he brought Eddie back—whatever the definition of back is—he didn’t go it out of the goodness of his heart.

“Eddie, what did you do?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Look, I know you want answers, and I want to give them to you, but I…” He pauses. His hand comes up to your cheek, his cold fingers tracing a line down to your jaw. You shiver. “I’ve spent the last three months waiting for a single minute he wasn’t on my ass, watching me, and I don’t have a lot of time. So, I swear to God, I’ll answer all your questions, but right now, I just want to be here. With you.”

You frown. “You’re not staying.”

Eddie is silent for a long time before he says, “I can’t. Not yet.”

You shift back, sitting up so that only his outline is visible in your periphery. From this angle, blurry and out of focus, he still looks like the Eddie you lost. An Eddie whose biggest problem was whether he’d actually graduate this year.

Eddie sits up beside you, a hand on your arm. He exhales, dropping his chin onto your shoulder. It’s a familiar position, and without thinking, you tip your head against his, temple to temple.

“I’m still a puppet,” he says softly. “Just because he’s not holding my strings right now doesn’t mean he’s not coming back for them.”

You scoff. “If you’re just… some puppet, how are you here now? I mean, am I even talking to the real you right now?”

Eddie stiffens.

“I’m me,” he says. “A lot of the time… I’m more him than me. But right now, right here, I’m me. I’m just Eddie.” He lifts his chin. You crane your head to meet his eyes.

“I spent months waiting for a chance. V—He’s been so weak after everything that went down, he’s been stuck down there. Healing. Even when I came topside to fee—” He stops abruptly. Changes course. “But now…” Eddie pauses. It’s like he’s battling two voices in his head, one telling him to speak, the other urging him silent. “Let’s just say, he’s on a business trip, and I’m supposed to be down there, keeping an eye on things. I only had a few hours.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper, like if you keep your voice low enough, the world won’t hear and jinx you.

“I know, angel,” he says. He drops his chin and presses a long kiss to the side of your head. When he pulls back, his expression has shifted, freezing over like Lovers Lake every December. His voice isn’t entirely his own as he says, “But there’s something I need to take care of before I can stay.”

“Something?” you ask. “Or someone?”

Eddie lets out a long sigh. He rolls onto his back, hands coming up behind his head, and the posture, his presence beside you, the tickle of his hair against your shoulder, is somehow familiar and foreign at once.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I want you to stay alive—” He lifts his brows, and you huff, pressing on. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And you know that it wasn’t some… miracle that brought me back. It was—” He stops. “If he’s still around, I’m not really me. I’m just another one of his weapons.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. No human should be able to hear it. But Eddie does.

“I’m gonna try,” he says.

“And if you can’t?”

Eddie shrugs. He pointedly averts his gaze as he says, “If I can’t, then I go out fighting. Maybe I can get a few decent shots in before he takes me out.”

“Eddie—”

Eddie twists, shifting so he’s half in front of you. He takes your face in his hands and forces your gaze. The angles of his face are sharper, his eyes are clearer. He isn’t the Eddie you lost, but he’s still your Eddie, under it all.

“I’m already on borrowed time, sweetheart. Might as well make it worth something.”

You shake your head. “No. That’s bullshit. We’ll just… we’ll get out of here. Tonight. We can get in my car and drive until we get to a city big enough to disappear in. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“You know, I’ve been running since I learned to walk.” His thumb traces a line up and down your jaw. “I never even thought about stopping. Never wanted to.” A sad smile ghosts his lips. “Then, one day, I met you. And I had a reason to stay. So, I’m gonna fight for it. And I’m gonna come back for you.”

Before, Eddie Munson could have won a contest for stubbornness. It appears dying or almost dying didn’t change that.

You take a breath. Close your eyes for a long moment. When you open them, you say, “You better. If you don’t, I’ll kill you. And I’ll make sure it takes this time.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and loops his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. For a long time, you stay that way, holding each other and pretending the seconds aren’t rolling by.

And then, much sooner than you’d like, Eddie peels himself out of your arms. He climbs off the bed, and you follow him back to the window. The latch whines in protest as he lifts the windowpane, like it too is dreading his departure.

He climbs out onto the roof and turns back to the window, his slender hands on the sill. His fingers look naked without their rings.

Your stomach clawing up your throat, you lift the thin chain out from under your shirt, the metal rings hanging from it clacking. You unlatch it and pull off a thick, black ring. Unlike the others, taken off him in the Upside Down, you’ve had this ring for ages. He gave it to you a long, long time ago.

You lift one of his hands, sliding it onto his middle finger. He curls his fingers around yours, squeezing hard.

“Come back to me,” you say.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. “Promise.”

Eddie leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, and the cool touch of his lips disappears. When you open your eyes, he’s gone. Like he was never there at all.

Maybe he wasn’t.

Three weeks pass. By the fourteenth day, you’re halfway convinced you hallucinated Eddie. By the twentieth, you’re sure of it.

Call it your brain trying to process the mountain of grief inside you. Or the end of the slow spiral into madness you started three years ago, when a Demogorgon nearly dragged you through a portal in a tree.

Fantasizing a conversation with your dead boyfriend isn’t exactly the weirdest thing that’s happened. It’s better than the alternative: that Eddie is gone, for real.

And then, on the twenty second night, the latch on your window whines open.

In seconds, you’re up and out of bed, standing in the middle of your room just the way you were a few weeks ago. Staring at a silhouette near the window just the way you were a few weeks ago.

The figure half-covered by shadows is limping, and something dark drips off their hands—what you can see of them is covered in a dark substance that has to be blood.

“I know, I know, I’m an asshole. I don’t write, I don’t call…” A familiar, if not a little rough and raw, voice says, and the massive knot that’s been coiling in your gut for weeks untangles itself in an instant.

“Eddie,” you breathe, as he steps into the moonlight.

“Told you I'd be back,” he says, flashing you a smile between heavy breaths. His canines are wickedly sharp, longer than they should be, and shining with blood. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re really here? I’m not hallucinating?”

A smile twitches across his red lips.

“You’re not hallucinating. I’m here,” he says.

“For good?”

“For good,” he says. His mouth curves up, and his smile appears here to stay.

Like him.

And you don’t care how he got here. What he had to become just to be standing here right now. You don’t care what it might take to keep him here, either.

All that matters is that he’s here. Period.

So, you cross the room in three steps, and pull him into your arms. Blood and all.

taglist: @milkiane @robiin-buckley @copycatkillerfics @robinbuckleyssgf @isshecrazyorissheclever @peanutbutter-y-jams @hellfire1986baby @minksblog @comfortcharactercraze

#brooke writes fic #x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #stranger things #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie

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thatgordongirl · 1 year

Text

I went back and watched the Christmas episode about Julian, mostly cause I was having Rachel Fawcett thoughts, and figured out I’d missed a fair few things.

When the baby is crying and Julian is responding in the same way he did to Margot, he says things like “I didn’t want this…room” and “I didn’t ask for any of this, I had it thrust upon me” which is meant to be funny because he had no pants on. However, it does fill in a few gaps when it comes to his wife. It seems like he accidentally got her pregnant and whatever care he had for was replaced with frustration, because he views her as the person tying him down. She’s an obstacle, he brushes off her questions on the phone because he knows she’ll catch him, and she’s the only thing stopping him from partying.

If they had been previously romantic in anyway, he immediately detached from her when she got pregnant. He probably didn’t want the baby but Margot refused to get rid of her. So either Julian married her to save face and it got worse from there, or he had always been on a downward spiral and Margot got caught up in it. At the same time though, Julian had to have experienced the baby crying at least once, since his automatic response is “I’m going for a drive” Julian, when projecting, even starts backing Angela up when Nancy is crying, saying that Nancy doesn’t know what she wants.

Whether Julian would’ve been considerate enough to shush Rachel and let Margot sleep is questionable, considering he’s clearly had quite the change of heart since then. If he was in the same room as Rachel when she began crying, he probably starting complaining towards her like he did with Nancy. I find it interesting also that Margot questions him on where he is, what he’s drinking, because those are reasonable things to ask when your husband is out late every night. But then she asks what he’s eating, and she’d probably ask more if he hadn’t cut her off. She knows he’s a liar, and she keeps asking to both catch him and see where he is.

We know Julian feels bad about how he treated his daughter, but all we get from him about Margot is the fact he was wasted at his wedding and the flashbacks where he’s lying to her. The nature of their marriage and Julian’s promiscuity make him wearing his wedding ring somewhat perplexing. You could say he forgot to take it off, or that maybe he felt something for her, but it was probably for show. He had to put up this front of a family man, and having a wife and a child just fit into that. He never matured enough for Margot, and he never stepped up for Rachel.

There’s too much of Julian’s character that hasn’t been explored, so luckily he won’t be sucked off yet, maybe we’ll get more context.

#bbc ghosts #julian fawcett #margot fawcett #rachel fawcett

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psiimaid · 1 year

Note

okay so first time visiting on desk top and can i just say <3<3<3 ship cursor. anyway onto what icame to ask: do you think doc made mai do punitive academic work? what do you think her literacy level is? im imagining her having to write out words a bunch of times or lookup definitions and write them untill a 'perfect' replication. vicious spelling tests.

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY buzzing and rubbing my hands together like a fly

under the cut bc while it’s not incredibly lengthy it might be annoying to scroll past

that’s something i think about a lot, and even more so in recent days so this is like. perfect. the ancestors fans hivemind is real

anyways little mai’s case is. strange. but the most analogous situations to a childhood spent growing up on the moon + not being around anyone Like Her + being locked in a room + abused and deprived of care do not typically yield. someone useful for what lord english/doc scratch need. however mai seems very intellectually developed! which means doc scratch is. doing something for her.

scratch said his lessons emphasized obedience, mastery of the clockwork majyyks, and (of course) being locked in a room. but these lessons (aside from the locked in the room part obvi) would have been the only socialization little mai ever got, and there is no world for her to explore and learn about through experience so literally almost everything about anything that she knew would’ve had to have been taught to her by scratch. so those lessons probably included a bunch of other stuff as well

okay sorry i think i started a little far off my b >.< but to answer your first question: yeah sure! it would be a good chance to stretch her brain muscles while also being unfun. seems very on brand

only communicating (or being talked at by, there doesn’t seem to be much real communication between the two) with doc scratch probably lends her a nicely well rounded vocabulary in that tongue, or at least a knack for deciphering meaning from context clues. i’ve most likely said this somewhere before but i tend to think mai had trouble learning to speak but that’s only tangentially related lol!!

as for literacy. i guess the question is what language? probably the one doc scratch speaks but what language IS that lol. like everyone in hs speaks english despite there apparently being an alternian language? urghh anyway considering mai’s job takes her everywhere and everywhen, realistically literacy probably. doesn’t help with her work. but neither does doc scratch’s language so. maybe she is literate and doc scratch sometimes lets her read any books that might be in the apartment?

homestuck logic probably says different and that’s fair tbh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i can’t say i have a real opinion on her literacy level. if she can read and write, it’s probably not her strong suit? if she can’t, cool. she’s jared, 1900, never learned how to read. literacy, while helpful, isn’t necessary for the aforementioned intellectual development. but it would be really, really helpful since, again, there’s no way for her to learn things through experience. but then again if there’s nothing/very little for her to read.. the spiral

re: work her role doesn’t require strategic manipulation or a delicate touch (that’s doc scratch) so how much would really benefit her jobwise beyond those obedience and majyyks lessons ?? that’s why they were emphasized ig..?

but mai did have an ENTIRE childhood so i’d say anything is fair game!! there’s a lot to think about when trying to reconcile an at least mostly normally developed girl with her being raised in a very small world that would grow stale quickly, especially without anything new/stimulating. there must have been SOME enrichment in her enclosure and your ideas are a fun way to go about that!! pls don’t let anything i’ve said here make you think otherwise lol bc the things you mentioned are the Worst in a very mundane way that fit extremely well into what we already know

cutting myself off here ✌️ tysm for sharing!!!!

#ALSO glad u like the ship <3 #sorry for this being so long. trimmed it down a bit but i just. love hammaid. so much.#the handmaid #homestuck #homestuck ancestors #anon

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apex-academy · 7 months

Text

Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#13)

When I leave my room in the morning, chunks of pulled chicken and a few stray broccolis lie forlornly on the movie night table. Next to the open ranch dip.

”Did none of us put this away last night.”

Natural consequence of all the responsible people passing out, I guess. Still, yikes.

“Maybe I can take care of this before Aidan gets out here.” Don’t need a spiel on how many germs can grow in a room-temperature cup of ranch dressing.

I dispose of the offending leftovers without issue. Maybe I could save some of the less dangerous dishes? Hard to be overly concerned about waste here.

“The young master’s clearly got plenty of money to waste.”

Which can probably be assumed of someone called “young master.”

By a robot maid.

But it’s not like the student files had writeups on everyone’s exact socioeconomic statuses. I won’t be taking Ichiriki off the suspect list, but I can’t cross anyone off on those grounds, either.

And I can’t go back and double-check the files.

What am I supposed to do? Just keep cooking and cooperating and hoping we aren’t forced to kill again? No telling when the next motive’s going to hit. I don’t want to just stand around waiting for it.

But what else can I do?

What do I have the strength to do, at this point?

Before I can spiral or un-spiral or anything else, a door clicks open. It takes me a second to catch back up with reality.

“......”

I’m not the only one, apparently.

“Oh, Kakumi! Good morning!”

Yeah, I’m complaining about my strength when he’s like this?

“Morning.”

“Looks like you could afford to sleep in a little more.”

“I have no intention of doing so, thank you.”

“I’m not sure that I could go back to sleep regardless.”

“Just hard to nod off?” Or...

“Nightmares?”

“I’m not sure if I could call it that!”

“I did have a strange dream, though, yes. Still trying to shake it off.”

“One of those kinds where you woke up within the dream, so now you have to spend the rest of your morning trying to figure out if it’s just going to happen all over again.”

“Well, maybe more like the rest of the hour.”

“Beats the rest of the week.”

“Where’d you wake up? Airport?”

“An excellent guess!”

“But no, I’m afraid not. It was somewhere more like the lab room.”

“ ‘Like’ it?”

“It seemed backwards, somehow. Though you’d think I’d have a harder time telling when the room was gutted of desks and valves and all those sorts of things.”

“Hm.” Guess you have a “sense” for those things during the dream.

“It was only me on some sort of cot, with some equipment around that I couldn’t make any sense of.”

“You couldn’t make sense of some equipment? Perish the thought.”

“Right?”

“Though I suppose I wasn’t feeling terribly well, and it’s a bit more difficult to observe in the dark.”

“And without glasses, but that wasn’t an issue anymore in the dream, either.”

Enthralling. I’m sure he’ll keep on with the story, anyway. Might as well stick around the dorm hall and wait for someone else to interrupt, unless I really want to spend my entire breakfast listening to this.

“And then what happened?”

“It gets hazier there.”

“Maybe I’ll run into something later that will trigger the memory. I’ll be sure to let you know!”

“Thanks.”

Just as he’s swearing he has more interesting dreams most of the time, a door swings open—silent, but far enough away for us to have fair warning. Not that there’s much we can do about it.

“Ah, the sinners have already arisen, I see.”

“Only a few of us so far!”

Not even correcting her, huh. Better to just move on, anyway.

“Any big breakfast plans?”

“Seeing as some lesser creatures have seen fit to leave this realm...”

“...not particularly.”

“...”

Yeah, no more lining up for Yuki’s omelettes, that’s for sure. Or dorayaki. If you’d eat that for breakfast for some reason.

Or if you’re someone who doesn’t need a reason to do things. I could name a few of those people here.

Tsunyasha tosses her boa-thing over her shoulder.

“Well! I see no need to tarry here with you lot.”

“Not even to tell us how superior you are?”

This time, Aidan actually elbows me.

“Ow.”

"Surely you don’t need a reminder of that. Are you fools truly so quick to forget?”

She clicks her tongue, as if telling us not to bother answering.

“I’ve no need to humor sinners. Share your pathetic regrets among yourselves, worms.”

She strides past with an extra little oomph, to put us in our place or something. Doesn’t quite give the full effect when she has to wrangle with the bedsheet-movie screen to actually leave the dorm. She curses something about silver and lime and finally pushes her way out.

“...”

I sigh and turn back to Aidan.

“You in a big rush to go after her?”

“.......”

“...”

“...........”

“Aidan?”

I wave a hand in front of his face, but his eyes don’t track it.

Do I... need to take him to the Nurse’s Office?

For all the good that is without a nurse. Were there first aid guides in there? Or would I need to stop by the library? Itsurou’s study hall, even? That would be a good bet if it’s something... potentially lethal.

Or something else! There are plenty of not-dying things you have to research for stories, right?

But before I can get too caught up wishing we at least had a librarian, if not a nurse, Aidan stirs again.

“...Kakumi?”

“That’s me. You okay?”

He slowly adjusts his glasses frames, lets out a breath, and nods.

“Still waking up, it seems.”

“You didn’t get drugged again, did you?”

“Golly, I hope not.”

“It doesn’t feel the same, I’d say. I’m just...”

“...”

“Tired?”

“...A little bit.”

Yet you’ve been out here arranging whole movie nights instead of resting. Uh-huh.

Sidestepping the pile of half-hung sheet, I move to the doors.

“You in the mood for eggs? I’ve been thinking of trying something different, and I could use a second opinion.”

“...”

It’s less like he’s zoning into the stratosphere this time and more like he just sees straight through me.

“Sure, I’ll give it a shot. Though I will warn you, I usually don’t do anything more adventurous than ketchup or hot sauce myself, so I may not have the most advanced palate for the judgment of egg dishes.”

“Fine by me. I’m not the most advanced chef of egg dishes, either.”

Okay, successfully strong-armed him into not making his own breakfast, at least. It’s not much, but that’s probably half the reason he agreed. Small gestures are still better than nothing.

Now let’s hope I don’t drop enough eggshells in his dish to make him change his mind.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex6 #fangan ronpa

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sparklyslug · 2 years

Note

Hiiiiiiii!! For the ask meme: 🦅💞🤲

HIIIIII 💖💖💖💖

(Fanfic writer ask meme! With bonus emojis!)

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

The latter, unless I’m working with a particular trope-shaped structure. But even with that, there’s a lot of working out as I go along. Like for Three Weddings and a Funeral, we generally knew from the start what the weddings+funeral would be, but we made a LOT of discoveries and choices along the way. @greenlikethesea and I are similar in this way I think, which is probably one of several reasons why writing with them is just a joy and delight and feels so natural.

While I don’t outline I do believe in jumping around/jumping ahead to another point if I feel moved to get to a different scene, or the one I’m in is giving me issues. It’s easier to skip back and fill in connective bits, than to just plow straight through determinedly when I know I’d rather be somewhere else in the story.

💞 who’s your comfort character?

U REALLY NEED TO ASK???? REALLY????

I love him (hisses through gritted teeth, fists clenched)

🤲 Would you please share a snipped of a wip?

This is from a @greenlikethesea collab that is NOT Fair Ithilien verse. We’re giving you range, baby! Been noodling around in this one for a while and are still figuring it out. But I loooooove what we have so far so it’s worth the wait I think.

For a split-second, he considers playing along. Lets the narrative unfold in his mind: that world in which he has been excitedly receiving lovelorn notes from some sweet, pretty thing. Tries to conjure her face in his mind, the type of girl who would be too afraid to speak to him face-to-face, but bold enough to put words to paper anyway. Letting her perfectly round and looping penmanship do the talking for her, dotting her is with hearts, spritzing the page with some sweet perfume. Something that would linger on this Alternate Universe’s Eddie’s hands and his jacket, where in this world he is keeping her notes pressed close to his heart, where he treasures them and waits hopefully for the next one.

He’s got a decent imagination, but he can’t make himself dream up her face with any clarity. And any perfume she’d use would probably just give him a headache. This Universe’s Eddie has no admirers, secret or otherwise.

He opens the sheet of paper (regular notebook paper, he rubs a thumb over where it’s been ripped away from spiral binding, the jagged little strips left behind) and stares at it, unseeing.

“Hate to disappoint, but it’s a matter of business,” he says. Gareth and Jeff deflate, but seem to immediately buy it. People have tried to get Eddie’s attention in weirder ways than this to score some weed, after all.

“Damn,” Gareth says. “Was kind of hoping to start the year off with some intrigue here.”

Eddie is a little touched by how he’s bought into the fantasy, strangely. “Don’t look so glum, chum,” he says, kicking his feet in the air and leaning back to rest his hands on the van’s roof behind him, warmed by the September sun and hot against his palms. “Between scoring some tail and scoring some cash, I’ll take the cash every time. Well–” he pauses theatrically, considering. “–almost every time.”

Gareth and Jeff chuckle appreciatively the way he knew they would, and drift off towards their own cars and rides home. Eddie watches them go, chest warm and a little tight with affection, with wishing he could always be the kind of center point they need him to be.

#ty darling!#asks #my fic

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holidaywishes · 2 years

Text

So… hi

I just need to jump on here to do a bit of oversharing. Don’t read if TMI is TM for you 😅

Should I put warnings here about sex talk? Like not smut just talking about sex and virginity?

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Still here. Alright so then I guess I’ll warn you about teenage angst. Or just like actual angst. There’s lots of that here.

Okay here it is.

I’m 29, I just turned 29 last week, and as much as I feel my age, I also feel like I didn’t do a lot of things that teenagers do; I never snuck out. I never drank. I never smoked. I never did drugs. I never went to house parties or bonfires in the middle of nowhere. I never sto- okay I did steal but it was like 5 cent candies from the convenient store and I was like 8. The point is, I never broke the rules. I was a good kid. Probably too good for my own good.

Hence: still being a virgin at 29.

Listen, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a virgin. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not having sex or waiting to have sex. I know that not everyone wants to have sex. I know people think that virginity is a social construct and it doesn’t actually exist. I think that everyone should be allowed to live the life they want to live it and have sex whenever and however they’re ready. But my deal? I was busy in middle school. Band twice a day, sometimes three, nearly failing math, still having to go to classes, trying to have a social life — I was just trying to be a kid because home sometimes felt very intense that I needed to separate the two from each other. However, things from home followed me to school. Particularly, what my mom said about my body. I would hear it from her, feel shitty and then not think about it for a few days until someone at school would mention it and I would spiral.

It didn’t matter if I was sociable and friendly and people generally liked me. Kids are mean and they pick at the vulnerable things when they’re hurt or jealous or just want to fight. So school became just as intense as home and the last thing I was thinking about was sex. But when I got to high school, all the kids I went to middle school with were there. Or the majority of them anyway. So while everyone had been making connections in middle school, I’d been hiding myself away to stop my heart from breaking or to stop feeling like I was in everyone’s way. I took that with me for most of my life. Jobs. University. Dates. Travelling. All of it.

Cut to 2017: I’m 23, living alone for the first time and in Vienna no less. I’ve never been kissed, I don’t think I could confidently say I’d ever been on a date at that point and, as we’ve already established, I had never had sex. Then there was Tom. He was sweet and kinda funny. A little intense but not too much. He kissed me when we were dancing in a club and then walked me back to my apartment. I felt like it could’ve gone further and I could’ve been ready for it but it didn’t. But after the kiss, I wasn’t feeling like I was in everyone’s way anymore. Until the next day.

See my friend had been with his friend while I was with Tom. She didn’t hook up with him, not that I know of anyway, but they were kissing about as much as Tom and I were. He walked her back to the apartment building with Tom and I. It was all fine. And then the next day I found out that my friend was going over to their place to hang out — I wasn’t invited. Now to be fair, Tom did ask me what I was doing that day but he never asked me to do anything or come over. Like I just need guys to be direct without being creepy or gross or sending dick pics. Is that too much to ask? Anyway, I was back to feeling like I needed to make myself small again and let people live their lives around me. I moved past it. And sex just… wasn’t on my mind. See, my non-virgin friends don’t understand this.

“How can you not want to lose it?” “Do you not want to lose it?” “You know you don’t have to be in love right?” “Just choose some guy from the bar!” “Swipe right on as many guys as you can and then ask them if they want to take your virginity. It’s the easiest thing in the world!”

But I was always of the mindset that it’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. When someone isn’t expecting it to happen or waiting for me to do it. Fate is a funny thing and it all happens the way it’s supposed to in the end.

Queue: 2022. I’d been on a few dates now. All of them sucked. I’d kissed a few guys by this point. Some were okay, most were lacking. I’d been talking to a lot of guys on a few different apps. No flirting, no banter, just when was the last time you had sex — unmatch. Then my brother died and my perspective on things changed. I realized that my life had been so predominantly about making other people comfortable that I had no idea what I wanted or who I was and being 28, about to be 29, soon to be 30, seemed late for me to realize this 😅

So I booked myself a one way ticket to Dublin. With no intention of romance or sex. This wasn’t supposed to be a eat, pray, love situation. The only intention was to get out of that negative space and discover who I am, who I wanted to be. No judgement. No expectations. Just living my life. And then Damien shows up. After nearly a week of not really feeling like guys noticed me, here’s this guy on Tinder who’s funny and sweet and who’s really only alluded to sex but never really made it feel like he expected it. We meet up. We laugh. We flirt. We drink. We flirt some more. By the end of the night, we’re very touchy freely and he’s grabbing a taxi to his hotel.

Normally, at this point I’d be like nope but with him, I just wanted to be near him. I could feel myself staring at him in the taxi as he spoke to the driver. Like I legit couldn’t stop myself from staring at him. Then we got back to the room and it all happened pretty quickly. The kiss was a bit sloppy and getting undressed was a bit awkward. But once he found out I was a virgin, he was sweet and gentle and considerate. And now he won’t message me back 😅

There’s a bunch of details that I’m not mentioning here like neither of us came, I gave him the worst blowjob I’m pretty sure he’ll ever get in his life and when there was… resistance he stopped. Like completely. He said he would try again later or soon but he didn’t. He said he could tell it was gonna hurt a bit and he wanted to take it slow. And then we went to sleep. We cuddled. The cuddling was nice. That’s the intimacy I crave. But the sex was uneventful to say the least. I think it could’ve been great but… 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, the next day I tried messaging him and it was super distanced and not nearly as cute as it was and now I get why everyone says virgins are so clingy. I never thought I’d be that girl but I find myself trying to connect with him before I leave. Even though I know he’s not in Cork any more. And it’s driving me a bit crazy to watch as he doesn’t reply to any message I send lol.

A friend of mine said just to stop trying to talk to him or it might sour what sounded like a generally good night. Not everyone’s first time is as positive as mine so why try to ruin it. Basically is what she said. And I get it but I can’t stop myself. I just want to send a flirty pic and say “if you’re ever in Calgary, hit me up.”

The thing is, I think I have the perfect picture for it, too, but I can tell he’s not into it and I do agree that I don’t want the night to be spoiled…

Also, I needed to attach this song because it was the first song I heard after it happened and it gave me all the feels 😅🥰🥹

#tmi #about me #about #me #you guys know more about me than anyone in my actual life #the only other person who knows is the friend I said gave me advice #my parents don’t know #my other friends don’t know #no #just Tumblr and my bestie #s*x #first time #virginity loss #virginity

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goldplatedseal · 28 days

Text

Wooooow okay. One of my friends did one of those stupid ‘like my post and I’ll introduce you on my insta stories’ thing, and my younger sibling liked the post and the was this friend introduced them was so offensive and hurtful to me and one of my other friends.

They first used a nickname I gave my sibling (in writing, I never actually used it vocally. And even in writing it was very sparsely used) that they weren’t around for, and that I consider hurtful and something I want to leave in the past. To be fair, idk if my sibling finds it funny or not, but to me it’s not something I’m proud of and I’d really rather leave it behind.

Secondly, for favourite memory they brought up a time when my sibling was young and asked one of my other friends about something puberty related in which my friend made a stupid joke (age appropriate for us, not so much for my sibling). The friend that posted wasn’t involved in the conversation at all, so why they used that as their favourite memory with my sibling, I don’t know. Also, them sharing that memory - with names attached, really upset my other friend.

And finally the answer to how they met was through me. If that’s where the answer had stopped I wouldn’t be as annoyed and hurt as I am. But the fact that they called me a bully in that answer (and I’m sure they probably meant it as an inside joke) was incredibly hurtful. I have never been a bully. Like, ever. I deliberately go out of my way to be nice to people even when they don’t deserve it (see: my former coworker, who should’ve been written up for harassment tbh), so like why call me a bully? This has sent me into a spiral. Does my sibling think I’m a bully? Is that what they talk about while I’m away? I do get a little firm at times when it comes to planned ticketed events, because I’m usually the one buying the tickets and I live on a fixed income so I really don’t have the wiggle room to lose that money if someone backs out. Do they think me making extra sure someone commits to the event is bullying? Hell I don’t even demand repayment for tickets immediately. It’s more of a whenever you’re able kind of thing. Or is it because I’m stubborn and won’t do something if I don’t want to? Although in that case it usually feels like I’m the one being bullied. I dunno. All I know is that I’ve never bullied people (on purpose anyways, and if I’ve done it accidentally no one has ever made me aware of it. Except for now I guess.) and the fact that that accusation of association is now on the internet, available for all 1k+ of their followers to see is really hurtful.

#goldplatedseal #personal #what the actual fuck though

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daja-the-hypnokitten · 1 year

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Jukebox reviews part 29! For context, see my post “A Project” under this same tag. If you want to see a full list of his EMCSA stories, they can be found here, sorted alphabetically.And if you want to see some of his drabbles, check out his blog at @jukeboxemcsa

Vanishing Act