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togglesbloggle · 4 months

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Voltaire's Prayer

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Volaire’s letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, 16 May 1767

I’m inordinately fond of sex, in the political sense. It’s saved us so often from the worst parts of ourselves.

As far as anti-authoritarian elements of the human experience go, sex is right up there with curiosity and the search for truth- maybe even more so. When a new tyrant comes to town, shutting down the universities and the libraries is only the second thing they try. The first thing is to regulate human sexuality to within an inch of its life. Rules for marriage, rules for courtship, rules for which genitals may touch and where they may touch and when they may touch. Rules for who and rules for whom. Rules for which kinds of sex must doom characters in literature, rules for which things may be described as sexy, rules for which things may be described in a sexy way.

Of course they do! If you’re trying to bind a large polity together under a common ideological narrative, to render people predictable enough to quash dissent and legible enough to exert power through them, the last thing you need is a bunch of folks running around being horny about stuff without permission. Nature gifted us with a great capacity for reason and community; we have the innate opportunity to learn about ourselves and our neighbors, and to form complex societies based on that understanding. It was Aristotle who first called us the political animal, and the fruits of that extraordinary capacity will always be within our reach, if only we can come together within a shared understanding. The invention of the city is the great triumph of our species, and with it we conquer the universe.

But also this extraordinary, reasoning mind has been sculpted from the raw clay of a biology that’s anchored in sexual reproduction, and this ends up being very, very funny.

The problem isn’t so much that the sex instinct exists, per se. It’s how it’s implemented. Like most biological forms, the full complement of 86 billion(!) neurons in your brain aren’t encoded in a particular configuration; the brain is much too complex to be described so precisely in the only ~725 megabytes or so of human DNA. The particular shape of your brain is in there somewhere- the lobes and subregions responsible for vision, memory, cognition, all that- but only up to a point. The genius and fundamental limitation of genetics is that, below a certain level, the genes instead describe a process for the production and reproduction of specialized cells, and simply constructs them in such a way that they can be relied upon to order themselves as they go.

This is all well and good when we’re talking about kidneys and livers, but the fact that you can encode any kind of specific behavioral instinct in a brain this way is nothing short of a minor miracle. Think about it! Spiders don’t have a ‘spider web’ gene, the gene is for ‘proteins that come together in self-assembling electrochemically sensitive gelatin tissue which, when complete, encodes patterns that operate organ systems such as legs and spinnerets in such a way as to reliably create silk webs.’ This is absurdly impressive, and also completely insane.

What I’m getting at is, powerful behavioral instincts in a complex animal aren’t precise instruction manuals by which we pursue evolutionarily advantageous behaviors. Sex and eros are prior to logic or language, let alone strategy. Sex is a double-thick electrical wire discharging lightning bolts right through the middle of our cognitive centers, installed in the brain by a surgeon wearing mittens. It’s an untethered firehose whipping chaotically through the cathedral, unpredictably spraying golden reliquaries with substances unmentionable. It’s the first and greatest anarchist.

I really can’t overstate my gratitude for this.

Obviously this results in any number of deeply goofy outcomes by way of kinks and odd sexual practices- it gets tangled with pain centers, with random bits of anatomy and proprioception, with our taboos and aversions, with our greatest terrors or our greatest yearnings or just arbitrary stimuli from adolescence, and of course it gets enmeshed so often with our notions of power and submission. It imbues these things with a fascination and potency out of all proportion with their mundane meanings. And ultimately, you end up with human pleasures and human values that diverge so far from banal evolutionary imperatives as to be all but unrecognizable.

Even when this process somehow manages to propagate through the brain in such a way as to drive behaviors that are legibly aligned towards some adaptive constraint- e.g. heterosexual mating practices resulting in biological reproduction and careful childrearing- it’s still madness. Love and sex penetrate deeply across tribal and national and racial boundaries, across economic interests, across battle-lines and enmities. We become traitors, apostates, emigrants, and artists. Declare a law, and in short order some hot-headed young people come along to break it in the name of sexual passions you could not possibly have seen coming. Divide your neighborhood into us and them, and by the time the ink is dry on your proclamation there will be a forbidden relationship across the fence. There is no social order, no ethical system, no theory of human nature that can entirely withstand contact with the full spectrum of human sexuality, because sex and eros are always going to be exactly as bonkers as the complexity of the human mind and culture will allow, plus a little extra just to be sure.

This isn’t always a delight, of course. Many prohibitions exist for a very good reason, and the chaos of human sexuality makes no exemptions for true evil. Some of us end up really, truly victims of this process. But for all the dangers, the chaos at the root of all this isn’t oriented towards evil. Chaos just means chaos, essentially arbitrary and hence absurd in character.

And in the grand analysis, we are so lucky to have this thing moving through our communities, this ridiculous madness that guarantees that there will be cracks in every wall and slips exploding cigars in the pockets of the powerful few. Not in everybody as individuals, of course, and not everybody the same amount; asexuality is certainly one of the outcomes that all this mad gallivanting through our brains can produce. Sexuality would never be so predictable as to guarantee its own existence, after all. That’s part of what makes the joke so funny.

But all of us, regardless of sexuality, get to live in a world where the grand anarchy of sex is constantly driving home this lesson that no category is inviolate and no law is perfect. That we should not and cannot take ourselves too seriously, or forget that we’re animals. That we don’t exist only for the sake of others, or within their understanding. That cities are made of cooperation, grace, and forbearance- not conformity or mere compliance.

People sometimes worry about immortality. In the political sense, I mean. They worry about eternal dictatorships and unconquerable gerontocracies. This fear isn’t entirely unjustified; death has often played a role in progress and liberation. But as long as enough of us are still getting horny without permission, still falling in love in stupid ways, I think we’ll be okay. Romeo and Juliet don’t have to die at the end to make a difference in the world, as long as they’re brave enough to get weird with it.

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jewelleria · 2 months

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I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:

I am a Jew.

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!

Then they sent me this:

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

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pirateprincessblog · 4 months

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2 batteries away

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: if he can choose to spend time with someone else rather than you, daryl would do it. not because he hates you. he simply doesn't have any type of connection with you. and you are so young. but when rick demands that you join him on a scavenge hunt, he doesn't have much of a saying into it, and chooses to act unbothered. he also chooses to ignore the way you tease him the whole trip, your hips swaying just a bit more when walking than usual. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daryl dixon x female reader 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: alexandria, pre-negan 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: big age gap, reader is half daryl's age 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, masturbation, breath-play, subtle ddlg, toys, subtle dacryphilia

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am on season ten of twd (my first time watching) and it feels like this man's clothes keep getting tighter and tighter each episode and i am so here for it. also the way his arms magically always glisten in the sun as he subtly flexes when the camera is on him? give me a break I BEG

Also I miss Rick very much 🥺

"i have a special request. if i'm allowed to do that." a playful voice calls behind you.

you turn around, squinting. the sun is high up in the sky, and right in your eyes. you make out carol's short hair, and nod at her as a sign to keep speaking.

"i'm gonna need something i can make cookies or cakes with. hazelnut, chocolate, almonds,... you know. cake stuff." the woman smiles.

"i'm going out for ibuprofen and possibly viagra, not chocolate."

"viagra? for who?"

you chuckle under the cap rosita has given you, and try to subtly glance over at the man loading the car with weapons. he grunts, glaring at you and instantly shutting down the bullying party you wanted to start.

"i don't need no damn viagra." he slams the trunk door shut, and walks past you, intentionally pushing his shoulder into yours.

you fall a step back, holding in a laugh. carol has her hands on her hips, but her laugh isn't hidden. she knows daryl can't say anything to her.

"oh, come on. i know that you like to stay quiet and mysterious, but a little joking in hard times never hurt anybody." the woman defends you, scrunching her eyebrows at daryl.

"it's hurting me." he yells from the car, slamming the door shut.

"how am i supposed to survive this trip with him, ricky?" you complain, shoulders hanging with rising irritation with the situation.

"you survived a walker flooded prison with nothing but an axe before you found us on the other side, and you're telling me you can't survive a grumpy old man for a few hours?"

"thing is, i killed walkers. i cannot kill him. boo-hoo, the precious tracker. i also, when i see a footprint on the floor facing a certain way, know that someone is headed there. wild, right?"

rick pats your head, messing up the cap in the process just to tease you.

"bring me some shirts on the way back, i'm getting sick of these flannels. and get yourself something nice."

one would think that he gave you his credit card to buy him those shirts at the nearby mall. telling you to get yourself something nice, that idiot. the less fun truth is that you are headed towards a landfill two hours away from alexandria, in hopes of finding anything. glenn and morgan haven't had any luck for a few days now, so rick decided to change the route and the team. daryl and you, apparently, make a great one. that pain in the ass of a man.

"i'm leavin'. you stay and talk 'bout me all you wan'. i'm the one actually doin' something for this place."

"stuck up much? see," you open the car door, sitting inside annoyed, "with the viagra, you'd be a much more pleasant person to be around."

"enough with the damn viagra. fuck's the matter with you?"

"god, just start driving and drop me off somewhere in the middle of the road and i'll find my own shit from a different place. rick doesn't need to know."

"no," he simply responds, not sparing you a glance.

rick waves at you with a smile on his face, knowing damn well what he did putting the two of you together for such a long quest. he's so going to hear from you tonight. if you make it out alive while trying to kill daryl.

"so, what are you hoping to find? booze, peanut butter, new clothes? i'm starting to think you stapled those clothes to your body."

he says nothing, eyes focused on the road. you sigh. maybe you're the problem. you're poking him too much, knowing he has zero patience and doesn't very much like your company. you decide to keep quiet for the rest of the drive, only occasionally glancing over at him out of boredom.

you can't lie, he is an attractive man. you don't know why you're mean to him. he is gorgeous to you, your taste in older rugged men not failing you. you're surprised rick isn't the one you fell for. but next to daryl, he looks too... neat. daryl is just perfect. most of the time his deep raspy voice has you subconsciously rubbing and squeezing your thighs, led by a tingling sensation in your lower stomach. his clothes have recently gotten very tight on him, the buttons of his black shirt threatening to pop and give you a view of your lifetime. he has been working out a lot, you've seen him. fuck, not only have you seen him, you also stayed there, secretly snapping pictures with your polaroid your father had left you before disaster struck. you only had a few films left, yet no self control. something about seeing daryl all sweaty as he did push ups, grunting and almost moaning, thinking that nobody can see him, did things to you.

"wha'?" he asks, sensing your intense gaze.

you turn your head away, flushed. "nothin'."

"mmh."

he keeps it short and stern, and if your panties weren't drenched as your brain replayed the memory of his glistening arm muscles, you'd probably make a sassy remark. he raises an eyebrow, probably also wondering why you aren't being mean for so long now.

"shoes." he says after some time.

"what?" you ask, absent-mindedly staring into the tall trees and the walkers hidden among them.

"i'm hoping to find some shoes. it's gettin' hard to walk in these. i also hope i find sum more arrows."

you nod, surprised that he has actually graced you with an answer. you thought he'd say something like cigarettes or alcohol. you hated people who smoke. but daryl is an exception. he looks damn hot doing it.

"you?" he asks.

"well, new underwear would be nice. i ripped all my good panties, and let me tell you, these thongs are not apocalypse friendly."

"shit, girl, oversharing much?"

"what, you disgusted by female underwear?" you poke back, playfully.

"not female underwear. your underwear."

you're offended. you squint at him, and have to fight the urge to smack the back of his head.

"for your information, you don't look or smell all flowery and fresh yourself. i could use your hair to grease up carol's tray for her cakes. and your fingernails? they have their own ecosystem at this point."

and back to the bickering it is. he grunts again, furrowing his eyebrows. he secretly glances at his fingernails. indeed, they had a layer of dirt under them, but daryl thinks that he has bigger issues than some dirt that will get washed off anyway.

"oh, i also wish to find-"

"yeah, lost interest." the man interrupts. "also, for future conversations, you do not mention your... thongs... to people that are ol' enough to be your father."

ew.

he did not.

"what, is that how you see me? you could be my father?"

how utterly disappointing. there you were, sitting next to him, imagining him going feral between your legs, all while he is viewing you as his child. there goes your masturbating material for tonight.

"well the age fits the description."

"fuck you. seriously." you sigh, turning your body towards the window so you can fully ignore him.

arriving at the gates, you immediately notice a few things that you will be taking home. how foolish of you to not take a truck instead of the crusty old car.

"watch it." just as he says it, an arrow passes by your head, followed with a loud thud.

you don't have to look back to know that a walker had managed to sneak behind you, while you were foolish enough to stay swooning over his arms glistening in the sun with sweat.

"damn it, girl, i don' know what it is with you, but you gotta snap outta it. i can't keep saving ya ass."

"yes, dad." you reply, annoyed.

"hey." he calls, hand reaching to cup your jaw and turn your head towards him. "shut it before i make ya."

if it weren't for the feeling of his rough hand on your face and his raspy voice sending you a warning turning you on, you would've slapped him and told him not to touch you. but oh, you were going crazy inside. you found a new way to push his buttons, and you're going to have so much fun with it.

you walk behind him into the landfill, the smell of junk pinching your nose. daryl is also bothered by it, seeing his scrunched expression as he scanned the first piles of garbage.

"there." he points his crossbow a certain way.

you follow the invisible line, your eyes landing on what seemed to be several taped boxes. they could have three things inside: food, weapons, or traps. weird how nobody has discovered this place yet. or maybe they have, and they took all valuables already.

daryl doesn't wait for you. he makes his way towards the boxes, keeping his crossbow ready if something goes wrong. you, on the other hand, have tucked your knife safely and are walking around like there isn't walkers scratching at the fence, waiting to sink their teeth into your skull.

"dammit."

you hear rattling. you turn around, only to find the man kicking the boxes angrily. the can he has just thrown on the floor rolls up to your feet, and you crouch down to examine it. it is food, but expired. eating it would be like playing russian roulette.

"i mean, we can still... ya'know, take it with us. what happens happens."

"dixon, if i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die from a bullet or a bite. not from a rotten macaroni."

he raises an eyebrow at you, amused with your laid back attitude. he doesn't give you much attention, just silently walks next to you while scanning his side of the landfill.

"ah, sweet!" you cheer, running towards a pile.

"wha'?"

you almost trip over the broken wooden chairs, trying to get to a certain little box in the pile.

"the hell are ya doin'? we're losin' time!"

your eyes instinctively roll at his voice. you know he has nothing smart to say. finally reaching the box, you jump back on the floor, eagerly opening it. seeing that the item still has the foil sealed on it, you victoriously raise it in the air, cheering.

"you have made it a goal for yourself to die today, didn't ya?"

"nah, not anymore. i found something that will keep me occupied and will fuel my will to live a little longer."

you continue your way forward, leaving daryl to stare at the box you have discarded, trying to figure out what it is. but he has decided he has no time for your immaturity. he needs to ask rick to not ever put him with you on a hunt again. he's lost a lot of time already, and hasn't found a single thing to bring back.

"clothes." you point, the pile of fabric sitting on top of a garbage hill.

"you gonna go get 'em?"

"why would i go? you go."

"you wanted your... thongs... so, you go get that."

you scoff, setting the newly acquired item on the ground and slowly climbing up the hill.

"what is this, anyway?" his curiosity wins.

you sit on top of the pile, examining the clothes and discarding the ones with holes in them.your eyes dart to the man below you, and you chuckle when you see him crouch and take the item in his hand.

"it's a wand."

"wand?"

"yes."

"for?" he keeps pressing, his eyes never leaving the pink gadget.

"masturbating."

thud.

you look down, mortified. he better not break it.

"careful with that, what's the matter with you?!"

"you're fuckin' crazy, girl."

you silently mock him, sticking your tongue out at him and repeating his words with exaggerated face expressions. he really gets on your nerves. you gather the clothes you have found into a bed sheet, tying it up and putting it over your shoulder, then pick up the gadget from the floor. it seems alive, it didn't break. you only hope it works. you're young, inexperienced, surrounded by people that are either too young or too old for you. though, the old part never was a problem for you, it was for them.

feeling bored, you decide to keep poking him. he is just so grumpy, and silent. and inviting to irritate.

"so, dixon, you've never heard about one of these?" you wave the gadget in front of his face.

he spares you a glare, and continues walking.

"come on, we're talking. nobody's around. tell me, since all of this started, how many times have you even approached a girl? do you even mastu-"

"'m not in the mood to be picked on right now."

"i'm not picking on you. i promise. just trying to converse."

"you want to be useful? hold this. it's in my way." he throws his vest at you, now only wearing a tight black t-shirt.

you scowl at him, shoving his vest into your backpack.

"you're so fun to be around. i get why rick put us together."

he grunts, leaving you behind. rolling your eyes, you go down a different path, hoping to find something useful to all of alexandria and not just you. turning a few lefts, you find yourself standing in front of a little shed like structure. you bang on the door with your foot, and when hearing no growls, you bravely enter. it is dusty and dark, with a singular armchair and a few cupboards.

you open each one of them, happily shoving all the food you managed to find into your backpack, opening a protein bar along the way and chewing on the oats and dried fruits. you missed having those with yogurt for breakfast.

not only will carol be happy with the amount of nuts and flour you have found, rick will be proud of you. you might even ask for a reward when he sees the amount of canned tuna and jam you have found. you forgot what pancakes taste like.

after clearing the room, you peek out the window. daryl is in the distance, going through piles and kicking stuff out of his way, as if playing. you've collected way more than him, and the sun is at it's highest point. the shaded room seems like a perfect place to take a nap, or just rest your feet and ears from him.

you plop on the armchair like a star washed up on the shore. it feels so lonely lately. rick has michonne, carl has enid, rosita has her boytoys, even gabriel might be having more fun than you. as wrong as it was, you stay up listening to the noises coming across the street. they're loud, there's no way you could ignore them even if you wanted to. even rick had to step in and ask them to be quieter. but what is a problem to someone else is a solution for you. is it wrong to touch yourself while listening to someone else fucking? yes. but is it the only way that works for you? also yes.

you eye up the toy that peeks from the backpack, then glance out the window. daryl is busy with his crossbow, having found something that he could use on it.

fuck it.

you unbuckle your pants, not bothering to take off the panties. your fingers are quick to pop the batteries that come with the package in the gadget, and when the lid clicks, you admire it for a second. there it is, in all its glory. waiting to be abused every day by you, until you find a replacement. hopefully a softer and live one.

taking off the thin protective foil from the head, you position yourself on the armchair. you glance at the window again, carefully monitoring daryl. now, if you thought that eavesdropping and touching yourself was bad, what was this? watching daryl's fingers work on his crossbow, arms glistening in the sun, all while the pink toy softly vibrates on your pulsating clit.

you sigh at the newfound pleasure, rubbing the toy up and down your slit, while your eyes stay focused on the man unaware of your situation. he probably even forgot about you. or is thankful that you have left him alone. even better for you. you get to be a pervert without him ever knowing.

you arch your back, throwing your head on the backrest as you focus on chasing the release. it's been awhile, it won't take you long. your eyes open again, just enough to see if the man is still in his spot. your fingers change the vibration strength on the gadget, and instantly, you gasp. it is so intense, and so much, but you don't want it to stop. this thing is your new best friend, you better get used to it.

something else peeks out of the backpack, the leather catching your attention and giving you an idea. like an animal in heat, you grab the vest, burying your nose into it and spreading your legs further. daryl's scent takes over your senses, making you lose control and become a moaning mess. you are getting wetter by the second, the toy now slipping up and down your slit with ease and giving you maximum pleasure.

"fuck- daryl-" you can't help but gasp, enveloped in his manly scent and fabric.

your hips hopelessly rub against the toy, chasing and chasing after something that isn't quite getting closer, even though it feels like it.

"the hell?"

your eyes widen at the interruption. you drop the vest in your lap, hiding the crime scene from him. the man stands at the door, expression unreadable. yours is one of horrified mixed with desire, the way he stares down at you angrily sending arrows to your core.

"daryl- i- did you, uh, find anything?" you try to play it off, foolishly.

"yeah. i found an animal in heat it seems. couldn't wait for alexandria to do that shit?"

"I-"

"is that my vest?"

he slams the door shut, leaving you two in darkness. you gulp, moving the gadget from your core and letting your panties fall back in place.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry-" you stutter, failing to put a sentence together while he intensely glares at you.

"ya ain't sorry." he grunts. "ya know why i despise being around your ass? you're inappropriate."

"no, look," you try, but he points a finger at your face, making you close your mouth.

your eyes burn, tears announcing their arrival.

"it's not like that-"

"shut up, dammit! i'm talkin' now! do you have any idea in how many uncomfortable situations you've put me? all those snarky dirty comments, all that flirting, now this? do you understand what that does to me?!"

he's yelling, frustrated and angry with you. but why are you getting wetter? why can't you think rationally? he is scolding you for being inappropriate, and you continue to be even more inappropriate by sexualising simple yelling. not your fault he looks damn hot while he does it, though.

"you're- you're half my age. i can't allow myself to play your games, no matter how tempting."

what?

"what will alexandria think? they already have no good opinion on me. engaging with someone half my age the way you want me to engage is- it is a horrible idea. i'll be out faster than i was in."

silence swallows the room. you still lay on the armchair, half naked with his vest covering you. he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts. you think whether it's time to finally say something, but you wait another moment. you need to gather your thoughts too.

tempting, he said. so he thought about it too. he saw past your jokes, and has been controlling himself so well. if only you knew what it would take to shatter that control, even for just a moment.

"since when do you care what other people think?" you start.

"since rick chose to trust me."

you hum, understanding.

"listen-"

"so you've been thinking about it." you're the one to interrupt now.

his head snaps up, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, as if asking you where you're going with that statement.

"there's nothing wrong with it. it's not like we're getting married or something."

"i'm older than you. way older than you."

"so?"

"i could be your father."

"if you say that word to me one more time i swear i will turn this landfill upside down to find another sex toy to shove up your asshole."

"why do you get so triggered by it?"

you roll your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. you press your thighs together, missing the warmth and buzzing from earlier. fun killer.

"because."

"why?"

"doesn't matter."

"tell me," he presses further.

you finally look at him, frustrated. "because i have fucking daddy issues and the thought of you being so much older than me turns me on. there."

you get up from the armchair, putting his vest on so that you can cover yourself. it almost reaches your knees, hiding your body from his gaze. he says nothing, and does nothing for a few moments. you have your back turned to him, hands resting on the counter of the half chipped kitchen cabinet. your head hangs low with embarrassment from the confession that just left your mouth.

tears stream down your cheeks, luckily hidden by your hair. but daryl doesn't miss the little sniff that comes your way. he sighs, then paces around the place a little more. when you don't hear him anymore, and finally face the fact that nothing will be the same with him anymore, you dare turn around. you almost gasp when you come face to face with him, his chest pressing against yours.

"wha- what are you-"

"shh..." he hushes you, eyes roaming your face.

you aren't sure what to do, or what he wants to do. if he tries to comfort you by giving you a hug, you will break down. and you will never face him again. you thought it was only sexual, but the way he looks at you and hushes you as you cry is awakening new emotions inside of you. ones that you will push down for now, because it is not the time.

"daryl, i'm sorry." you hiccup, genuinely feeling sorry for ruining whatever you had with him.

you feel his hands on the back of your thighs, and before you can react, he picks you up and places you on the counter. you instinctively spread your legs, letting him in closer.

"don't be. or else i might regret this."

you look at him doe eyed as he places his hand on your neck, gently holding you just beneath your jaw and softly pressing into the sides of it. he brings his head close to you, eyes half closed as he stares at your lips.

"daryl." you whisper, not sure of this anymore.

"just hush."

and with that, he presses his lips into yours, softly moving them with rhythm only known to the two of you. his other hand caresses your thigh, then creeps to your bottom and pulls you to the edge of the counter, enough to have your crotch press against his.

you can taste your tears while you kiss him, and he probably can too. he doesn't say anything, hell, you even feel him twitch between your legs. you grind on him, unable to control yourself. it is different than the wand. it's warm, and it responds back. it's better.

"hey," you call, slowly pulling away. "i don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me or something like that. are you doing it because of that?"

"nah."

before you can continue bombarding him with questions and overthinking, he places his lips back on yours, this time a little rougher than before. you open your mouth, tongue eager to taste him properly. and fuck, he tastes good. you hated cigarettes and alcohol, but from his mouth, you adore it. you finally give in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. finally.

it doesn't take long for him to have you whining and grinding on him, wanting more than just kissing and thigh grabbing and occasional choking. you beg into his mouth, quietly at first, but with each kiss he gives you, you become louder and more demanding.

"touch me, please, please, please," you're desperate.

he smiles, for the first time in a while, and snakes his hands under your top. you hurriedly take off the vest and the top, to make it easier for him, but he pulls his vest back on your body. you are now wearing nothing but panties and the leather vest, making daryl incredibly impatient.

"ya just needed some attention, didn't ya?" he kisses your neck, his hand cupping your breast and thumb playing with the hard nub. "some sense fucked into ya to shut that mouth."

for someone that almost never talks, he is quite the talker now. and you can't complain, when his words have you clenching around nothing down there.

"needed someone older to take care of ya."

you moan at his words, spreading your legs further and raising your hips into his crotch. his hand reaches down to your panties, landing a light slap on your clothed clit as a warning. there's growling outside of the shed, but not enough to make you care. you'll get what you want, and no amount of walkers will stop you, even if it'll be your last.

daryl moves your panties aside, pulling away from you to see you. he hums, thumb coming to contact with your clit and circling it a few times. you shake under his touch, throwing your head back. it isn't something you haven't done before, but the touch is foreign, and different. his fingers are rough and big, an opposite of the soft flesh of your clit. he rubs your slit up and down, enough to smear your arousal so he can touch you better.

"fuck..." you trail, grabbing the edges of the counter and digging your nails into the hard surface.

"didn't find a boy your age to open you up?"

you shake your head. he hums again, fingers now circling your tight entrance.

"that's a shame, then. i'm gonna have to take my time with you."

"what? why?" you ask, disappointed.

"i'd split you in half, little one."

every word in that sentence sent arrows to your core. fuck, just how big is he?

"then, what are we doing?"

he turns around, leaving you yearning for his touch while he grabs your discarded toy from the armchair.

"you share toys?"

"sometimes."

"good."

he pulls himself out from his pants, and you are left with your jaw dropped. it fuels his confidence, the way you're staring at him as he rubs himself up and down. he isn't big. he's huge.

"daryl, how will that fit in me?" you ask, actually concerned.

"it'll take a little time. i'll train ya, and you'll take it like a good girl, the way i teach ya. but ya have to start listening to me and stop pissing me off."

nodding eagerly, you push your hips towards his hands, searching for his touch again.

he turns the gadget on, pressing it against your clit. you moan out loud, grinding on the buzzing toy and sliding with ease. you hear him grunt, and even a quiet moan. your eyes drop to the situation between your legs, and when you see him pressing his cock to the gadget, you swear you could squirt all over him. he rocks his hips with yours, pushing you up against the wall and grunting in your mouth, just like you moan into his. he doesn't break eye contact with you, instead getting off on it.

"i'm gonna cum, daryl." you whine, hands reaching into his hair to pull.

"give me a second."

you'd give him two if he wanted. you try your hardest to focus on not yet cumming, but the way he sweats and grunts for you doesn't make it easy.

"daryl-" you warn, moans becoming high pitched and inviting the walkers around the shed.

he sticks two fingers in your mouth, keeping you silent and helping himself get closer. you only needed to swirl your tongue around him a few time and take him all the way to his knuckles to have him moaning and cumming all over your stomach, rubbing the toy up and down in a sloppy pace.

you follow, pleasure washing over your body along with a thin layer of sweat, the sight of his seed on you making it more intense. you are dehydrated, hot and filthy. and you love it, because he is the same. you'd be like that every day, if it meant getting him the way you just had him.

"you didn't have to..." you say as he helps you dress up, wiping his seed from you with his bandana and discarding it.

"i wanted to. before, today, too."

"you sure?"

"yes."

you nod. he sees that you are not convinced, and he sighs. he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i rarely regret my actions. trust me."

"yeah, well, i hope i'll get more of these actions you speak of."

he chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you know, for someone who just came all over me, it's weird to see you so sentimental and comforting."

you don't even finish the sentence, he already playfully throws the bandana at you, rushing outside to hide his smile and to hide from your attempt at attacking.

"oh, you- you- you asshole!"

"right back at ya."

***

yippie! my first twd oneshot, idk how to feel about it lol. had this in the drafts for a while now. feel free to send feedback, doesn’t matter if it is good or bad 🩷

#twd #twd imagine #twd smut #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl x y/n #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead smut

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onsomenewsht · 4 months

Text

now playing: In The Kitchen

< track 1 || track 3 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader (past) / Leah Williamson x Reader (platonic)

》 words count: ~900

》 deleted the playlist / but I still hear all your favorite melodies

“Can you change the song at least?”

Leah just ignores you, keeping tidying up your bedroom as if your clothes personally offended her. You can’t really be mad at the blonde, if not for her you could be even more miserable. And you’re already in a pretty shitty state if you have to say yourself.

But an intervention from your new captain and unplanned friend is unnecessary, you think.

Yes, sometimes you ignore calls from your closest friends. Yes, occasionally you hide in your still-kinda-bare but brand-new house. Yes, every now and again you lose yourself in your fucked up mind.

Why does she have one of Alexia’s favourite reggaeton songs in her cleaning playlist?

When the defender pulls up out of nowhere a hoodie that you tried to bury as soon as you moved in, you’re back on square one.

“You’re pathetic”

“You’re such a good friend, Williamson”

“I am, thank you so much and thank Keira for it”

You really should.

You’re quite sure Keira convinced her best friend to look after you. She’s one of the few among all your former teammates who’s actually trying not to look at you like you kicked a puppy with no remorse.

The puppy is Alexia.

The kicking is you asking for a transfer and basically disappearing.

You definitely should thank her.

“One may think in your hurry to leave you should have left behind your ex’ clothes”, the yellow number painfully standing out on the royal blue fabric.

“Drop it”

“The hoodie or the truth?”

You don’t answer, but you find the energy to move from your bed and rip the piece of clothes from her hand. You don’t even look at it when you abruptly throw it somewhere in your opened closet, too busy trying not to let the memories invade your tired mind.

Alexia’s warm embraces, strong arms around you and tender hands drawing mindlessly patterns.

Fuck it.

You can’t deal with it now.

You can’t deal with anything lately.

Apparently, leaving the room is not a great idea either, both Leah and the song are following you everywhere. Fuck the expensive audio system you convinced your brokenhearted self you needed too.

The music is getting louder, your head is beating even harder and your friend is too persistent.

You shut down the audio system entirely by ripping the main cord from its place and the defender flinches, stopping in the middle of your kitchen. She’s used to your mood swings, but she still doesn't know what to do when you're this touchy.

“Let’s cook something”, the captain proposes after a quiet moment.

“Don’t you have your own house with your own kitchen?”

“Yeah, but you can actually use it”

You take the excuse to distract and ground yourself, cooking is always able to help you to calm down and focus your mind on simpler tasks. Leah looks at you moving around your kitchen, somehow dancing without music but following a rhythm only you can hear.

For a while it’s almost like your real self is back, the version Keira described over the years but Leah meets just briefly when something sparks in your dark eyes. It happens sometimes, unexpectedly, other times she realises it was there seeing as the light dims.

Then you recognise you’re cooking Alexia’s comfort food and lose the grip on the knife.

You debate throwing it all in the trash.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can I stop you?”

You place two portions and while Leah pretty much devours her own, yours remains untouched.

“Do you regret it?”

“Chew the damn food, Williamson”

“Take your pretty head out of your ugly ass”, she quipped back, mouth full.

You admire her. She’s forceful, devoted. She keeps her word. She promised her best friend to look after a broken soul she didn’t even know personally, and that she does. And now Leah genuinely cares about you, to the point of being brutally honest when you need to be called out.

“I don’t regret it”

“You’re miserable”

“Well said cap, thanks for the pep talk!”

The blonde takes the plate under your frown and starts eating it, no reason to let such a good meal go to waste. The two of you keep it quiet for the next hour, she cleans the dishes and tidies up the kitchen as a silent thank you for the shared launch.

In the middle of the afternoon, you let her back in your bedroom and don’t even protest too much when she insists on you at least folding your clothes.

She’s wasting her day off making sure you don’t sulk in your own misery, so you kind of have to come to the conclusion you should at least indulge her.

The hoodie pops up again and this time you allow yourself to feel it.

To feel her.

Alexia’ smell is well gone but a sudden memory overwhelms you.

An unnecessary long car ride to a secluded beach she insists on taking you to. Even if the unusual pale Barcelona sun is setting, even if she has rehab in the early morning the day after. The hoodie she’s wearing, the perfect fit with her open smile. You wrapped around royal blue on the return trip. It’s darker outside but your eyes are brighter. Her perfume lingers on the fabric.

Now you just hold onto ghosts.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #alexia #leah williamson #woso #here we go again #please excuse my english #and everything else #this just bad #my wo(rd)so #Spotify #now playing universe

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angelshimaa · 4 months

Text

@iingeniium :: hi bb !!!! can i request under the mistletoe with tenya iida? prompt: a lingering kiss because they're so sweet a/n :: hi my darling !! apologies for this being so late, but i hope it meets your expectations :) cw :: gn!reader, reader is shorter than iida (by how much is up to you)

event (closed).

“waiting for someone?” you walk closer to iida who's standing silently in what would seem like the middle of the room. while everyone at the christmas gathering mingles, he's alone, sipping every now and again from his cup of juice while he idly takes up space.

“n-no, i was just talking to midoriya and todoroki, but they had somewhere to go quickly.” you don't miss the slight tension his body language develops as he adjusts his glasses— tenya isn't very much of a good liar.

“so, you are waiting for someone.”

“...yes.” not them.

“under some mistletoe?”

the red iida turns is enough to rival kirishima’s hair and your can't stop the smile that spreads across your face at the sight. it's the deepest red too, reaching even the tips of his ears.

adorable.

“i did not— i did not realise there was mistletoe here,” he stutters, moving his free hand nervously before bringing it up to his glasses again. he's been trying to work on this habit of his, but it seems as though it was particularly hard to get rid of. “thank you for letting me know, i’ll move now—”

so much for his grand plan.

“wait, iida!” you laugh lightly, reaching out to hold his arm before he begins to walk away. the mere contact has him freezing for a split second before he recuperates. “aren't you forgetting something?”

iida doesn't want to assume— that was a sure fire way to make any situation unbearably uncomfortable— but the teasing tone your voice takes on doesn't give his mind any other choice. little did you know that that was his ‘grand plan’; he wanted to be near the mistletoe in case you crossed his path, and if he was lucky enough, you'd let him kiss you.

the mere thought has him blush even more and iida just doesn't know what he was thinking to begin with. ochako was right— crushes make you feel very funny, have you acting very funny indeed.

“i don't think so—” he starts, but his words catch in his throat at the sight of your gentle smile.

“the rules state that two people under mistletoe should kiss. you know all about rules, right?” you're teasing him, getting him all flustered in a way nobody else has seen before and it's unfair how easily you do it. “do you want to?”

you glance up at him and the way your eyes gleam only has his heart stutter like it's tripping over itself. iida has to force himself to relax before he nods slightly, finding no use denying the truth.

“i... i’d like to, y/n. to kiss you, i mean.”

you're so pretty when smile.

“go ahead, iida.”

slowly, with some blush still giving his cheeks colour, iida nods before his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. your skin is warm, he notes, before he brings his lips closer to yours.

iida’s lips barely brush against yours before you reach out to gently pull him closer so his lips are properly pressing against yours. he's so nervous thinking about how he might somehow mess this intimate affair up, too nervous to fully get lost in how soft your lips feel.

oh, how good it feels to do this.

iida’s hand slips away from the side of your face and goes to wrap itself around your waist, pulling all of you closer to him while your arms hang loosely around his shoulders. he kisses you with softness, and you make sure the feeling of your lips against his lingers for as long as it can.

your lips are left with a tingle when the kiss breaks, and you make him want to give you all he has when you peer up at him, looking into the blue of his eyes with the ghost of a content smile.

you're happy todoroki blurted out iida’s (horrible) plan to you in the kitchen while midoriya tried (and failed) to cover up for him— had he not told you how iida wanted to kiss you, neither of you would probably be this close to one another.

“just ask next time, tenya.”

and if iida knew, he’d probably be happy todoroki blurted it out too.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

#𝅄 ۟ ✧ — angel's gift event ·˚#iida x reader #iida x you #iida x y/n #tenya iida x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha iida #tenya x reader #iida fluff #tenya fluff #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha iida #iida x gn!reader #tenya iida #tenya iida x gn!reader

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grievedeeply · 5 months

Note

I really love your first kiss hcs with dammon and rolan request! Can I request first kiss hcs with Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, and Zevlor?

sorry these are short! i didn't want to be too repetitive with them but i hope you enjoy anyways and thanks for the request! (and sorry this took forever to do lol)

gn!reader/tav | no tws

first kiss hcs with astarion, gale, wyll, halsin and zevlor

astarion

kisses aren't a big deal for him most of the time. he doesn't think of them as anything more than something you do with someone else. he'd done it plenty of times.. but not with someone like you

he really feels something for you, something real and genuine. he'd be lying if he said it didn't scare him, but it's just the truth

he wants his first kiss with you to be meaningful

it's not going to be in some sort of grand setting. it's probably in the middle of the woods somewhere and completely unplanned, too

but that's the beauty of it. a kiss so in the moment it comes naturally to the two of you. it's soft and gentle and warm.. things astarion isn't used to in kisses

he's used to fervor— intense moments that aren't exactly intimate. but this.. this is something special and it's beautiful. he doesn't ever want it to end, but it does, eventually.

but that's alright, because he'll start it all over again

gale

kisses have always been something intimate in his eyes, and he doesn't give them away lightly

he has to feel really genuine about someone for him to even think about wanting to kiss them, and he feels that way towards you rather quickly

you're kind and understanding, helpful and compassionate. all amazing qualities and when added to your incredible personality.. you are someone he sees himself having something real with

he'll take you on a date first. it's nothing fancy but it is special to both of you. it's probably a picnic under the stars.. somewhere where it can be just the two of you alone

he'll caress your face and stare into your eyes before he kisses you, making it very clear on what he wants before actually doing it

it's a sweet kiss, short but filled with everything he wants to say. he doesn't make a big deal about it in front of you, but he does have a giddy smile on his lips for the rest of the night

wyll

similarly to gale, he believes kisses are something special— something intimate

he wants his first kiss with you to be perfect. he'll probably have the entire day planned out. a nice dinner or a picnic or something similar, and spending the evening under the stars

in truth, your first kiss with him is far from planned and happened solely because it felt right

even if he wants it to be perfect, he's probably the one initiating it. he just saw you and couldn't resist

while it's not the scenario he pictured in his mind, he doesn't care. any moment shared with you is perfect and one he wants to enjoy for all it is

it's not what he envisioned, but it's perfect because he shared it with you

halsin

also wants his first kiss to be perfect in some aspects, but he's more focused on the special part of it than anything else

he's with you. does the moment feel right? does it look like you're into whatever situation you might be in with him?

he's definitely going to whisper, "can i kiss you?" while looking hopelessly into your eyes like a man so deeply in love the only thing he can think of is you

the kiss is lovely and everything he wanted it to be because it was with you. you could be completely inexperienced and he wouldn't care, or the opposite, solely because it was with you

halsin is very sweet and very open about his feelings on things, so he'll be letting you know how nice the kiss was

i think he's probably had a few first kisses with other people in the past, but none of them even come close to the moment he shares with you

zevlor

zevlor has to get over his anxieties first to be able to accept how much he wants to kiss you

assuming that he's older than you, he has to talk himself out of not liking you because of his age, even if you make it very clear that you like him in that way

when he finally jumps over that hurdle, kissing you is all he can think about whenever he's around you until the exact moment it happens

definitely very impromptu. wasn't planned at all and he completely kissed you on impulse because it felt right and because he would back out later on

it's special to him and means a lot when you don't pull away. the man is so anxious.....

he thinks about it a lot. it might not have been the ideal place but it was perfect because the kiss makes him realize just how much you like him

it makes him feel good, honestly <3

863 notes · View notes

chosetherose · 1 month

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The Fortnight video foreshadows the convergence of Taylor Swift and her brand

In her videos, Taylor has continually played with the idea of herself as a person versus as a brand. These portrayals have almost been adversarial in nature. Think about the relationship between the two life sized Anti-Hero Taylors. The hooded robot Taylor who got to exist in the world while her bare counterpart was trapped in glass. Etc.

The Fortnight video introduces similar characters but flips the script because there isn’t a me versus her dynamic anymore. Instead, there is a story about coming together.

A scene by scene breakdown:

Taylor Swift™️ is chained to a bed in a white gown with a spicy slit and garter. A faceless nurse enters walking upside down on the ceiling (a continued theme suggestive of PR games). The nurse presents “Forget Him” pills, arguably reminiscent of a dark time where the world thought they could “cure” homosexuality. After Taylor Swift™️ begrudgingly takes her dose, the nurse unchains her.

We then see Taylor Swift™️ approach a two way mirror and wipe the mask off her face, revealing face tattoos we know to be Post Malone’s in real life. This reveal is setting the scene that within this video Post Malone represents Taylor’s inner self, her true soul behind the veil of celebrity. I’ll call him True Taylor.

Next, the mask is back and we see Taylor Swift™️ walk out of the observation room and into the workspace. She goes from wearing a leggy white gown with garter to a fully covered black poet-esque dress. She isn’t dressed for voyeuristic eyes anymore, she’s dressed to work on her art. I love this light to dark transition because black can be seen as the absence of light. Fitting for a tortured poet who can’t live her truth in public with her sunny muse by her side.

Note that we don’t get to see black dress Taylor Swift™️ through the two way mirror. She exists behind the bright lights of fame, making art in a room hidden from our view. Maybe the pills numb her enough to twist the art for an audience who likes to her to be chained to a bed while they watch her suffer.

But wait Taylor Swift™️ and True Taylor are collaborating. They start work separately but their art eventually drifts out of their typewriters, combining into a white light that bursts into a rainbow. Remember how I said black light is the absence of light? Well white light is comprised of all hues on the visible light spectrum.

We know there are layers to Taylor’s music: the surface layers chock full with to red herrings for the grocery line Swifties and the deeper layers of Taylor’s truth. They both exist in the art, swirled together.

But here is where things start to feel different. We cut to True Taylor and Taylor Swift™️ away from all those faceless people - they are alone in the middle of a road. That in itself is ridiculously symbolic of being on the way to somewhere (maybe brighter days). But there’s more because they are dressed identically, laying inside Taylor’s head that is made up of their art. This scene is like bonking us on the head that these two people are one and the same.

Note: The silhouette here is from the Style video which also portrays Taylor’s inner self as a man.

Taylor Swift™️ runs to True Taylor and they embrace in the middle of the road as pages of their art float around them. In the chaos, Taylor Swift™️ reaches out to True Taylor.

Maybe this scene is suggesting the public version of Taylor is ready to embrace her real self.

Then we see Taylor Swift™️ strapped to a table, wild hair from dropping the hairpins we saw in the opening scene. The drugs aren’t working, it must be time to escalate to shock therapy. The men around her gather and there is literally a sign in the background that says “Master Control”.

But one of the men in the room making decisions for the brand is actually True Taylor, who has been there all this time.

Enough is enough when True Taylor can’t take the pain and pulls the plug on the procedure, freeing public persona Taylor from torture.

Next we see True Taylor, familiarly encased behind glass, on a phone call. Perhaps making plans while safe from the rain. Taylor Swift™️ is elevated on a pedestal, out in the storm, in her best dress FEARLESS! Credit to @rep-princess-witch who put the fearless connection together in another post.

I’ll say it again, that is the huge difference in this video compared to others. Here, Taylor Swift™️ is not an antagonist, she is ready to brave the storm.

So what does she do? She’s back in the workspace burning all the files. It’s not without emotion but it’s necessary. We then see a stoic Taylor Swift™️ with no regrets.

After burning the files she’s back in the observation room. It’s time to fight back against the voyeurs and she does so by smashing the glass between her and them. She regains her agency by squashing their ability to hide. Shes deserting her past life.

Note: We don’t see True Taylor back inside. This fight is specifically for Taylor’s public persona.

In the closing seen, we see True Taylor leave shelter, step outside into the storm, and reach for Taylor Swift™️. The person and the public persona are weathering the storm hand in hand.

*Please check out @heyitsmoog on TikTok - he shared thoughts there that inspired me to make this post.*

#I could tweak this for days but here it is!#analysis

352 notes · View notes

allywthsr · 10 months

Text

FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT | (l.norris)

summary: Lando and you talk about the cheating rumors, you find out the truth and you solve things between each other. Part two to Reckless

wordcount: 5.4k words

pairing: landonorris x singer!femreader

warnings: panic attack, crying (let me know if I missed anything)

notes: the love part one got, made my heart throb. Thank you!!!! I hope you like whatever I wrote there, also the first time I used text messages and tweets, tell me what you think about them!! I used follow the white rabbit by Madison Beer for this part! I deleted some lyrics, hope you don’t mind.

You were not ready for Lando to come home. Not ready at all.

You didn’t know who you should believe, him or the pictures that were posted all over the internet. Of course you wanted to believe him, you‘ve been in a relationship with him for over five years now, he never gave you a reason to doubt him. But the picture literally had proof on them, showing him in the act of kissing this woman. And we‘re not talking a smooch we’re talking full on make out session in the middle of the club. His excuse better be good or you would leave, and if he started to blame the alcohol you would be fuming. Alcohol is not an excuse to kiss other people, even when you‘re drunk you need to think of your significant other.

Normally Lando wasn’t even planing to come home, the plan was that he flew straight to Belgium for the next race weekend and you would join him there, but now you weren’t sure if you wanted to go and see him race, even if things cleared between you two. But you weren’t sure if they would, even when there was an explanation for it, he still kissed this girl and met up with her multiple times in Monaco. And there‘s no denying it, there were pictures that clearly showed him with her.

You wanted things fixed with him, you loved him with your whole heart, he was your person. What are you gonna do if things didn’t work out? Move back to your home country? Stay in Monaco? Move somewhere you‘ve never lived before? You had absolutely no clue.

The wait felt like days, you walked around your apartment, cleaning here and there, trying to calm your nerves. You settled in the living room waiting for Lando to arrive. After three and a half hours you finally heard the door unlock, now your heartbeat fastened, you had the feeling that your heart was going to jump out of your chest, and you thought that you were going to faint. Too scared that things won’t work out and you‘ve spent the last five and a half years with Lando for nothing. You wanted to marry him, you wanted to have children with him, you wanted to build your forever home, you wanted to get a dog, and you couldn’t imagine all these things with someone else. You did not think you could ever love someone as much as you loved him.

”Y/N?“, you froze. Nope, you wanted to leave, this was too much for you. You couldn’t talk with him, look him in the eye or be in his presence.

You didn’t answer him, you wanted to but when you tried to speak, nothing came out.

”Y/N, are you there?“, he asked again. Tears started to form in your eyes, you were fucking scared. And before anything else happened you started to feel a panic attack coming, something you‘ve been familiar with but especially in the last hours had constantly. You started shaking and crying silently, breathing way too fast and not being able to help yourself getting out of it, you curled into a little ball, hugging your knees while putting your head on them while you rocked back and forth.

So when you heard footsteps nearing, you panicked even more. By now you were shaking uncontrollably and your sobs got louder and louder, you felt like fainting with the little air you only got. Lightheaded you looked up and saw Lando standing in the middle of the living room.

”Y/N what the fuck, are you okay?“, you just shook your head and before you could take another breath he was next to you on the couch, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tight. The tears were just falling down your face and Lando thought about calling an ambulance. He had experienced you having a panic attack quite often, he even had some himself when he first got to formula one and the pressure became too much but he‘d never seen an attack being that bad. He just hoped his presence would calm you down, as it normally would but after the articles, he wasn’t that sure anymore.

”Hey Y/N, breathe Baby, you need to breathe. Do it like me“, he started to slowly breathe in with his nose loudly and held it in for a few seconds and then blew the air out of his mouth. You really did try to breathe like him, but your sobs interrupted you before you could breathe in. He held you tighter in hopes that he could stop your shaking but it only got worse.

”Is it better if I not touch you? I don’t want that you get worse only because I hug you“, but you just clawed your hands in his arm that was wrapped around your front and shook your head slightly.

”No? You want me to hug you?“, you squeezed his arm tighter and started to lean in his body a little.

”Okay, Baby you need to breathe or I need to call a doctor, this is not healthy and I can’t get you out of this headspace. You‘ll be fine, listen okay? Breath like me.“

You slowly took a breath in and before you could hold it, you let out a sob and another.

”I can’t breathe “, you pressed out of your lungs while trying to get some air.

”I know baby, but you need to come back to me, it‘ll all be fine. We are fine, okay? I love you so much but you need to come back to me love“, you tried so hard to breath normal but the panic attack was stronger and the sobs spilled out of your mouth again.

”I feel like I’m going to faint Lando.“

Now he started to panic, he really has never seen it that bad before, he needed to call a doctor, he couldn’t help you alone.

Then Lando got an idea, he wanted to use a technique you showed him and he never got the chance to try it out but now was the perfect timing.

”Baby I know, let’s do the senses thing you showed me okay?“, you just nodded while shaking.

” What are five things you can see?“

You lift your head from your knees and looked around.

”Y-You, the tab-table“, you took a shaky breath.

”It’s okay baby, take your time and breath.“

”The couch, the plan-plant, the lamp.“

”Good job angel, breath. Now what are four things you can touch?“

”Y-Y-You“, you were interrupted by a sob, ”The couch, my phone, the table.“

”Yes baby, now take a deep breath“, you looked into his eyes and repeated the breathing he did.

”Good, three things you can hear?“

You looked back through the room, focusing on what you can hear at the moment, allowing your brain to calm down.

”Your voice, the neighbors drilling something in the wall and my phone pinging with messages.“

”Exactly“, he pressed a kiss on the side of your head, ”two things you can smell?“

”You and the room perfume I sprayed this morning.“

”Good job love“, he noticed how you were much calmer than he started, barely letting out a sob and only a little shaky.

”And what is one thing you can taste?“

You chuckled, ”You.“

He let out a quiet laugh, ”Yes baby. Breathe okay? Do it with me.“

You turned your face back to his face and after he took a deep breath through his nose, you repeated after him.

”Hold it.“

You nodded and together you hold the air for about five seconds, and after that, you both let the air out through the mouth. He repeated that three more times and after that, you were back to your old self.

”Welcome back love, do you need anything? Water or do you want to lie down? Sleep for an hour?“

You shook your head and answered him with a: ”I need you.“ He whispered an ’Okay‘ and placed his head on yours, enjoying the embrace you guys were still in. After what felt like hours of sitting there, it was probably only ten minutes, he slowly let go of you, and you whined when he did that.

”I‘m gonna get some water and then we can talk, yeah?“

You nodded and let out a breath, too scared to fall back into a panic attack, you weren’t ready for what was coming.

When he came back with two glasses of water and placed them on the little coffee table and sat on the couch across from you, he began.

”So it looks bad, but it’s not like everyone says it happened. Yes, I kissed her, well, she kissed me. But only for two seconds and maybe it looks like a full make out but I swear it was only for like three seconds. She pulled my head down and wrapped my hands around her waist and before I could react she kissed me, but I immediately pushed her away. My brain needed a second to register what was happening because I was in such a shaken state, and that’s where they took a picture.“

”But you hung out with her in Monaco, and she was in Hungary when you were racing.“

”Yes I-“, he didn’t know what to say, it wasn’t like he was searching for an excuse but more like the right words, ”I met up with her because she‘s actually the sister of a friend, and he asked me to pick her up because he couldn’t and didn’t want her to walk. I‘ve met her a few times at his‘ and yeah that’s basically it.“

”You literally went with her on a walk after I asked you to go with me to the docks for some fresh air!“, you argued, now getting frustrated.

”Yes and I have no excuse for that. I did go for a walk with her, but I don’t know what to tell you. She wanted us to be friends and friends hang out, so she asked me to meet her at the city.“

”So you ditched me, your girlfriend, for some chick and did not tell me about it? You could literally have asked me to go with you and we could‘ve met up with her.“

”I know and it’s stupid, but I guess I was overwhelmed with the race weekend coming up and so I didn’t thi-“

”No! You do not get to blame this on your job. This is you being a bitch.“

He chuckled, ”I was, but believe me, I never had any intention to do anything with her.“

”But she did!“

”Well, I know that now.“

”And what about my release party? This album is literally about you and you didn’t come? Do you even have an idea how embarrassed I was? Your family was there and they didn’t catch a glimpse of you the whole time they were in Monaco. I stood there all alone talking about how happy you made me and when people asked me about you, I had to tell them you were at the MTC. Everyone thought you were the biggest jerk for leaving when I had an important day. I travel around the world for you, I move meetings, and recording sessions just so I can join you for a race. I asked you to come for one day, one fucking day and you didn’t show. I even put the release date like that, so it wouldn’t be on a race week, so you could attend and my ass wouldn’t be alone. But I was alone, in this room full of people I love, I was alone because you weren’t there. I came home early and you weren’t even home and when I checked your location you were somewhere in Monaco. You could‘ve texted, you could‘ve called, yet - nothing. I thought you had some huge thing planned as a surprise for me but you didn’t even apologize. You just came home late and didn’t even think about me. I cried in our bed and you came in, changed your clothes and fell asleep immediately. Just the next day you said ’Oh I‘m sorry I didn’t come‘ and went on with your day? I literally cried on my release day, but not happy tears, that’s just fucking sad dude. This might not be a big deal to you, but releasing an album isn’t something you do every weekend.“, you started to pick at your sweatpants trying to distract your tears from falling down your cheeks. All the emotions came back from that day.

”I‘m so sorry I made you feel that way. I wanted to come I promise, I even bought that huge bouquet of your favorite flowers but then she called me and“, you let out a scoff, of course she called him, ”told me she her car broke down in the middle of nowhere and I was the only one she could reach. I had to help her and it took way longer than I expected, the tow truck took two hours to find our location, so when we finished and I drove her home because her car was in some repair shop, she invited me into her flat and we just had a soda relaxing from all the stress and I forgot to go to the party. I just remembered when I found the flowers in the trunk of my car the next morning, but they were all dead because they didn’t get any water all night long. This is not an excuse, I just want you to know what happened. And nothing will change the fact that I missed one of the most important nights of this year, but I am truly sorry. If I could go back and do it differently, I would immediately but I can’t. And I have no clue how to make it up to you, I could buy you another handbag or whatever but nothing could make it better. I still feel like an idiot, if that helps?“

”Not really, I am still super mad at you, you have no idea.“

”And you have every right to be. But I am really so fucking sorry, I never wanted to make you feel this way.“

”But how did she end up in Hungary?“

”I invited her“, your head turned to his at a speed of light, ”What?!“, you screamed at him.

”This girl is literally flirting with you, trying to get you away from me every second of the day and you invite her to your race? No wonder she kissed you. She must’ve thought this was you telling her it’s something serious.“

”What? Y/N, no, you’re delusional.“

”Lando, I know how girls work, especially the bad ones. You might be my first relationship but my friends have told me about them.“

”But that’s not why I wanted her to come. She asked me if she could ever come to a race because she’s never been. And we had a spare ticket because you didn’t come so I asked her.“

”That’s bullshit, she obviously wanted something from you and you didn’t see it.“

”Well, I‘m sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you. I messed up and I‘m a horrible boyfriend but I can’t change things now. I just know that I never wanted anything from her, I invited her because I thought she was a friend and I helped her with her car because she was a friend. If I had known her intention, I would’ve never even picked her up in the first place.“

”You‘re not a horrible boyfriend. But over the last three weeks, you weren’t a good one either. I felt so alone in this country I never wanted to move to in the first place. Yes, it’s beautiful and all but doesn’t feel like home, I miss my friends so badly, but they‘re all in the UK. And I don’t want to blame you for this because this decision was made by both of us but you told me, you would never leave me alone for long. Because I have barely anyone here. Yes, the girlfriends of your friends but I can live without them as well. I almost booked a flight two weeks ago to go home, because if I’m alone here I can go home alone. This city will never be my forever home, I hope you didn’t forget this.“

”I am sorry Y/N. And of course, I didn’t forget about you not being a hundred percent happy with Monaco, if you want we can start looking at lots to build on in England. Building a house is not something you do in a week, so if you want we start looking for them. I will not leave you alone from now on, I promise.“

”But how are we gonna come back from this?“

”What do you mean?“

”Lando, I can’t just go back to what it was like before it all started. I love you so much, but you also hurt me. And I’m still fucking sad over the things you did, even if you didn’t cheat.“

”I love you too, but you believe me, right? I never wanted anything from her, trust me.“

”I guess, the wounds are still fresh, so I need you to give me time. I need time to heal and get over it.“

”Of course Baby, take all the time you need. I just don’t want us to break up over someone stupid. She‘s not worth any of your tears. She‘s just this stupid bitch, and I know that now.“

”I don’t want us to break up over this as well but I need the time and I will fly home as soon as I can. I don’t want to go to Spa with you, I need time apart to calm down. That doesn’t mean I want a break or anything just some time for myself.“

”Are you sure that’s something you want?“

”No, I need this. I am not happy here and I don’t want to be in the paddock right now, I need some family and friends time and especially time for myself.“

He nodded and stood up. Now he was the one with the glossy eyes and pouting lip.

”Lando, why are you crying?“

You stood up and walked to hug him.

”I am just so sorry Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you and now you need time away from me. Which is fine but I am so fucking sorry“, he let out a quiet sob and the first tear spilled out of his left eye. You hugged him even tighter and now his arms slang around your body to return the hug. His head found its way to your neck and let it rest there, crying quietly. You let him cry everything out and even spilled some tears of your own. This was not a breakup, but you needed time apart. You knew how Lando was, he would do everything to express how sorry he was. Getting you gifts, flowers and whatnot just to suppress his feelings. But you didn’t want that, you wanted him to understand why you were sad and needed to go home, and by buying you gifts he wouldn’t understand.

After holding him in your arms for good five minutes he started to talk again: ”Did you write a song already?“, he slowly lifted his head from your shoulder and looked with his red eyes into yours. You chuckled, ”Yes I did, it’s called Reckless, but I don’t know if I‘ll release it, I mean you didn’t cheat in the end.“

”You should, to show the world what kind of asshole I am.“

”Baby, you’re not an asshole, I love you so much. Never see yourself as anything bad, you just hurt me, yes, but we hurt people all the damn time. But we solved it, just because I need to go home for a week or two doesn’t mean I hate you. You just need to realize what you did wrong and heal yourself. I don’t want you to think bad of yourself, you did some questionable things, but it’s not like you actually cheated. Okay? You‘re my person, my love, my baby and nothing can separate me from you.“

He just nodded. He needed some time for himself, you both knew that you both needed time to come back even stronger. So you went and packed all the things you needed for a week at home and booked a ticket for the next flight.

”When are you coming back home from Spa?“, you asked Lando, you wanted to book a flight to Monaco already, so you had no choice but to come back home to Lando.

”On Monday evening, then we planned to go on vacation on Wednesday, but I don’t know if you still want to come?“

”Of course, I‘ll come with you on our yearly family holiday, are you mad? Spending weeks on a yacht with only sunshine and you and your family is like a dream. I miss my Mila and I need my Mila cuddles. I‘ll fly back home to Monaco on Tuesday morning so I‘ll be back by Lunch time and we have enough time to pack.“

You looked at him, the way he sat on the bed, looking like he‘d lost the fight of his life, his arms were crossed before his chest, his legs were moving the whole time, too nervous to actually settle and his head was leaned against the headboard of the bed.

”Hey Lando, calm down, it’s only a week, you need to fly to Spa tomorrow anyway. Concentrate on your race, I‘ll be watching and supporting you from home“, you sat next to his leg and patted it.

”We‘re okay Lando. I forgive you, don’t worry. I just need a few days for myself and after I come back, we‘ll be just like before everything happened. So get your shit together and smile for me.“

He gave you a big smile, satisfied with it, you gave him a quick peck on his lips and stood up to gather the rest of your things. When you packed the rest of your toiletries in your bag, closing it with the zipper you let out a sigh and asked yourself if you really wanted to do this. You looked in the mirror and you knew the answer if you looked at yourself. You had bags under your eyes, they didn’t sparkle like they used to and your skin wasn’t rosy anymore. These three weeks took a toll on your whole being, you didn’t smile as much, and you for sure didn’t feel any happiness. But you were sure that after the week away from Monaco, you and Lando would come back stronger and everything would be okay again.

So when you stood with your luggage at the front door, Lando leaned to the wall next to it. You guys didn’t talk and just enjoyed the silence, both lost in your thoughts. When your phone got a notification, your Uber arrived and was ready to pick you up and take you to the airport. You wanted to now do it on your own and almost argued with Lando because you didn’t want him to take you. The week away starts now and he needed to accept that. He did something wrong, even if it wasn’t really his fault but he still met up with her and she was able to kiss him.

”I should go, my Uber is here.“

Lando just nodded and his head sunk, the first tear escaping his eye.

”Baby, please don’t cry. I‘ll see you in a week, you need to focus on your race, I don’t want you crashing just because I‘m home. You can text and call me whenever, it’s not like I‘m dead, I might not react immediately, because I want to do a little phone detox and maybe record some songs but if there’s an emergency, you have my parents' numbers and my siblings. My best friends as well, just focus and get another podium yeah? I‘ll be cheering you on from home.“

”I‘m sorry Y/N. I need you.“

”You have me, always. But just give me a week, let me calm down, and then we‘ll be back to our old selves. We will get over this and we‘ll be fine.“

He nodded and looked at you, his red watery eyes made you feel guilty, but now you needed to think about yourself. So you grabbed the handle of your luggage, put your free hand on his cheek, pressed your lips to his for a kiss, and stepped through the door.

”I love you, Lando, keep me updated.“

”I love you too Y/N. Please be careful.“

”Always.“

So when he closed the door behind you, one tear fell down your cheek but you wanted this and now it’s too late to go back. Your Uber drove you to the airport and you grabbed a mask, sunglasses and pulled your hood up, hoping that no one will notice you or at least recognize you. You loved meeting Lando’s fans but you just wanted to listen to your music while you waited for your flight to board. But luck wasn’t on your side today, while you waited for your flight to board, you saw multiple photographers taking pictures of you and you pulled your hood more into your face hoping they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your face. You still cried a lot earlier and you did not look like your best self right now.

After your plane finally boarded and left the airport, you took a deep breath. Ready to relax at home with your family.

f1gossip

22,827 likes

Y/N was seen in the Airport! We don’t know where she is going but she clearly does not wanna be recognized. People that waited in line with her said, that she cried the whole time while waiting. Is our favorite couple now actually over? We have no confirmation, but we‘ll update you, when we know something

two days later

/////////////////////////////

You smiled when you left the plane, you had missed Lando terribly over the last week. That showed you how you guys were meant to be.

Your new song ’Reckless’ was a banger, everybody loved it, little did they know you already wrote a new one.

Lando told you, that he would wait for you in the entrance hall and drive you back home.

So when you got your luggage and went to the entrance hall you searched for the familiar face. But you just spotted a huge bouquet of flowers and behind them, was his beautiful grinning face. So you run the last meters to him and embracing him in a tight hug, hearing the sounds of cameras clicking, you didn’t care, you needed to feel him close to you. So when you broke the hug and looked into each other's eyes, you kissed. Just a quick one, you didn’t want to have a make-out session on the internet.

”I am so happy to be back“, you whispered in his ear.

”You have no idea how much I missed you. Let’s go home, I wanna show how much I missed you.“

f1gossip

25.729 likes

Lando and Y/N at the airport! Y/N arrived back in town a week after leaving, Lando waited with a huge bouquet for her and they shared this bone crashing hug after seeing the other. So is our otp back again? We hope that they‘re happy!

y/nusername added to their story!

Boy, I heard my name's on the tip of your tongue

You knew how badly Lando wanted to call you every day when you were in your home country. He texted you every morning that he wished you were next to him. Reporters tried not to ask Lando about the rumors but it was almost impossible. He just wanted to scream in everybody’s face that you guys were good and didn’t break up.

And I'm empty too, if that is what you want

But the truth is, you weren’t better. Your mum wanted you to leave asap, the crying of how much you missed him became unbearable for your family.

And I looked into your eyes and you're the one

When you FaceTimed and saw him, you knew he was the one. He was your love, your person, your everything.

That I wanted, baby, that I wanted, baby, that I wanted

You wanted him so bad, no, you needed him. You needed him because without him you couldn’t really function.

It's a haunting, baby, that I'm wanting

Baby, that I'm wanting, wanting you

Haunting, baby, that I'm wanting, baby, that I'm wanting

It scared you how much you wanted him. You sat late at night on your childhood bed and thought about the first time you brought Lando here. Everybody loved him and accepted him into the family. You needed him and it was scary.

And I lose my mind tonight over you

Thinking back to the time, you started fuming. How the press played such a big role in the whole thing, they made you believe things that weren’t even true.

Devil in a dress, I'ma love you like I do

You still loved him, even when all the ugly articles and rumors started to come up, you still loved him.

Follow the white rabbit to see the truth

You talked with Lando and he showed you what really happened. With all the stupid rumors, you believed him. The articles were a way to distract you, to show you the wrong way, to believe the wrong people but in the end, you saw the truth.

And my patience is now setting like the sun

When Lando arrived back on Monday, you had a panic attack but you were also impatient. Wanting to hear what he had to say, what really happened, whether it would be good or not.

When my tears fall on your lap, we've just begun

You don’t remember the attack you had, but Lando later told you how you cried in his arms while he tried to calm you down. It was the beginning of the conversation, what a great start. Not.

And by now, I know the damage has been done

The time will never be able to be reversed. Nothing can and will ever repair the scars you got from this. He still hung out with a girl while you sat lonely in your shared flat. It happened and you can’t do anything to undo it.

That I wanted, baby, that I wanted, baby, that I wanted

It's a haunting, baby, that I'm wanting

Baby, that I'm wanting, wanting you

Haunting, baby, that I'm wanting, baby, that I'm wanting

Lando told you, that he was scared of how much he missed and wanted you to come home. You laughed about it, feeling the exact same. It was scary how your minds were connected and felt the same as the other one was feeling.

Follow the white rabbit to see the truth

You were glad how things worked out. That showed you how strong your relationship is, that even after this scandal, you still found your way back to each other. It also showed you how important talking with each other was. Talking is key and you are glad you are in a relationship where you talk about things.

———————————————————————————

taglist: @mrsmaybank13

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #madison beer #singer!reader #fake tweets #fake texts

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inamindfarfaraway · 8 months

Text

I love how Paul's character in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is defined entirely by a lack of desire, or desire defined only as 'not what I don't want'. "What Do You Want, Paul?" is a big joke about what a terrible narrative protagonist he is. But it's deeper than that. Throughout the show, even in the smallest, most insignificant phrasing, this man only ever expresses wants in these negative forms, as if he's incapable of feeling attraction in itself rather than simply avoiding what he dislikes. And only avoiding! He never says that he hates anything, either! That would give him passion, drive, perhaps the goal of actively removing that thing. No, he exclusively uses the verb hate in past tense.

He doesn't like musicals, singing, dancing or public performances. He makes this very clear, to the point that it's one of his most significant character traits. At no point does he ever talk about liking any media.

He doesn't want to do social activities.

He doesn't want to give away his money. About both this and the above, he can provide no logical explanation or moral justification. He just doesn't feel like them.

He always gets black coffee because it has "no cream, no sugar, nothing in it"; that is to say, he might not necessarily love it, merely prefer it over its sweeter or more complex alternatives.

He doesn't believe that Emma should have to sing and dance at work - he doesn't want her life to be so unfair and annoying to the both of them.

He doesn't want to obstruct the workings of his office (saying "that's the last thing I want" triggers "What Do You Want, Paul?").

He says, "I wanna go home!" when Mr Davidson is singing at him, but means that he wants to be somewhere safe and not stuck in this incredibly uncomfortable situation.

He doesn't want to die.

He specifically doesn't want to die in Clivesdale, because fuck Clivesdale.

He doesn't want to join the Hive.

He doesn't want to leave Hatchetfield, even when it's the site of an alien invasion that is his personal worst nightmare. He actually says that "All things considered, I like Hatchetfield", arguably an exception to the standard. However, he's also well aware of the town's flaws and problems. He grew up one of its poorer residents, attending the inferior, underfunded Sycamore High School where he casually admits the students "hated [themselves]" and having to watch its more respectable rival Hatchetfield High's school play. He has no strong investment in his tedious middle-class office job. He doesn't get along with some of his fellow townsfolk, like his coworker Ted and all the employees of Beanies except Emma. He awkwardly evades giving to charity and the homeless every morning on his way to work. His life is decidedly not one of utter bliss, and yet it's good enough for him in that he doesn't have the energy, ambition or imagination to want anything more. Since he's "been here [his] whole life", his affection for his hometown could be more an aversion to everywhere else or the hassle of travelling. Sticking with the devil he intimately knows.

He doesn't think badly of Emma, and says so because he doesn't want her to or believe that he does after learning that she helped make a "hated" experience of his happen.

He doesn't want to let Bill die, which is why he goes with Bill to rescue Alice. His heroism and proactiveness at the turning point of the end of Act One start to notably erode his apathy, but his phrasing reaffirms his negative motivations: "Hey, it's not like you're asking me to go see Mama Mia!", "Emma, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to draw a line in the sand. And I will never be in a fucking musical."

He doesn’t want Bill to blame himself for Alice's endangerment, stay in the area once Alice is revealed to be a vessel of the Hive or kill himself.

He doesn't want to do some light reading on the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

He has no positive motivation. He breaks one of the most basic rules of being a fictional character, let alone the main character the audience is supposed to root for. He isn't just an antihero, he's an anti-protagonist. Although this could easily make him boring or unsympathetic, he manages to seem relatable. Real. Human. He captures so genuinely an ordinary person living an ordinary life suddenly trapped in a horror story. How many of can honestly articulate "one concrete goal that motivates all [our] actions"? Even if you can, you wouldn't undergo a narratively fulfilling and thematically cohesive arc related to that desire the way a fictional character would. We're all essentially just trying to survive each day. To make or keep our lives however we define 'good enough'. We may not have a crystal clear picture of our ideal life, but I bet we all have a long list of things we don't want in it. We're all Paul.

What more appropriate antagonist for this man to face, then, than a force that exists to strip people of their autonomy, their individuality, their personhood, and force them to play archetypical characters in a conventional narrative? The Hive observes that Paul is an anti-protagonist and takes offence to this. It seeks to convert him into his antithesis, the "bold" "leading man" of its musical who the audience can "sympathize with". The Infected highlight this in the opening song, in which they eagerly anticipate and prepare the audience for his entrance... and he misses his cue. He isn't following their script. Perhaps that's why the audience is able to believe in this average, unassuming antihero's potential to succeed, to defeat the Hive or at the very least escape it, despite how fraught and grim the situation becomes. The story certainly proves itself to be cruel to its characters; but Paul doesn't operate like a normal character. The Hive promises to fulfil people's desires and make them happy throughout the play. Charlotte, Bill, Hidgens and Ted's deaths are connected to, either in direct causality or thematic relevance, their respective desires for Sam's love, Alice's safety, world peace (and the glory of a musical career) and Ted's own survival. Paul is uniquely immune to this pattern of death related to a core motivation.

Until:

"I can't leave without Emma”, “a friend of mine."

"Is there a chance of something more?"

"I think so. I'd like there to be. I want there to be."

He wants Emma, her life and her happiness and maybe, just maybe, her love. He wants to love her. To spend time with her. For the first time ever, he wants more out of life, not less. He's a little bit more of a character. After the Infected reprise the "Did you hear the word?" section of the opening song, building up to his appearance, this time he does enter the theatre, coming down the aisle just as he was meant to. Right on cue. Paul is now vulnerable to the narrative - the Hive's narrative. And the Hive's control.

Still he resists, even while doubting if he was ever really happy before. Not only does he use his final words, fittingly, to declare that he doesn't like musicals, but before that he firmly refutes the Hive, and the philosophy behind it and all the pressures and temptatations it might represent: "It doesn't matter what I want." What matters is the good of the world. Emma. Love. Hope. Freedom. Integrity. Humanity, which must be wonderful if we can make sacrifices like this for all the right reasons.

Rest in peace, Paul Matthews. You were the opposite of a conventional protagonist, but a true hero.

#paul matthews #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #hatchetfield #tgwdlm hive #hatchetfield meta #tgwdlm meta #tgwdlm analysis #analysis

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luvring · 21 days

Text

sitting on the grass, thinking of kissing you

timeskip iwaizumi x gn!reader | 1.3k words of casual conversation on the front yard of some unexplained party, and implied feelings with no resolution! :3

“what’re you doing out here?”

a breeze is the first to welcome you when you step outside, leaving goosebump trails down your back and arms. somewhere behind you, someone cheers at a song change, and the bass rumbles beneath your half-on shoe as you let the old screen door squeak and bounce shut.

hajime doesn’t look up from his spot next to the driveway. he only downs more of his drink and swirls the can in his right hand, bracelet on his wrist falling to his watch. “sitting. drinking.”

“mm, very eventful.” you awkwardly shuffle so your shoe fits over your heel, and he moves to spread his jacket beneath him, making space so you can avoid the wet grass.

it's quieter outside—the crowded singing and laughter of the house party muffled. it's easier to focus on the wind whistling through branches or sparse traffic that passes through the neighbourhood.

you look to the other side of the cul-de-sac, where hajime’s gaze seems to bore a hole in the trees. “think you missed ‘staring off into the dark abyss’ on your list?”

hajime hums. “it’s at least a dimly lit abyss.”

rolling your eyes with a snort, you find your place beside him. “whatever.”

the sun has fallen well below the horizon, dark sky showing no signs of the earlier pink-purple sunset. yet it's barely colder than it was this morning, and you haven't been in school in ages, but nostalgia trickles into your veins at the feeling of summer starting again. even now, you can spot a hare making its way down the sidewalk, and you smile.

hajime lifts his drink to his lips again, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he tilts his head back. a drop rests at the corner of his lips when he’s done. you prod, “is there a reason you’re staring into the dimly lit abyss?”

he taps the side of the can. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“nothing.”

“nothing?” you deadpan and reach to wipe the corner of his mouth. it prompts him to look at you for the first time since you came to find him. “like, nothing nothing, or something nothing?”

poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his eyes flicker from your thumb to your lips, back and forth, as you pull your hand away. but then you look up at him expectantly, and his stare returns to the drink he really doesn’t even like that much, but will at least keep him occupied for a few more minutes.

“i’m supposed to go grocery shopping tomorrow, but they close early on sundays and i have to drop off some shit last minute at tetsuro’s and talk about next week’s schedule—”

“oh my god, hajime,” you laugh and tilt your head at him. “it’s a party and you’re sitting on the grass outside thinking about your sunday chores?”

he shoots you a look. “you asked.”

“and curiosity killed the cat.”

“but satisfaction brought it back?”

you elbow his side. “yeah, well, no satisfaction this time, mr. sunday groceries.”

a stray gust blows against you, colder than the ones before it, and your arms move to wrap around your middle. hajime’s lips drop to a frown. “where’s your jacket?”

“i dunno, on the couch? in the closet?”

you’d rather not tell him it’s sitting on a bed, currently being used by 4 people you barely know beside their names playing truth or dare, and you picked finding him over facing them.

“you don’t—okay, just, you can use mine.” he grabs the denim from beneath you, but you wrap your hand around his wrist.

“are you joking? i’m not making us sit on cold, wet grass. this is a new outfit.”

but wind pushes again, and the collar of hajime’s button-up—which you only now notice has been unbuttoned at the top—hits the side of his neck. you mutter a curse, and he moves to wrap his arm around you, tucking you into his chest.

warmth seeps through your clothes, and you bury yourself deeper in it, in him. it’s half unfamiliar, but not unwelcome as he blocks the brunt of the wind, and your cheek rests against his collarbone, something you try to ignore swelling and filling your chest.

“you love making things difficult, don't you?” he murmurs.

“of course. my favourite pastime is inconveniencing as many people as possible at once,” you mumble, breath fanning back against you.

hajime’s thumb rubs your hip, keeping his question of “what’re you doing out here then, ‘inconvenience’?” a joke about someone that was anything but.

you halfheartedly shrug—stomping feet, phone flashlights, and a couple making out in the kitchen, one looking uncannily like the friend holding you, leaving footsteps in your memory. “needed some fresh air, i guess. couldn’t find you, either. missed you.”

his thumb stops.

“also,” you pause with it, just long enough so belted lyrics can roll out the door to your spot on the grass. “they’re so fucking loud, dude.”

hajime laughs, and you feel it as clearly as you hear it. then he picks up the motion against your hip once again. “that’s what happens when they get a hold of shoyo’s throwback playlist.”

the sound of a window sliding open catches your attention, and the previously muffled 2010’s music becomes clearer— “it’s hot as fuck in here, is there a fan?”

“come t’the backyard!”

“the fuck? who ate the last slice of pepperoni?” both of you snicker at atsumu’s question, feelings of betrayal clear in his voice, even from here.

your fingers play with the trim of hajime’s shirt, and his are splayed to keep you warm. “if someone calls the cops we’ll be the first to answer out here.” you bump him with your head. “do you wanna talk to the cops?”

“god, no,” he sighs and rests his cheek on your head. you feel him nod at something nearby. “we can hide in that bush.”

the bush in question, you’re pretty sure, is the neighbour’s, though sitting on the border of the properties, maybe it could be a shared thing. the two solo cups sitting at its bottom will be yours to clean up anyway.

you gasp and pull away to look at your temporary windbreaker, a hand over your heart. “you? hiding from the authorities? no way.”

hajime raises a brow, playful smirk pulling at corner of his lips. “you think i won’t dive into a bush?”

“i’m not doubting your athletic ability to get stabbed in the eye and ass with branches, loser. but i think if the cops found us in a bush, we’d look like college students looking for a shitty, secret make out spot.” you point out, smoothing his shirt where your head rested, hand probably cold as it runs across his chest.

but he makes no remark of the temperature, and it’s only when your pinky crosses fabric and finds skin that hajime’s breath hitches beneath you.

you look up at him, the same time chanting starts inside the house as the wind picks up.

maybe if it was earlier in the evening, you could brush aside his flushed cheeks for the sun’s work, pressing warm red into his skin. the near empty drink in his hand seems like it’d be the next best culprit if it wasn’t for the way his eyes seem untrained for contact, making stops on their way to meet yours.

hajime bites the inside of his mouth, offering a smile that sits unnaturally on his face, more out of expectation than humour. it’s a weak comfort, his eyes soon choosing the trees on the other side of the cul-de-sac over you.

he brings his drink to his lips, other hand still against your side, and you think you might've hit a target you didn't realize existed. “the horror.”

wind bites at your skin, pulling the screen door open as the song changes once more, and everyone cheers.

this was me practicing writing... Anything... because i'm so rusty i'm like a super squeaky door that needs 2 be oiled real bad. Omfg i couldn't figure out what to listen to while doing this but playlists where ur in the bathroom at a 2010's party can fix ur entire vibe. (playlist link) like yeah dynamite by taio cruz muffled is perfect actually omg ? fawking banger

can u believe it isn't an established relationship btw. looked at my drafts and said Girl do something new! so i did! my pattern of nothing substantial happening continues though which is why i kinda don't want to post this but. all in all it was quite fun 2 do so WHO GAF! 🔥🔥

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #iwiazumi x gn!reader #dont worry hajime...i have resolved thisIn Zmyhead. we r kissinfn!@@!! yaaay #gave up at the end after the pinky Thats mybad. LOLLL #all the writing after ive set up all the dialogue is so hard bro every time i get to the end its just like.#girl finish already. LEILEKDJSOB

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dotster001 · 8 months

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Could i request the twst earth thing except they get isekaid in the reader world? How would they act? Or interact with them? You choose the characters!

Summary: Floyd/Jade/Vil/Rook/Lilia

A/N: we'll just say that each one is a separate universe for simplicity's sake. Special thanks to @irrelevantlight @giuliap17 and @fishisahappydog for choosing the characters for me.

To the anon: your idea is really good! And I'm gonna save it for later to make it it's own post

3k followers masterlist

Hopefully Jade gets isekaid with him. If he is, he will pretend to have a leash on his wild brother. I say pretend, because the moment Floyd sees you, Jade will suddenly stop caring about restraining him, and will decide to explore this world's flora and fauna instead.

Floyd gives zero shits about this world. All he knows is that he can feel you in it, and he has to find you. He'll run the whole way, no matter where he spawns in. He'll sprint towards you, and your poor, human self isn't gonna know what hit you when a wall of man bowls you over.

Stop screaming! He's trying to love you!

If he spawns in with Floyd, half of his time is going to be spent being angry. He knows you're here, but he also has to keep track of his brother who couldn't care less about finding his twins favorite "fictional" character. It's slow progress and it may take him a couple weeks to finally reach you.

Whether he spawns in with Floyd or not, he's going to orchestrate a meet cute between you two. He can't expect you to be thrilled if he swooped in and knew everything about you. So he waits.

One day some asshole accidentally knocks into you, and you nearly fall into the busy street. Luckily two strong arms wrap around your middle and drag you to safety. He asks if you're alright, and insists on taking you for a tea to calm your nerves…and the rest is history.

How interesting….this must be your world! There is no need for him to even process the move. He's traveled many places in his lifetime. This is just a new place to add to his scrapbook!

He also isn't going to rush into a relationship with you. Once he finds you, he's going to make you fall for him. He'll play off his delightful scamp tendencies, and his charming character, and make yu head over heels.

One day you'll confess your feelings for him, and he'll act all surprised. But deep inside he's celebrating another victory for General Lilia, mastermind of the King's army.

You won't even know he's here for a while. He can't be sure if this "move" is permanent or not, so he's going to establish himself. It won't be very hard with his unearthly looks, and winning charisma.

By the time he comes to find you, you'll know who he is. He'll befriend you, and perhaps you'll even confess to him.

And of course he'll say yes. He feels a little bad that he knows everything about you, and you just think he's some random guy who got famous overnight, but it's easier to believe than the truth. Maybe he'll tell you someday. But only if he figures a way back to Twisted Wonderland.

He is in no hurry to find you. Yet. First he wants to explore your environment, figure out how his prey's your environment is so he can understand the survival tactics you use. Once he has those, he can ignore them all.

Now, just because he waited, doesn't mean he's going to do what some of these boys do, and get to know you so you don't freak out.

Nah. What you get is a man in a hat spouting a speech at you about soulmates and true love, and how he can provide for your future life living in a mansion in the woods, with a farm, and ten dogs, and thirteen kids that he just found somewhere….

#twisted wonderland #3k followers #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #jade leech x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge

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teaboot · 1 year

Text

I spent a lot of time alone outdoors growing up.

A lot of time.

It got to the point that some days I'd be sitting in the back of my dull beige classroom, and on the outside I'd be staring out into nothing but on the inside I'd be remembering how it felt being barefoot and knee-deep in sun-warmed mud, cutting my palms and soles to bits against craggy rock, leaning into the wind and screaming into the ocean, sprinting through the woods and standing dead silent in the dark in a wheat field in a thunderstorm, and feeling grit under my nails and bone and wood and rock and metal in my hands

And I'd look around at my stupid, flimsy pressboard desk, and the beige walls, and the grey ceiling, and feel soft, stagnant air circulate through the vents in delicate, dainty little puffs against my cheeks, and listen to kids my age who I couldn't understand and didn't feel connected to talk about things that made my brain go numb and melt out my ears while some fake-smiley adult pretended they knew how I felt

While back home where my siblings didnt know me and my parents didn't like me the house would be dark, empty, and cold, day after day, and the only satisfaction I knew I'd get would be if someone twice my size and three times my age got in my face and fucking tried it,

And I'd think,

This isn't real.

This is designed, and this is weak.

This is cardboard façades with nothing inside, this is tissue paper, this is Styrofoam packing peanuts and puffed rice wafers and the bottom three millimeters of day-old room-temperature water

And I'd get so fucking angry, so frustrated, just so stone-cold livid, helpless and furious, that sometimes I'd start to cry, not because I was sad but because my teeth were soft and round and dull and my fingers felt like they were brand-new pink pearl erasers splitting in half and everything was too much and not enough and all I needed in the whole wild world was to shred the air to pieces for the crime of being too fucking empty, too fucking soft, not *real* enough, like a wild animal clawing into prey only to have puffy cotton candy and soap bubbles spill out, sweet and tasteless and saccharine where it should be hot, bright, loud and solid and sharp.

So when the English teacher- a tall, thin man with glasses who smelled like strong patchouli and liked to ask us to "talk about our feelings" asked me to write about my life, that was what I wrote.

He told me I had a "powerful gift" and smiled, flashing straight, dull, soft round teeth.

I remember he'd ask me every day if he could read my work aloud to the class, every single day, and every day I would say "no", until one afternoon he just took my paper off my desk and did it anyways.

I was a rule-follower. Never broke the rules, never stepped out of line. I would never just leave class in the middle of a lesson, so I guess for a moment I was someone else.

I don't remember hearing him start to speak, but I remember sprinting out the door, hearing it slam behind me, and just not stopping until I was somewhere outside with the grass and the sky and the sun and a ringing inside my head.

After a while, I went back, and by then I guess he'd finished talking.

I sat down at my desk and finished the lesson.

I thought I'd be in trouble or something after that, but nobody mentioned it.

After the bell, I went home to the dark, cold, empty house and waited for something to fight.

That was years ago. Decades, now.

To tell you the truth, though, I don't think anything has changed.

#Writing #Long post #Lol #Sensory issues and social issues and isolation and fear #And anger and joy and the loneliness of not understanding #Probably just anxious understimulated and a lil bit feral #What can ya do #Shrug #Old memories

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faefictions · 4 months

Text

Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie,

Does it Snow in Indiana?”

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time.

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.”

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well.

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.”

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles.

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes.

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends.

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years.

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day.

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up.

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore.

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now.

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account.

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion.

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner.

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching.

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold.

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper.

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way.

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office.

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?”

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room.

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.”

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.”

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.”

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?”

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.”

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you.

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left.

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.”

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place.

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.”

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice.

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.”

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind.

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on.

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van.

“Left out of the lot?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.”

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him.

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet.

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh.

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow.

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door.

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.”

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van.

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging.

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it.

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat.

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face.

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment.

“Everything ok?”

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought.

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky.

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving.

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.”

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy.

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.”

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.”

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it.

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so.

“That good huh?” you laughed.

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.”

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.”

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie.

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you.

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.”

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process.

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.”

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke.

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face.

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side.

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma.

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you.

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.”

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.”

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him.

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.”

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head.

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way.

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long.

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him.

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more.

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal.

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall.

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much.

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face.

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.”

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding.

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded.

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes.

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard.

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I told you she’d like it here”

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it.

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was.

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking.

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped.

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke.

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply.

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn��t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment.

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions.

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought.

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it.

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself.

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away.

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you.

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth.

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

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