#The abcs of black history

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Daily Salinas, a mother in the Miami-area whose complaint about “The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman got it successfully restricted in an elementary school, confessed she did not read the piece she objected to in its entirety. According to Salinas, the poem “is not educational and have indirectly [sic] hate messages.” Gorman’s work, which was performed at President Biden’s Inauguration in 2021, wasn’t the only thing Salinas complained about.

According to the Florida Freedom to Read Project, Salinas—whose two children attend The Bob Graham Education Center in Miami Lakes—also came for “The ABCs of Black History,” “Cuban Kids,” “Countries in the News: Cuba,” and “Love to Langston” for including “references of critical race theory,” “indirect hate messages” and “gender ideology and indoctrination.”

In an interview, Salinas tried to justify her ignorance of the material. “I’m not an expert,” she said. “I’m not a reader. I’m not a book person. I’m a mom involved in my children’s education.” In addition to being admittedly dense, Salinas has also promoted antisemitism on social media and attended rallies featuring members of the Proud Boys.

Even though she has Cuban heritage, the Florida parent used thinly veiled bigotry as an excuse to further oppress other marginalized groups. Sadly, the fact that she stripped her claims of any validity by not reading the material didn’t phase her in the least. The same can be said of Emily Conklin, another Florida parent who complained about the Disney film “Ruby Bridges” being shown in her child’s classroom because she believed it teaches that white people hate Black people.

The film was temporarily banned at North Shore Elementary in St. Petersburg, though Conklin admitted that she never finished the film (she only watched the first 50 minutes of the movie). Ron DeSantis’ Florida governorship has emboldened white supremacist ideology for conservatives who don’t even consume material they claim to be dangerous to their children. His newly announced presidential run will only work to deepen this dystopia.

The right vehemently has attacked anything they deem “woke,” though they have repeatedly failed to define what it even means. As the GOP sharpen their claws and gear up try to take over White House next year, instances like these remind us that they will never rely on reason, intelligence or principle when it comes to policy and legislation. It will always thrive on hate, discrimination and racism—pillars that have upheld the party since its inception.

[covergirlnay]

Video credit: @thewokemama

If you want to ban uplifting stories with people of color, just say that. Based on this list, my office library is in complete violation. 🤷🏾‍♀️😂 Oh well. All of my students love the books that I share with them. Especially the ones that they do not normally get to see. 🤓📚

[maiconsart]

[x-heesy]

Betty Boop is an animated cartoon character designed by Grim Natwick at the request of Max Fleischer. She originally appeared in the Talkartoon and Betty Boop film series, which were produced by Fleischer Studios and released by Paramount Pictures. She was featured in 90 theatrical cartoons between 1930 and 1939. She has also been featured in comic strips and mass merchandising.

A caricature of a Jazz Age flapper, Betty Boop was described in a 1934 court case as "combin[ing] in appearance the childish with the sophisticated—a large round baby face with big eyes and a nose like a button, framed in a somewhat careful coiffure, with a very small body of which perhaps the leading characteristic is the most self-confident little bust imaginable". Although she was toned down in the mid-1930s as a result of the Hays Code to appear more demure, she became one of the world's best-known and most popular cartoon characters.

#history #historyofart #historycal #historyfacts #historylovers #historyinpictures #historymade #historygeek #historyera #historyphoto #historyclass #historychannel #historylesson #historygram #historynerd #historytour #historyofphotography #historyplace #historylover #historyphotographed #historymatters #historyoffashion #historyiscool #arthistory #historical #historicalplaces #historicalpix #historicalclothing #historicalphotos #historicalromance #historicalmonument #historicalfacts #historicalart #historicalsnapshots #historicalphotography #historicalphoto #historicalpictures #historicalhome #historicalcenter #historicaldesign #historicalfantasy #historicalusociety

[adrenajhonson]

5 posts!

[luckyluan]

SHORT STORY ALERT!

Two retired spies, in Louisiana Suburbia, have set up a beautiful life together with their children, but when their anniversary is interrupted by a mysterious foe, they are thrust back into the Abnormal world and their old lives. Maxim and Antwan Sharpe must stick together to find their would be assassin and the reason they are running for their lives!

USE THE FIRST HASHTAG TO GET STARTED!

[youngbloodoldsoul]

Could #AbbottElementary even have afforded to employ a teacher to come up there and teach Black History for #BlackHistoryMonth? Unless they were willing to work for even lower pay or school credits or it was a volunteer position I doubt it.

Seriously, I'd be all for a Black teacher teaching Black history (even though Jacob did do a great job) but did this man expect a school that can't even afford supplies or one computer to pay for a teacher that's only going to be around for 28 days?

Doesn't Melissa teach two grades and they have to basically pay out of pocket for school and cleaning supplies?

Imagine taking this job (or volunteer position) for #BlackHistoryMonth then finding out you have to buy your own supplies and books for each student. (If not each history class). So that's your entire pay for that month. You're paying to work.

I copied and pasted this from my Twitter thread.

I have one more question. Would Jacob still be getting paid or would be jobless and without a paycheck for a month to for the sub while the sub basically has to spend both their paycheck on books and supplies?

[calicojack1718]

The Emotional Turmoil of White Racists versus The Early Deaths of Black Folks

When you put the whining white grievance of white privilege being violated side-by-side with the actual damage that systemic racism does to Black people, i.e. driving them to an early grave, #sciencefact

This week’s news juxtaposed two interesting stories that cast our structural racism in the spotlight and in stark relief contrasting the woes of being a white openly racist man in America with being an average Black person living in white culture. Let’s present the emotional turmoil news first and then move on to the effect of racism on Black folks. Pity the White Racist Meme: Epitome of White…

[elonmuskverify01]

Elon Musk’s Bold Move: Unveiling the Game-Changing ‘Cybercab’ at Tesla’s Robotaxi Showcase!

https://t.me/elonmuskprivatpa

[fathol91]

EPIC MOTIVATION CINEMATIC

[goonmilk]

Breaking News

Mama we made it! The Alumni Spot was featured on Good Morning Washington ABC7 News last month and I had the pleasure of capturing the Behind The Scenes footage and getting a cool lil shoutout for my Photography and Marketing at The Alumni Spot. Also got some great shots of Yadi and Trae Backstage. The segment focused on Yaddiya’s continued community involvement and his venture into the Restaurant business, the amazing food Chef Chefe curates in the Alumni Spot, as well as how it all came about from Yaddiya’s Long Live Gogo Movement.

[k3mistryproductions]

K3mistry News Brief 📰

“Black-ish” and Black Men

The following speaks on the struggles Black men go through in America.

Narrated by: J. Stokes

See more here: https://linktr.ee/K3mistryProductions

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀LITTLE MISS PERFECT

synopsis : getting homosexual tendencies for her best friend? absolutely not!

note : i just started playing tlou2 again and my love for abby and ellie blossomed again. naughty dog knew what they were doing

ft. : questioning homosexuality, internalized homophobia, non-apocalyptic au, implied smut but not that descriptive, ellie already has a crush on reader but it’s not really described until they kiss and what not.

you search through the rack of bras, lazily looking for one that at least looks fitting. you huff, starting to lose hope. your hands stop at one. a black lacy one, which if your wore, would cover nothing. it reminded you of that erotic video you found went internet surfing.

two women alone together, exploring each other’s bodies. their tongues acting like a paintbrush and their bodies were canvases, covered in saliva.

you press your lips together, trying to push down the tingling in your body. you can’t be gay. you literally have a crush on that ABC news host.

“[name], honey? did you find one yet?” your mother asks, messing with the displayed jewelry. “no, there’s nothing here.” you sigh, hiding the bra in the rack.

you had no problem with homosexuality. hell, your whole search history is the complete opposite of heterosexuality. your best friend is a lesbian. but there is no way you’re gay. that’s…just not you.

after many of those “are you gay” tests, your answers remain the same. ‘you’re most definitely a lesbian, babes’.

you lay on ellie’s bed, blindly flipping through one of her many comic books. you blow raspberry, getting bored a little. “what?” she diverts her eyes from her TV for a second before tending back to her game.

“nothing.” you flip a few more pages until your eyes land on a certain panel. two girls in close proximity, lips ghosting over each other. you swallow a large lump, trying to push away the thoughts again.

but now you can only think of you in that situation. curled up next to a girl, her hand rubbing softly on your waist.

you try to picture what she would look like, only seeing your best friend’s face. you groan, rolling on your back.

“ellie?” she hums in response. you fiddle with your thumbs before asking the question. “how did you know you were gay?”

her game pauses. “what?” she looks at you before her eyes travels to her opened comic book. “ooooh.” she laughs, picking up the book. “you picked the one i didn’t want you to get.” she closes the book, stuffing it under her bed.

she leans back, propping herself up with her arms. “ i dunno. i just…” she shrugs, “never pictured myself with a guy. and you know, boobies.”

you softly hit her, making her laugh. “i’m serious, ellie. i think i might be gay. lesbian, bi-i don’t know!” you groan, stuffing your face in your hands.

“i mean, why don’t you?” she lays on her side, looking at you. “that ABC news host.”

“David Muir?”

you nod, making her scoff. “do you have a crush on any guy at job?” she twirls a strand of your hair in her fingers. “god no. they all look like troglodytes.” you grimace at the thought of liking them.

“can you picture yourself marrying a man for the rest of your life?”

that question made your stomach drop. you feel bile pile up in your throat. ‘yes, you can’ you try to convince yourself.

“no, i guess not.” you give a slight frown at your answer, looking down.

“hey, it’s normal. not everyone is straight. and you sure aren’t.” she laughs. “oh shut it!” you huff.

she stops laughing after a while. “well, let’s kiss to see if you are gay.” she suggest so nonchalantly. kiss? your best friend?

“uhhhh..” “if you don’t like it, we don’t have to ever talk about it.”

you look at her, contemplating whether you should go through with this. you couldn’t deny that ellie was very attractive. you could say that she was your “gay awakening”. they way she was naturally flirty with you was the beginning of the questioning phase for you.

“let’s do it.” you sit on your legs, waiting for her to kiss you.

she gives you a soft smile, getting up.

“you sure?” she questions, not wanting this to go wrong. you nod.

she takes a deep breath, putting her hand on your cheek to pull you in.

your skin ignites. this is what you’ve dreamed of. intimacy with a woman. natural intimacy. not like those forced erotic videos you watch in your free time.

her lips press on yours, her eyelashes tickling the apple of your cheek. you reciprocate the affection, putting a hand on her cheek.

a moan slips from your lips, your eyes fluttering shut. the hand on your cheek falls to your hips, her hand squeezing for a few moments to tell her that this is real; this is actually happening.

in a flurry, her body is pressed on top of yours, her tongue exploring every crevice on your mouth. her hands slipped under the hem of your jeans, fingers brushing over the seat of your panties.

you card your hands through her auburn hair. “els…” you call to her as she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting from hers and your bottom lip.

“you okay, princess?” she moves her hand at an angle, her thumb drawing tight circles on the pearl of your cunt. you arch into her, making her chuckle.

you nod, a moan slipping from your lips again.

“yeah, you’re definitely gay.” she giggles, stuffing her face in the crook of your neck, making you laugh too. “shut up and use your hands, ellie.”

“oh, i know something better than my hands.” she leaves your neck for a moment, digging under her bed.

she pulls out a harness. one not built for your shoulders. the purpose accessory catches your eye, making you widen them. “is that…”

“i haven’t used it yet.” she smirks. “your call.”

do you have enough red orbs? stop by my store to request a fic!

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter three: i smoke out your darkest side

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your favorite accidental demon boy toy maims your piece of shit manager, learns a bit about your past, and visits you in a dream.

cw: explicit, witch!reader, reader is 21+, eddie is immortal, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, wet dreams, lucid dreaming, handjobs, skin on skin grinding, teasing, horror, very intense bodily harm done to a minor character (tongues are lost), blood, gore, bullying/harassment, mention of past abusive ex, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

EASTWICK, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR

The book you found at the garage sale a town over has to be fake. Right? You’ve spent weeks flipping through it, looking at the pages and reading the words over and over, trying to somehow carve them into your memory. 

It seems so improbable, but the notion bounces around in your skull for so long that it grips hold somewhere in there, wiggling down into your belief system until you just can’t seem to get rid of it. 

Magic is real. Witchcraft exists. It has existed, in different forms, throughout history. You’ve just never considered that you could practice it for yourself, until now.

Part of the reason that you decide to try it is that you want to see what’ll happen. You have an insatiable curiosity, and if it works out, you may have just discovered the cure to all that ails you, so to speak. But the other part of it is a quiet desperation for something more. 

Being sixteen sucks. But being sixteen in a small, puritanical town that’s stuck in the past, when you’re considered too weird to eat in the cafeteria without getting wads of gum stuck into your hair by the assholes on the football team, is worse. 

You have no support system, and no way out. Your family won’t even pretend to understand. So, you’re taking to naïve leaps of faith, instead.

The moon is bright enough to illuminate the clouds moving in the sky around it. The air is thick with late spring mugginess and oncoming rain, stifling your skin. The candles arranged in a circle around you don’t help with the heat. Beneath you on the dirt, you’ve used red painter’s pigment to sketch out a pentacle, for lack of a better understanding of how to “cast a circle.”

In your hand, the little cloth doll you’d amateurly sewn together stares back at you with two black button eyes. You’d been very careful when you clipped off a piece of Matt Anderson’s backpack strap to tie around its neck. The wad of ABC gum that he’d shoved into your hair is wrapped in it, and stuffed inside the doll’s body, making it lumpy– but it doesn’t have to look perfect.

It just has to work.

You pick up a cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flick it on. The flame glows yellow in the dark, illuminating the crude red smiley face you’d drawn onto the doll’s head. 

Fucking Matt.

The polyester cloth sizzles when you hold the flame to it, barely singeing the edges. All your rage, all your pent up anger and aggression toward him and the impromptu haircut he caused, floods out of you. The smiley face warps. One of the little button eyes pops off. The stuffing inside is going to catch on in a second–

“Oh, my GOD. What are you doing?”

You drop the lighter with a yelp. Over your backyard fence, your neighbor, Jessica, stares at you with wide eyes.

Jessica is your age, your longtime neighbor and one-time friend, when you were very little. You grew apart in middle school, when she discovered cheerleading and you discovered teen angst. She doesn’t talk to you much anymore, unless it’s to give you a hollow, backhanded compliment.

“Jess– I didn’t– what are you doing?” You squint at her in the darkness. Her blonde hair is up in foam rollers, a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her willowy shoulders.

“Well I saw fire out here when I was getting ready for bed and I wanted to see what was– I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, in trouble.” She takes in the circle of candles around the red pentacle, the lighter, the mutilated doll in your hand. “Are you, like… a Devil worshipper?”

“What?” You stand up, still clutching the doll in your hand. “No, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I mean… Reverend Tanner was talking about ‘em in church the other day, and I just thought…” She looks you up and down. Her eyes linger on your oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, your hands covered in red pigment and soot from the spell you were attempting. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna say anything. I promise.”

“Jess, I’m not a Devil wor–”

“It’s… it’s alright. It’ll be our secret.” Jessica gives you a wobbly, forced smile that you know means she’s lying. 

Your eye twitches in annoyance. You probably should say something. Plead your case, make her understand that this isn’t Devil worship. Tell her that whatever the hell she listens to the preacher at the local parish say about ‘lunatic Satan worshippers consorting with the Devil’ doesn’t apply to you, and frankly, probably doesn’t exist the way she thinks it does. 

Instead, you just sigh. You can’t foresee her being as big of a problem as Matt or any of his cronies. She isn’t vindictive as all that. “Sure, Jess. Our secret.”

“I, um. Sorry, I’m just gonna…” Jessica gestures over her shoulder, and then retreats back toward her house. Her fluffy pink slippers scuff the wood of her patio as she glances back at you cautiously, like she’s afraid you’ll chase after her. 

You watch her disappear inside. Then, with a roll of your eyes, you irritatedly hold the lighter’s flame to the Matt doll, and let it catch fire in your hands. You toss it into an empty Folgers coffee canister and let it burn to shit before you blow out the candles and go back inside. The pentacle on the ground will be washed away with the rain by the morning.

Fuck it all.

As soon as Colin enters his house, Eddie appears on the horizon like a stoic angel bearing a message.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. He makes the walls cry blood. Always wanted to do that, at least once.

Colin’s a little pipsqueak of a guy in his early thirties, with prematurely thinning hair and skinny legs that make his pants look way too big on him no matter what size he wears. Eddie finds it hard to take him seriously– especially when he’s cowering in a corner brandishing a wooden crucifix like Eddie’s some kind of movie vampire.

“Colin– hey.” Eddie smacks the crucifix out of the guy’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Red ooze drips over Colin’s shoulder as he flinches away, whimpering and crying. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Christ, you people are so easy to scare. Okay. Here’s how this is gonna go– you’re gonna quit your job, and I’m gonna make you vomit green pea soup, and then we both go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Sound good?”

Eddie pauses, tilting his head and squinting at Colin as he starts whispering something. It’s so quiet and wobbly with tears that he can’t quite make it out, so he has to lean close to Colin’s trembling face.

“–thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread–”

Eddie sighs. “That’s not gonna work.” 

“–forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us–”

“Colin, I’m losing my patience.”

“–lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil–”

“COLIN!” Eddie’s head explodes into a storm of snarling beasts, screeching demons and eldritch beings whirling around each other in a tempest that could rival the Tasmanian Devil. A monstrous jaw with three rows of razor sharp teeth unhinges in front of Colin’s screaming face, roaring at him, showing him the glowing pit of hellfire deep in Eddie’s chest.

Colin continues shrieking even after Eddie’s face returns to normal. Eddie rocks back on his heels, inching away from the puddle of urine Colin just released onto the floor. 

“I warned you,” Eddie murmurs. “Needed you to shut up. Now,” Eddie snatches Colin’s phone from the coffee table, pushing it at him. “Call your stupid fucking boss and quit your job so I can get back to my girl.”

Blubbering, Colin juggles the phone in his trembling hands. It takes three tries for him to unlock the damn thing.

After it’s done, Eddie takes the phone from Colin and tosses it over his shoulder. “You just got off so fucking easy– they teach you those fucking manners in Sunday school, too? Stealing tips, making her clean the goddamn bathrooms on her hands and knees. I’d love to kick your teeth in–”

“W-wait–” Colin sniffles, sitting up in his corner. “That’s your girl? The witch?” 

Eddie leans back, his jaw clicking into place as he readjusts it– unhinging it like that always misaligns it. He scrutinizes Colin’s expression; the blubbering, frightened little cretin is gone, replaced by a wild eyed and angry zealot. 

“Oh, my god. Oh my GOD, so it’s true?” Colin laughs hysterically. “You know they say she burned down her neighbors house because they saw her worshiping the Devil?”

Eddie blinks. “What fucking year is this? 1692?”

Colin doesn’t answer, just continues, “And she never got caught. They couldn’t prove it was her. But now, I bet…”

Colin trails off. There’s something dark and menacing in Eddie’s eyes that wasn’t there before– not even when he lost his temper. Lava pools whirling and stormy, boiling and angry like the buildup before an eruption. 

Fear shoots directly into Colin’s mind so hard that he gives a startled jump. After years of skillful practice, Eddie has figured out how to play with people’s emotions in quite the literal sense. Sometimes, he does it harder than necessary. 

“I– I mean–” Colin backtracks, “I’m not gonna say anything. I promise. I– I fucking swear on my life–”

“I don’t care about your life,” Eddie says, his voice as flat as he can make it. “I care about hers.” 

“Please– please don’t kill me!”

“No, I’m not gonna kill you.” Eddie looks momentarily as though he’s considering launching himself forward and throttling the cowering man, but he sets aside his sudden temperament. “I promised her that I wouldn’t. Which… complicates things.”

Colin squirms. “It… it does?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods, his hands pressed together under his nose as though in prayer. “Because you’re obviously not gonna keep your trap shut, so I have to do it for you.”

Eddie stands as Colin retches. His body contorts on the floor, wailing and gurgling until a projectile stream of blood bursts forth and splatters across the living room hearth. In the midst of the puddle of blood, a writhing tongue curls and twitches, severed on one end like it was cut with a sharp blade.

Colin collapses in a pool of his own fluids. He’ll live. Unfortunately.

Eddie dusts his hands off on his pants and whistles. Out of the shadows, the smoky impression of a dog appears, its glowing red eyes piercing through the darkness and mirroring Eddie’s. 

“Dante,” Eddie mutters to the shadow of the rottweiler, standing at attention and waiting for instructions. The dog gives a short whuff of acknowledgement. Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Colin’s disembodied tongue. “Dinner.”

Dante barks and falls upon the tongue enthusiastically. It’s been a while since Eddie’s hellhounds had any fresh meat, only being fed by the souls of the condemned in the Otherworld. 

Eddie turns around in a circle, staring around at Colin’s less than stellar apartment setup. He can’t really judge, he was never much of a housekeeper either, but this guy is on a whole other level.

It takes a minute, but he finds what he was looking for beneath Colin’s mattress– hilariously predictable– in a tin pencil box. There’s about $300 in cash, singles and fives and a few twenties in the mix. A couple receipts from a Coinstar machine, as well.

Eddie snatches up the wad of money and shoves it into his back pocket.

You’ve managed to have one or two lucid dreams in your life. In the past they’ve been something mundane– walking through a city or having a talk with an elderly gentleman on a park bench.

This one is different. You open your eyes to something entirely unexpected. 

Your dream is bright and colorful, despite it being perpetually twilight. As you gain lucidity, you pick up on different things– damp grass on your bare back, skin on skin, a gentle caress up a naked thigh. You turn your head, and you find Eddie there next to you, stirring as if rousing from a dream of his own.

You– or, your subconscious– has already taken the liberty of stripping him of his clothes, and you lay in the tall grass of a meadow. Your arms are around him, your leg hooked over his waist. He pets your thigh, soft and gentle like he’s doing it mindlessly. 

Your hand wraps around his cock and he startles, his eyes flying open as he gasps.

“Oh. This is, um…” Eddie turns his head towards you, snickering as a warm flush spreads across his cheeks. Ringed hands– because of course, your mind would keep the rings in there– come up to cover his face.

You giggle. “Hello, handsome.”

He grumbles something, but he doesn’t manage to say anything of real importance before he moans. You squeeze his cock and roll your wrist, stroking him torturously slow. He throbs in your grip, needy and jumping when you skim your fingers over the vein that runs along his shaft.

“Well, you, um–” Eddie huffs and cracks a smile, dragging his hands down his face as he does to clear away the grogginess that comes from stepping into the astral plane. “You sure know how to make a demon feel special.”

“Not what you had in mind?” you ask, and your voice has a sultry dip to it that makes the demon squirm. 

“Mm, I figured–” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over and spit onto his cock. The sound that kicks up from it is salacious, a lewd squelch that completely contradicts your pastoral surroundings. You watch him, as his mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. His head drops back against the ground, baring the jumping muscles of his long neck for your consideration. “Fuck– figured you dream about unicorns and lollipops or some shit.”

You hum, looking pointedly down at where your hand strokes him between his legs. “Well, you’re half right. S’what you get for hijacking my dream, you little shit,” you mutter, but it doesn’t come out as caustically as you want it to, because you litter his chest with kisses. 

“I just wanted to talk.” He tilts his head, giving you a pointed look. “You seem to have other plans.”

“Well, it’s my dream, and you caught me in a mood, so.” You shrug, rolling your thumb over the head of his cock. You’re gazing down at it like it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, with heavy-lidded eyes and your bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

Eddie groans and bucks his hips up into your fist. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, a warm touch that sends a shudder through you. “Remind me to do that more often?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nuh-uh, this is a one time thing. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” 

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence would affect you, even just in your dreams. Everything about him screams for you to unhinge yourself, against your better judgment; his eyes, his scent, even his voice beckons you. Something not quite human or tangible pulls at your senses and clutches at your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s hunger or lust or something else entirely, some other primitive urge that you’re feeling in force.

Eddie sucks in a long breath through his teeth, his eyes falling to your hand as it works over him. His own tremble, holding back from touching you how he wants. 

“There’s, um. You asked me to– uh–” You start trailing your tongue along his chest in a way that makes him lose his train of thought, your lips dragging over his skin, heavenly soft. “Uhhh– not kill that guy for you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.” 

“I cut out his tongue, though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really. You can feel it, and you can see it in the ghost of a smile on his face. “He was gonna say some shit about you worshipping the Devil. Called you a witch.”

“Everyone already does. And they’re right, aren’t they?” You sigh, and your breath whispers across his overheated skin. “I’m worshipping a devil right now.”

You’re bolder in your sleep. You guess because, to your subconscious mind, there isn’t as much to be afraid of in dreams. Especially in dreams that you can control. All your hang-ups are, well… hung up. And you can let yourself be as promiscuous as you want, at least until you wake up. 

You bite at a spot on his neck that makes him lose his composure. Eddie chews his lip and groans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. He grabs your hip and flips you, until your back hits the grass and his hips rest between your legs. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze up at him. Eddie’s beautiful, so impossibly stunning that it nearly frightens you, almost as much as this aching want burning inside of you does. His dark hair hanging around his face, his flushed skin and glowing amber eyes. He’s the picture of immortal beauty and power, and he’s yours.  

His lips are so close to yours, his mouth open so that his breath gets caught in your lungs. His nose bumping your own, almost like he means to kiss you. 

Eddie rocks his hips, and you feel his erection grind against your cunt. Splitting the seam of your pussy, parting around him as he slides the length of it against you, getting it wet with your arousal. He isn’t… he isn’t fucking you, per se. But it would take just the slightest hitch of his hips, just a little press forward to change that. 

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. “Eddie…”

“So you want to play games, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and bassy in his chest.

You roll your hips up into his. You can’t help it– the slick, soft glide of his cock through your folds, the head catching against your clit feels too good. His lips on your skin, his breath in your ear. It’s been way too fucking long for you, since someone touched you like this. Your head drops back on your shoulders, your back arching as you moan–

You wake up.

You fucking. Wake. Up.

You lay, disoriented, on your bed. Your hand rests on your sweaty forehead as your pussy throbs, hot and angry between your legs. Seething with rage and neglect, begging for the job to be finished. 

It was so real. It felt so real, and so good, and you had to go and ruin it.

His scent remains. His smoke fills your lungs, eating up all your oxygen and making your head spin. You struggle to find your balance somehow, trying to quell the ache between your legs, trying to snap back to a reality where you weren’t just about to fuck your dream demon.

“Did you burn down someone’s house?”

You yelp, bolting to sit up in bed. His scent wasn’t just a leftover memory from your dream. You search through the darkness until your eyes find him sitting in the antique chair in the corner of your room, facing the bed, lit only by streaks of light filtering through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. He reclines, immobile, seemingly relaxed as his eyes glow warm and nearly gold in the low light.

You simply cannot handle this right now. Not while you’re coming down from a very near orgasm you just had because of him. 

“What?”

“The guy, Colin–” Eddie continues, as if he’s completely unaware of the absolute torture you’re going through. “He said you burned down someone’s house. Your neighbor’s?”

You wonder for a moment if you could hate him for this, but you already know the answer. You could never hate him. Not really.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” he coos, and then winks. “Tell me and I’ll give you a present.”

You squint at him. He can’t possibly mean what you think he means. You get a mental image of him between your legs, his eyes glowing as he peers up at you, his mouth closed over your cunt. 

He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. The fucker. 

“Yeah,” you admit, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, uh. My fucking neighbor– she started a rumor that I was a Satanist in high school. Got everyone in on it. So, I threw a Molotov through her kitchen window.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Amazing de-escalation tactic.”

“It’s not like I genuinely tried to burn down the place,” you huff. “How was I supposed to know they’d just had the floor waxed?”

Eddie laughs, rocking forward in his seat. His eyes sparkle and his smile is sharp when he pulls a wad of money out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Your tip money. Your wish, my command.”

You’re taken aback, gazing at the paper that seems so bright in the darkness. “Well, that was relatively painless.”

“Was it?” It’s barely a whisper, but something you were meant to hear. Holding his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed across his cheek, he watches you with growing intensity. “Come and take it, then.”

The knowing smile on his lips issues a challenge, one that you would walk away from in any other circumstance. He knows very well what he’s doing. He can read your thoughts, that much is obvious. And since it seems they’re always in the gutter now, he knows how you’re squirming beneath your skin at the sight of him. 

You wonder if you were really the one who ended the dream.

Refusing to breathe– you’re afraid that if you do, the sound of it would give you away– you crawl out of your bed and stand on shaky legs. One look at him tells you he’s gloating, watching the way that you struggle.

Ohhhh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him.

You cross the room toward him, moving slower than necessary in order to steel yourself to the shortening distance between you. You stop short of his legs, extended out and crossed at the ankles.

Eddie doesn’t move, his elevated hand still holding the wad of money. “C’mon then, tough girl.”

You stare at him, trying not to give yourself away, trying for all the world not to scream or throw yourself on him. You hesitantly step forward and snatch the money out of his hand before taking a long step back. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say mildly, trying to keep your voice steady. Even his name sends a rush of warmth through you. The word burns on your wrist. Your body shakes against your will.

Shit. Fuck. God damn it.

He chuckles, standing from the chair, looming over you. “Anything else I can help you with?”

You squint up at him, your voice shaking as much as your hands, now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. It was a one time thing, wasn’t it?”

The expression on his face is somewhere between affection and condescension as he suppresses a grin. His hand comes up and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging you to look up into his eyes. 

A note of fondness oozes into his tone. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win.”

Eddie’s touch sends a shock wave through your body, a shiver so strong that your eyes flutter shut. His voice is so soft, so lovingly gentle that it nearly makes you break down, knees weakening, head spinning. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I’ll be here, whenever you change your mind.” 

There’s an edge to his voice, a tone that hints at some sort of plea in there. You don’t know what it could be for– sex? Your trust?

You trust him to protect you. You approach him the same way you might approach a spirit in your house– unfamiliar, sure, but not immediately a threat as far as you know. Here, let me offer you half of my muffin as long as you don’t set my house on fire, okay? Maybe don’t kill that guy. Or maybe do. Depends on my mood.

You purse your lips, thankful that he doesn’t look at you when you say, “I know.” 

You sound a lot more sure than you feel. You desperately want to grab him and kiss him, throw him on the bed and finish what you started in that dream. 

Except, you’re afraid. A dream is one thing; sex in the waking world is another. You’re tiptoeing around some strange patron demon-human relationship that you don’t know how to navigate. It’s in the contract that you have to fuck him, eventually. But you and relationships don’t have a good history, and you’re a little frightened that if you make that leap on your own, it’s only going to end badly. 

You think of Andy. You think of your abusive ex who still just hangs around, waiting to intimidate you. You think of the reason why you went out to make a deal with Eddie, and you think of the dog tag that you buried as an offering because Andy had taken the last thing you truly loved from you.

You know that Eddie isn’t just some normal guy you’re dealing with. Your attraction to him goes against everything that you understand, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you try. You try and try, and you’re a good girl until you’re pushed too far, and then you do something stupid like make a deal with a demon because you’re sick of having to just be strong on your own. And suddenly you want to fuck that demon’s brains out so bad that it’s keeping you up at night.

But… you don’t know him. Not really. And as bad as you want him, with your body screaming for him, it’s still enough to make you hesitate. 

There’s a subtle movement of Eddie’s head, like maybe he can sense your indecision. Maybe he’ll end that torture for you. He’ll read the brimming anxiety in your thoughts and give you what you’re too afraid to ask for. Sex. Sex with Eddie. Sex with your demon… whatever he is.

Sex with his infernal majesty of freaks and misfits.

But he doesn’t. Without another word, Eddie turns, and he disappears into your bedroom mirror. Leaving you to flop down onto your bed, punch your pillow, and scream.

[lemotmo]

Hello I hope you are having a wonderful weekend. I just saw a post I'm sure you're very likely to see but I'm very curious as for your opinion.

https://www.tumblr.com/loveyourownsmiilee/762869939144212480/here-are-the-lyrics-from-photograph-by-ed-sheeran?source=share

Like that's is either a big biiig coincidence or Oliver is very very mischevious... also the picture not being in black and white.... insanity....

I'm trying not to read too much into it and thinking either coincidence or chris coming home scene being shot? Buuuut the clown shoes are never too far ;)

Love your blog love your calm and collected thoughts ❤️

With love an admiring anon

I'm having a great weekend so far Nonny. 😁

And your post just made it better. Thank you for the lovely compliment.

As for your question... yeah, I have to admit this had me going 👀👀👀. I immediately reblogged. It's all over Twitter now as well.

There are a few things here that make me sit up:

1. Tim, Oliver and Ryan have all put emphasis on the fact that episode 6 is an important episode for Buck and Eddie.

2. The photograph is a colour photograph. Oliver mostly takes black & white pictures on set. This one is bright and colourful.

3. 6th Street is used in the Ed Sheeran song 'photograph'. This song was played during a very important Buddie scene in season 3. Here are part of the lyrics:

Now Oliver posts a lamppost that says '6th Street'.

4. Oliver loves Buddie. He is an avid Buddie-truther. He knows exactly how much fandom wants Buddie to happen. He has a history of posting pictures of what would turn out to be important Buddie-scenes.

(5. Not directly connected to the picture, but couple all of this to Ryan's latest interview where he says that the move from Fox to ABC has allowed Eddie to go on a road of self-discovery in season 8.)

I mean...

I always try to stay somewhat level-headed when it comes to theories like this, but this one?

Yeah, I honestly think we are taking another step closer to Buddie canon in episode 6. Might not be full-out canon yet, but definitely a big step.

I fully admit that this has me very excited for episode 6. 🤩🤩🤩

[luckyluan]

CHAPTER 5.1: THE JOYRIDE

Maxim and Antwan sat close in the cab of the SUV. Antwan leaned against the passenger side door with his lips pressed firmly together. I-10 West shook the Bronco for good measure, and they grumbled down the forest framed highway. Maxim reclined in his seat. One of his hands guided the wheel and the other propped up on his door jamb. He scratched at the crown of his head as he maneuvered the stiff silence. 

“Still mad?” he asked. 

“Is an elephant heavy?” countered Antwan. 

“Baby, I’m sorry, okay? This is all my fault, and I am so deeply sorry. I will apologize every single day until the world ends. I’m sorry I endangered our family. I’m sorry I did it so close to you and the kids. I’m sorry I put my family in danger. I am sorry, Antwan.” Maxim expressed. 

Antwan was buckled into the passenger seat with his arms folded over his broad chest. The shiny black zipper of his jumpsuit was torn at his sternum and poked at the Kevlar vest underneath. 

“I’m not saying I forgive you but thank you for saying that.” he said. 

“I mean it.” Maxim affirmed. 

“I’m sure you do.” Antwan said. “But we don’t have time to think about that. Right now, we need a plan.” 

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Maxim started. “We need to retrieve the case and get it to Bernard. His fingerprint is the only one that can open the case. 

“I’ve been thinking about that too though. Is this case worthy? We’ve handled worse on our own. Robin told us never to open that damned case unless we were out of options. Antwan warned. “Bernie is a one-way door.” 

“This isn’t a necessity to you?” Maxim charged. 

“It’s dangerous, but I, personally, have handled worse alone. So...” muttered his husband. 

“Like when?” 

“I don’t know, Maxim Sharpe. Maybe I’ve done some jobs of my own.” Antwan proclaimed. 

“So you’re just gonna skip over all the apologies I’ve made? Do I need to hire a skywriter? Take both hands off the wheel and look you in the eye so you can feel my gentility?” Maxim groaned. 

“I’ve felt your ‘gentility,’ Max. It couldn’t hurt.” replied Antwan. 

“Ant, I will wreck this car.” he warned. 

“Go for it. We’re dead anyway, thanks to you.” Antwan muttered again. 

Maxim slammed on the brake and the Bronco skidded to a halt in the far-left lane. The cars behind them broke into a cacophonous choir of horns and they exclaimed, to the heavens, their disappointment. Maxim unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed to the passenger side of the cab. He anchored a hand behind Antwan’s neck and pulled his husband’s face close to his own. 

“Look at me, Antwan. Look at me! I am sick of this! I have taken your verbal assaults since last night. They stop now. I cannot concentrate. We cannot stay alive if we don’t put this down. Do whatever it is you need to do in this moment to feel better. Hit me. Scratch me. Kick me in the nuts. Curse me out. Whatever it is, but we have work to do. So, tell me right fuckin’ now, what team you’re on. 

Maxim glowered down at his husband, and he did not shrink away. His husband’s face was an irritated pucker, and his fussy eyebrows were furrowed low over his gray eyes. Maxim’s chest heave dup and down. The car horns blared behind them and the cars in front of them raced off into the distance. They were alone. 

Antwan’s face contorted into a tight expression, and he brought his fist up into Maxim’s chin. The blow knocked Maxim back into his seat and he grasped the steering wheel for balance. He stared at Antwan with wide, watering eyes. 

“Good shot, babe. Still got a mean right.” he moaned. 

“Now, we can move on.” Antwan announced. “Drive, please.”