#february things

[ohdearhopia]

dear hopia,

There's a lot I want to say to you. It'll all be funny when I look back, and I'm already laughing, but I want to tell you anyways. You know how it gets, when the mind is a whirlwind of things. It's all over the place, but the reason I write to you is to fix those and organize those into neat little piles you know I love.

Look, things don't seem bleak or hopeless -- and they're not. They'll never be that bad. but the weight and heaviness of things sit there like a dull throb on the balls of my shoulders and the joints of my knees. Writing brings me comfort and life -- an obvious reason why I write to you now. (Side note, did you know I bought a notebook to write things to you but still made this blog anyways? Yeah, cool.) But sometimes, I wonder why I took up on this, you know? The way I write until they squeeze me try and leave me on the pavement. I exaggerate, but some days, it feels that way. Not hopeless, but again, it sometimes hurts that they take and take and leave you with little left.

And it's hard being avant-garde.

New topic, quickly, we move on in this free flow of consciousness. I still don't know how to fix this structure, hopia. I want to work through it but I'm terrified and the perfectionist in me is starting to take over, and I just want to get it over and done with. I want to kill that part of myself, but you know I can't. And besides, there's that topic of him.

It's funny -- I haven't had a happy crush like this in years, but I feel like I lack socialization enough that I blush all the time. I try not to, and I try to act like a cool kid, and god, is this what a school girl crush feels like?

It's so stupid. Obviously, I know it isn't love -- it's a happy crush. Whatever. But I genuinely like him -- admire a lot of his work, even if... maybe, he doesn't exactly like mine or he does. Or neutral, like it doesn't exactly matter, you know?

But that doesn't stop my heart quickening a little bit or stop me from widening my eyes when his knee briefly brushed mine. It was an accident, I'm certain. I probably have to speak a little louder. Please, I'm a little terrified of seeing him on Tuesday -- or Wednesday. I know this little hopia will still be in terrified mode seeing him on Friday.

Wait, let me reiterate how stupid this is again. Because it's infiltrating my thoughts more often than I want and I can't even look at him in the eye. You'd think that for my age, I'd be over with this phase but the problem is that I never had it.

Okay, I did. Once. For the wrong person. But I hope this is over soon, because my cheeks are flaming red and my tendency to strive to impress until I find praise (I know how it sounds, don't worry) is starting to make me very, very annoyed? No, that's not right. Not annoyed, more of... stressed. I still have so many things to do, but putting this off is, according to this little messed up brain of ours, on the top of my list.

Wish me luck, hopia!

[donttellunclesam]

stevie & eddie s4

(close ups under the cut)

[inogart]

February wallpaper, PSD and timelapse are up for patrons :3

PATREON

[euniearts]

luna moth beam

[seonghwasblr]

_starhwa_ instagram in 2024 ♡

[gunpowder-arti]

sad cat poem - spencer madsen

[linipik]

Shiro with a full sleeve tattoo 💜

[royalarchivist]

Missa: How do I- how do I even- I got the soap...? ¿Cómo te baño? (How do I bathe you?)

Phil: Roleplay it out! Roleplay it out, it's fine!

Missa: I'M EATING THE SOAP!

Phil: You've got the soap, you've got the soap! You've got it, just- rub rub rub, rubrubrub-

Missa: HOW DO I RUB?! I'M EATING IT!

Phil: [Cracks up]

Missa: Should I like- roleplay? I'm-

Phil: [Trying not to laugh] ROLEPLAY IT OUT! RP it out, Missa! RP it out, you got this!

Missa: OK! I'm- I'm- [unintelligible] Asterisco, lo baña, asterisco [Asterisk I bathe him, asterisk] I thought it was gonna be like- I dunno! These guys are geniuses! I thought it was gonna be like, some kind of-

Phil: No! [Wheezes]

Chayanne: gracias. roleplay papa

Missa: I did it, I did it!

[danburys]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY: WEEK 1 A PAIRING I REALLY WANTED TO SEE HAPPEN

Thanks for checking up on me. / Well, if you need anything, I'm around.

Emily Prentiss & Jordan Todd, Criminal Minds

[softly-and-suddenly]

[ohdearhopia]

oh, there was a time when we talked about anything and everything. and now, i don't even know how to approach you or say hi, or tell you, "i listened to brandi today and thought of you." but i miss you a lot, and i miss you a lot.

[cheatingtime]

[mipexch]

dance with me one last time

[arsenicflame]

happy "our marriage is never gonna recover from this" day

[vecnuthy]

decode

@steddiemicrofic June prompt: stuff || wc: 483 || G || established relationship, moving in together, language, Eddie being chaotic

Confused, Steve grabbed the keys he'd just set down, and -- yep, right apartment number.

When Steve had left their brand new apartment that morning, he'd known that Eddie and Wayne would be relocating their things from point A(ll yours now, Wayne!) to point B(abe, this is ours. Ours.), but Steve didn't realize--

"Eddie?"

The apartment had been completely empty that morning when he'd left for work, the mattress that Steve had tied to the top of his Bimmer ("I'm not sleeping on the floor.") and yesterday's clothes being the only things left behind. Now, however, Steve wondered if there had been some kind of mistake with a hypothetical delivery service that he knew Eddie and Wayne definitely did not hire, because there were mountains of boxes in front of him. Towers. A miniature King Kong would have a field day in this apartment, and Steve could only stare, overwhelmed by the amount of....everything.

Until, finally, a familiar head of hair popped out from behind one of the towers.

"Eddie, is this really-?"

And then Steve's face fell, lips pursed at the sight of his boyfriend, blissfully oblivious to Steve's presence, absolutely jamming to the music blaring from the headphones clamped over his ears. Steve bit back a laugh at the guitar solo that Eddie vocally mimicked with his eyes closed as his air guitar got downright shredded.

Eddie bumped into a stack of boxes, then paused, hands held out placatingly to the swaying stack, and said, "Excuse me," before he went back to wailing along with the guitar in his head.

Steve could have taken him right then and there.

He settled for a light touch to get his attention, since it was obvious that Eddie would otherwise remain oblivious to Steve's presence, but when Steve touched his arm, Eddie's eyes flew open and the guitar wail turned into a banshee shriek, his arms flailing wildly as he fell back and into a tower of boxes in surprise. Steve tried to grab him, but it was no use. He followed Eddie to the ground, and the boxes crashed next to them.

"Jesus fucking CHRIST," Eddie cried, starfished on the floor, his chest heaving under Steve's hold. "Damn, Steve, you scared the shit out of me. I think I just lost five years of my life."

"I'm sorry," Steve couldn't help but laugh.

Eddie, winded, grinned back then winced and turned toward the toppled boxes next to them. "Hope those didn't have records in them."

Steve frowned at words scrawled on the toppled box. "It says The Prancing Pony?"

Eddie relaxed. "Sheets and stuff."

Steve's confusion only grew when he saw other names across the other boxes, until he landed on one that said Rivendell.

He knew that name.

"Why is Rivendell on that one?"

"That, my liege, houses aaall of your hair care stuff," Eddie smirked.

"....Eddie, no."

Eddie grinned wider and winked.

[barksbog]

kinda wish the mammography place wasn't refered to as women's health centre but whatever

at least it's the last time i need to come here since it's just to make sure everything looks good for top surgery