#i love Heather I'm sorry

[island-in-the-shadows]

I always find it so wonderfully interesting when people prefer IWTV S1 to S2 but, tbh, they're both great seasons of television.

When I saw S1 as it premiered, I consistently struggled with it. There were (and to this day are) parts of it that severely pissed me off. "A Vile Hunger..." (1x5) is still the episode I like to rewatch the least, for example. It took me watching S1 twice to totally love the show. And it's because, when I saw S1, I was holding onto the source material while I watched.

This was fucking stupid on my part, especially given I took a class on adaptation while at Uni and got the academic tools to discern what makes for a good adaptation in film terms (I've talked about other adaptations with people who are book readers first and they tend to view it way differently). Hell, I wrote a thesis on why Clueless is a great adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma regardless of the change of setting in both time and place.

But IWTV was way too personal to me, it went back to my childhood, so it was hard to let go. I did instantly love a lot of the changes. I love the time change and the change to Louis' race and background. I love that we saw more of Louis pre-vampirism and that show Louis has more complex reasons for his long term struggles whereas book Louis just seemed so whiny to me for no reason. On the other hand, I struggled with: why is it a second interview, why was Claudia SA-ed, why the DV, why is fucking Antoinette a canker sore that never leaves, why the fuck is Armand in Dubai, what the fuck is happening with this timeline? I couldn't let go and my viewing experience suffered for it.

When I sat down to watch a second time, I said, "Ok, do what you were taught and let the source go. Adaptations cannot be 1:1 due to the change in medium". And that's when things started clicking. I stopped viewing S1, and the show as a whole, as needing to use the books as a plot bible and viewed it as using them as a guidebook to function on TV terms and tell its own version of the story. It allowed me to appreciate the things I loved much more and to understand the ones I hadn't been so sure about and, even, love some of those things.

For S2, I went into it with that mentality already so I solely judged it on film/TV terms even though, having read books 1-4 and 6 and reading about the rest, I saw subtle things people with no knowledge of the source canon did not. Like when YT reactors consistently worried about Daniel being killed and I'm just filing my nails because, to those in the know, Daniel has massive plot armour. Or people being confused about Raglan James and I'm sat there like wtf does this trifling ass want? Nevertheless, I enjoyed the tale as it was told and what it was on solely TV terms.

Both season are great television but, to me, S2 just took it up a notch. Daniel Hart popped off extra hard. Carol Cutshall popped off extra hard in costuming (stg she played faves because why did Armand get more fashion slays than anyone else? ^_^). The sets went extra hard. The acting, which was already superb in S1 because this is a fucking excellent cast (Jacob, Sam, Eric, Bailey, and Delainey 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼), went harder as well because we have more players such as Ben Daniels doing the absolute MOST with Santiago, Roxane Duran being absolutely OUTSTANDING as the formidable Madeleine, and Assad Zaman stepping out from the background and giving a STUNNING performance as, to me, what's clearly the definitive Armand. To my taste, S2 is a lot less slow and I felt the pot boiling tension to the explosive ending build more keenly than in S1. And, again to my taste, the ending of S2 felt more satisfying because we have a sense of completion in Louis' journey rather than a, admittedly dope, cliffhanger. S2 has, arguably, the 3 best episodes of the show so far in "Don't Be Afraid..." (2x5) "I Could Not Prevent It" (2x7), and "And That's The End of It..." (2x8). For me, there's just no contest.

And yeah S2 isn't perfect either. The abrupt episode endings, for example, are a bit annoying---especially the end of 2x4. Yes, there's bits I would've changed a bit. (Though I will say, some book readers apparently wanted the show to include book Armand's Franken-experiments and I could very much do without it ever being included because it serves no narrative purpose other than to prolong Claudia's suffering. The show already goes hard to show Armand is a fucking asshole in other ways and it's gonna add to that in S3. We don't need that detail.) But, as a season of television, it just went the extra mile.

Still, I love that some people prefer S1. I love that they prefer S1 because it's more intimate or because it's more of a family season or because of the good Louis and Lestat moments or the good vampire family moments. Or maybe they love it for other reasons, it's all very personal.

I still think "In Throes of Increasing Wonder" is an outstanding pilot and it's one of my favourite episodes. Louis' confessional scene/the church scene is definitely one of the top moments of the show. Claudia's monologue at the end of "The Ruthless Pursuit of Blood..." still gives me goosebumps. Claudia stomping on Antoinette's fucking face and Daniel reading Louis to absolute FILTH at the end of "The Thing Lay Still" both make me clap and stomp like I'm at a concert or a sporting event.

Either way, S1 or S2, it's great TV and it deserves more love and recognition. I hope it gets it because it's truly deserving. Maybe we just need to hear our Brat Prince have his say for the uninitiated to awaken to it. S3 I have been seated since they made the call to release that teaser.

[marshmellowtea]

i change my mind aleheather can be yaoi too cuz if alejandro is a gay man then heather is a trans guy/transmasc in the same way that if heather is a lesbian alejandro is a trans girl/transfem. Do Not Separate Them

[heatherfield]

you are so close to convincing me to watch ouat

(also hi beloved mutual 💕)

Eeee hello beloved mutual! 🥰🥰🥰

I don't know if I should apologize or tell you to run while you still can or give you the final push to join in the craziness that is Once Upon a Time.

It is ridiculous but it's fun and might also break your heart at times.... and there's literally a blorbo (or five) for everyone! (And so many shipping possibilities, canon and non-canon, if that's your thing.)

It's a show that's so dear to my heart for better or worse and even though I couldn't recommend it to everyone, it's definitely worth a watch if you're interested!!

[a-fucking-tornado]

POV: you hate yourself so you decide to watch illegal Heathers

[alurite-l]

I'm serious when I say I love mean women

I love girly so much I kin her

[lenteur]

your message made my day. truly! <3 here is me hugging you ehe

[zackmartin]

thank you, heather, for giving me a chance to hype up my friends. I love you so much 💕💕💕 @theanti-heros

TAG A QUALITY BLOG 🥰 if you’re gonna play the game and tag people, please make your own post, thanks 💗

@bitchmilsky @neshabeingchildish @angelamoores @dashingmoonlight @legendaryjohnmarston @ramune-ray @harts-on-friar @mistyskiesrambles @hoovii @adumbshitbutler @partiallypearl

[sparkedblaze]

Luke as a villain. Or JD. Writer’s choice

I'm so sorry this kind of sucks. This is attempt *checks watch* four at posting this.

T/W uh… violence, mentions of unaliving self, mention of bombs and trying to unalive others,

Ohohohoho both sides of my ‘could I become them?’ coin

How am I supposed to pick-

JD is a villain that I could never be.

And ik that’s probably not what you’re asking about, but that’s how I start my deep dives, so bear with me.

He was traumatized, literally watched his mom end her own life and then was forced to pay rent. He’s constantly on the move and has little to no social skills.

I mean my man finds solace in a 7/11 which should tell you how bad his situation is.

JD is just a dynamic character.

I love him (not as a person).

He’s manipulative. And he’s good at it. Homie had Veronica eating out the palm of his hand. He’s the ultimate narcissist. HE TALKED HER INTO STAYING WITH HIM AFTER HE UNALIVED THREE PEOPLE ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

He let his trauma overtake him and drive him to planting bombs at a pep rally.

As someone who listens to Heathers on the reg, it’s quite the accomplishment to form that pit in my stomach every time I hear

“Sorry for coming in through the window. Dreadful etiquette, I know.”

IT NEVER GOES AWAY AND IT JUST MAKES ME SCREAM. JD IS SUCH A TERI LE PERSON BUT HES SO WELL WRITTEN I JUST- AHHHHHHHH

Also bc my blog is 99% newsies (and therefore is followed by many fansies) I have to include this clip of the Heathers workshop 😌You’re welcome.

NOW TIME FOR LUKE CASTELLAN BC IF YOU THOUGHT I WAS GONNA PICK BETWEEN THEM YOU WERE VERY WRONG

LUKE IS A VILLAIN THAT I VERY MUCH COULD HAVE BECOME. LIKELY WOULD HAVE BECOME IN THOSE CIRCUMSTANCES.

I held a lot of bitterness and anger toward my parents for a long time

But that’s neither here nor there

Luke is one of very few villains that I love a redemption arc for.

Holding a grudge is one thing. Feeling abandoned by his dad and terrified of his mom? Can you see why he may be a little upset?? But using said feelings to endanger all of the people he cares about just for revenge?

And then a deity starts whispering to him about taking revenge and at first he’s like ‘eehhhhhhh…..’ but the temptation is too great and he’s eventually POSSESSED BY SAID DEITY.

But in the end he sacrifices himself?!?! UGH SO GOOD

Like this is a villain that I can follow the train of thought. The tracks are clear. One stop after another. Abandoned, forgotten, LOSING HIS BEST FRIEND SISTER AND THEN BEING TOLD TO POISON WHAT’S LEFT OF HER.

AND HIM BEING TOLD ABOUT ANNABETH DENYING WHAT HE SEES AS THE ONLY THING TO DO AFTER ALL OF THIS.

KRONOS WHISPERING THINGS LIKE: AFTER EVERYTHING THEY WENT THROUGH. AFTER THEY PROMISED TO NEVER ABANDONED EACH OTHER. HOW COULD SHE?!?

AND LUKE BEING CONFUSED AND POSSESSED BY THE SPIRIT OF KRONOS AND JUST HOW COULD SHE?!

THIS BOY IS SEVEN KINDS OF FUCKED UP.

PLEASE GET HIM THERAPY.

ALSO FOR ANYONE WHO DOESN'T KNOW THERE'S A MUSICAL AND THIS IS LUKE'S BIG REVEAL AND IT'S SO GOOD

[eiightysixbaby]

take a dip

pairing: lifeguard!eddie munson x bestfriend!fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (this was supposed to be a short little blurb lolz)

summary: eddie wants to get you in the water with him while you're alone at the community pool. he ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for.

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. reader doesn't know how to swim, eddie is a relentless menace, brief food mention, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie

“Get in the pool.”

“No!”

“Get. In. The pool.” Eddie's voice is deadpan, his expression flat. He holds out a hand, waiting for you to take it and let him guide you.

“It's cold! I'm going to freeze!” you whine, stomping your feet on the concrete like a toddler.

“Uuuuuuuuugh, you are impossible,” he groans, kicking off the wall and letting himself glide backwards, floating in the water.

He stops at the middle of the pool, going fully under the water before coming back up. He shakes his wild curls, blinking rapidly to get chlorine out of his eyes.

“Will you please come in? It's not even bad,” he begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

He'd been tasked with getting the community pool ready for opening day, and he's spent the last several hours doing just that. You had stopped by to bring him some food, and ever since you both finished eating, he'd been trying desperately to get you in the water with him. He's entirely unsure why you're being so stubborn.

“Eddie, come on, I don't want to. Can we just go back to your place?” you ask, fingers worrying at the hem of your shorts.

“We can go back to my place once you get in this damn water with me,” he retorts. You know he doesn't mean anything by it, but his relentless insistence makes your stomach churn. It's not even his fault, it's not like he knows your reasoning. You should've known that by coming here you were in for it.

You're silent, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you debate what to say next. Luckily, you don't have to speak before Eddie notices your discomfort.

“Woah, hey.” He swims back to the edge of the pool, resting his arms on the concrete. “What's wrong? If you really don't want to get in you don't have to, we can just leave.”

He reaches a wet hand out to squeeze your ankle, cocking his head to the side as he looks up at you.

“It's just...” you start, voice suddenly much quieter than it had been. “I don't... know how to swim.” It feels simultaneously amazing and embarrassing to get the words out into the open, for Eddie to know.

“What?” he asks, making you shrink into yourself. You sit down on the pavement, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, I know. It’s humiliating, okay?” you snap, defensive.

“No, no, no. Hold on,” he interjects, pushing himself up and out of the water. “How come I never knew this?” he asks softly, scooting to sit beside you.

“Well, it wasn’t something that ever really came up until you got the lifeguard gig. It was an easy topic to avoid.” You shrug, watching water drip from his body.

This was only Eddie’s second summer working at the pool, and the previous summer you’d managed to dodge the task of going swimming with excuses about carting the kids around to and from the arcade or the Wheeler’s or the mall; having to work; being on your period and not feeling like it.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to act like an asshole,” he tells you earnestly. “If you don’t want to get in the water, we won’t. I’m sorry,” he searches your face with soft eyes, remorseful.

You sigh, resting your forehead on your knees, hiding your face away. “It’s not even that I don’t want to get in. I’d love to get in the water with you,” you say, muffled. “But I’m scared.”

“I mean,” he starts, leaning back coolly, “you are sitting next to the best lifeguard in Hawkins, Indiana.”

You snort, looking up from your hiding spot. “Between you, Billy, and Heather? Not a tough competition, champ.”

He gasps, mock offended. “Rude!”

You turn pointedly to face him. “Billy’s always distractedly flirting with someone and definitely couldn’t care less if any of the residents in this town live or die. Heather is always busy gawking at Billy, and she hates getting her hair wet.”

He thinks about this. “Okay, fair point.”

You laugh, a sort of sad sound. “But!” He stands, extending a hand to encourage you to join him. “I am still a lifeguard. One that actually cares whether you live or die, and I’d very much like it to be the former.” He pulls you onto your feet. “We can take it super slow, heck, we don’t even have to actually teach you to swim tonight. We can just stand in the water, get you comfortable being in it.”

“Isn’t that… I don’t know. Silly?”

“Why would it be silly?” he asks simply. “The more you’re in water, the less scary it will be.”

You think this over, eyes flicking back and forth from the pool to your clasped hands. “I honestly want to, but I didn’t even bring a swimsuit,” you say finally, feeling a bit dejected.

“I mean, and don’t hit me when I say this—” Eddie begins, taking a step back with a smirk. “But you could just get in in your underwear.”

You feel your face heat wildly at his suggestion, feeling simultaneously nervous and intrigued by the thought of stripping to your bra and panties in front of your best friend. The intrigue surprises you a little bit, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Eddie—” you murmur, but he cuts you off.

“It’s no different than seeing you in a bikini. And I have seen you in one of those, at that car wash fundraiser for the cheer team in high school,” he says matter-of-factly, giving you no real reason to back out.

And truly, you don’t want to.

“Okay, fine,” you huff, playing up your reluctance. “Turn around,” you motion in a circle with your finger, and he rolls his eyes before turning his back to you.

You slip out of your sandals before peeling your shorts off, letting them pool around your ankles. Your shirt comes next, and you hoist it over your head before tossing it onto a lounge chair with your bottoms.

There’s a very subtle chill to the air, the full heat of summer not yet present. It kisses your skin, making goosebumps erupt all over.

“Okay, get in the water and close your eyes until I’m in,” you tell him.

“You do realize I’m going to have to look at you at some point?”

“I know! Just— not yet.”

“Fine.”

He lowers himself back into the water with a slight splash, covering his eyes with his hands. You giggle at the sight, feeling like you’re playing hide and seek and he’s counting.

Slowly, you step over to the pool’s edge, sitting down and letting your feet dip into the water. It’s cold, too fresh to have been heated by the sun, and it sends a shiver running up your body.

“Eddie, it’s really cold,” you whine, already knowing he’ll be having none of it.

“Yeah, ‘s why you have to just get all the way in in one go.” You hesitate, but as if he can read your mind, he goes on. “Your feet can touch here, nothing’s gonna happen. Promise.”

His eyes are still covered, and you bite back another giggle. You know you’re safe with him, and you swallow your nerves as you slip fully into the water. The level of depth keeps the waterline at the top of your chest, your head and shoulders remaining dry.

“Can I look now, your highness?”

“Shut up. Yes.”

He removes his hands, grinning at you. “Look at you! In the pool with me.”

You allow yourself to smile a little, too, although you feel silly for celebrating the mere fact that you’re standing in a pool.

The look on Eddie’s face doesn’t let you feel silly for very long. He’s practically got stars in his eyes. In fact, you can’t help but notice the way they seem to linger on your lips, trailing down to the soft hills of your breasts. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

He holds his hands out to you, and you take them, letting him walk backwards while you follow. He moves slowly into the deeper end, and your toes try their hardest to cling to the bottom of the pool the further you go. You’re about to back away, return to the shallow side, but he does damage control before you can run.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, pulling you close to him as he wraps his arms around you. “Put your legs around my waist.”

You oblige, albeit flustered, wrapping your limbs around his thin waist and letting your chests press together, your arms hanging loosely around his neck. You become acutely aware of the way your core rests barely exposed against the fabric of his swim trunks, and suddenly you feel like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of this portion of the world around you. You swear you hear a rather strangled breath leave him, and you wonder if this proximity is affecting him the way it seems to be affecting you.

You find yourself more enamored than ever with the tattoos littering his body, black ink scrawled into his pale skin. Your eyes trace constellation patterns between the freckles splattered on his torso, holding yourself back from reaching out to touch them.

In Eddie’s arms, you’re safe in the water, and your nerves ease as you try to shove down the butterflies that roam beneath your ribcage. It’s just Eddie, being close to Eddie isn’t anything new.

But being this close to Eddie while you’re both barely clothed, is.

He holds you easily; you’re weightless in the water, which allows him to maneuver fluidly. The water is still cold around you, but your body feels like it’s hot enough to start boiling it. Eddie’s fingers press into your thighs to keep you supported, and suddenly it’s the only sensation you can focus on.

“Still cold?” Eddie asks, and it makes you visibly startle.

“N-no, not really,” you choke out. If only he knew.

He raises a brow at your demeanor but says nothing more, and you wonder how long he’ll float around with you for. You wonder how long you can take it before you start clawing at him like a rabid animal.

Your lack of inhibition alarms you, your sudden hunger toward the man in front of you new and slightly terrifying. Eddie’s always been attractive, but in an objective way. In a way you never felt like you really needed to act on. You could admit that he was attractive and also remember that he was your best friend, and that trying to go any further than friendship would be moronic.

But right now, you think you’d let him swallow you whole.

You’ve zoned out, looking blankly at the illuminated blue of the pool, and when you focus back in you notice that Eddie is staring at you, unwavering.

“What?” you ask him, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

“Would it be fucking crazy to kiss you right now?” he asks, his usual boisterous attitude gone. He’s nervous.

Your heart swells, battering against your ribs. “Maybe. But you should do it anyway.” You swallow hard, watching as his wild eyes search your face. You feel a peculiar sort of giddiness, like a child that's about to snatch a cookie from the jar when they know they aren’t supposed to.

You only hope this won't come back to bite you in the ass.

Everything seems to go quiet save for both of your shaky breaths, Eddie's hands curling into your half-wet hair as he presses your back against one wall of the pool. His lips meet yours so softly, encouraging your mouth to open and move with his.

Your brain feels like it's lagging, unable to catch up with what's happening. You would've expected this to be awkward, clumsy, embarrassing — but it's none of those things. His lips slot against yours like they were made to fit there, and you find yourself wondering why you never did this sooner.

He draws back, grinning wildly. You're sure your expression matches.

“I can't believe it took me so long to do that,” he admits, eyes eagerly searching your own.

They look especially dark now that the sun has set, yet something in them seems to sparkle.

“I was thinking the same thing,” you respond. He laughs and you join him, clinging tight to wet skin.

When the laughter subsides, you let him kiss you again, his tongue licking experimentally into your mouth. It makes you clutch him even tighter, deepening the kiss before he can think about pulling away; encouraging his tongue to test the waters further. You grind your core against him before you can register that you're doing it, pulling a throaty groan from him, and that's when you feel it. The outline of his hardening cock strains against his swim shorts, brushing up against you just right to create a delicious jolt of friction.

You pull back to look at him, grinding against him once more in hopes of eliciting more sounds from him. His eyes pinch shut, his mouth falling open in a curse. You can see the pink blush in his cheeks even in the fading light of day.

“Fuck, baby.” Baby, you think. That's new.

“Yeah?” you ask, taunting him just a little bit. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck yes, god. Makin' me feel like a horny teenager,” he chuckles, a strained and breathy thing. You can tell he's trying hard to keep himself together.

But maybe you don't want him to.

You let your lips attach to his neck, wanting to see how far you can go before he gives in; before he can't hold back any longer.

He takes in a sharp breath when you begin sucking on his soft skin, aiming to leave a bruise in your mouth's wake. His head tips, further exposing his neck to you, and you move to cover more of the pale surface. His cock is fully hard now, or at least it feels like it, rubbing against your core as you continue to grind against him to the best of your ability.

“Shit, you're driving me crazy,” he says, digging his fingers into your hips.

“What're you gonna do about it?” you ask, challenging him in a moment of surging confidence.

His expression darkens, his index finger reaching beneath your chin and tilting it up, until you're looking at him. “Do you really want to do this?” he questions, arching a brow. His question holds a double meaning: Do you really want to try me? and Are you sure you want this, with me?

You're certain about both.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely audible. His lips are mere centimeters from yours, his finger still hooked under your chin. He stays like that for a moment, as if judging that you're sure, and once he seems to find his answer it's like something in him snaps. He lets go.

His lips press to yours, hot and urgent, his hands digging firm into your thighs. You swear every inch of skin he touches turns molten as his palms roam to squeeze fistfuls of your ass, new territory that sets you on fire. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your mouth open as he licks into it with a hunger like no other. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging it as a whimper escapes your throat.

“You're so fucking gorgeous,” Eddie nearly growls, his voice wrecked, like simply saying the words makes him want to bust. “Need to have you, baby, let me have you.” His mouth is dipped close to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout you.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, rolling your hips into him yet again. He groans, eyes falling closed and hands digging harder into your skin. Like he's bracing himself.

When his eyes open again, he takes a moment to just study you, scouring every inch of you that he can see.

“Look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs, nosing at your cheek before pressing another kiss to your lips. His words make your cheeks burn. “Just so it's on record, I was a fucking idiot for not kissing you sooner. God, sweetheart,” he says, making your heart pound. Another kiss.

“I'm just as big of an idiot,” you reply, tangling your fingers in his damp curls.

When you tug on them, a low grumble of a sound leaves his throat. “Fuck, you're gonna kill me.”

He reaches behind you, gripping the edge of the pool with one hand as the other slips down to caress your breasts. He lets his fingers glide over the fabric of your bra before dipping them beneath the cups, squeezing one and then the other. You gasp, throwing your head back with a whispered curse of his name.

One corner of his mouth twitches up in smug amusement, his head tipping down so he can kiss at your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. You let your legs fall from around his waist, feet planting on the bottom of the pool. His hand traces down your side, stopping to toy with the waistband of your cute cotton panties. You suck in a breath in anticipation of his next move, and you exhale when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, cupping your sex in a calloused palm.

You let your own hands wander, trailing your fingers down his toned chest until you reach the drawstring of his swim trunks. His breathing grows shallow, his cock kicking up against your hand when you cup his bulge through the smooth material. It sends a wave of satisfaction through you, at the fact that you have the ability to make his body react in such a way.

Meanwhile, his fingers tease your core, drawing loops around your entrance, almost dipping in but not quite. You involuntarily rut your hips against his hand, body desperate for more.

“Aww, a little needy, are we?” Eddie smirks, squeezing your ass with his free hand.

You frown. “You're making fun of me,” you whine, looking at him with big sad eyes, exaggerated in your attempt to garner his sympathy.

“Nooooo,” he coos softly, folding entirely as he leans in to kiss your pout away. You smile, kissing him back and letting your hand dip beneath his bottoms.

He makes a little ‘aah’ sound, letting his hips roll against your hand, providing more friction that he so desperately craves. Your fingers wrap tentatively around the base of him, and your eyes widen. You don't need to see him to realize how big he is. Your hand runs up and down his length, your breath hitching in your throat at the thought of fitting him inside of you; the stretch he'd provide. You never thought you'd be experiencing this with Eddie of all people, but you're not about to complain.

He finally dips two fingers inside of your throbbing center, the sensation making your vision blur. You want him so terribly, more than you think you've ever wanted anyone, and it all seemed to come out of nowhere. He feels incredible, and he's barely done anything.

His fingers reach deep, curling at your sweet spot, making your back arch. You lose focus on the way you were teasing his cock, your hand freezing in place as he fucks you on his fingers.

“That feel good?” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face expectantly.

“Yes, fuck, Eddie,” you praise, brow furrowing as his fingers start to move quicker. “So fucking good.”

He seems satisfied with himself, smiling almost shyly, and it only makes you want him more.

“Ed, please—” you croak. “Need you inside me,” you press, pawing urgently at his shorts in an attempt to push them down his legs.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Okay, baby, I got you,” he reassures, removing his fingers from your core and instead grabbing the base of his cock and tugging it free from its confines.

You're nearly trembling with desire, each second agonizing as you wait to be filled up by him.

“Take these off,” he instructs, tapping at your hipbone over the fabric of your underwear.

You do as told, awkwardly pulling them off and tossing the soggy garment behind you.

“God, that was so sexy,” he says, making you snort.

“Shut up and fuck me, Munson.” Your smirk reaches your eyes, a glint of recklessness coursing through them.

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”

He instructs you back into your previous position, your legs around his waist, opening you up for him perfectly. He looks down, guiding himself to your entrance to the best of his ability through the wonky lens of the water. He isn’t sure if he’s quite got it until a gasp escapes your lips, your nails digging into his back.

And then he’s pressing further in, not too much but enough to get you to make more pretty sounds for him. You cry out from the feeling of him parting your walls, a delicious pleasure-soaked burn that has your eyes screwing shut.

Eddie’s having none of that, though.

“Nuh-uh,” he rasps. “Look at me. Need to see your face while I fill you up.”

Your eyes open slowly, head lolling deliriously to meet his stare. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lip sucked between his teeth as he gives you more of him. His cock is thick, an intrusion the size of which you’ve never felt before. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even balls-deep yet. The thought makes your head spin.

His eyes are so gentle, deep and familiar pools of brown that feel a lot like home. It’s obscene, the juxtaposition between lust and adoration you feel for him.

“God,” he grunts, “you’re so tight around me, baby. Can feel you squeezing me.”

You whine in response, his cock finally sheathing itself entirely within you. His name escapes you on a high pitched moan, and you see a blaze of fire pass behind his eyes. He’s feeling this aching desire just as much as you are.

“Please,” you beg. “Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he purrs. “You want it?”

It’s teasing, he’s mocking you and your impatience to be ruined by him. In any other circumstance you’d tease him right back, but you’re too drunk on him to care.

“I need it. Please, Eddie.”

“Shit, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he replies, steadying himself with one hand gripping the concrete edge behind you.

Your back is pressed firmly to the pool’s wall, Eddie’s chest pressed to your front. You’re caged in, loving your proximity to him. He gives you one final glance before his hips begin to rock into yours.

His thrusts are fast, yet you feel them in slow motion. Every inch of his cock dragging out of you before pushing back in, the fat head of him pressing deep inside. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way, the water around you doing nothing to extinguish you. Eddie is the oxygen, bringing you roaring to life, and you don’t want any bit of it to stop.

You cling onto him, your wet hands not getting much grip against his wet shoulders. Your breath comes out in spurts with each thrust he gives you, a repetitive ‘ah-ah-ah’ with each snap of his hips to yours.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie pants. “Feel so fucking good on my cock, holy shit.”

A half-smile graces your lips, and he leans forward to snatch them in a heated kiss. The combination of his warm tongue slipping into your mouth and his cock pressing perfectly against your sweet spot has you reeling, tension winding itself tight in the pit of your stomach. Your hands move to hold his face, keeping him right where he is. He smiles against your lips and it makes your heart soar, pulse pounding in your chest.

Every thrust sends pangs of pleasure straight to your gut, and you know you won’t last much longer. How can you last, when the sounds he’s making are sinful and his cock fits inside of you like it was made to be there.

“Fff-uuuuck,” he groans, eyes screwing shut. “I’m gonna cum, babe, where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you croak, barely getting the word out in your breathless state. Your head is lolling back, eyes closed in complete bliss.

“Shit, are you sure? Look at me — are you sure?” he asks, tilting your chin up.

“Yes, Ed. Please,” you insist, hurtling towards your release.

He gives you a few final thrusts, hard and fast before he’s twitching inside of you, giving you all that he has for you. Your name falls from his lips again and again; a chant, a prayer. You’re cumming within seconds of him, clamping down around his cock as pleasure crashes over you in heavy waves. Your legs grow weak, barely able to keep yourself wrapped around him. He senses it, holding you up as you ride out your high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant, chest heaving with each breath.

Eddie’s watching you intently, waiting to make sure you’re okay, that you enjoyed yourself. That you aren't going to leave. That this wasn’t a dream.

When you meet his gaze, a lazy smile tugs at your mouth.

“Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me,” Eddie says, leaning to press his forehead against yours.

You laugh lightly, arms looping around his neck. “Yeah. It was,” you chew at your lip, suddenly feeling shy again.

“Come on, let’s get you dried off,” he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your soft lips, before fully pulling out of you.

You wince at the loss of him, hands pressing against his chest when he moves to lift you out of the water.

“Wait,” you say, halting him.

He cocks a brow, hands resting on your hips.

“You never taught me how to swim,” you murmur, feeling a newfound boldness.

“Well shit, sweetheart. If all I had to do to get you to learn was fuck you, why didn’t you say so?” he jokes, bellowing a laugh when you slap him, more a spray of water than any actual impact.

“If you want the chance to do it again, Munson, I suggest you shut your mouth,” you quip, smirking as he gives you a mock salute.

“Once again — yes ma’am. Let the swimming lessons commence.”

[beatrixstonehill2]

"What? Why would I be mad?" Heather said, smiling prettily. "You're my boyfriend. It doesn't matter if we've only been dating two months. You know I'm a very traditional girl, pretty sure that's why you asked me out! I'd be happy to explore any of your kinks, I don't care how dark they are. It's my job as your girlfriend to please you however I can!"

Heather's boyfriend, Jake, eyed his gorgeous girlfriend, feeling slightly ashamed for even thinking about what went through his head. He couldn't help himself..... "You can say no if you want. I'm just warning you."

Heather rolled her eyes. "No. I can't. I'm your girlfriend, Jake, like I've been telling you I have to please you no matter what! In any way I can, trust me, with the way I was raised I'm fully prepared for what that could mean! Now quit stalling and tell me how to satisfy you...."

"Fuck.... well..... I want to destroy your breasts."

"Destroy my breasts? What, like blow 'em up?"

"What!? No--well, actually...... no, I mean I want to debreast you."

"Ohhhh, you're one of those guys who likes to see a busty girl's titties get chopped off. What's the big deal, then? Why were you so nervous?"

"Well, it's just..... your breasts are so big and sexy I thought you might hate getting them chopped off."

"You're such a dork. My feelings aren't important, dummy! If I were reluctant to have these big fat udders of mine chopped off, I'm betting that'd make this whole thing even hotter! I can pretend to hate having them chopped off if you want, though."

"Uhhhh.... wow, I didn't expect you to be so cool about this."

"Your ears need a serious cleaning. Besides, I was here thinking you wanted to off me and toss me in a ditch or something. I mean, you still can but I'd like a bit of warning, unless it's part of your kink that I don't get any warning in which case I'm sorry if I spoiled the moment for you!"

"No, uh..... not that. But wow, you are just the perfect girl, aren't you?"

"Raised to be whatever my man wants, just like every girl ought to be.... at least that's what my daddy says."

"Well, he's a wise man."

"Sooooo, how're we doing this Mr. Titty Chopper? You got a preferred way of doing things? These big fat udders of mine aren't going to cut themselves off. Well, if they get too much bigger they might sag so much they drop right off! Kidding....."

"But I'd pay to see that! No, I own a sort of guillotine for breasts. I made it, and it works pretty well."

"Test it on lots of girls already?"

"Maybe."

Heather bit her lip. "So what, you gonna tie me up? shove my boobs into this thing and film me as I squirm and beg you not to chop them off?"

"Pretty much. I'd prefer it if you beg me TO have them chopped off, though!"

"That, I can do. I'd love to see my massive udders get removed, it's such a pain having boobs this big, you know?"

"Good, glad we're on the same page. I'll be fucking you as you're strapped in, the blade over your tits. You and I will hold the rope preventing the blade from dropping. You let go right as you're about to cum, that way you lose your tits right as the orgasm hits you. Guarantee it'll be the best orgasm of your life."

"I'll hold you to that. Then what? I'll be breastless, strapped into your machine..... what's a girl to do?"

"I'll fuck my children into you as I call you my flat-chested, worthless whore. Then, once your belly is full of my seed, I'll send you home with the basket containing your severed breasts, you show up at home with no boobs and tell your daddy you're pregnant from the guy who chopped off your boobs. Once you're all bandaged up, we go from there."

"And where might that be? Will you discard me like a used up piece of meat?"

"No, I'll introduce you to the other girls whose tits I've used my guillotine on.... You can admire how big their bellies are with my kids, and dream of how big yours will be in a few months."

"And if I give you enough kids will you marry me?"

"Maybe, or I'll consider it, if you help me find more busty girls like you to date, chop of their tits, and impregnate. You have some stiff competition but from what I can tell you seem like the kind of girl who's going to take this way more seriously than the others...."

"I am your girlfriend after all. Pleasing you is my purpose, and if finding a hundred girls with big fat titties like mine for you to chop off will make you want to spend the rest of your life with me.... I'd be happy to oblige!"

[blahblahblees]

Hey there!!!

This is my first time requesting on Tumblr and I am not sure if you're accepting requests or not so if you aren't feel free to ignore it.

Can you please write a short drabble on Rodrick and the reader being neighbours and the reader liking him but not telling him because he likes Heather. And then everything happening at rodrick's party.

And all the drama can go according to your imagination!

I am sorry for my bad English.

Have a good day/night/evening/afternoon.

Thank you.

ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀─── make you mine ミ rodrick heffley

✎ ·˚ ༘ ─── reader has a crush on rodrick but his eyes seemed to be locked on heather hills, but when greg takes notice of rodrick’s lyrics, his perspective begins to change.

wc: 1,333

movie!rodrick heffley x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), the use of y/n (your name)

tw: kissing (?)

a/n: your english is wonderful :)

HEATHER HILLS. The way her name rolled off of the tongue made her seethed in ways she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t because she was jealous of her, she knew that Heather Hills was gorgeous, but she (herself) was also just as beautiful. She liked her hair, she liked her body, she liked her style, and she liked Rodrick Heffley.

But his eyes seemed to be locked on Heather Hills. He always talked about her long blonde hair and how her outfits just perfectly fit her. It was Heather Hills this and Heather Hills that… but she let him go on about her.

It was an awful thing to do to herself, but here she was, once again, sitting with him in his dining room as he explained his plan to her.

His band, Löded Diper, had somehow convinced Heather to perform at her birthday party. She didn't know how they convinced her to let them play or even why for that matter, but it was good enough for Rodrick.

Her eyes watched as Rodrick scribbled down songs for them to potentially play at her party along with some newer lyrics that would "tell her how much he loved her", which she didn't quite understand. Rodrick hadn't really known Heather for long, quite literally meeting her at school when he was picking up Greg.

"... So, what do you think?"

She looked up from Rodrick's notebook and towards him. She was so in her own mind that she hadn't realized that he'd been speaking to her.

"I'm sorry." She muttered. "What did you say?"

"I asked if the hook should be changed so it fits for the party..." He answered. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah... yeah." She answered, sitting upright in her seat. "Sorry." She apologized once more and quickly gathered her belongings.

"What's wrong?" Rodrick asked, his brows furrowed by her sudden movements. "Where are you going?"

"I should head home." She said. "My mom is expecting me soon and I have to help her with dinner tonight."

Rodrick nodded, slowly standing up and following the girl to the front door. "I'll see you at Heather's party tomorrow, right?"

She closed her eyes for a moment before turning, her hand resting on the doorknob as she looked at him. She really didn't want to go to Heather's party and had planned on it, in fact, she was pretty sure it was an invite-only party and she hadn't gotten an invitation from the girl.

But she was pretty sure that Rodrick was going to find a way for her to get inside, invite or not.

So, she took in a small breath and nodded. "See you there."

With that, she quickly shut the door behind her and headed towards her car, and sped out of the Heffley driveway.

"I can't believe some of the stuff you write in here."

Rodrick quickly turned at the sound of the voice. It was Greg. He was standing at the dining room table with his eyes locked on Rodrick's songbook.

"Is this what being in love is like for you?" Greg asked. "If so, she just went out the door without a kiss goodbye."

Rodrick quickly marched over towards him and grabbed the book before he quickly hit Greg with it. "What are you talking about, dork?"

Greg muttered something under his breath, rubbing his arm in the process. "That stuff... that stuff you call music. That's about Y/N, isn't it?"

"What?" Rodrick scoffed. "No. This is for Heather's birthday tomorrow."

"You're going to sing a love song to another girl at Heather's birthday party?" Greg chuckled. "Are you crazy?"

"You're going to be crazy dead if you don't shut up." Rodrick barked and held his book in the air once more, prepared to hit Greg with it, but the younger boy quickly ran off before anything else could happen.

Rodrick heavily sighed and sat back down at the table. He flipped his book open and tapped back and forth against the table as he went over the lyrics once more, just to make sure everything was perfect for...

But the more he looked at his lyrics, the more and more that he imagined her… he only saw her.

With a heavier sigh, he shut his songbook and slumped down into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face before stopping halfway and sitting up quickly.

He knew what he had to do.

HEATHER’S PARTY was in full swing.

People had been partying for quite some time before she arrived. She obviously wasn’t going to upstage Heather, she didn’t think that was possible with how outlandish Heather’s party had been, but still, she chose to dress up for the party and stay until Rodrick’s band called it for the night, which may take hours at the rate this party was going.

But as soon as Rodrick set eyes on her, he sat his guitar down and told his band to just go with the flow until he got back.

He took in a deep breath, and gently shook his hands to bring himself some comfort. He titled his head side to side before finally reaching her side by the punch bowl.

“You made it.” Rodrick smiled.

She turned at the sound of his voice and nodded, taking a small sip from her drink. “Yeah, of course.” She smiled. “Couldn’t miss the best band play their biggest gig.”

Rodrick smiled at her words, whether or not she meant what she said didn’t matter. She said them to make him feel good, to bring him comfort over the fact that he was about to tell Heather Hills that he liked her.

Or so she thought.

“Did I miss your love bomb to Heather?” She asked.

And she really hoped she had.

“Uh, not quite, no.”

She furrowed her brows at his response. “Everything okay?”

Rodrick's heart was racing as he looked at her. He knew he needed to tell her how he felt; he just didn't know how. But as he looked into her eyes, he found himself lost for words. All he wanted to do was kiss her.

Without warning, he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. It was a soft, gentle kiss, but it was filled with all the emotion he had been trying to hide from her.

When they pulled apart, he could see the surprise in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

She blinked. “You’re- You’re sorry? What- What-“ She stammered, her face growing red as she flustered her words. “What about Heather?”

“I don’t think- It was never Heather was into.” He said. “I mean, yeah, she’s hot, but she doesn’t make me feel the way I do when I’m with you. All those songs I was writing were never about her.”

As Rodrick spoke, she could feel her heart racing. Did he really just say what she thought he said? Could it be possible that he liked her as much as she liked him?

"Really?" she asked, her voice soft.

He nodded. "Really.”

Without hesitation, she leaned in and captured his lips with her own. It was a deep, passionate kiss, filled with all the emotions they had been holding back for so long. Her body melted into his as their lips moved in perfect harmony, each kiss taking them deeper and deeper into the moment.

When they finally pulled away, they were left breathless and dizzy with desire. She looked up at him with a shy smile, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

"I've loved you for so long," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, cupping her face in his hands. "I've loved you too, but I didn't have the courage to tell you until now."

She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. "I'm so glad you did," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

This would be the only time that Rodrick would be thankful of Greg.

— lucy has something to say !!

i think i’m gonna start using you and yours again lol

but regardless, my request are opened! check out my rules and such before requesting and check out my masterlist to see who i write for!

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really. 

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion- 

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through. 

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs. 

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages- 

Your love was often- 

Lost in translation. 

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages? 

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction. 

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

stupid

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

the same

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities. 

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out. 

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms. 

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard. 

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down. 

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table. 

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills. 

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character. 

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered. 

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest. 

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down. 

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably. 

Fuck it 

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully. 

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see 

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically. 

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ. 

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?  

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n. 

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward  

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice- 

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop. 

You're right back where you started. 

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before- 

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created- 

You run away. 

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched? 

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters. 

Every atom erupting in flames. 

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do? 

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking- 

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction- 

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book. 

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 85 (Searching for Rafa Bonilla)

cw: mentions underage trafficking, drug smuggling

Conrad looked for Rafa Bonilla between his regular cases at the precinct, following clues and booking suspects to keep his captain satisfied. A few months into his search he finally located one of Rafa's known associates, according to police reports.

He called Heather, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Hey, you've reached Heather's phone. It's either the middle of the night or I'm with a patient, so leave a message and I'll call you back."

"Hey, it's me. I was hoping to talk to you, but I've got to work a little late tonight. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry. I love you."

He drove outside Brindleton Bay to greet the man who thought he had everyone fooled with his chess mentorship program. It would be less than thirty minutes before his students - mostly children - started showing up for their scheduled lesson in the park, so Conrad knew he had to work fast. He shuddered as he got closer to him, and not just because it was freezing outside.

"Jimmy Stefano," he said, dropping his voice an octave to sound serious.

"Not lately," mused the man with a laugh. "Who's asking?" He turned to face the voice who knew his old identity. "You? They said you were a cop now. No surprise they never let you work our cases."

Conrad knew they had no time for small talk and he whipped out his cuffs. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive."

"You can't be serious! Who?"

"Rafael Bonilla."

Jimmy's face went white, but he stopped resisting. As Conrad cuffed him, he asked, "Are you taking me in to help San Myshuno PD, or did she call you?"

Conrad scoffed. "She who?"

Jimmy laughed. "She told both of us sweet nothings, old friend. You were just dumb enough to believe them."

"Shut up and get in the cruiser."

Back at the station, Jimmy looked around the interrogation room in his orange jumpsuit once Conrad booked him. "Aren't you going to need the cameras on to record your attempt at my confession?"

"I want you to speak freely, Stefano. Tell me everything you know."

Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. "You're not working with San Myshuno PD at all, are you."

"I didn't stage an elaborate arrest just to scare you. I still plan to file a report after you and I catch up. Just talk."

"She really did get to you. Are you trying to let her ruin your life again?"

"Where the hell is Rafa?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in two years, when the last job we did together went bad. I assumed his sister told him to run since the charges he's facing are so serious."

"She doesn't know where he is."

"I'm sure she told you that. Did she tell you she was done with Los Tigres, too?"

Conrad flinched, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm happy with my chess students, but I can't get out now. When you walked, I should've joined you, but I didn't have your father's connections at the police station to keep me out of jail."

"I wasn't even there that night, but you gave them my name."

"Yeah, I did, because you walked before you even got started. Los Tigres only let you live because you became a cop and they didn't need the heat. I don't know what she told you, but if you think Ximena's turned over a new leaf and is done smuggling for the cartel, you're an idiot. She just uses new aliases these days."

Conrad breathed in through his nose. "If I turn the cameras on, will you avoid mentioning our history while you tell me what Ximena's still doing with the cartel?"

"What's in it for me, Sargent?"

"If it comes to it and you're telling the truth, I only want Ximena. As long as Los Tigres doesn't get caught up in anything at the Brindleton docks, I've got no reason to open up a window to the past. You should think about moving on, too. Turn that chess mentorship program into more than just a front."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Some of us are lifers, you know."

Conrad hit record while Jimmy told him everything he knew about Ximena's past - how she escaped being trafficked in her teens by offering to run drugs for Los Tigres de Selva, working her way up to running an entire operation moving drugs from Selvadorada to San Myshuno, through Britechester, and back again. Her associates called her The Chameleon because of how often she changed her hair.

She'd been arrested but never did hard time, with those who worked under her often taking the fall, instead - like Jimmy Stefano. Twice. Ximena kept herself just clean enough to avoid prison, and dragged her brother into the same life. "Rafa and I used to pose as Simlandian military to run product for his sister, but he never got caught for that," Jimmy said.

"When was the last time you worked for her?"

"Four months ago."

Conrad led him through several questions, showing copies of Ximena's old police reports. When they'd finished, he released Jimmy Stefano. It didn't satisfy him to send a known smuggler back to the streets, but he'd gained some incriminating evidence against Ximena, at the very least. He was beginning to think he might need it, eventually.

He headed home in darkness, and his mind raced with possibilities. Could Ximena's activities have led directly to her brother's disappearance? Who were her enemies these days?

He tried to call her, against his better judgment, but she didn't pick up her phone. He hung up before the voicemail kicked in.

When he walked in the door, he found six-year-old Ash on the floor, working on a castle diorama for extra credit at school. He knelt down to help him without even changing out of his work clothes. "Can you help me with the small pieces? Mommy won't let me use better scissors, but my kid scissors barely cut anything!"

He grinned. Grateful for the distraction, Conrad pulled out an instruction booklet tucked under the edge of the box. "Of course. What did you need me to cut?"

"Just these windows," he said. "They're too small. And can you measure to make sure my towers are big enough? I want the biggest towers of the whole class! Like the Spire Tower!"

"Tallest towers, can do. Hey, did you want to use this lump of clay for anything?" (Finally, the clay comes out at a sensible moment!!)

"Yeah! Moat mud! And we could use real water!"

"Your mom won't be very happy if we make real mud in the house, buddy."

Heather walked into the room then, kneeling down next to them to play with Gord. "Please don't make real mud. Why don't you use the clay to mould a base for the castle?"

"Good idea, Mommy! Can we have pancakes for dinner tomorrow night? I've been thinking about pancakes all day!"

"I can make you pancakes for dinner, but your mom and I won't be here to eat them with you," said Conrad. "Tomorrow night, I'm taking your mom on a date."

"What's a date?"

"It's when people who like each other hang out," Heather said.

Ash's eyes grew wide. "Is there kissing?"

Conrad grinned. "There might be. What do you know about kissing?"

He paused. "Nothing, I guess. Scotti Holiday says it's like eating faces, but why would people who like each other eat their faces?"

Heather laughed. "Don't worry, Conrad's not going to eat my face. Are you almost finished with your diorama for the night? It's getting late and you should get to bed soon."

"Just a little while longer, Mommy. Please! I'm not tired and I'm almost done!"

When he and Conrad had finished, they displayed the excellent diorama on a kitchen countertop until Ash could take it to school in the morning. Before he went to bed, Conrad went upstairs to check on his sleeping baby girl.

Intuitive to his human's growing stress level, no matter how well he hid it from everyone else, Gord followed him. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[ajearthlinggg]

exposing you based on your fav will wood/wwatt song (my longest post)

A lot of these have nothing to do with the song. They're basically headcannons lmao. My Blake Jennings is showing

No instrumental chnt except Rhumba sorry

i started this in June enjoy

EIAL

6up 5oh copout: its low hanging fruit to say you hate cops, and I'm taking it. You hate cops.

Skeleton Appreciation whatever the fuck: Covid RUINED you

Front Street: you like Heathers

Aikido!: how's that obsessiveness and inability to let go going?

White Knuckle Jerk: you also like nu metal for the same reason. (Its incredibly horny)

Cover This Song: same as Aikido but only with your exes omg do not text them they are assholes

Thermodynamic Lawyer: PLEASE take time to calm down when you get overstimulated I promise if you don't do anything abt it you will have such a terrible mental breakdown

Red Moon: YOU LISTEN TO MALE MANIPULATOR MUSIC STOP TRYING TO HIDE IT YOU CANT BE IN THE RADIOHEAD CLOSET FOREVER

Lysergide daydream: I honestly do not like this song at all so you get a pass (don't kill me)

The First Step: you're usually quiet but you know how to SCREAM.

Jimmy Mushroom: you're usually quiet but- I'm just kidding. You're always quiet

Chemical Overreaction: you're usually quiet but if- I'm just kidding. You are never quiet

Everything is a lot/dte: insomnia. I dont know why,but insomnia

Self-ish

self/ish: closet theatre kid

2012: fast talker to a not comprehendible level

Cotard Solution: turn off the v-sauce it is 2 am

Mr. Capgras: turn off the 🌽 it is 2 am

The Song With Five Names: you have incredible taste. You can't describe that taste, but hey, its incredible

Hand me my shovel: you were the only talented kid in your elementary music class

Dr. Sunshine is Dead: you love the smell of cigarettes

TNA

Suburbia overture: BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD

222: your English teacher loves you (you're so goddamn gay)

Laplace's Angel: your English teacher hates you. How do I know? Because you can't pronounce anything (its la-plass-es not la-place-is)

i/me/myself: you have to beat off the fake fan allegations with a stick everyday

Wbtta: hey queen. How are those hyperfixations going

Outliars and hyppocrates: you spell the title wrong every. damn. time.

bbw: same as 2012 but holy shit triple it.

Marsha, thankk you: dyslexia and ADHD

Love, me normally: I get it. I'm not even gonna expose you. You already have it bad enough

Momento Mori: you are just SO quirky! (knives whisper things to you when you hold them)

Icimi

Tomcat Disposables: you'd shove photos of your pets in your friends faces even if they were dangling off a bridge

Becoming the last names: you either have wonderful parents in a happy relationship or your parents have been divorced for years and you will never relate to this song

Cicada Days: stop using self deprecating humor around the wrong people PLEASE

Euthanasia: this song is a masterpiece I have nothing to say about you.

Falling Up: WONDERFUL TASTE. AMAZING CHOICE. NO RECOLLECTION OF YOUR CHILDHOOD.

That's enough: you love Alex g you just don't know it yet

Um its kind of a lot: you either already love Scott pilgrim or it will happen. Its a canon event

Half decade hangover: omg twinn!! I have an addictive personality, too!

(I feel like this is a good time to say don't take these too seriously)

You liked this: ...what?

The main character: you can't relate to the song, you hate yourself

Sdrr: IF I SEE ONE MORE PERSON TAKING THIS SONG SUPER SERIOUSLY IM GONNA LOSE MY SHIT YDHZJABXV

Bfb: ur just a silly lil guy

Willard!: you're a therian. There is no human explanation to this.

white noise: you love pink floyd you just don't know it yet

Atkf: HOW TF DID I FORGET THIS ONE anyways you get bad habits (nail biting, staying up too late. Etc)

CHNT

Yes to err: you are still waiting for chnt season 2 BC you want to see what happens with Adam

Your body, my temple: I have a strong feeling you have a tummy ache right now

Venetian Blind Man: you love nobody sexually you just don't know it yet (this is a very ace choice idk why)

Rhumba of Death: you LOVE Halloween

When Somebody Needs You: Tyler the Creator is probably your favorite rapper

Live

Trww

Self/ish: You can't sleep if your room has the SLIGHTEST amount of light in it

10-4 6-up: unlike the original, you don't just hate cops, you hate anybody who can tell you what to do (your teachers are probably just trying to do their job. please)

Cotards Solution: you can't sleep without background noise

Dr Sunshine Lives!: You never get sick physically (mentally on the other hand...)

Where do you get off: omg the horniest of the horny. Gerard Way on stage levels of horny. Nine Inch Nails levels of horny. (Or you really like Umbrella Academy idk why)

Aikido: you can't relate to it. You hate everybody

Take a break grab some water this is getting long

Thermodynamic Lawyer: you have gotten kicked out of restaurants because of how loud you are

Front Street: WE GET IT. IT'S BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL.

Wasting away again: I am so sorry holy shit

Hand me my (x), I'm (y): you suck at algebra

The First Step: you wish you could do the AUGHHHHHHHH

2012: severe social anxiety

Mr capgras: literally the opposite of 2012 (live)

Chemical Overreaction: you know so many random fun facts

Fibrodysplasia: I'm not even gonna talk about your mental issues because I will be banned from this app (which is pretty much impossible)

Icid

Cicada Days: you also get a pass fuck I'm so sorry

The main character okay you ACTUALLY can relate to it

Icimi: OMG I LOVE YOU

atkf: you cry every day even if you aren't sad

Becoming the last names: please don't become a Disney adult

Vampire ref: LISTEN TO MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF AND IK YOU LOVE HOT VAMPIRE MUSIC

Half decade hangover: oh my god talk to somebody it'll be okay I'm so sorry

Tsw5n: you love the way he says "what the fuck"

Euthanasia: once again, ANOTHER PASS. IM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU'RE OKAY

Jimmy Mushrooms: You. Me. Marriage. Now.

Laplaces Angel: you listen to LitWTC

i/me/myself: you were trying to separate yourself from the normal i/me/myself fans

The first step: idk why but you REALLY like lemonade

skeleton appreciation day: you can NOT play any instrument

tomcat disposables: you love concept albums

White noise: unlike cotards, you need to sleep in SILENCE

Love me normally: arctic monkeys. that's all I have to say. idk what about them but, yeah

misanthrapologist: GAY QUEER LGBT HOMOSEXUAL FRUITY ZESTY ROMANTICALLY ATTRACTED TO PEOPLE OF THE SAME GENDER

Falling up: wonderful taste once again please don't become a Disney adult

thats enough let's get you home: you say "YIPPIE!!" a lot

And if I did: god made you shy because he knew if you weren't you would be unstoppable

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.2

Prettyyyyy

Maybe John's not actually crazy for thinking Hey Jude is to him? “For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.” fool is, in my tin hat world, often a code name for Paul in their songs. And that description is certainly him to a t actually. I wonder why I've never considered it before. 

John: are you happy here, honey? Paul: I ain't happy here my honey, can you take me back? How many songs does Paul write from 1968 on about trying to go back? One day I'm going to make a list and it'll be a long one. 

And thus begins the phase of they just can't help it, can they? But they really wish they could. They make each other so so happy, but they really wish they didn't. It would hurt less that way. 

I love the comparison of Linda's pictures of everyone else and then of John. It just shows that it's not a her problem – that's such a lovely one of George, who Hates Yoko – it's how he feels about her.

John, coming up with every possible weapon to provoke Paul, finally has Yoko sing Paul's part in one of their songs. It really is such a slap in the face. But of course breaking the sanctity of their music is what does it best. And still, all he gets out of him is a look before he walks away. Whatever it is that John wants, I think Paul literally can not give it to him. 

Btw the white album is my favorite, probably. There's just such incredible diversity on it. It's so much fun, you never get tired of it, and it's an excellent display of their genius and versatility. 

He looks like an abandoned puppy. 

What do we think? John says Paul drummed on WDWDITR. Paul says Ringo did. Who is telling the truth?

“It was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that but he couldn't make the break . . .” So John thinks Paul doing his songs by himself means he wants to break the group up? I personally read it as him not wanting to annoy everyone with his bossiness, but that's just my take. 

John talking about how it's him and Yoko now, but before, it was . . .

George needs to send them a cease and desist notice or he'll sue them for breech of character the amount of times they drag him into things he's not a part of. Especially if they're not going to even fucking spare him a glance in reality. Please and thank you, Hare Krishna. 

Paul's epigraph on the two virgins cover. “Battles to prove he was a saint”? What kind of passive aggressive shit is that, Paul?

The eternal question: what happened in India? And does John really not know? Or is he just unwilling to tell what happened to rolling stone?

Somebody please engage with that poor little boy, preferably, you know, his father. Ugh, Cynthia must've had so much anxiety watching that footage, or really any time Julian was with John. And that footage is placed in the doc right after a pic of Paul already being Heather's dad just so naturally. 

But hell, if I've ever seen attention-seeking behavior, this is it. Singing about wanting to die while seductively undressing the closest thing Paul would've had to career competition at the time. 

I'm sorry but it will forever be hilarious to me that when John's singing his part of “I've Got a Feeling” with Yoko it's “soft dream” and then with Paul it's “wet dream”. How John and Yoko tricked everyone into believing they were too horny for each other to control themselves is beyond my imagination. 

On the day John plays their sex tape, “Unusually, Yoko is not present.” LMAO girl same. John: I'm going to play our sex tape for the band tomorrow. Yoko: oh was that tomorrow? Damn, I forgot, I have a thing. 

“Well that's an interesting one.” What did John honestly expect, though? Like I know he wanted Paul to be like, “that's it! Enough is enough I'm taking you home and doing you right!” Or whatever. But what did he honestly, realistically expect?

Always saying the same things at the same time, always on the same page, same word. About everything, it seems, except their relationship. 

Paul: but you won't say anything about it. John: I said what I've been thinking. Paul: Are you still thinking that now? What are you thinking now? John: I'm still thinking about it. Infuriating. Whatever it is John's been thinking, he doesn't want to talk about it in front of cameras. Is it quitting the band? I think it's something more complicated than that but I've no idea what. 

“John, John, joooooohn!” X “Martha my Dear” crossover my beloved. The fact that literally Everyone reacts and tries to get her to stop except Paul is so extremely telling. Yoko: joooooohn! Ringo: He's busy! Yoko: joooooohn! John: Stop that! (And he looks and sounds genuinely pissed) Yoko: joooooohn! Paul: (plinking and pounding away, definitely not thinking thoughts about what he would do right now if he was a girl that will come out of his mouth fifteen years later)

Everyone's trying to figure out the problem with George vs JohnandYoko and Paul's saying “and like with Yoko, they’re real. They mean it.” Linda laughs. “I don't dig that.” You don't, Linda? What about them isn't real to her, I wonder. Does she think they don't really love each other? Or what?

Linda: *Makes fart noise* Go away! Paul: continues to defend them. Neil: everybody cough. See and this is why it sucks that get back was so edited. Because it's important that Paul's defending them here not just going on and on where nobody asked. He knows he's hurt John, and he feels bad enough about it to let him have his mommy with him at all times if that's what he needs.

If what??? Someone needs to force them to finish their damn sentences. Because I feel like he cuts himself off here when (I swear!!) he's about to say what it is that's hurting John so badly.

Anyway, here's where (imo) he's kinda wrong. Where he says "if it came to a push between Yoko and the band, it's Yoko." I think I said it in my get back posts, but I'll say it again. Yeah, if it was Yoko or the band, it's Yoko. But if it's Yoko or Paul filling all the gaps Yoko is currently filling? It's Paul. You know? And I think that's what John wants so badly at this time, actually. Is “a push between Yoko and [Paul]” ending with Paul stepping up for him in some way that he wasn't before, you know?

He really does get it though. John wanting to be as close as possible with Yoko so he doesn't lose her and their connection. Don't forget he does put Linda in his band. He gets it because it was the same with him and John. 

I really do think it's a huge myth that they just never talked about feelings or anything serious. Look at them. This is how they talk in a crowded place with their girlfriends sitting right there. They didn't just get through fifteen years of one of the greatest collaborations in history never actually talking. They talked about deep stuff. And frequently.