#porch stories

[ablogofcourage]

[palmettofaces]

Four Hole Fun!

ORANGEBURG SC (SCT Road News) — One Christian biker is reportedly missing from his riding crew after the guys and gals told him about their plans to go “gator hunting” in the Four Hole Swamp last Tuesday evening. Officials say that the missing man, whose riding name is “Crash,” disappeared soon after learning that it was to be his big night down at the Four Hole Swamp. For years, people in the…

[breathe-2am]

Evan "i turned down multiple millions of dollars so i could get my job back" buckley is suddenly a-okay with quitting because for the first time the end of his shift doesn't mean leaving the house, it means coming home.

[ghost-proofbaby]

you mentioned summer storms with Eddie or something one day in a random post and I haven't stopped thinking about it so

can I get a midsummer's night with LOTS of 🍓🍓🍓🍓 about that? Thank you very much Ghost 💞

OH I'VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE!!!! it took on a life of it's own, forgive me.

summer storms

warnings: honestly just tooth-rottingly cheesy. tried to add alllll the fluff. not edited.

wc: 1.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

It was your favorite part of the summer. You couldn’t stand the heat half the time, you couldn’t bear all the bugs that would make their arrival known through incessant bites you’d only notice after spending the day out, and you could cry at even the simple memory of every sunburn you’ve ever endured in your lifetime. There was a lot to hate about the summertime – but this? This was one of the good parts.

The moment you’d seen the ominous clouds on the horizon, you’d known where your night was going to end up. One howl of the wind against your living room window, and you knew your plans for the night. 

All roads led to the Forest Hills trailer park when the summer storms started rolling in. 

In your youth, all through high school, there’d been plenty of scoldings about how the trailer park isn’t the safest place during these storms, dear. Endless lectures on how you and your solace in the form of a best friend should just spend those stormy nights at your own house, inside sturdy walls and within an infallible AC. But they didn’t get it; there was something in the way you’d experience a storm at the Munson trailer that couldn’t compare to home. 

“It’s so hot,” Eddie whines from where he stretches out on his bed, all windows thrown wide open to let the dusty and humid winds slip their way in. Petrichor and discount cologne was swirling around you, wrapping its tendrils around your ankles and wrists alike as you were starfished out on the surprisingly cleaned bedroom floor of Eddie Munson. 

He’d spent the day embarking on his weekly cleaning spree – you’d spent the day holed up in Melvard’s for an unbearingly long shift. 

“I wish it’d just rain already,” you murmur, turning your head to catch a glimpse out the open window. The sky was a mirage of deep tones, rusted oranges laced with all the dirt being kicked up by the winds and navy blues painting the clouds that had built up to hold all the moisture adding to the smothering heat, “At least then all this misery would be worth it.”

Eddie sits up only to throw himself onto his stomach, head hanging over the edge of the mattress to smile down at you, “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take?”

“Take to what?”

“Rain, dumbass.” 

“Don’t call me a dumbass, asshat. How was I supposed to know what you-”

You’re cut off by the sound of rolling thunder, coming in waves along with a particularly strong gust of wind that makes all of Eddie’s posters whip against the walls they were pinned to. It’s enough to shut you both up as the echoes of the entire trailer rattling surround you. 

“Jesus,” Eddie whistles lowly, head lifting up to look outside for a few moments. When his eyes return to yours, they're full of mischief. “Fuck the bet, wanna race?” 

“Eddie, start being more specific, or fuck off,” you groan just as he leaps up, hopping off his bed with unexpected speed. 

All he cries out over his shoulder as lightning strikes in the sky waiting outside is, “Loser has to wash a load of Wayne’s jeans!” 

That gets you up. Not because you wouldn’t do it if Wayne asked nicely, and not because you were going to let Eddie make you do so, but simply to further chastise the boy now running away from you. 

The first droplets of rain begin to fall before either of you make it out of the trailer front door. 

Eddie only loses due to him slipping while passing by the kitchen, socked feet gliding out from beneath him until he grabs onto the counter hastily to prevent any injury. You pass him with a wide smile, yanking the door open hard enough that if Wayne had been home, he probably would have had a few choice words to say to you. 

But Wayne isn’t home. It’s just you and Eddie, the boy who makes summertime an endless brew of storms in your chest and mind alike, and the rain. 

You fly down the rickety porch steps of the Munson’s trailer just as you’ve done a hundred times before, Eddie just behind you. Neither of you make a deciding comment on who won; you’d been outside first, but Eddie’s feet hit the dirt properly just as yours did when he decided to jump right over the steps you were trampling down. 

It’s all wild joy and childish wonder as the two of you begin to run about and spin around beneath the droplets that have picked up into a downpour. Eddie’s hands find your wrist, and he’s throwing you about with him, making you dizzy with absolute giddiness as gravity drags you in a wide circle. Your Melvard’s polo soaks through to the bone. Eddie’s curls begin to stick to his cheeks. 

Neither of you care. 

A childlike exuberance, and youthful oblivion, that you only ever feel with Eddie. You don’t think you would have let anyone else drag you out into the middle of a storm with such ease. But it’s hard to say no to him when there’s so much happiness fizzing beneath your skin, and you’re pretty sure all the thundering actually belongs to your chest as you feel his fingertips press deeper into your wrists. 

You’ve loved him for a while now. Always have, always will. 

It happens in slow motion. You swear somewhere between the crackling of the lightning and his crinkling eyes, you can see his lips forming the words, you’re pretty. 

You didn’t hear it, though. Couldn’t have over the water clogging your ears. 

“What?” you call out, leaning forward with all your giggles, trying to ignore the feeling of your bare feet sinking into the mud below. 

Eddie just pulls you forward, and over another gust of wind that makes you both shiver, says it once more with his whole chest, “I said you’re pretty!”

You’re not. You’re really, really not. You’re a mess. Wet hair and slick skin, bleary eyes and aching smiles. Probably closer resembling a drowning rat than anything poetic or worth yelling to the sky about. 

But not to Eddie, not as he looks to the sky, and all he can do is laugh at himself. 

“I’m not pretty-” you start to laugh back, shaking your head at his foolishness. 

“You are,” he interrupts quickly, his hand only leaving your skin long enough to brush back his damp bangs, exposing a forehead you’d certainly thought about kissing on more than one occasion. Running his fingers through curls you’ve tried to find every excuse in the books to play with. Scrunching up his nose that you’d pictured pressed into your neck in the dead of night numerous times as the two of you slept peacefully. “You really fucking are. It’s a damn crime, half the time, too. Always taking my breath away and shit.” 

You don’t know what spurred it all on. The petrichor that had lingered in the air, the feeling of the rain on his skin, the comfort of the storm and its promise of a night spent together. But his confessions are rolling out faster than the drips racing down the windows of his trailer, and he’s looking at you with big brown eyes, and all you really know is that it doesn’t matter what spurred it all on.

All that matters is he’s said it. 

“Do something about it, then,” you gasp out.

You’re almost worried the storm has carried the words away, that he hasn’t heard you, until he does something. 

He kisses you, and it tastes just like the rain. Your favorite part of summer.

[xenonsdoodles]

[doloneia]

i cant believe homer invented the “and there was only one bed” trope in 800 BCE when telemachus and peisistratus of pylos go on a month-long coming of age journey together and bond over their shared grief over what they’ve lost in a war they were too young to remember anything before and they’re so close telemachus is nudging peisistratus awake with his foot at 2am and peisistratus isn’t even bothered by it he just goes “ughhh 5 more minutes.” hey did i mention there was only one bed

[litteralflower17]

What is with Kou and Falling to his death?

Like he tried to kill himself by jumping off the school in picture perfect and now he's died by falling into a well.

[sweetpetaldreams]

Your only limit is your mind.🤍

[caffeinerabbit]

Daphne holds a grudge.

[httpiastri]

does anyone know what paul’s car is? i think its a porsche but idk if its his and idk which porsche.. if anyone knows which porsche it is plssss lmk tq🫶

uhhhh im not a car girlie at all (just motorsport cars 💔) sooooo…… hope someone can look at this and let us know 😁

[eddie-rifff]

they tried delivering the second of my two peter hammill tour posters today but for some fucking reason it requires a signature. a poster. a piece of paper rolled up in a tube for which i paid less than $100. please just give me the poster. please. i am so tired

[palmettofaces]

There’s nothing quite like an old story teller sitting on his porch after the sun sets. The stories aren’t lies, but there not quite the truth either. Folks in the Lowcountry just call them “almost true stories.”

[mamawasatesttube]

*opens timkon tag* ["unwise idiot who doesn't learn" voice] oh boy i sure hope there's a fic somewhere on the first page of this tag that treats kon as an actual character!!! *scrolls down* *scrolls down* *scrolls down* ...ah. right. *closes timkon tag*

[greenplumbboblover]

Life is Sunniest in Sunset Valley - Chapter 8

Or read it here: Simblr.cc

[dannyphannypack]

my college professors just think i like writing about ghosts. they have No Idea

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move