#telephone christmas tree anon

[stardusts-selfship-confessions]

Saw someone here ask about nonsharers? As a hard non sharer, I feel I can answer at least for myself! Give my input n hopefully educate some (if that's okay!) =]

So non sharers dont like sharing for many reasons. In my case, I'm fictoromantic and see me and my husband/bf's relationship(s) as real !! Some of us selfship to cope and simply don't like seeing our beloveds with someone else in a romantic light. There are probably other reasons, but those r the ones I know of. I'm sure there are other reasons, maybe but I am speaking from my own personal experience.

The way I feel seeing my f/o's with someone else romantically feels like, to me, what I imagine being cheated on feels like. It hurts my heart so I just don't wish to interact with doubles. It doesn't hurt anyone and I am just protecting my peace you could say.

I'm sorry this is a mouthful. I just wish to share and educate. Just respect non sharers is all I am saying is because we all have different reasons for being that way. I hope this helps sorta <] /gen

-☎️🎄

i think this is way more descriptive than what i said lolll

[1980ssunflower]

ITS OKAY ABOUT LATE ANSWERING I’m falling behind too…exam season is ass 😔

I’m still so mad about Tumblr messing up my anon asks. Ugh! It’s weird but my friend was having the same issue so I guess it’s just a weird bug. I still feel so bad

THATS AWESOME THAT YOU SAW ELO! I did as Well! I was also up front! THATS SO COOL THAT JEFF WAVED AT YOU! I had a similar experience. He’s so cool and seeing him on stage with that huge spaceship was awesome. Did you have a favourite song he played at the show?

We are very similar wow! I’m a music major and I also wanna become a rockstar. I wish you luck on making it in the big music industry!! Art is also a hobbie of mine. Do you have favourite things to draw (people, places etc.)? And that’s so cool you animate its so difficult! I’d love to see your artwork/animations

I agree Jeff is very awesome. His song writing is superb and I’m also inspired by him. Have you listened to any ELO member’s solo albums? And do you have a favourite ELO Album?

No unfortunately I don’t plan on going to one 😔 that’s awesome that you’re going though! It must be very pretty with all the lights especially at night. I’ve been busy with my bands and exams that I forgot about the holidays for a second haha! (Holiday gigs are a high demand 🙏)

Do you have fun plans with friends/family for this year? What are your favourite winter activities?

At the concert Jeff played telephone line, cant get it out of my head, and dont bring me down! all being some of my absolute favorite songs!

Some of my favorite things to draw... I like drawing people :-] particularly faces id say!

Ive listened to kelly groucutts solo album kelly! thats the only one ive listened to so far but do you recommened any of the others? My favorite album of all time is A New World Record! It was the first ELO album i had and was the first record i ever owned!

not sure what is planned tbh cause my family kinda celebrated early. Im probably going to just watch christmas movies with my partner and drink coco. Play some christmas records and tapes i have also :-]

My FAVORITE winter activity is visiting christmas tree lane! Its my strongest memory of christmas time as a kid and my dad had always driven me through it every year always paired with my favorite chips and drink 🧡

Do you have a favorite christmas movie? Mine is Christmas with the Kranks!

[passivenovember]

More Autistic!Billy. A request from a couple of anons and my pal Mia, who asked for Billy, learning how to give and receive gifts as a method of showing love. I hope you all enjoy!

--

Billy imagines that the Harrington’s bank account is a two story room, nestled far in the chrome-finished backdrop of the brick and mortar building on Park street where all the money in Hawkins lives.

And Billy imagines that when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington need to pay land taxes or dip into the Christmas Gift Fund, they have to make a call to a telephone that beeps red with urgency, and whoever answers has to be shot as soon as the instructions are given:

Two grand for Christmas this year, Jeeves, Steven raised his Chemistry grade from a C- to a C+.

The secret room that holds the Harrington family’s never-ending supply of fifty dollar bills is Wonka-esque, in Billy’s mind. A glittering hideaway that can only be reached by secret agents who wear dust gloves. 

It’s an ordeal to retrieve money from the bank and yet Steve never seems strapped. Whatever they want to do, anywhere they want to go and anything Billy looks twice at while they’re walking, Steve somehow gets his hands on.

Stuffed animals, cassette tapes, leather-bound journals, flowers in brightly colored pots, and Jewelry.

So much jewelry that Billy never notices Steve ordering from Cartier, but.

Steve’s sneaky. Somehow hides those precious gifts in the glovebox of Billy’s Camaro, folded into the pocket of his leather coat, or wrapped neatly in bright gold paper labeled “Billy,” under the Harrington Family Tree that first Christmas when they knew but couldn’t say I Love You.

Steve, saying, “Ooh, there’s one last gift to give,” and ducking under the foliage only to pull away with big brown eyes and jacked shoulders, grinning as Billy picks at the taped-down edges. Tries to save the wrapping. Steve says, “I don’t know where the jewelry box came from,” When Billy holds the new earring awkwardly in one hand. “Musta been Santa.”

Bills drip from Steve’s fingertips like crystalized honey, coating Billy’s skin in a sticky sweet show of love, and it takes him a while to recognize it.

What it means, at the ooey-gooey center.

That when Steve gets Billy a stuffed bear to keep over at his place because Billy can’t risk unshelling Mr. Sandman from his hiding spot with Neil breathing down his neck, or when Steve orders the entire Ender’s Game series, signed from the author himself, and especially when he offers to put Billy’s new earring in for him, kissing the lobe and pulling back to smile with a pleased, warm blush blooming across his face--

That’s how Steve says I Love You.

Billy never relaxes into it.

--

“I can buy things for myself,” Billy says. 

Steve startles on the couch next to him, sock feet tensing a little as he blinks himself awake. “Huh?”

“I have my own job,” Billy says.

His finger is stuck in the hole by Mr. Reginald Sandman’s ear. Billy worries at it, wondering what Reginald’s husband would say if he saw him now, sitting in Billy’s lap in a mansion, high on the hill. 

Steve rubs a hand over his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. “Baby, what are you--”

“At the swimming pool. I have my own job.”

Steve nods. He’s still not fully awake. His hair is a mess from working such long hours to pay for California, and Billy wants to run his fingers through it, wondering if it smells like chocolate chip ice cream. If the texture’s a little slippery and soft like it gets when it needs to be shampooed. 

He doesn’t, through, because Steve is frowning, the collar of his shirt rumpled from falling asleep in front of Wheel of Fortune. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Billy clarifies after a long, languid pause.

Steve waits for more. Gives the thought acreage to take root. Waits so patiently, pink lips soft and expectant, that Billy feels bad for stalling in the speech he had prepared with Max for a moment just like this one. 

“I’m not worried about you, baby,” Steve says gently, cast in liquid silver from the light of the t.v. “I’m never worried about you, you’re stronger than I am.”

“This isn’t about who’s better at carrying heavy things.”

When Billy doesn’t continue, distracted by the hole in Mrs. Reginald Sandman’s ear, Steve frowns. “What is this about?”

Billy fiddles with Mr. Reginald Sandman’s other ear. Takes a deep breath. 

“It’s about me being able to take care of myself,” Billy admits. When Steve doesn’t interrupt him, he shrugs. “I know how to do a lot of things. I can change the oil in any car produced from 1934-1987, and I can count by tens all the way to 1,450,330 in under five minutes, and I can save money to buy the things I want to.”

“I know you can, Billy.”

“Then why do you buy me everything? Why do you never let me figure out how to do it myself?”

Steve sits up straight, then, eyebrows lumped together in confusion.

He looks upset. Hurt.

Billy clutches tighter at Mr. Reginald Sandman, not liking that he’s the cause of this. “I like the presents,” Billy says. 

Steve shakes his head and tells him, “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“But I do, though.”

“So, wait.” Steve sits up straighter. Mutes the television. “You do or you don’t like when I take care of you?”

“I like it. No one does it better.”

“But you want me to stop?”

Billy frowns at the stuffed bear in his hands, realizing that maybe he didn’t stick to the script Max had given him. He pokes Mr. Reginald Sandman’s eye, and thinks he can apologize for that later. 

“I don’t want you to stop, I just.” Billy takes a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t understand why you want to spend your money on me. You work so hard for it, and you should use it to get a new T.V. or--”

“I’m spending my money exactly how I want to,” Steve tells him. He sets the remote on the coffee table, then, leaning forward until his knee his pressed into Billy’s side. “Will you please look at me, baby?”

Billy does.

As always, he’s blinded by what he finds. The beauty on his lover’s face. The devotion that shines clear as the summer sun over the sleepy town where the two crashed together. 

Steve smiles. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Billy nods. 

Steve’s hand, when it curls around Billy’s jaw, is warm. Just like the rest of him. Chocolate sprinkled, fresh from the oven, made from scratch warm that lights Billy up inside. 

“I’m spending my money exactly how I want to. On the man I love.”

“Steve--”

“No, it’s okay.”  Steve’s thumb rubs circles on his cheekbone. Tethers him in the truth when Steve says, “You make me so happy, Bill. Everyday you give me something to look forward to. You make me feel like Saturday morning and spring break and Christmas rolled into one dough-ball that annoys the shit out of Robin because I never stop talking about you--”

Billy laughs, thick and wet. 

Steve’s eyes are amber waves Billy could get lost in. Drown. 

Steve would never let that happen. 

Steve pulls him close and says, “I like taking care of you.”

And maybe, for the first time in his life, Billy can relax into the thought. That, honest as the spread of sun-soaked land, someone could love him.

[skarsgard-daydreams]

On the Nature of Daylight

Description: On a cold winter night, you discover Henry’s fear of open spaces.

Notes: This story features a reader who works as a teacher. I started writing this in response to one of the sentence prompts (”Don’t go”) sent in by a kind anon, but it was so long it mandated its own post. The title is from a song by Max Richter. No warnings. Just some angst.

If there was one thing Henry could not get used to at the old farmhouse you had inherited when your uncle passed, it was the sheer size of it all. Your grandfather had built the house by hand with timber logged from the land where it stood. You loved the two-story windows that looked out over the lake, the open floor plan that let the kitchen spill into the living room. You had so many memories of holidays spent in this house, a towering Christmas tree glittering in the window as the entire family filled the space with joyful chatter and the warmth of their affection.

When you moved in, it felt like too much space for just one person. But through a strange turn of fate, you now found yourself sharing the house with another occupant. When you heard that the young man they found in the belly of Shawshank was staying alone in a warehouse, you did what you always did: you stuck your nose where it didn't belong and decided to solve the problem yourself. You brought him home one day in December and set him up in the big guest room at the far end of the hall.

You should have recognized the problem sooner. Henry kept to the corners of a room. He liked to have his back to the wall. You often walked inside and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw him looming in your periphery, the light from the massive fireplace casting strange shadows in his heterochromatic eyes.

"Henry," you would say, placing a hand over your heart. "You startled me."

You didn't want him to feel bad, so you learned to expect him around corners and gradually became accustomed to his uncanny presence in your home. It seemed like he had no idea what to do with his freedom now that he had it. He was used to spending long stretches with nothing to do but listen to the far off sound of the universe expanding into outer darkness, a low hum that crackled with energy from time to time, like solar flares. He didn't like loud noises, or sitting on furniture, or the way the darkness looked in at him through the big living room windows at night.

A quiet harmony developed between you both. It was winter break, so you usually spent your days in your office, preparing lesson plans for next semester. Sometimes Henry paced in the hall while you worked. You listened as he padded barefoot down the hall, keeping time with a slow, mysterious rhythm. You usually left the door ajar, an unspoken invitation in case he wanted to come inside, but he preferred to keep barriers between him and other people, though you would occasionally catch the glint of his eerie blue eye staring at you through the crack in the door.

You wondered who he had been before he was locked in a cage. If he had any family who might be looking for him, he never tried to seek them out. You thought that maybe the person he was before had long since vacated the space behind his eyes, that what remained behind was like blown glass—beautiful and fragile and empty. It was wrong to think that way, you scolded yourself. But you did.

During the week leading up to Christmas, you tried to think of a way to get out of making the drive south to New Hampshire for dinner with your parents. There was no way you could bring Henry with you. They didn't know you had invited a strange man to share your home, and they would be baffled by your sudden proclamation that you were bringing a guest home for the holidays after your pre-mature descent into spinsterhood. Even if he did come along, Henry would hate their persistent questions and judging gazes. Your father would clap him on the shoulder in a show of dominance that would rattle him for a week, and your grandmother would lean over and loudly ask what was wrong with him. But the family was insistent on your attendance, and you decided you would stay just long enough for turkey and pie and cite concern for the weather when you made an early exit.

Henry sat against the wall in the living room while you explained all of this to him, his long legs stretched out on the hardwood floor and the wide neck of his favorite grey sweatshirt hanging lopsided on his shoulder. He never met your eyes when you talked, but he nodded slowly when you asked him if he heard you. Since his arrival, you had only left the house for a few hours here and there to run errands or pick up groceries, and you were not sure if a prolonged absence would be a welcome respite or a painful separation for him.

"The drive is a few hours each way, but I'll be home later tonight," you explained. "If you need to reach me you can call me, just like I showed you."

It was snowing on the way down and you had to stop on the side of the road and put on your tire chains by yourself. You had half a mind to turn back then, but the sheer volume of guilt that would be volleyed at you for the rest of the year pushed you to keep going. When you finally arrived, you tried calling home, but Henry didn't answer. That wasn't a surprise. He probably assumed it was someone calling for you, and you knew that the thought of picking up a telephone receiver and speaking to a total stranger unnerved him. You found yourself packaging up leftovers to take home before they had even served the pie.

"I'm worried about the roads," you said as you kissed your grandmother on the cheek. They tried to convince you to stay, but everything within you was saying that you never should have left.

There were no lights on in the house when you pulled into the driveway. You felt the dull realization thudding in your chest that you were the one who always flicked them on when the daylight began to wane. You walked inside and flipped the switch, illuminating the cavernous living room with its glittering Christmas tree and moonlit view of the lake. You checked the corner of every room on the main floor, but Henry wasn't there.

"Henry?" you called as you ascended the stairs. A tightness was gathering in your chest—a visceral feeling somewhere between guilt and panic. His bedroom looked the same as the day he arrived, except for the quilt that had been removed from the top layer of bedding and stuffed under the bed. You searched every room, checking under the beds and inside the closets, calling his name over and over, but there was no sign of him.

There was one more place to check. The house had a spacious basement crammed with all your uncle’s things that you couldn’t bring yourself to sort through when you moved in. It also doubled as the laundry room. No matter how many times you insisted it would be okay, you could never get Henry to walk down those stairs so you could show him how the washer and dryer worked. He would simply back away down the hall, keeping one eye on the door until you had returned to the top of the stairs and shut it behind you.

You grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and headed for the basement. It seemed an unlikely place for him to be hiding, but it was possible he had gone down there in search of you and gotten spooked. Maybe he hadn’t been able to find his way back out. The stairs squeaked beneath you as you flipped on the light. The room was riddled with the ephemera of a man’s life packed away in boxes and jammed onto large metal shelving units that jutted out into the space, creating plenty of nooks and crannies where Henry could have lodged himself.

The beam of your flashlight swept across the room. You almost missed him. Tucked away in one of the corners was a dog crate that used to be in the living room. You remembered that your uncle would kennel his Bull Mastiff inside it whenever he went to work in the yard so the dog wouldn’t tear up the back door. Henry had crawled inside and pulled the wire door shut behind him, curling into a ball and falling into a deep sleep. You knelt alongside the crate and laced your fingers through the metal frame, your breath freezing in your chest as you watched him sleep. You wanted to reach in and touch him, to ask him why he would seek out another cage after everything that had happened. Maybe the lofty interior of the house felt too vast, too alien in your absence.

“Henry,” you said softly, afraid of startling him. “Henry, I’m home.”

His hunched frame stirred, and he slowly sat up and peered at you through the wire cage. His gaze seemed sharper now, as though every other time he had looked at you it had been with one eye only, while the other was focused on something unseen by anyone else but him. He reached out and touched your fingertips with his own, looking you in the eyes for the first time.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

You curled your fingers around his delicately, as though he might shatter into pieces if you were not careful. A pulse of energy thrummed through your hand, something strange and magnetic you couldn’t name.

“I’m right here,” you whispered back.

(part of Sound and Color: a series of The Kid/Henry stories/drabbles)

[lovelyirony]

Hey consider someone (u pick) nobly pining over Tony bc it looks like he's in a relationship with Rhodey but actually the reason Tony is always around Rhodey when around them is bc "Rhodey pls Imma fuck up just talking to them I need you here to save me just in case." -teahusbands anon.

mmmm my god okay thank u teahusbands u have saved me from having a completely shit day 

Bucky didn’t pine. He didn’t. He was an ex-assassin with a cool new metal arm and, according to Clint, “a resting bitch face.” So no. There was no pining. Except at Christmas. When there was a pine tree. But no pining over anyone. 

Especially not Tony Stark. Who has stupidly cute brown eyes. And a nice butt. And a smile that can momentarily stun Bucky if he’s caught off-guard. But yeah. No pining. 

Because Tony is in a relationship with Rhodey, Bucky’s pretty sure. They’re always together. Tony will talk with Rhodey about memories, they share their breakfast, and Bucky can virtually never get alone time without Rhodey showing up. So he’s pretty sure that’s a sign. 

In reality, Bucky’s pining is mutual. Tony just fucks up genuine flirting. He leans against chairs and falls. He accidentally says pick-up lines wrong. It’s easy if he doesn’t actually want to get into a committed relationship. But Bucky is cute and funny and pretty and everything. 

“What do I do?” Tony hisses to Rhodey. “I’m wearing a sweatshirt that probably hasn’t been washed since last year, and I have bags under my eyes and oh fuck he just put his hair in a bun.” Rhodey has been used to this for a while. So he just rolls his eyes. 

“His hair isn’t that nice, Tony.” 

“You’re just mad because yours is going gray,” Tony sniffs. Rhodey smacks him on the arm. 

“Shut up, you had to die yours in 2009.” 

“Because I was dying, Rhodey, that was a common thread in my life.” Rhodey snorts into his coffee cup. “Help me,” Tony pouts. He’s too cute. 

Rhodey has been trying to get Tony to do shit on his own. It’s been funny. Good conversation fodder on his night out with Nat that they have sometimes. It’s been dry; she has all the stories about Clint being a Useless Gay™ and walking into a telephone pole for the hundredth time. 

 “Hey Bucky!” Rhodey calls. His head snaps up. A piece of bagel falls out of his mouth. Rhodey sighs. They’re such nerds. “This fucking loser likes you. Go on a date with him, maybe?” 

“You guys aren’t dating?” 

“Unfortunately, I am very much a hetero,” Rhodey deadpans. “But no, he doesn’t know how to act around people he likes. He just likes having me around so he looks cooler than he is.” 

“RHODEY.” 

“I’m not wrong, Tones.” 

“You shouldn’t say that still!” Rhodey shrugs. 

“It got you a date.” 

“He hasn’t even said yes!” Rhodey shoots a look towards Bucky. 

“You’re gonna say yes, right?” 

“I’d be stupid as hell not to,” Bucky says. “Hi Tony, I think you’re cute and up until now, i also thought you were taken.” 

[stardusts-selfship-confessions]

(QUIET! ITS HIM AGAIN! THE YAPPER!/ref heh)

Cuddling 👁🎄, kissing 👁🎄, telling 👁🎄 i love him and im happy hes my husband and that I'm glad we're married. Telling 👁🎄 I love him for who he is.

I sometimes feel like the only one who TRULY understands him sometimes. I understand him as a character, as a person, yk it just feels like he's beyond misunderstood & mischaracterized it's so sad. I hope he feels loved and understood by me. He makes me super happy so I wanna do the same to him. He deserves it♡ 👁🎄 has made me the happiest man alive. Which ik is crazy considering he's a slasher and all..but trust me bro!!! He's made me feel loved and he deserves love !!

I might draw us later..just cuz I am missing him an awful lot. My beloved 👁🎄 lives in my brain all the time during winter... silly 👁🎄

-☎️🎄

he for sure has a soft spot for you

[stardusts-selfship-confessions]

Semi vent I suppose? Nothing deep. Just me rambling about 👁🎄. This is long. Sorry =[

Saw my beloved 👁🎄 at the theater today (his film got re-released for the anniversary.) And it both made me the happiest man alive cuz his source is my special interest and I love 👁🎄 so so much. I loved hearing his voice and seeing his gorgeous eyes again. Its like seeing an old friend again despite him never leaving yk?..but...I was also very sad. I had to see him go through so much and do stuff he obviously didn't want to but couldn't control himself =[ it breaks my heart.. seeing 👁🎄 be sad and hurt makes me sad and hurt aswell. Thats my husband. No man wishes to see his husband like that. When he asked to he stopped and begs for help I just wanna reach out, wrap my arms around him, and hold him and tell him he's okay. Stop him anyway I could. Just let him know he's okay and that he's safe and that someone loves him. That someone being me. I love you, 👁🎄.

He's been through alot in his life..👁🎄 deserves someone who can love him and take care of him and make him happy... I hope I make 👁🎄 feel that way.

(I will not name my husband cuz I am a hard non sharer and wanna just keep him secret. but for those who know who 👁🎄 is....shhh no you dont.)

-☎️🎄

i get how that can be tough :[

[stardusts-selfship-confessions]

No thought...just my husband's hands... we never see 👁🎄's face in Canon, but we see his hands and for a slasher theyre very pretty... I wanna hold them. In mine. They're probably really cold but that's okay. I can warm them in mine...and maybe I'll even give him one of those little hand kisses cuz he deserves royalty treatment idc. I love my hubby 👁🎄

-☎️🎄

.

[stardusts-selfship-confessions]

(Gush posting. Sorta long. Sorry =[ )

I ♡ DECEMBER CUZ EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF MY HUSBAND !! (For reference he's from a really old Christmas horror movie.. I'll just call him 👁🎄) PEOPLE MAKE CONTENT OF HIM, I GET TO DRAW HIM ALOT AND HAVE AN EXCUSE TO, I GET TO SEE CUTE CHRISTMAS STUFF THAT MAKES ME GO "hehe 👁🎄!! Omg it's 👁🎄!!" AND I GO INSANE‼️ I love Christmas and winter stuff in general + 👁🎄's source is my biggest special interest so this is just me being crazy maybe

Adding to this...The two main colors in Christmas are literally me and 👁🎄 coded (green + red) so when I see them together I'm just like.. "us <3'

Okay enough rambling that's ALOT of words I'm sorry I'm a yapper

-☎️🎄👁 anon if not taken !! :D

giggling this is so cute!! the perfect couple <3

[selfshipimagines]

I am beginning to come to terms with the fact that I am non sharing and this is another reason why I’ve been cautious not to talk about my fictional other…incase it attracts doubles. Not because I want to cause pain but because it would definitely hurt my heart. 💝

Saw someone here ask about nonsharers? As a hard non sharer, I feel I can answer at least for myself! Give my input n hopefully educate some (if that's okay!) =]

So non sharers dont like sharing for many reasons. In my case, I'm fictoromantic and see me and my husband/bf's relationship(s) as real !! Some of us selfship to cope and simply don't like seeing our beloveds with someone else in a romantic light. There are probably other reasons, but those r the ones I know of. I'm sure there are other reasons, maybe but I am speaking from my own personal experience.

The way I feel seeing my f/o's with someone else romantically feels like, to me, what I imagine being cheated on feels like. It hurts my heart so I just don't wish to interact with doubles. It doesn't hurt anyone and I am just protecting my peace you could say.

I'm sorry this is a mouthful. I just wish to share and educate. Just respect non sharers is all I am saying is because we all have different reasons for being that way. I hope this helps sorta <] /gen

-☎️🎄

i think this is way more descriptive than what i said lolll