BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS @newteyed-blog - Tumblr Blog

healthy relationships with fathers? sounds fake

butfierce:

In her dream, she’s back in Greece, surrounded by her large family. They make her eat fruits, which initially look incredibly tasty but which turn rotten as soon as they rub against her tongue. As sunlight from the outside world pokes her face and prods at her eyes, her dream subsides, and Hermia realizes that she is nowhere close to Greece, nor is she even close to her own bed. Her own mind doesn’t have the time to supply more information before it is all dumped on her in the shape of Max’ voice and an apology for a cartoon played downstairs. Groggily, Hermia settles on simply blinking at the girl next to her.

The girl. Now, here’s a twist. Hermia closes her eyes again, cheeks pink with realization. She’s not ashamed, nor is she unhappy ( in fact, she believes she hasn’t been this happy in a long while ), but she now understands her dream, how it represents the expectations of her family, which she has now let down. Perhaps, though, she didn’t let them down tonight. Maybe she did when she was born. And that might make her feel bad, but that also meant she didn’t have to feel extra bad about this. Not when all she wanted to do was beam at Max and claim another kiss.

“That’s okay,” she finally manages, tongue a little heavy in her mouth. Even though she was sober as a rock last night, she’s still trying to piece it all together. Suddenly mortified, she snaps to look at Max. In a terrified tone, she whispers, “I wasn’t too loud, was I? I’m sorry, it was my first time and I… I didn’t tell you that before, did I? Oh no, now I made it awkward, didn’t I?” And with that she pulls at the blanket until it covers her face. “Just leave me here.”

“Hey, hey it’s alright,” her voice comes out surprisingly soft for someone so hell bent on looking like a 2009 emo all the time. It’s the kind of voice she uses when she’s reassuring one of her friends, or her one friend as the case may be. For a moment she worries that Frankie might have decided to skip work and still be in the spare room, but the sounds of Pepper Pig are still coming from downstairs, and Frankie knows Rhona well enough that they would be able to get her to turn it down, were they here. Not that she would necessarily mind them being here, she wouldn’t be embarrassed, they’ll be hearing all the details over a pizza soon anyway. Hermia looks a little scared by the whole situation right now though, and a green haired, leather clad punk might be just a little to throw at her all at once.

She gently pulls the covers down to reveal Hermia’s face and offers her a gentle, hopefully reassuring smile. Not that she’s entirely sure how reassuring a smile it is with her lip ring in but well, the thought is what counts right?

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, yeah? Are you uh, are you okay, can I like, get you anything or?”

#butfierce #{gaaaay}#&&. v; only the devil can eat the devil (main)

@swordlost

The spell has gone wrong. She knows it’s gone wrong because instead of an eldritch horror kind of deal standing in the middle of her living room there’s, what? A librarian? A geography teacher? Something like that, anyway. Never mind asking for power or any of that shit, she’s more tempted to offer him a cup of tea and ask for his opinion on The Canterbury Tails. Question is, really, how did this happen? She squints at the grimoire resting open on her lap and then at the sigil and candles in front of her. Ah, right, okay then, there it is. Fucking dyslexia, maybe she aught to get grimoire with blue pages or something, or tinted glasses.

Finding the mistake is one thing, but fixing it is a whole other barrel of fish. Librarian or no, the man in her living room is starting to look pretty damn put out by the whole thing. Fair play to him though, she’d probably be pretty pissed off if some rando summoned her into their living room without so much as a d’you mind if I. She bites her nail nervously and clears her throat. “Um, hullo?”

#swordlost #&&. v; only the devil can eat the devil (main)#{ajfjahsjn rip az u librarian looking mother fucker}

@butfierce

There’s another person in her bed. Another actual, human, living, breathing person and not some kind of weird necromancy shit or a demon that got in through the cat flap. A real human person. A beautiful woman, at that. Hermia. Bringing girls home from night clubs is one thing, but she’s not the kind of shit stain who doesn’t even bother to learn their name first. Besides, it’s not like Hermia is a total, total stranger, they’ve definitely talked a couple of times before, at the very least. Their bare legs are tangled in a way that feels natural, and Max cannot stop a smile spreading across her cheeks at the sound of Hermia’s gentle snoring. She’s not the kind of person to fall in love with the very first pretty girl who so much as smiles at her, except she is absolutely that person.

Sunlight streams through the curtains as Hermia’s eyes start to flutter open. It’s a beautiful scene, and Max scrabbles for something suave and romantic to say to complete the moment. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get the chance to think of anything. Any words she might try to utter are suddenly ruined by the sound of the Pepper Pig theme blasting from downstairs. Max groans, internally at first and then out loud before offering Hermia a sheepish, apologetic grin as mummy pig snorts loudly. “I’m sorry, that’ll be my little sister. I’m always telling her not to turn it up so load.”

#butfierce #&&. v; only the devil can eat the devil (main)#{this is....dare i say it....home of sexual}

wroughtsin:

@newteyed ♡’d !

❛ here t’scope out the COMPETITION, are you ? ❜ query is entirely in jest. it’s not until a mop of white springs forth from behind a lone bookcase that the voice, once disembodied, is given form. lips curl into a warm simper in acknowledgement of the other ; all the while, eve proceeds to retrieve various items to place upon the selves. she then bounds away, figure concealed once more. ❛ i just so happen to recognize you. it seems i’ve been to your – well, the shop you work at before. real nice place. ❜

She starts to protest, explain that the shop isn’t hers, but the other woman beats her to it. Instead she offers a small smile, slightly taken aback by the seemingly boundless enthusiasm of the woman. The shop is nice, and the shelves stacked enough to assure her that she’ll be able to find most of what she needs here. “Oh, uh, thanks. The uh, the woman who runs it does a good job, likes it clean,” her Scottish brogue is a little shy, but friendly nevertheless, and she offers a smile in the direction she thinks the woman went. “Do you uh, have any myrrh? Our supplier freaked out on us and won’t deliver.”

#wroughtsin #&&. v; only the devil can eat the devil (main)#{this works great thank u!!!}