words are futile devices

ygraine // twenties // writing sideblog

[oepheliawrites]

moodboard for my fic, such a fool for you, a gift for @gideongrace​ in the @harringroveholidayexchange​ ! 

inspired by alternate methods of sexting by lydia havens !

The feeling still hits sometimes, the late night loneliness when his roommate’s asleep and he can hear voices down the hall, voices through the cracked-open window. It makes him want to scroll through dozens of iterations of Billy’s face, Benjamin-Buttoning back towards Hawkins and a strange-bitter nostalgia for something he doesn’t think he should miss.

Billy Hargrove is online.

Steve closes the tab, snaps his laptop shut.

(or a love story for the digital age)

read the rest on ao3

[gideongrace]

YAAAAY!

Also, GO READ THIS! It’s gorgeous and I am not even biased ‘cause it was written for me! It’s just GOOD!

[oepheliawrites]

🥰 ! i'm so immensely glad you liked it, thank you ! 🥰

[oepheliawrites]

moodboard for my fic, such a fool for you, a gift for @gideongrace​ in the @harringroveholidayexchange​ ! 

inspired by alternate methods of sexting by lydia havens !

The feeling still hits sometimes, the late night loneliness when his roommate’s asleep and he can hear voices down the hall, voices through the cracked-open window. It makes him want to scroll through dozens of iterations of Billy’s face, Benjamin-Buttoning back towards Hawkins and a strange-bitter nostalgia for something he doesn’t think he should miss.

Billy Hargrove is online.

Steve closes the tab, snaps his laptop shut.

(or a love story for the digital age)

read the rest on ao3

[trashking-thrashking-deactivate]

That shit ain’t cute, Maxine.

It’s not f u n n y, Billy says, louder.

Max says, that’s because it’s not a j o k e.

————————————————

scene snippet from making hollywood look tiny by the loml @oephelia

it’s max bc even tho it was a harringrove fic i am gay trash and have tunnel vision. coincidentally, the sleater-kinney shirt is also entirely self-indulgent.

anyways go read ygraine’s stuff it’s got That Good Ache™️ and is consistently inspiring me

[oepheliawrites]

making hollywood look tiny

🍒 for @eternalgoldfish (you inspire me every day of the working week & overtime on weekends) 🍒

Closer, Steve thinks. Closer.

He wants Billy so close he can taste his cologne, stinging sharp in his throat with every breath, but he’ll take an inch and make it everything if Billy will just give it to him.

Closer.

It’s that fizzing, trembling new-crush feeling.

They’re in the grocery store and Billy’s reaching for a box of his favorite brand of laundry soap, because he has a favorite, because the other ones make him sneeze, it’s so gross that Steve knows any of this. Billy’s reaching, and his shirt’s riding up in the back, and Steve’s whole world is the gold-soft glimpse of skin. Higher higher closer closer.

They’re on the sofa that Billy picked and Steve paid for, in the apartment they split rent on every month, even though it was only meant to be for the summer while Billy saved to move away. Steve won’t ask how much he has saved now, ten months in, because – because – because they’re on the sofa, and Billy’s toes are digging into Steve’s thigh, and Steve says cut your fucking toenails, and means closer.

They’re doing dishes like the old married couple that, God, sometimes Steve wishes they were, so that he could push his body into the negative space of Billy’s without startling him into dropping a plate. He’s greedy and impatient and tired of the bits before, stepping careful, speaking careful, he wants to have and to hold. Billy passes him the plate. Billy wipes his sudsy fingers on Steve’s shirt, and Steve fumbles it. Closer is the two-syllable in-out catch of his breath.

They’re watching a movie, because high school’s over and no one parties anymore, or maybe neither of them really have friends to party with anymore, and even though they’re still not legal, it’s just less fun to get fucked up at home than it is to sneak eye-water mouth-burn vodka into overpriced icees. It’s dark, and they’re sharing popcorn, and Steve wants to lick the grease off Billy’s fingers. Wants him to leave fingerprints on the back of Steve’s throat. He thinks maybe even that wouldn’t be close enough, that he would still, eyes watering mouth burning, ask for more and closer and closer and closer.

This is a crush. Steve is being crushed.

read the rest on ao3

[stercesfolluf-deactivated202310]

Reblog if you write Harringrove fanfiction.

[matchstickwords]

I TRY

[laveracevia]

Also reblog if Harringrove fanfiction writes you.

[oepheliawrites]

making hollywood look tiny

🍒 for @eternalgoldfish (you inspire me every day of the working week & overtime on weekends) 🍒

Closer, Steve thinks. Closer.

He wants Billy so close he can taste his cologne, stinging sharp in his throat with every breath, but he’ll take an inch and make it everything if Billy will just give it to him.

Closer.

It’s that fizzing, trembling new-crush feeling.

They’re in the grocery store and Billy’s reaching for a box of his favorite brand of laundry soap, because he has a favorite, because the other ones make him sneeze, it’s so gross that Steve knows any of this. Billy’s reaching, and his shirt’s riding up in the back, and Steve’s whole world is the gold-soft glimpse of skin. Higher higher closer closer.

They’re on the sofa that Billy picked and Steve paid for, in the apartment they split rent on every month, even though it was only meant to be for the summer while Billy saved to move away. Steve won’t ask how much he has saved now, ten months in, because -- because -- because they’re on the sofa, and Billy’s toes are digging into Steve’s thigh, and Steve says cut your fucking toenails, and means closer.

They’re doing dishes like the old married couple that, God, sometimes Steve wishes they were, so that he could push his body into the negative space of Billy’s without startling him into dropping a plate. He’s greedy and impatient and tired of the bits before, stepping careful, speaking careful, he wants to have and to hold. Billy passes him the plate. Billy wipes his sudsy fingers on Steve’s shirt, and Steve fumbles it. Closer is the two-syllable in-out catch of his breath.

They’re watching a movie, because high school’s over and no one parties anymore, or maybe neither of them really have friends to party with anymore, and even though they’re still not legal, it’s just less fun to get fucked up at home than it is to sneak eye-water mouth-burn vodka into overpriced icees. It’s dark, and they’re sharing popcorn, and Steve wants to lick the grease off Billy’s fingers. Wants him to leave fingerprints on the back of Steve’s throat. He thinks maybe even that wouldn’t be close enough, that he would still, eyes watering mouth burning, ask for more and closer and closer and closer.

This is a crush. Steve is being crushed.

read the rest on ao3

[midwest-monster]

broadway antique market

i bought this telegram, because it’s probably the best thing i’ve ever seen.  i’m framing it.  it cost $1.

[theblamegabe-deactivated2019102]

I need to end all my correspondences with “Get me” now

[a-seiji]

like who ISN't having a strange and confusing time w/ intimacy and the physical experience

[spacecrumble-deactivated2020112]

heavy and a bit rough

[dailystrangerthings]

This thing has had Will long enough. Let’s kill the son of a bitch.

[oumaimas]

the tenderness of sleeping figures:

Femme au lit (Edouard Vuillard) / La Méridienne (Vincent Van Gogh) / Au lit (Edouard Vuillard) / Le lit (Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec)

[godspeedmp3-deactivated20200914]

“Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here?”

– Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

“Do you think that maybe they’re the same thing? Love and attention?”

– “Lady Bird” (2017), dir. Greta Gerwig

“Isn't everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?”

– “Before Sunrise” (1995), dir. Richard Linklater

“Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?”

– Margaret Atwood, Bodily Harm

“So what can we really do for each other except—just love each other and be each other’s witness? And haven’t we got the right to hope—for more? So that we can really stretch into whoever we really are? Don’t you think so?”

– James Baldwin, from Another Country

[polskiebagno]

“spear” elizabeth acevedo // “atonement” dir. joe wright // “go home” julien baker

[minuty]

[hihuddy]

“It was not love at first sight exactly, but - familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you. Game over.“

[mountainqoats]

I’m coming home

Ayu-Dag on a Foggy Day (1853), Ivan Aivazovsky / Elijah, The Mountain Goats

[hustlerose]

controversial opinion but uhhh.. if you’re lost you can look and you will find me time after time. if you fall i will catch you i’ll always be waiting t