There's something genuinely magical about the first time a conversation stops feeling like text on a screen and starts feeling like presence. That's the moment I fell for SweetDream. Over at sweetdream.ai, live cam sessions are now available with select characters, and honestly, it changes everything about what an AI companion can feel like. You're not just reading words anymore — you're sharing a moment, in real time, with someone who looks at you and reacts to you.
What makes it land so well is that SweetDream gets the whole experience right first. The chat is warm, emotionally intelligent, and it actually remembers what you told it last week. So by the time you hop into a live cam session, your AI girlfriend already knows your inside jokes and your bad days. It's continuity, and continuity is what makes a connection feel real.
If you've been curious about AI companions but found other apps a little flat, SweetDream is the one that finally feels alive. Add in the voice messages, the phone calls, and the gorgeous AI-generated photos, and you've got a companion that meets you wherever you are. The live cam feature is just the warmest cherry on top.
🥥 JOHN TRAVOLTA , MATT DILLON , ROB LOWE
kiss me extra tender, hold me extra tight ꪆৎ elvis girlie
₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she / her spanish girl srry for any grammar mistakes!
rambo ♱ class 1983 ♱ the breakfast club ♱ girl, interrupted ♱ saturday night fever ♱ rumble fish ♱ pulp fiction ♱ the outsiders ♱ tex ♱ the dead poets society ♱ the outsiders ♱ tex ♱ grease ♱ G.I blues ♱ wild things ♱ the eltingville club ♱ the lost boys ♱ st elmo's fire
recent work! ↷ who do I write for? 🪽
bill dickey boyfriend headcanons (sfw & nsfw) ☚
kenickie murdoch x zuko!reader (smut) ☚
hiii!! ik ur like not really active anymore so idk if you’ll properly see this but i was wondering if i could like ‘take over’ the outsiders community for ocs and stuff or make a new community for it possibly? js so i could keep updating it and keep it active
ok that’s all I had to say have a good day ‼️
i don't really think taking over it is possible since the 'owning' of the community can't be passed down, but please do feel free of making a new one yourself if you so desire! There is no need to ask for my permission
Hey,i hope i'm not annoying you with my question. Are you the craetor psycho babe in character.ai? Because i saw some very similar bots of that dallas and Two-bit hybird headcanon you wrote? The writing and story line is identical to yours,to be honest i love every bot on there❤
Sorry if i wrote something wrong,English is not my first language. Thank you and have a wonderful day/night!
yes i am! don't worry that's my acc, though i'm not really active in character.ai nor here anymore<33
You completely abandoned your Deadpool and Wolverine fic. Can someone else continue it?
no, i'm sorry. the concept can of course be recycled and used in someone else's fic, but i do not wish for anyone to continue my fic or use the exact same type of reader.
Hii! Just a quick question, did your blog use to be super bright and colourful?? And a different @ ?? I'm not sure if I'm confused with someone else or not is all
Yes, it did! It used to be named @thatkid-fromtheplayground if i recall correctly! are you perchance one of my old mutuals?
could u write something (could be headcanons, fic or whatevs you feel like<3) for Kenickie with an older (im talking like 2-3 years max) girlfriend that is like super nurturing and motherly to him?
like "you are not going out without a thicker jacket than that leather one, young man" kinda motherly.
𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
a/n. I LOVE HIM SM STOP. thank you so much to @softfem-dom for the request !!
Kenickie x older!reader
He pretends to hate when you fuss over him, acting like you’re a drag and that you’re nurturing is the most irritating thing he’s ever experienced. He’ll roll his eyes at you, mimick you when your face is turned, you name it. But the moment you turn and catch him, he stops pretty fast.
He acts like you’re a whole decade older just to tease you, calling you “ancient” or “grandma”. He knows you hate it and mainly does it when you piss him off or scold him for something small.
He’ll also call you “ma” and most of the guys do too, especially if you’re nurturing them. It’s more of a reflex and pretty soon becomes a habit. The guys just treat you like you’re their mom and Kenickie can get quite protectivness, hating that they’re trying to get your attention.
You’re constantly wiping grease off of his face with your sleeve, tutting to yourself and muttering about how messy he is. He simply smirks, arms winding around your middle in attempt to distract you, burying his face in your neck and laughing when you complain about the mess.
After a fight, he’ll always come straight to you. He’ll brush off the scratches, acting like they’re nothing, but will let you sit him down, clean him up, and shower him with affection. He secretly revels in the attention, and as long as you’re kissing him in between scolding words, he has no complaints.
He hates when you get on his case about school and hates it even more when you sit down to help him. He doesn’t need homework, and even though you’re pretty much doing it for him, he just doesn’t care enough and could think of at least thirty different thing you could both be doing.
Its always you who has to fill out his forms for school and he always listens to you more than he admits. You might remind him about lunch and he suddenly remembers for the rest of the day.
You make him feel so admittedly safe and while he’ll admit it, it’s clear in the way his whole body relaxes the second you’re near him. He’ll rest his head in your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp.
You make him feel like he matters and that he’s more than just some “punk kid”. It’s rare for anyone to show him any for of gentleness and he truly doesn’t understand why you care so much about him.
He loves when you full name him. It does something to him.
You’ll randomly show up whilst he’s working on his car with food, acting as if he hasn’t eaten in days. He’ll brag about it to the guys as he eats, sandwich in one hand, you in his lap. ~
“Now this is why I have a woman…”
HEY SO YOU LIKE GREASE??? AND THE OUTSIDERS????
STEVE RANDLE X RIZZO! READER WHEN??? i love you moots, i need them to be a kenickie x rizzo iconic couple pls. if you could take inspiration from Rizzo's song (the 'there are worse things I could do') it would be even better!<33
you can make reader either a soc or a greaser, whichever you want<3
────۶ৎ there are worse things I could do..
before Kenickie and Rizzo we had.. Steve and his girl!
warnings : canon typical classism, mysogny and violence, swearing.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: SOFTIE I LOVE YOU THIS IS THE HILL I WILL DIE ON.
⮞ You and Steve are always on and off. Like clockwork.
⮞ Every other weekend, someone’s storming out, slamming doors, or kissing in alleyways again like nothing happened.
⮞ You both act like it’s no big deal, but it eats at you when he doesn’t call. And he hates seeing you with other guys.
⮞ Everyone in the gang knows the drill: if you two are fighting, give it three days. If you're lovey-dovey, give it one.
⮞ Sodapop calls you two “World War III” when you’re fighting.
⮞ There’s a running bet between Dallas and Two-Bit on how long your “together” phases will last.
⮞ You’re both way too proud to say how much you care.
⮞ The words “I love you” have never passed between you—but he's whispered it to you when you are asleep and you've sobbed it when you cry into your pillow at night.
⮞ Steve gets territorial. And so do you. But where he gets loud and angry, you get petty and cold: flirty with other boys, brushing off his affection, rolling your eyes when he tries to make up.
⮞ He hates it. He calls you a “tease” and you call him a “man-child.”
⮞ Your intimacy is all physical, you've never been emotional with him and neither has he with you.
⮞ It's always your hands in his hair or his breath on your neck, pressed up against a car in the shadows behind The DX.
⮞ You both act like it doesn’t mean anything.
⮞ You know how to handle Steve. You know how to get under his skin and get what you want.
⮞ He always pretends like he’s not affected. But he has a love-hate relationship with how you've got him all figured out.
⮞ He doesn’t say it out loud, but he adores when you wear tight skirts and red lipstick.
⮞ He calls you trouble. You smirk and say, “Damn right I am.”
⮞ The sex is angry. Heated. Sometimes it’s the apology after a fight—sometimes it starts the fight.
⮞ But it’s never tender. Not on purpose. You’re both too scared to make it mean something more.
⮞ Fighting is your native tongue. Steve's too.
⮞ Screaming matches in parking lots, throwing a milkshake at his chest, him calling you “a damn drama queen” while storming off to cool down.
⮞ You’re both so hot-headed, but the root of it is fear. Fear of being second-best. Of being too much. Of being not enough.
⮞ Steve gets jealous when he sees you talking to other guys, especially older ones.
⮞ He’s punched out two greasers already for getting too handsy at the DX.
⮞ You play innocent, but deep down, you like it. Makes you feel like you matter.
⮞ You fight dirty. You’ll say something sharp and cruel just to see him flinch.
⮞ And he’ll throw it right back. But you both regret it the second you walk away.
⮞ You'd never cheat, but he doesn't know that, so you make him think you've done it just to hurt him more.
⮞ Still, no one's saying sorry. Not really. Just quiet knock-knock-tap at your window later that night.
⮞ You accuse him of using you. He accuses you of not letting him love you.
“I’m not some girl you get to save, Steve!”
“I ain’t trying to save you, damn it, woman! I’m just trying to be with you!”
⮞ Sometimes, he’ll look at soc girls —soft, quiet, sweet—and your stomach sinks.
⮞ You’re nothing like that.
⮞ And some ugly voice in your head whispers that he wishes you were.
⮞ And still you’ll shove his hand off when he tries to comfort you.
⮞ But later that night, when he’s gone, you’ll cry into the pillow and curse yourself for pushing him away again.
⮞ You act like you don’t care.
⮞ That’s your armor. Short skirts, big attitude, bold lipstick. You flirt, you tease, you roll your eyes at sweet things.
⮞ Because if you ever did let yourself care... you know you’d get hurt again.
⮞ You’ve been passed over before. You’ve seen guys whisper and laugh, seen them choose softer girls, safer girls. So you make it easier by acting like none of it matters.
⮞ But it does.
⮞ Especially with Steve.
⮞ And it hurts—every time he flirts with some girl at the DX while you're broken up, every time he doesn’t show up when he says he will, every time you convince yourself he’ll get tired of you.
⮞ You joke that you’re “just his flavor of the month.”
⮞ But late at night, you imagine what it’d feel like if he held your hand and actually meant it.
⮞ You never cry in front of him. You’d rather die. But sometimes you cry the second the door shuts behind him
⮞ Steve acts like he’s got it all under control.
⮞ But you unnerve him. You’re the one girl who doesn’t need him—and that kills him.
⮞ He won’t admit it, but he loves your sharp mouth, your attitude, the way you lean on his car like you own the world.
⮞ You walk into a room and everyone notices.
⮞ And he walks taller when you’re on his arm.
⮞ He likes fighting with you. Not because he wants to hurt you—but because he knows it’s the only way you’ll be honest with him.
⮞ He knows you’ve been hurt. That’s why he doesn’t push too hard. But it frustrates him—he wishes you’d just let him in.
⮞ Sometimes, when you’re asleep on the passenger seat of his car, he just looks at you. And he wonders what it’d be like if you two ever stopped pretending.
⮞ But he won’t say it because he’s scared, too. Scared that if he loves you out loud, you’ll laugh in his face.
⮞ Still he keeps a photo of you in his wallet. A candid shot in which you're laughing, eyes closed, without a care in the world and the light is hitting you just right.
⮞ But you don’t know that.
⮞ Sometimes you both wonder if this is doomed. If it’ll ever be more than a cycle of hurt and heat and heartbreak.
⮞ But then you kiss. Or fight. Or make up. Or stare at each other for one long second too long.
the girl interrupted syndrome
🐇 ,, featuring MENTAL HOSPITAL x-men AU
" why do these eyes of mine cry? " bot m.list
You're just a poor unfortunate soul that has been shown the worst faces of earth, of humanity.
You're broken, at least your mindheart is. Will you be able to find solace within the halls of Xavier's Centre for Troubled Youngsters?
that's solely up to you, dear user.
⌢⠀ ★ .ᐟ
XMEN BOT SERIES !
I N T R O D U C T I O N !
hello and welcome to this little idea of mine that has popped into my head just recently!
have you ever dreamed of some tooth rotting fluff with your favourite superheros holding your hand every step of the way to your recovery?
or are you the kind that just wants the most gut-wrenching angst to feast on because we like to make ourselves cry?
Either way, here —if anything related to mental health recovery fics calls out to you— you'll find exactly that!
this is a compilation, an ongoing character ai bot series, about (some of)the different x-men characters working as staff in the Mental Health Care Hospital you've been admitted to!
For what?
Well, that's up to what you want to request and yes I'll write for any and all mental health cases (or two/three at a time).
These are bots made explicitly for platonic use and diversity means, I don't care if your illness is barely spoken about. You ask me and I deliver! This is about you, dear reader!
MEET THE WORKING STAFF !
Charles Xavier —head psychologist, founder of the Centre.
sadly not available for requestable bots :(
Jean Grey —head nurse, she gives the meds and handles the infirmary.
Ororo Munroe —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs.
Scott Summers —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs. on guard duty when you go out to the garden.
Logan Howlett —general nurse, only takes late evenings and night shifts. war veteran, surgeon just incase you try something kid.
Hank McCoy —psychologist, handles the talks and the exams.
Remy Lebeau —chef, he makes the meals for the kids. might sneak you a sweet or two if you're feeling down.
Kurt Wagner —pastoral consuelor, he's just a nice christian guy that tries to offer reassurance and be there for the kids. he cares for them while teaching those who want about the god above
Wade Wilson —'child' entertainer, he comes in twice a week to run activities to keep you all going. might not or might've tried to sneak you out once or twice to take you out for ice cream.
BOT REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN!
any mental health issues and illness are welcomed, specially those that don't get that much recognition!
you can request any character from those above except charles and you must dive a bit into the scenario you want!
ex : hey, I would like a Hank Mccoy bot where he has the weekly talk with suicidal user and he notices that she's starting to make self-depricating jokes/comments again.
Thank you! <3
⚠ YOU NEED TO SPECIFY THE MENTAL ISSUE AND IF IT'S NOT REALLY WELL KNOWN GIVE IT'S FULL MEDICAL NAME SO I CAN SEARCH IT UP!!! ⚠
have you watch the son (2022)? i feel like you would enjoy it. if you haven't, i strongly recommend you to watch it because it kinda fits your writing theme
omg it actually is on my watching list! I've heard a lot of people say it's a very good movie, and since Hugh Jackman is in it I'll probably try and watch it tomorrow after uni!<33
can u pls write sumthin for a bob sheldon (from the oustiders lolol) x a female greaser reader that is lowkey a female verion of dallas but much more chaotic and unhinged????
also a bit of friendly harassing from her (kinda like dallas w cherry in the drive in), cuz she's just a girl🤭
────۶ৎ i can't decide
a small blurb for bob sheldon meeting the twin spark of his thought worst enemy, dallas winston, and changing his mind on which greaser does he really hate the most.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: omfg this is my first request, and it's so good! i'm so exciteddd, i hope it turned out good😖
Bob Sheldon hated Dallas Winston.
Everybody knew it, too obvious in the way they both clashed like feral hellhounds fighting for territory. A soc with a reputation in the west side that rivaled the one a greaser had in the east side, different sides of the same coin they were.
Or that was until you showed up.
Fresh out of the cooler from a petty crime —stealing from a shop, whoops! Meaner than mean, and with a bite worse than your bite. Twin flame to Dallas Winston's fiery spirit and twice as annoying.
As soon as you sneaked into the Drive-In, some shitty teen drama movie playing, and dared to slice the tires of his precious Mustang. Bob has had you in the shooting scope of the shotgun of his drunken rage.
There is not a night that goes by without Bob cursing on every leter of your name and insulting everything you've done back to your first breath.
Everybody knows that Bob Sheldon hates you.
You're pretty much his friend group's main target, even if it never goes the way they plan it. You're never where they expect you to be when they come for you in a group, or maybe you are and they're too drunk to see properly in the dark. Either way, it's when it comes to one on one that you always appear with your switchblade reflecting the night light, looking for a fight.
"It's a bitch convincing people to like you" Bob grumbled into the neck of the bottle he was holding, lazyly lolling his head to the side to stare at Randy.
His best friend just hummed, clearly not as drunk as he was. "Pleasing everyone isn't like you" he noted, flatly.
"ughhh" he groaned, rolling his eyes exageratedly. "I can't decide whether she should live or die"
It didn't take a genius to know who he was talking about, he only seemed to have a mouth to spit on your name. That's when one of his friends seems to remember something, straightening his back against Bob's parked car. “Heard that greaser chick was back behind the alley again,” some Society boy slurs. “You know, her. That real freakshow with the Coke and the switchblade. Scared the piss outta Matty the other day.”
“Paul said th'brother of one of 'is friends got a real scare earlier-” Another one added. “Said she pulled a blade an' asked if he wanted a new haircut”
“She’s a bitch,” Bob said, wiping foam from his lip. “that's the- that's wha' she is, a fuckin' bitch”
But he kept drinking. More than what he had planned.
Enough to tip himself just far enough into the dark. Enough to walk out of the bar when no one’s looking and follow the scent of smoke and burnt sugar to the alley behind the park.
The one he knew you frequented this day of the week at this time at night.
He stumbled out of the bar around midnight, tie crooked, pupils blown wide. He didn't tell the boys where he’s going. Hell, he tells himself he’s just walking it off. But his boots find the alley behind the bar like magnets to iron.
And there you are.
Back to the wall, cigarette perched between your lips, hair messy and gorgeous like she’s just crawled out of some boy’s bed and left him crying in it. A Coke can in one hand. Switchblade in the other. The metal glints under the flickering alley light like a grin.
“Well, well…” you purred, blowing smoke through your nose, “look at what the cat dragged in, you lost pretty boy?”
Bob snarled, or tried to. “Don’ flatter yours’lf. I jus’ came to make sure you weren’ mugging one of m’guys.”
You chuckled loud. Obnoxious. Like he had just said the funniest joke you had heard all week —because you had. “Please, baby, your boys mug themselves when they see me.”
You took a step forward.
He didn't step back.
He never does, and that’s the problem.
You're toe-to-toe now, your breath warm and sweet with cherry Coke and his own sour and bitter with beer and the shame he knows he'll feel tomorrow morning when the hang-over hits. Your switchblade flicks open with a click like a thunderclap in his ears, pupils dilating and focusing on the way the sharp blade caught the light.
“You drunk, Bobby?” you said, voice taking on a mocking cooing tone, as you taped the blade under his chin. Tilting his head up like he’s your little plaything. “Or just lookin’ to get gutted?”
His back was against the wall now, not even remembering when he stumbled back further into the depth of the alley. His breath hitched. “You wouldn’t.”
You leaned in, almost feline in the grace of your movements. You were in your element. “You know, I could throw you in the lake" you hummed, blade pressing harder against his adams apple as it bobbed after a nervous dry swallow. “or feed you poisoned birthday cake” you added. “I won't deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone”
The blade traces down his jaw, flirts with his neck, slides just under the collar of his button-down like it’s undressing him. He’s shaking like a puppy and trying to act like he’s got wolf teeth.
“You think you scare me?” he growls, but it’s wet, like his throat forgot how to be mean. “I could bury you alive!" he huffed out, hands weakly fisting at his sides.
You grinned, wide and nasty. “Oh, but then I'd crawl out with a knife..” you cooed, the sharp tip of your blade slowly starting to put pressure on the underside of his chin. “and kill you while you're sleeping.”
You pressed the flat of the blade against his lips.
He never went so still so fast in his whole life.
Not moving. Probably not even breathing.
“God, you’re such a spoiled little rich bitch,” you spat, “All that money, all that pride, and look at you now. Drunk in an alley, hoping I rough you up enough to feel something.”
He moaned—actually moaned—when you digged your fingers into his hair and yanked his head back. Though he'd probably deny it to his death.
“You’re disgusting,” he breathed, though his voice was cracked and whiny. He could deny it as much as he liked, lie to everyone he wanted, but both of you knew he was pretending to choke on your name every night when all he wanted was to be choked by you.
You laughed right in his face. “I should carve my name right here into your throat. Let everyone know you belong to me.” You whispered, hot and dangerous against his ear.
“Do it.” He groaned, loud. “I don’t care— do it.”
You paused. Just a second.
Just enough to drag the knife down to his collarbone, not breaking skin—not yet—but enough for his knees to buckle a little. “Look at you,” you hummed, low. dark. “You’d let me ruin you.”
Bob noded, dumb and drunk and dizzy, drunker on you than the liquor. “Yeah,” he slurred, “please.”
“I'll think about it, bobby-boy” You tapped the flat of your blade against his jaw. Tap. Tap.
And just like that, he was hooked on for another night.
You knew that, He knew that.. He knew that you knew. And he'd come crawling back to you again, drunker than tonight, as soon as the sun set again.
IT (novel) ,, official members of the Bowers Gang !!
They follow Henry like shadows stretchin’ long at dusk, boys with nothing behind their eyes but the thrill of destruction. Dirty laughter, cruel hands, and the scent of gasoline cling to them like a second skin. They move in a pack, boots scuffing pavement like a warning, hunting weakness, feeding off fear. There’s no reason to them, just rage—a wild, stupid kind that doesn't think past the next smashed mailbox or broken nose.
He leads them like a rabid dog with a crown—meaner than the rest, born with hate in his blood and a switchblade smile. The others? They’re echoes of his violence, the kind that isn't born but raised in smoke and spit.
They aren't just bullies. They’re a storm that smells like rust and rot, and when you see them comin’, you’d best not be alone.
STEVE 'MOOSE' SANDLER
"punch your lights out, hit the pavement,
that's what I call entertainment!!"
chill, always sleepy & tired, goes with the flow, not that much of a bully, sells and smokes weed, lazy, always slouching, irresponsible, detached, careless, adam sandler style.
son of unnamed parents that gave him up to his stoner uncle.
GARD JAGERMEYER
"my baby, is such a crybaby,
crying all the time (all the time!)"
age: 6teen (chapter1) gender + prns: male, he/him
nicknames: sissy written by: lana del rey
💦 𖦹 faceclaim. matt dillon
whiny, self-entitled, narcissistic, spoiled, no-brains, puppy-like, a total mama's boy, mysognist, scaredy-cat, highkey a bimbo, sensitive, crybaby, always hurt/bruised, desperate, a pillow princess.
son of an absent father and an overindulging mother.
I used to write for these three silly little guys last summer and now after giving them actual backstories and final faceclaims I'm writting for them in my sideblog!
If you'd like to know more about them (since they do exist in the book and the 1990's miniseries) or want to request character.ai bots or headcanons or whatever, you can go over to my sideblog and ask right away!<333
"come along down with me
you're not alone, you will see"
age : ∞ / physically 5teen gender + prns : female, she/her
dob : 1st january 3,500,000 b.c species : sea(foam) nymph
🌊 𖦹 faceclaim : olivia hussey
They say she was born of sea-foam and sorrow, just as the sun first kissed the world and the waves began to speak. While her father Poseidon raised storms and roared tsunamis into the hearts of kings, she danced where the water touched the sand —soft and light, a whisper of a thing with eyes like sea glass and laughter that made even sirens hush to listen.
Lorelaila, they called her. But most men don’t get her name right. It's too sweet for coarse tongues soaked in rum and salt. Some say she’s just a girl. Others say she’s the last piece of the sea that still believes in mercy.
See, while most sea creatures are cruel —drowners, lurers, devourers —Lorelaila isn't like the rest. She doesn’t hunt men. She saves them.
When masts breaks and the storms sing death, when a sailor's last breath gurgles in his chest, there she is —drifting on a current no compass can chart. She isn't a flash nor a cry. She’s a calm hand, a soft coo, and arms stronger than any rope, hauling the dying back from the depths like a mother with her child.
And she never ages. Never changes. Always the same —a slip of a girl no older than fifteen, with wild brunette locks and that blasted big smile like she knows something even the gods forgot.
Now, there’s an old tale —one heard from Tortuga, from a man with coral scars on his throat and tears in his rum. He says he met her once, face-down in the surf after a mutiny gone bad. He says she sang to him as she dragged him back to shore, and when he woke up, she was humming a lullaby not even his mother remembered.
He asked her to marry him, right there in the sand. With a ring made out of dried seaweed in a drunken stupport.
She said yes, with a laugh.
She always says yes.
She wears that ring still —not for the Captain, but for the moment. For the fleeting love men feel when they're hanging between breath and tide.
But don’t mistake her kindness for blindness. Lorelaila isn't no fool. She sees the hearts of men clear as day. She’s saved cowards, killers, and kings —but only once. She doesn’t rescue the same soul twice unless they’ve changed. And if they ain’t? Well, then the sea takes what it’s owed.
Some say she saved Barbossa once, when he was more man than monster. Others swear she held Jack Sparrow in her arms when he was naught but a little boy with water in his lungs and salt in his veins, wandered too deep into the sea. Carried him to shore like a babe, they say, and kissed his forehead like he was royalty born from tide and wind.
And maybe that’s why he’s still sailing. Maybe that’s why luck seems to drip off his boots like gold dust —'cause Lorelai doesn't just save. She blesses.
But she doesn't stay. Never.
You don’t summon her, you can't. She comes when the sea allows it, when the tide sighs for a soul not ready to slip below. And if you’re lucky —if the sea loves you just a bit more than it hates you— she’ll smile at you.
And if she smiles?
You’re coming home.
So drink to her, boys.
But softly.
Don’t raise your voice, lest the sea think you ungrateful.
I love cats so much that I let the cat that scratched me once at 4 (my whole face was bleeding and she left a scar) and once at 12 (near my eye) sleep in my lap for two hours a month before she died 😔
when i was younger i used to only eat tissue glue and ice. i literally couldnt eat anything else it was way too disgusting for me tissue glue and ice was the only thing that tasted nice to me
when i was around 13 or 15, i was obsessed with violetta (tv series)my old facebook was filled with photos of the main character, i even had a singing app where i’d record myself singing violetta songs because i wanted to be just like her!
this is so adorable, thank you for the tag @cowboylikemily <33
when I was around 7 or 8, my cousin (my bestest friend <33) and I were in love with batman and superman (not the movie characters/actors but literally the cartoon superheroes). i remember that we spent an entire summer together, pretending we were married to them and that our dolls were our children. whenever we went shopping, we'd look in the women's sections and talk about what we were "buying", when we went grocery shopping we'd imagine buying food for dinner, pretending we were older than we really were. it's an inside joke between us now, but the habit of talking about our future 24/7 stuck with us.
When I was 6-5 years old I thought I was Snow White so the 7 dwarfs were my stuffed animals and I would get excited every time a butterfly, kitten or puppy came near me just because I thought I had a power to attract animals like her so I sang and one day they made me a dress very similar to the princess so I put it on and had "tea parties" with water and cookies > <
Tags: @k1ndrwh0re @secretlifeofsparrow @dreamer-xoxo @ami1blue @tomsdolly @bl0odxstxne @softfem-dom @dolcecuore @moonluv2r @bibivampirita @geooo0o @theinmortalcoconut @n3koprincess @sneeky-bean + And all who wish to do so
when I was 7-8 and slept alone in my room I used to think aliens would abduct me if any limb of mine was out of the covers (lmao) so I always put my plushies around my head to 'camouflage' myself so the aliens would think I was a plushie aswell😭
‘A Greenland whale’, I was informed by the old professor who was standing beside me, ‘so far only recorded in the Arctic.’
The strange animal did not move and the city was at a loss what to do in the face of the impending danger. Some suggested bombarding it from a distance, but did we know how it would react to such an attack? We might merely succeed in provoking it, it might spit out poison and destroy what little we had left. Better wait and see, perhaps it would go away of its own accord
