IMAGINES LIKE THIS MAKE ME PISS MYSELF
IMAGINES LIKE THIS MAKE ME PISS MYSELF
More Posts from Guessyourenottheone and Others
dd/mm/yyyy just means daddy dom/mommy man/yummy yellow yogurt yayyyy thank u for listening
circumstances will NEVER matter
oh my god please stop beating a dead horse
we have been over this topic so many times. People have repeatedly told you, "circumstances don't matter" and yet a ton of you STILL harp on about your circumstances.
STOP IT.
I don't know why some of you people expect bloggers to start saying something different when YOU are the one who keeps worrying about the 3D like it dictates your manifestations when you should have already hammered the fact that your assumptions manifest and that what you see DOESN'T MATTER into your head.
"but i-" I DONT CARE!!! Stop relying on what you perceive to tell you if you have something or not. Stop seeking validation from the outside when it all stems from YOU.
Your circumstances suck, we know. They are hard, unliveable, stress inducing, exhausting, depressing, etc. Nobody is denouncing that it's rough, but for gods sake you need to stop conflating having results ≠ it showing up in 3D.
The 'success' is you persisting in/accepting your assumption, that IS IT. Because guess what? Someone who dgaf about what they're being shown and knows that their assumptions are the only truth and form everything, WOULDN'T GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE SEEING BCS THEY KNOW THEY HAVE IT. THEY DONT EQUATE HAVING SOMETHING MATERIALISE AS THE SUCCESS, THEY UNDERSTAND THEY WERE SUCCESSFUL THE MOMENT THEY ASSUMED IT.
you can sit there and complain about how shit is too hard but guess what? It's gonna keep being hard because you keep assuming it is. you can either stop and fix your assumption or keep repeating this cycle, it is up to you.
winter is returning to gaza which means white phosphorous acid rain, polio infected sewage flooding, and bitter cold with no shelter. tents are not enough.
siraj's family has 10 children in it, many under the age of 12, two newborns, and two elderly people who are susceptible to disease. his mother has diabetes, which anyone knows needs frequent monitoring and medical care. he and his family just recovered from skin infections and he doesn't want to see them suffer from all the disease the winter will bring.
siraj found a place to rent but its 1400 CAD a month. the lease lasts 6 months - he needs to raise $8400 CAD / $6253 USD as soon as possible before winter gets really ugly so he can secure his family's safety.
siraj is trying to rebuild his life. he doesn't want to let the zionist entity kick him out. he's staring this genocide in the face and telling them he doesn't care what they do, he's not leaving.
yet, he's really far from his goal. and things are moving really slowly. i don't know how many times i can repeat this same information. things change but the brutality of what they face stays the same.
please donate and share
vetted #219
we used to have more pt. 3 | oscar piastri, pato o’ward
part 1 part 2
pairing: oscar piastri x reader, hints at pato o’ward x reader
summary: while working at indycar, you found yourself growing closer to a certain mclaren driver, but those plans get interrupted when you have to get back home and oscar drops a bomb on you
fc: different girls from pinterest
warnings: some more inaccurate work dynamics, this is mainly text messages <3 sorry <3 i got carried away
a/n: work and school have been keeping me very busy this past few days, but i hope you’ll enjoy this part! tysm for all the support, i really really appreciate it ❤️🩹
—
liked by elbaoward, declanmurray and others
yourusername ain’t no love in (texas) 🤠🐎🧡
view all comments
username i’m being delusional and taking this as a sign that she’ll go to the grand prix in austin and all the f1 races after that
username we’re different because i’m taking this as a sign that she’s dating pato and she’s staying at indy
username girl is that freaking norbi? 😭
username she really thought she was slick
username not to be THAT person but everything about this post screams patricio o’ward
username ahhh i love casa rio!
milesbaldwin they say you don’t go to san antonio if you don’t go to casa rio 😋
miguelsossa great mexican food! absolutely recommend
username omg they all went TOGETHER?
username not me thinking it was just y/n and pato …
username not but honestly when is y/n not with any of them
elbaoward beautiful! 💗
yourusername elbaaa💘
username nahhh this is all the confirmation i need
liked by gfusername, landonorris and others
oscarpiastri i ❤️ split
view all comments
username ignoring that second slide
username i love that he’s in croatia!! 🥰
username so boyfriend coded
username UGH oscar give me a chance i swear we’re not gonna fall into a toxic cycle of breaking up and getting back together
username you might not be his type in that case! sorry!
username you know what you might be right 😔
username my brain can’t stop comparing this to y/n’s post ….
username no they’re both in completely different parts of the world with the wrong people!!
username they HAVE GOT to get together at some point
username no really they’re just delaying the inevitable
gfusername ❤️ (liked by oscarpiastri)
yourusername’s instagram stories
[caption 1: 🎀] [caption 2: 🍝]
liked by patriciooward, oscarpiastri and others
yourusername it’s incredibly sad to say goodbye to this place that has become my absolute favorite in the entire world. i had some of the best days of my life in these race tracks and i met the most amazing people during my time here ❤️🩹 i loved everything about this experience and i can’t wait to come back (hopefully very soon)🏎
view all comments
lissiemackintosh i’m gonna cry 😭
yourusername my honest reaction
davidmalukas so sad y’all are leaving 😔
yourusername we’re gonna miss you!
declanmurray specially lissiemackintosh
davidmalukas good ☺️
lissiemackintosh you’re dead declanmurray
milesbaldwin what if we just stayed? :(
miguelsossa we stayed like four more months
yourusername rebecca would fire me actually
fernandoalo_official happy to have you back soon y/n 👍🏽
yourusername i’m happy to go back! 🤍
username SHE’S COMING BACK LET’S GOOOO
username im dyingggg she’s mourning her lasts days in america and everyone in the comments is celebrating 😭
username is not everyday the people princess returns where she belongs 😩
—
taglist; @heavy-vettel @a-beaverhausen @astroniii @chunkpiboli @theonottsbxtch @eclecticcreatorweaselsalad @charli123456789 @stopeatread @coriyaps @nina-or-anna-or-nora @ninasw0rld @loveelylani @marauders-wife @dramallama9 @mxdi0 @piastrigate @ladyoflynx @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @southernbaguette @ellelabelle @emryb @fastfactory @comicalivy @seasonswinter @no-144444 @lunamelona @saachiep81 @nataliambc @patis643 @softtina @chemiru @obxstiles @eiaaasamantha @youre-on-your-ownkid @wcnorris @hwalllllllelujah @soleilgrec
how do you deal with the insane amount of imposter syndrome that comes with making art?
if i can't be the me that i think i should be, i just become something else
⋆· ༘* you belong with me !
pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader
synopsis ★ the one where you come back from winter break and start operation cupid. meanwhile, charles and silena meddle in your affairs on their own mission. (3.9k)
content ★ no pronouns used for reader, lowk photography/carnival date weewoo, bad matchmaking shenanigans, will they wont they, best viewed mobile obv
notes ★ ngl this went in a slightly skewed direction than what i put in the synop, subtext reading may be needed to figure out what charles and silena r doing to meddle.
series masterlist
operation: cupid aka super evil plan >:)
NO ↓ ← yes ← ABSOLUTELY NOT
— blind date
— CARNIVAL @ ANTHOS FEST ^^ ok thats good
— get hmart napa 4 mom NOT A GROCERY LIST!!!
— fake dating? OPINION REJECTED
— SAYING TO GO SMWHERE AND THEN DITCHING THEM TOGETHER ^^ is this a romcom or smth??
You shift your shoulder to let your phone press closer to your ear, cringing at the uncomfortable warmth from the screen.
“So the festival’s a go,” you say, loud enough to be heard over the dishes. “All VAPA will be there early for the parade. Make sure you get to Hesperides Park at noon and meet at the big apple tree.”
“There are, like, fifteen apple trees in the park,” Luke says, voice bouncing around the tinny speakers of your phone. “Besides, the festival’s in February. We have weeks.”
“We’ve started practicing already,” you tell him, adjusting your shoulder again. “There’s a run through on the track next Tuesday, if you need some shots for yearbook.”
Luke hums and you hear him shift around over the phone, the noise captured between satellites. “Okay, I’ll be there. What are you doing right now?”
A plate clinks into the prongs of the drying rack, water running rivulets down your arm. You cringe when the soapy streams reach and soak into the edges of your rolled-up sleeves.
“Finishing the dishes,” you tell him after a moment.
You think Luke bites back a grunt, moving around again. There’s background noise with him, soft and faint. You think you can hear music, too.
“I’m getting napa cabbages for my mom. She’s been practicing kimchi,” he tells you, and then you hear the whine of a grocery fridge. “Do you like Asian soft drinks, by the way? Got a coupon.”
You consider it, turning off the sink and drying your hands. They feel all crunchy now, skin tight over your bones with the winter’s absence of moisture. You really need to remember to put on some lotion.
“Nothing too sweet, maybe fruity. I’ll pay you back if you buy Pocky.” You exit the kitchen, fuzzy slippers padding on the floorboards. You hear a staticky thud, and the whirring from the fridge stops.
Luke sighs, the sound nestled pleasantly in your eardrums. You flop onto your bed, listening to the not-silence. He talks faintly, words far-off and lost in the background, whirs and beeps and plastic crinkling.
He speaks finally, “I didn’t know how much you wanted…so. You owe me ten.”
You scoff, sardonic and not at all serious. “Fuck you, man.”
His world on the other side goes quiet for a heartbeat.
“Well,” he says, breaking the pause, “I’ll see you on Monday with the goods.”
“You sound like a dealer.”
“Yea, a dealer in love.” He sneers out the last word, a smile sewn into his voice.
You groan and hover your thumb over the hang-up button. “Cringe, go back to watching your Grand Prix or whatever.”
“Hey, pre-season testing hasn’t even started.”
“Whatever,” you grumble, sliding a palm down your face. “I’m hanging up.”
Not even five seconds after you press the red button, he calls you again. You swipe to accept begrudgingly, and then Luke’s voice cracks back into existence.
“You forgot to say goodbye. That’s bad manners, you know.”
“Good-fucking-bye, Castellan.”
He laughs, the sound of it swirling in your stomach strangely. “Thank you, major. See you Monday.”
You toss your phone to the foot of your bed when the line cuts and tangle your legs in the blankets, mortified at the heat curling around your neck.
♫ TV Girl ・Taking What’s Not Yours
[ IMAGE: a photo of you in your band uniform, baton in hand and a silver whistle looped around your neck. The jacket is orange with a pale yellow lining, gold buttons glimmering, and you wear a pair of black, straight-legged slacks. Your face is half eclipsed by the shadow of your cap. The photo may have been taken with an old digital camera, giving it a washed-out, nostalgic look. ]
Liked by luvvbeaus and 345 others
lukestellans sweepstakes at anthos fest, congrats @.majmajmaj
view all comments
majmajmaj dont tag theyre gna find me
↳ travstole fratrnisng w the enemy ICKK 🫵🤮 ↳ anniebethc That’s not the right spelling for ‘fraternizing’. You should enable auto-correct on your device settings.
The weather under the fruit trees is better than out in the street. You’ve shed your itchy uniform jacket, opting to just wear the loose, white under-tee to cope with the temperature. At least the metal of your camera keeps your hands cool, and the dry breeze that filters through the verdant boughs sends soothing, dappled shadows stretching across the grass.
It’s hot, and unbearably so. Marching down Zeus City Boulevard from the high school to city hall was hell; it’s only late winter, almost early spring, and the temperature is already in the high seventies. You can only dread the heat come summertime.
“If you told me it was this tree,” and Luke’s coming around the trunk, camera strap strung over his torso and glasses hanging from his shirt collar, “I could’ve gotten here sooner.”
Castellan pats the bark, disregarding the sign that reads DO NOT TOUCH welded to the small fence that encircles the roots. You try not to look at his arm, lean and veined, the pale stretch of skin under his bicep growing larger as the sleeve of his airy polo rides up.
You clear your throat, fiddling with the settings of your own camera. Around you, children shriek and dash in the alleys between the carnival game stalls.
“This is the apple tree, everyone knows that.”
“I told you,” Castellan says, rolling his eyes, “that there are a ton of them here.”
You snap a quick shot of some teens sharing a big, pink cloud of cotton candy. They’re smiling wide, wrinkles of joy arrowing around their mouths. It would have been a nice picture if not for the overexposure—you kiss your teeth and delete it.
“Sorry, was I supposed to say the biggest apple tree planted by Mayor Hera’s great-grandmother, coincidentally also named Hera, in the park next to city hall?”
He shrugs, making a face of agreement. “It would’ve helped. You also could’ve mentioned that it was the golden apple tree and not one of the red apple trees.”
You snag a fallen fruit off the grass, turning it in your hands. “Does this look lustrously golden to you?”
“Fine, the yellow apple tree.”
“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping it into your camera bag. You can already feel the imminent sweat stain forming under where the thick strap rests on your shoulder, and hope that Castellan won’t take notice
“You aren’t supposed to take the fallen apples, you know.”
You look at him, brows raised innocuously. “Who took what?”
Before he can chide you again, Charles steps up to your side, wearing the same black slacks and white under-tee. Castellan doesn’t seem fazed, unfolding the arms of his thin-framed glasses and pushing them up his nose.
Your bandmate stiffens when Silena skips over, still in pep uniform, her manicured fingers wrapping around Castellan’s shoulder. It’s the first time you've looked at Silena closely, all shiny black hair and round face—she’s more cherubic now that she’s right there in front of you, full-bodied and not as slight as you’d previously thought she was.
She waves at you, cute nails glimmering pale pink in the dappled shade.
“Hi,” she’s smiling, a little giddy, honeyed kick to her voice, “I’m Silena. Luke told me a lot about you.”
( Now you kind of get why Charles and half the guys and girls at school have a crush on her. )
You try to play it cool. “Really? I didn’t know he talked about me.”
She nods, and her dark hair sways mesmerizing with the movement. Castellan looks away, embarrassment creeping up his neck. You elbow Charles in the ribs when he stays silent for too long.
He speaks, although the words are punched-out and tremoring. “I’m Charles Beckendorf.”
Silena smiles politely, lips pink and glossy, eyes a bit too wide. “I know.”
Charles is a big, tall guy. Most people who don’t know better would think he did football and go about their lives not knowing that he used to be four feet zero and played piccolo since sixth grade.
So when the cheerleader of his dreams smiles at him, you can quite literally feel his body temperature rise, the skin of your arm prickling even though he’s standing half a foot away.
“I think,” Castellan pipes up, strained, his eye twitching, “I actually have to go take some pictures for yearbook.”
He’s really fucking bad at this matchmaking shit.
“Yea—” and your voice comes out in a near squeak too “—uh, Charles, you can go with Silena. I need stuff for Heralds too.”
Okay, you’re just as bad as Castellan.
Charles shifts, confused. “You sure? We could just all go together and hang out while you do your thing.”
You and Castellan—and Silena too?—nearly shout in protest. The cheerleader laughs it off and stiffly walks over to Charles, taking his wrist gently and tiptoeing to whisper to him. The rate at which the air around your fellow drum major heats up could be considered exponential.
Charles chuckles awkwardly and steps back, wrapping his hand around Silena’s in return. “Yea, right. We’ll meet back at sunset?”
“Sure,” Castellan says, putting up a hand, arm too stiff to wave. “See you.”
Silena skips away with Charles behind her. You breathe a sigh of relief in unison and drop down onto the grass, legs splaying over the green blades.
Castellan joins you on the ground, pinching his shirt and flapping it in an attempt to cool off.
“That was fucking painful.”
“No shit, major.”
You huff, prickles creeping up your neck. The shade barely does anything against the heat now, a stiff breeze blowing hot air through the fibers of your loose shirt. Castellan looks as worse for wear as you do, nose crinkled and hair gone wild.
A puff of air makes its way out of his lips. “So what now?”
You groan and stagger up, standing on weak legs. “We should follow them just in case.”
Castellan squints up at you, dappled shadows burnishing his face, curls bouncing leisurely in the wind. He groans and holds up his hand, jello-limbed and sloth-like. You take him by the wrist and heave until he’s standing.
“The first thing Charles does when he gets set loose in a carnival,” you tell Castellan—he’s chasing your steps doggedly, blushed from the heat, “is buy cotton candy.”
“So what do you do?” he asks, a hand shielding his eyes from the unforgiving sunlight.
“I’m gonna pay the stall operator to make an extra large one so they can share.”
“No, I mean what do you normally do at a carnival?”
You slow down momentarily, nearly tripping over yourself. “Uh…I kinda skip the festival most years. It’s too hot most of the time.”
“Oh,” he says, a little dumb with the way his mouth hangs open by a smidge. “I normally get tickets for the games first.”
“Cool,” you tell him absently, searching for the volunteer-run food stalls, “we can try that next year.”
He’s weirdly silent, the blunt of the sudden quiet unnerving you.
( You do not realize your mistake until after the festival ends. )
Percy and Annabeth are operating the cotton candy stall, perspiration beading at their hairlines and ridiculous aprons hung over their white tees. It seems that everyone in band decided to forgo the ugly-ass jacket, and for good reason.
You sneak around the back, Castellan not far off, pulling two five dollar bills from your pocket.
Hissing, “Percy, Annabeth.”
The girl turns, braids swinging in the air. They nearly hit Percy across the eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Annabeth asks in a high-pitched whisper. She does a double-take at Castellan. “What are you doing here?”
Percy looks over Annabeth’s shoulder curiously. “Is that money for me?”
“No time to explain—if Silena and Charles order two cotton candies, I need you to lie and just give them a super huge one, okay?”
A grin splits Percy’s face wide, eyes gleaming devilishly. You think that the time the Stolls spend bothering him is starting to influence his behavior.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asks, fixating on the bill, completely ignoring the customers waiting for their sweets. “Charles getting the girl of his dreams?”
You groan and hold out the money vehemently. “Just take the fucking bribe and act normal!”
The speed at which Percy snatches the two fives could be considered non-human. Yea, the Stolls are definitely rubbing off on him, but he splits the bills, gives half to Annabeth; she often says that she doesn’t care about money, but her eyes sparkle nonetheless.
Huh, interesting.
Castellan pulls you away to hide behind a thick tree trunk. You hold your camera up to your eyes, zooming in on the couple as they converse with Annabeth at the register. Her customer-service smile is strained, eyes wide, a little nervous.
You were right—Charles and Silena hand over their money separately.
Percy gives them a huge cloud of wispy pink sugar—it’s nearly thrice the size of his own head and—makes some lame excuse, probably that they ran out of cotton candy sticks because he’s literally hiding the paper cones behind his back.
Silena asks Charles something and he gives her a nod of agreement. She holds the candy between them—they’re walking shoulder to shoulder now, Charles picking off small clumps and Silena almost skipping with how peppy her steps are.
Mission one accomplished.
You tail them for some time, occasionally snapping pictures of kids playing rigged games and couples holding hands. When you hold up your camera, Castellan does too, and you stand back to back sometimes, taking in every angle of the carnival.
“Wait,” Castellan speaks, putting a hand on your shoulder and pointing the other towards your friends, “they’re walking out of the park.”
You frown. “It’s not even sunset yet.”
He hums—right next to your ear. “I think she’s taking him to that boba shop she likes. It’s close by.”
“So that’s good, right?”
“Yea.”
“So mission accomplished, I can go home?”
Castellan chuckles, sliding his hand cautiously from your shoulder to your wrist. His touch is light, barely a feather’s weight.
“Nuh-uh,” he grins, shit-eating. “We’re playing the games.”
You protest but don’t make any move to break away, “They’re rigged, dumbass. It’s a waste of money.”
“We need to pass the time somehow. Remember we’re meeting back at sunset to watch the fireworks?”
“Ah, fuck you.”
He leads you all the way to the ticket booths, fingers sending tingles burning up your arm when he secures a wristband around your wrist. Castellan tugs you along by the wristband thereafter, flitting between rubber duck and ping pong ball and dart games.
He wins some, loses some. You win none and lose a lot. It’s mainly him catching prizes, and you have to cross the street to get a bag at a nearby grocery store to hold all the cheap stuffed animals.
You pass by the boba shop, brightly lit and colorful, and Charles waves at you from inside. Silena makes an enthusiastic heart with her hands and Castellan blushes, looping his fingers under your wristband and darting away.
♫ Sonic Youth ・Sunday
[ IMAGE: Two pairs of beaten sneakers facing each other on a well-tended stretch of grass. Luke’s scuffed Air Forces are easily recognizable with a small Spiderman doodle at the toe. His middle and index fingers extend in a peace sign at the top of the frame, meeting the points of yours at the bottom in a diamond shape. ]
Liked by lukestellans and 255 others
majmajmaj sunday comes n sunday goes
view all comments
perciusjakcsn CHAT R U SEEING THIS 🫢
↳ naka.ethan git saw them holdin hands n walking round the fest 🤢 ↳ conmanstole sm1 ask annie if we can disown a drum major or smth
travstole sarge connor says he was joking n to pls unblock him 🙏
FROM: becky d
(18:32) so silenas kinda tired (18:32) gna walk her home
TO: becky d
(18:34) oh? 😏 (18:34) wait no ur gna miss the fireworks (19:00) BECKY ANSWER ME WHAT ABT THE FIREWORKS (19:01) fake friend bc now m stuck w castellan until fireworks 😭
FROM: becky d
(19:45) yk u dont hafta stay right… (19:45) cant even take good pics in the dark w out lookin goofy in flash
Charles had texted you halfway through sunset, the sky beginning to pinken along with broad, orange brushstrokes of sunlight—yet you still hang around between the apple trees and the carnival stalls. It’s well into the night, temperature dropping steeply, and the once stiff breeze has you suppressing a shudder.
Castellan must be feeling the change too, because he stands so impossibly close that each time the space between you two decreases by some increment, sparks begin to unspools from your nerves and smart along your skin.
“Fireworks in a few,” remarks Castellan, pocketing his phone. “D’you know Phaestus does them?”
You pick absently at the skin beside your nail. “Like the woodworking teacher?”
“Yea.”
“Cool.” It’s stilted, stiff and brittle. Now that you know for sure that Charles has left you for the wolves, you don’t see much reason in staying longer. The only problem is getting out without feeling guilty for ditching Castellan—not that you’d feel bad for him. “I dunno if I can stay, though.”
The boy furrows his brow, a little line forming on his forehead. “Why not? It’s barely eight.”
How do you tell Castellan that you want to be far, far away from him? That at the same time, you want to press yourself into and through his skin and twine around his bones?
“Uh…I need to finish my apps.”
“College apps got submitted like, a month ago.”
Fuck, shit, fuck again. You desperately need to take a masterclass in lying your way out of situations. Castellan slides his warm fingers under your flimsy wristband, tugs on it lightly.
It barely makes a mark in your skin despite the fact that he’s been pulling on it for practically half the day. The cheap material scrapes against your wrist when he tugs it again, something skating too quick to place up your spine.
He smiles, small with undisguised encouragement. “Let’s try the Ferris wheel.”
“No way.”
Castellan laughs and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse point. “Look, we haven’t gone on any rides, and honestly, the Ferris wheel’s a lot better than that.”
He tilts his head towards the Kamikaze ride: two hammer-shaped structures swinging around in 360 degree arcs like a pendulum. You can hear someone wailing faintly, cries fading in and out in time with each rotation. You aren’t too sure, but it sounds vaguely like that one sophomore trombone kid…Grover Underwood?
( At least, that’s what you think his name is. It’s hard to keep track of who’s who when the Stolls’ stupid and distracting antics preoccupy a majority of your attention during practice. )
You rub the strap of your camera between your thumb and index finger, weighing your options.
“Fine.”
Castellan cheers, pumping his fist and pulling you towards the empty line. People begin to race to the queue as the time for fireworks begins to near, but you and Castellan beat them all to it.
He slides onto the bench and you take the one opposite of him, placing the bag of cheap stuffed animals next to you. You take one—a squishy black cat—and squeeze it, watching the plush expand between your fingers.
Castellan’s got an angry-looking dog in his lap, playing with its soft polyester ears. You see him backlit by artificial light, all carnival colors and little house windows. From a distance, a rocket gets set off, a faint boom echoing sputters of red.
Without thinking, you raise your camera up and snap a picture of the firework’s colors splattering over his frame. A snap of the shutter and then you find he’s looking right at you, eyes gleaming, face softened by the night.
You’re then distracted by a flurry of pops, a bright, phosphorescent shower sparkling on the horizon. Your head feels hazy, cloudy, too stuffed with sugar like a half-developed photograph of what’s happened today.
A shutter, a snap. Castellan holding his camera up to his eyes. You both lean together, foreheads magnetic, pulling up the pictures you just took. The fireworks continue to sound off, faint and forgotten.
In his photo of you: your shoulders are relaxed, lips in a shallow part. The black cat plush is squished under your forearm, camera half-held by your loose fingers and all-hanging from the strap looped over your neck. Everything’s backlit blue and green and white like an aquarium, sea foam threaded in the phosphorescent fireworks.
In your photo of him: he’s painted a pale red, carnival lights splashing anywhere else they can. You can’t even tell what the color of his shirt really is like this. Castellan’s hair has the image of it being freshly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. The angry dog lays lopsided in his grip, expression warped under his fingers.
You’re about to open your dry, dry mouth when the wheel comes to a stop and a worker yanks open the door roughly. You hurry out with Castellan not far behind.
“I gotta go,” you say, jutting your thumb towards the end of the street. You’re really telling the truth this time; it’s nearly nine and you have a stats test on Monday. Or, tomorrow. You can’t really think straight when Castellan’s right next to you.
He touches your shoulder, fingers careful. “Send me that picture, ‘kay? See you tomorrow in math.”
Castellan’s hand peels away when he begins to step backward slowly, waiting for you to say something before he leaves. You wet your lips quickly, molars teething at the inside of your cheek.
“Yea, I’ll see you. Good luck on the test.”
His lips quirk, smile lines arrowing in his skin. He waves, and you wave back. Like two ships passing in the night.
[ IMAGE: a blurry, unprofessional, iPhone camera photo angled towards the sky and extra-zoomed in on two unidentifiable teens sitting on opposite sides of a Ferris wheel car. Their outlines are lit in neon carnival lights and soft fireworks, heads bent together. ]
Liked by anniebethc and 214 others
perciusjakcsn why r the rides diabolical af 😭
view all comments
tankadreww waittt whos in the ferris 😮
groovewood FUCK kamikaze all my homies HATE kamikaze i almost saw god three times
↳ anniebethc Can confirm, the Kamikaze was terrible.
majmajmaj werent the fireworks past ur bedtime percival,,,
↳ perciusjakcsn NO AND FYI ITS PERSEUS JUST LIKE HOW UR MAJOR NOT SERGEANT ↳ majmajmaj THEN WHY DONT U CALL ME MAJOR U FUCKING DUMBASS
p.s. ★ nearly finished w this, we have two more chapters left!! might take a small break next week until finals season and journalism summer work is done obliterating me
sharing is caring, so pls rb and also lmk ur thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩
luke tags (closed); @melllinaa @amortencjja @arsonnaire @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon @ahh-chickens @spiderbeam @jennapancake @traumatrios @omg--bluexx @dangelnleif @apolloscastellan @hiraethavis @lukecastellandefender @bookshelfminstrel @cherr-y-eji @solangelotus @liviessun @thaliagracesgf @ddarling-ddearest-ddead
© klineinie 2024 — do not plagiarize, translate, or use ANY works to train ai
𝓶𝔂 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ this isn’t a self-help guide. i’m not your guru and this isn’t a powerpoint on gratitude. this is just me. sitting on the floor. i’m not here to raise your vibration. i’m here to ask why you think you need raising in the first place. i'm here because i’ve been hoarding revelations like they're concert wristbands. i'm here because reality is porous and i’ve got the straws. no, literally, i’ve sucked on time’s milkshake and found it lukewarm. we can do better.
you will not find steps here. there is no staircase. i burned it. we fly now.
"how to"s . .
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀how to manifest.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀how to get what you want without affirmations.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀where is the stuff i manifested?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀i have it, i have it, i have it, so where is it?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀become the laziest manifestor.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀manifest anything in hours, minutes, and even seconds.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀banish resistance.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀how to stop looking at the 3d for results.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀how to manifest the future.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀manifesting faq.
thesis's & concepts . .
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀energy and matter cannot be destroyed or created.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀barbie doll theory of self-concept.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀do less than nothing , get more than everything.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀i said what i said (and then it happened)
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀think it, know it, live it.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀hoping or remembering?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀manifestation and the eroticism of longing.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀what's meant for me will find me.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀screw trying.
doubts & negatives . .
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀adrift on a sea of self-inflicted delays.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀it didn't work before, why would it now?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀the hardest pill to swallow.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀" there is no new information on tumblr "
interactives . .
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀the manifesting seance club.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ﹐⠀pick a card and find out about your manifesting journey.
Please, please, look at my donation campaign and help me. I have newborn children and my son Ahmed needs treatment. He is a heart patient and suffers from two holes in the heart. He needs help and treatment. We do not have money and we are stuck in Egypt because of the Gaza war. My wife and I lost my jobs and there is no source of income. I would like you to help. To care for my children and provide the necessary treatment for my child Ahmed, please donate even a little thing to save my child’s life
@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsings-world @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater98 @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarr @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlproblem @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi27 @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani123-blog @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp
@gaza-evacuation-funds
@gazavetters
-
guessyourenottheone reblogged this · 3 years ago
