C.

These are my little pillowcase theatres. Mostly my own original material, written about the most wonderful little girl you'd ever be lucky enough to meet. She's way better.
Follow her and Ask me

Mine is a force of nature.

A breakfast of love and honey and determination.

Her state is soluble, added to my very essence, sweetening my perception to a gorgeous golden hue.

She’s my lover and my best friend; I love her in ways that would make even seasoned lovers wonder.

contre-le-mur asked: I'm hungry.

Kind words from a kind soul. I love you too, babygirl.

help!

contre-le-mur:

I have a paper due in Women’s Lit and I have to write three to five pages. The problem is I can write about ANYTHING to do with women’s issues (nothing controversial like abortion, just something I can write a thesis about and spend three pages proving.)

I can’t think of a topic!

I suck at adhering to vague commands.

Reblog for help!

help!

contre-le-mur:

I have a paper due in Women’s Lit and I have to write three to five pages. The problem is I can write about ANYTHING to do with women’s issues (nothing controversial like abortion, just something I can write a thesis about and spend three pages proving.)

I can’t think of a topic!

I suck at adhering to vague commands.

Write about the character Skylar White. How her character was written, how it developed, and how the audience/popular-culture reacted to it.

Robot Holocaust

On the crest of sunrise, in the breath of a deep blue sky, my little girl turns to me; a nightmare. I hold her close, she squeezes me closer. A well-placed kiss on her forehead whispers:

There’s no place I’d sooner be than waking up with you next to me. I’ll take the happy and I’ll take the sad, I’ll take the good and all of the bad. And if I get to hold you every time you fright, I’ll take you for the rest of my life.

So she sighs, my lips comply, with such a dainty little creature. Our lengths and widths all intertwined, awaiting our next adventure. We’re both prepared for what comes next, we find it every morning. You see, we’re off to fight another battle: the alarm clock.

contre-le-mur:

We’re at a bar in a booth and C is fingerfucking me under the table. I decided to wear a skirt with no panties tonight and shawl I can drape over my lap.

We left that establishment and went to a new place, a place we’d never been before, before finally returning to the Pillow Palace Fortress and properly relieving her sweet, swollen, soaking pussy of all that tingly desire.

contre-le-mur:

You’re not with me and your scent
hits me like a train, thrills me,
all the way down in my heart,
all the way down in my panties.

C.: titan.

littlepillowcasetheatres:

My eyes slowly stretch open. It’s the middle of the night, probably around 3am. It might as well be 17 O’Clock on one of Saturn’s moons for all I fucking know, I’m in a sleep trance. Of the best kind. Barely conscious. Systems functioning on the base levels. Brain activity looks like a sleepy…

6 months ago - 147

love

Every nuance of human creativity that has attempted to convey a portion, a piece of this, couldn’t have delivered a sliver of what I’ve come to know.

I like you a lot.

We are unstoppable, you and I. 

They say birds of a feather flock together; but we don’t need feathers to fly. 

I’m higher than I’ve ever been and I’m not scared to come down. Chances are you’ll be there too, waiting for me.

You and I, we’ll look around. Find a place to let the pups breathe, maybe plant a seed. I’ll take the axe, you do the weave.

And when I’m a little old, and you’re a little green, I’ll wink at you and say “Damn, girl. How’d such a great grand thing grow even grander?” and you’ll wink back and say

"With a little pillowcase on its feet".

frainçais.

contre-le-mur:

All that stressing out about my French test and I made an 84 out of 76. Not only did I ace it but I KILLED IT WITH FIRE.

Soooo proud of myself.

Too bad that fire spell didn’t have trample.

That I can say “my” in reference to this girl is a thought that can turn even the reddest day green.

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

Henry David Thoreau

Meanwhile, In Post-Apocalyptia…

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"Is there another way?" 

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She’s panting. Deep, heavy breaths interrupted by an instinctual swallow. 

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"There has to be another way."

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In front of us, a solid brick wall. We’ve been running for what seems like a decade; in and out of alley-ways, over and under debris. Not unlike the big chase scene that wraps up your typical case-of-the-week, crime-and-justice-system television show. 

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"What do we do now?" She asks in a calm, centered voice, void of even the slightest panic.

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She trusts me. She always has. Even before all of this madness, she puts her faith in me to make the right decision; for her, for us.

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And for good reason.

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"Down there, sweetheart."

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I’m pointing to a drainage grate with a small opening, and finding myself thankful that we have had hardly any food for the past two weeks. It’ll be a tight squeeze for me, but she’ll glide through with sleight-framed ease.

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"Is that them already? How are they so fast?" She asks exasperated, referring to the sound of pounding, chasing, howling footsteps growing louder.

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A month ago, when civilization and popular-culture were still real, functioning things, I had a discussion with a friend about zombies. We talked about the overwhelming amount of entertainment that was entirely centered on a zombie apocalypse and how terribly unrealistic it was. Not the specific individual material, but the concept of a zombie apocalypse as a whole.

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"You’ve got this, Daddy!" She shouts at me encouragingly, as I make the tight squeeze through the grate to join her.

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As I pull my feet through, the zombie discussion races through my head. Maybe if I would have thought about it more: read the books, watched the shows… My head throbs. If somehow this is all an elaborate dream, some twisted nightmare I need only wake up from… I would so much prefer to be running from zombies.