Tired Of Being Misunderstood When I Talk To My Irls About My Man (schlatt) And How Hot I Think He Is

Ima need a 50s singer jschlatt mafia aesthetic fic with reader idk what it means but I can see it in my head

pink cheeks when he talks to me💗🌷

Small thing that breaks my heart:

When I was in third grade, I told this boy that it would be my birthday in four days, and he said, “okay, then I’ll buy you flowers.” Four days later he comes up to me and says, “my mom wouldn’t let me get flowers but I found you this violet in the grass.” That in and of itself was iconic and so so sweet, but it gets better.

A month later, I had to move, and because it was third grade, the teacher made everyone write me letters to say goodbye. His said, “I hope you have so much fun in your new house that you forget about me. I hope that you’re always happy and you never miss us. I’m sorry I never gave you flowers, but I can give you some now.” And he fucking. Drew me flowers.

No, Joey, I never forgot you. You are the reason I have standards in this life, and I’m so grateful to have known you. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are, and I hope that the rest of your days are filled with as much joy as you gave to me. I spilled water on the card about five years ago, and half of it is a a jumbled mess now, but I still have it. It’s the only card I still have.

The funny thing is this dude and I hardly ever interacted. I knew he played football because he was on the town’s kids’ team and my brother was on the middle school team, and I knew he was one of, like, three Joeys in our year. I had a crush on him but obviously never communicated that because it was fucking third grade, but somehow those three interactions imprinted on who I am as a person. I am forever changed by Joey from third grade.

Oops

I fucking fell for it

when i get to heaven the real gun emoji will be there waiting for me

i don’t know if i’ve ever posted about this before but this is the actual house i wrote house in nebraska about. it’s called the wasden house, it’s by the highway just south of quitman, georgia. a man killed his sister and her husband in 1937 there because they threatened to commit him to an asylum. an old friend of mine used to live down the road, we would drive by it all the time right after high school and i’d daydream about it constantly. i hope it goes up for sale every day.