#I believe I'll make it out but it'll be fucking painful no matter what

[tattedpetticoats]

I was tagged by the lovely @vintage-vermillion to tell you all my 2023 TBR (which I think stands for “to be read” list?). But the truth is I almost never actually have books in mind to read. I just pick up whatever is around with no forward-planning and dive in. I think mostly this appeals to me because nearly everything I do feels like it has some goal attached. The goal can be anything from “you need to do this work so you’ll get paid” to “you need to study this book so you’ll pass” to “you need to run the dishwasher so you have cutlery” to “you need to see every tumblr post on your dash or... Bad Things” and “you have to watch ALL of this youtube video you’re watching for entertainment”. And it’s utterly exhausting.

The one respite I have is that my brain doesn’t do this with books. Books will always be there. I can come back later. If I don’t finish it I might next week, or I might never, but whatever happens I can come back to it. In many cases, I already know how the story ends because I’ve read it often before.

So I have no goals with books in 2023. I might read hundreds. I might start reading hundreds and then not finish them. But I will enjoy them and treasure the fact that they give me this peace.

That being said, any recommendations?

[carakook]

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

"Please don't slam the door in my face. Please just let me talk to you for a bit, I promise I'll behave."

→ Chapters list ←

⚘2. Wild Flower

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: Y/N attempts to cope with the end of the affair and stay firm in her decision to go no-contact with Jungkook. Jungkook, however, is a fucking mess, and it has barely been a few days. He is going insane. He knows this is for the best... but he also knows they both deserve closure. Y/N especially... she will never fully bloom without it.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 2K+

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex (no smut, but it is talked about), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of toxic masculinity, mentions of arguing, let me know if I miss anything!

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: Chapter two! This one is a bit short, but the next chapter will be much longer, this chapter is meant to give some context to their past and how things ended up this way. I truly hope you like it, and chapter three will be out shortly.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Over - Lucky Daye (y’all this one is important, fits the vibe so well)

♪I bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

That weekend, you’re in shambles.

Hundreds of missed texts and calls. All from him. All tempting you to run back to him like you always do. But you haven't answered. You can't, and you won't.

His texts range from saying things like,

"I'm sorry. Can we please just talk?"

"Now you're leaving me on read? What the fuck?"

"I'm going crazy. Please talk to me."

"I want to hate you right now. Fuck."

"I do fucking hate you. I regret you."

"That was a lie, I could never hate you, I love you, so fucking much. I don't regret anything with you."

"You haven't blocked me and I can see you reading my messages so I'm not gonna stop until you answer me."

"Fuck wait, don't block me, please don't."

"Please Y/N."

It stopped there. The last plea and you left it unanswered. Because with each message he sent, even though you didn't text him back, you sent a tiny piece of your heart his way. He just doesn't know it.

If you weren't hurt, you'd find this entire thing so fucking amusing because, clearly, the man is losing it. He's acting like a desperate teenager who is overly attached to his girlfriend. Like a lost puppy. A man-child who's too persistent for his own good. So cute.

Except for the fact that you're not his girlfriend. You're his mistress, and oh fuck, that label leaves such a dirty and disgusting taste in your mouth.

He would never address you as such. As a matter of fact, as you're laying on your couch drowning in your own self-pity and a bottle of cheap wine, he remains in his second apartment, thinking precisely the opposite.

Thinking about the fact that you were never a mistress. You were so much more. As fucked up as it sounds, you were more than his wife is to him currently. He's never felt so loved, but also never loved someone so damn hard. You own his soul, and he's panicking at the thought that he'll never get it back. You've run away with it and refuse to let him in enough to steal it back.

But the thing is, he doesn't want it. He wants you to have it. If he could, he'd wrap it up in the most expensive wrapping paper, decorate it with stickers and bows, and hand it to you. But you stole it; you didn't give him the chance.

You didn't mean to. Fuck, you didn't want it. You don't even realize how much he loves you. You refuse to realize it because it'll only make it so much more painful. It's easier to believe that he loves his wife, not you. That he'll stay with his wife, not you. That he'll be happier with her, not you. It's so much easier because, despite the bitter pain in your heart, your one wish out of all of this is his happiness and well-being.

You know nothing about his marriage. Jungkook realizes this now. He never intentionally kept his marriage from you, but it was so easy to just forget about it when he was with you.

Because he wants to forget.

He once loved his wife and thought for sure he would never love anything or anyone more than her. They were young and in love, married each other while they were fresh out of college like dumbasses. He was a lovesick boy with her. He thought she was the prettiest, most precious thing ever to exist.

Until things changed.

After college, she changed. She has always been more mature, ever since they first met. But she created this power dynamic between her and Jungkook; she saw herself as more than him. She started looking down on him because of his choice of career... because of his choices in life in general.

One thing about Jungkook is he listens to no one. He's a selfish man in some ways and does not give a shit about anyone's opinion. But she was his wife. So it created some tension when she expressed she didn't want him to be some indie photographer; she wanted him to do something better with himself. She wanted him to try and make it big, like some sort of Hollywood hotshot working for celebrities, because he damn sure has the talent.

But he wanted something much more simple. He just wanted to take pictures. Of anything, everything, for anyone. He told her he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't waste his years of college to do something he didn't want to do. He didn’t drown himself in student debt to end up unhappy. Regardless of the money, he just wanted to capture the beauty in other people.

He has his own little business, and it does well. So well that his wife could stop working if she wanted to and continue living her lavish lifestyle. He's one of the most loved photographers in Seoul, but that's all. People enjoy the fact that he's humble and keeps things simple while providing them with photography skills that you can't get anywhere else.

His wife doesn't like this.

She wants more. Always wants more.

It was the first time he denied her wishes.

And it was the first time he realized that maybe this woman was not what he had thought she was all the years he had been with her.

The dynamic switched quickly. He went from lovesick puppy to stray dog, constantly feeling like he didn't belong with her, like he didn't have a place with her anymore. But he married her, dedicated several years of his life to her, and didn't wanna leave her. Marriage is hard sometimes… surely they could overcome it.

That’s what he thought, anyway. But as time went on, it became clear that this wasn’t just a rough patch. God, he fucking wishes so badly that it was just a rough patch.

The one thing that made him start thinking impulsively was the bomb she dropped on him shortly before he met you.

"No, Jungkook, I don't want kids. Not now, not ever, so drop it."

"Woah- what? We've talked about this before baby... I don't understand. What changed your mind?"

"You. I'm content with what we have, and I don't want to focus on some mini-Jungkook running around and causing chaos in my future. We're fine as we are."

That was the day that he realized, holy fuck, I don't love this woman anymore. This isn’t just some rough patch. She is not the woman he fell in love with years ago… maybe she never was.

Because he had the same thought but the polar opposite, her words stung him in a way he'd never felt. He has always imagined a mini-her running around, and it made him swoon. It made him feel so many warm fuzzies inside. But she clearly didn't feel the same. And the fact that she would view a child made by them both as a nuisance just because it was his? That broke his heart.

Kids have always been such a huge deal to him. He loves them. He is a huge kid himself. He's always wanted to be a dad one day and always imagined it would be with his wife. He used to fantasize in college about it, about his little babies running around while he made his little family breakfast; she knew it, too. She knew he wanted kids, and she always fed into these fantasies, adding onto them and making them seem real and plausible.

But it never was real. It was all an illusion to keep him under her leash.

She never wanted kids. She just wanted to keep him.

And he knows that now. It makes him sick.

After that conversation, he quickly put up barriers with her. Although he couldn't bring himself to divorce her, he distanced himself. And she didn't even notice, which is what gave him the confidence to pursue you.

He just wanted to feel something. He couldn't even touch his wife anymore. Couldn't even get hard by her. And she humiliated him for it. She made him feel like he was broken and gross. Dirty. It's similar to your feeling but in a completely different context.

And she wasn't willing to help, either. He had tried to confide in her, be honest, communicate. He tried to work it out, wanted to find ways to make it work, wanted to be able to touch her again. He offered couples counseling and maybe a doctors visit to make sure his junk wasn’t broken like she swore it was. But the moment she saw he wasn't hard for her like he always had been? She, too, put up her walls. She distanced herself and never mentioned sex again. Hardly even looked at him in such a way.

He wouldn't doubt if she was cheating, too. In fact, he knows in his gut that she started cheating on him way before he did on her. He doesn't have the balls to confront her either, considering he feels he's the reason for her straying away. He can't give her what she needs. He feels like he's not good enough for her. For anyone. Not even for you.

It's a mess.

So that night he saw you at the club, dancing with your friends, that sweet smile on your face that could end a war, he wanted you. Oh, he wanted you so bad.

At first, it was just lust. Seeing the way that you moved, so sensual and sinful, but mixed with that innocent smile? It was a deadly combination that left his dick twitching.

Never once did he think it would be a constant. He was sure it'd be one time, which is why he didn't disclose his marriage to you at first.

It was thrilling for him. He knew it was wrong; he felt like a child who was sneaking out and doing shit behind his parent's back, stealing cookies from the cookie jar. But he hadn't felt a thrill in months, hadn't been touched in months, hadn't even been looked at in months.

So when you noticed him staring, and your cheeks turned faintly red under the club lights? And you tried to look away? But then he saw you whispering to your friends and panicking, whisper-yelling, "He's so hot- he's looking at me- oh god, I'm gonna puke, look at him!"

Yeah. That was what he needed. He needed someone to stroke his fragile little ego that his wife tore to fucking shreds. And your over dramatic, yet sweet reaction? It made him so fucking cocky.

One time. Just once. Just a little taste to keep me sane. That's what he told himself.

But when he finally got that taste of you? When he saw the way you looked at him while he was above you? The way you whined when he kissed you? The way you acted like you'd never been touched before? And then when he felt you? Felt how tight you were, felt how much you wanted him, how you seemed like you had not been with many men? It did it for him. It started an addiction.

You made him feel wanted in a way his wife didn't. In a way that she never did.

You healed a part of him while also causing him to grow. To flourish. To become himself again.

He doesn't even care if it's sinful circumstances. He's just thankful for you. So fucking thankful. When he dies and gets sent to hell, he will personally thank satan himself for giving him the ability to sin with you.

Maybe in hell, he can even have you.

He knows that even with all of that, it doesn’t make what you’re both doing right. No matter what excuses his mind conjures up, none of it is ok. Cheating is never ok. He should’ve never pursued you. He should’ve never kept it going. He should’ve never even been in that fucking club that night. Or, he should have fessed up. Should have told his wife, left her, fuck, he should’ve done something different.

He should’ve saved you both. But he didn’t. Because he’s selfish. And he’s so fucking scared.

And even then, he could never regret you. Never.

This is why, as he sits in the bedroom of his second apartment, staring directly at the perfume bottle that fell out of your purse and onto his floor as you ran away, he made a decision.

One that he wasn't happy with.

He's a coward. He feels as if he can't leave his wife. There are so many reasons as to why, but the main one is that he's in so deep with her. Has a whole life with her. She's part of him. So he can't leave her. He wants her to leave him. And he secretly hopes that one day, she will. It’s selfish, wrong, but that’s how he feels.

However, he can't let you leave without making sure you know how much he loves you.

It's fucked up. He knows it is. He knows that when you love someone, you'll do anything to be with them. But he's a coward.

He still loves you, though. Loves you more than he even understands. Right person, wrong time. And it’s so fucking painful.

So he gets his shit together. He takes a shower, shaves, makes himself look less of a mess, and starts making his way to your apartment without announcing himself.

He knows if he tells you, you'll refuse to let him in. He knows you're trying to move on. And he wants to help. But he can't let you go until you understand the extent of his feelings.

And maybe, just maybe, has one last taste.

This is something you don't expect him to do at all. He's never pushed himself on you. He's never been the type to show up without an invite, or at least a little heads up first.

Which is why when you hear a knock on the door, you don't think anything of it. You ordered pizza. The best heartbreak food. So you grab your wallet and pull out a some cash, swiftly opening the door and saying with a pout and sniffle,

"Keep the chan-"

That's not the pizza guy. Nope.

That's him. And fuck, you feel yourself melting. Your heart turns to molten hot lava and burns you from the inside out.

He smiles sheepishly, and he holds out a single flower. He didn't buy it. It's a tiny little purple wildflower that looks a bit wilted, much like yourself. Pitiful. And clearly, he picked it on the side of the road on his way here.

This is the kind of shit that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, the guilt is worth it.

"Please don't slam the door in my face. Please just let me talk to you for a bit, I promise I'll behave."

"Leave."

You swiftly say as you begin to do exactly what he asked you not to. You honestly weren't going to do it; you were already thinking that if he asked you to stay, you would. But then he said that, and it brought you back to reality.

But he doesn't let you.

His arm darts out, holding the door from shutting entirely. He pushes it open, steps in quickly, closes it behind him, and looks at you with an intense desperation you've never seen before. Looks like a lost fucking puppy, or maybe a puppy who’s been put outside by their owner.

A lost puppy for you… a stray dog for his wife.

And then he gets on his fucking knees and begs.

Looking up at you, with the tiny purple wildflower, still in his hand, it drops down to his side in defeat. He's gripping it so tightly that it's losing its life quickly. The same exact way he’s clinging to the connection you share as if he’ll die without it. But much like the little wildflower, he’s sucking the life out of you.

His other hand grabs yours and squeezes. He says with a weak voice,

"Please. Let me do this. We need closure, and the last time we saw each other was not it. I'm fucking begging you to let me in just for tonight. And then I'll let you go."

As he holds your hand, you can't look at him. Instead, you look at the tiny flower, the one that he's crushing in his palm. He's holding onto it for dear life without even knowing. Similar to you, once again. You're that flower.

You're wilted, bruised, bent, crushed. All because he's clinging onto you, sucking the life out of you, and you've let him. And if he asks, you're going to continue to let him.

But then the flower falls out of his hand. He lets it go.

Oh, what a fucked up way for god to tell you that he isn't going to stay. He isn't going to ask you to stay; he's really going to let you go tonight.

So, as you stare at the flower, which is now on the floor, you murmur, "Alright."

You don't want to. But you're giving him the chance to let you go. Even though you wished he wouldn't.

He stays on his knees, as if he isn’t sure what to do now. As if he wasn’t sure he’d get this far… and honestly, that’s exactly it. He thought for sure you would kick him out and curse him for trying.

Or maybe, he thought you’d fight, too. And the fact that you aren’t fighting… it shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does. He’s the one who has put you in a position of constant guilt. But oh, how nice it would be if you fought for him.

“Jungkook, Jesus, get off of your damn knees. You look ridiculous.”

He blinks slowly. Yeah, ok, fair. His big ass on his knees begging like that. But god, he’d do it over and over again just for a little more time with you.

He’d let you spit on him and call him degrading names if it meant more time with you. And he’d even smile about it.

You both end up laughing at his dramatics a moment later, and it’s music to his ears… knowing that he can still make you smile even though he’s the reason you’re dying inside right now.

Closure. It’s what you both need. Just one more night to get everything unsaid out into the open… then you’ll both move on.

… right?

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Oh lovely, the transandrophobic "trans inclusive" rad/ical feminis/ts are now calling te/rfs "twerfs" (trans woman exclusive radi/cal femin/ists).

Hey, you know how terfs "soured" a lot of people on genuine, intersectional feminism?

You're just them but trans, regardless of your gender. You're JK Rowling and Dave Chappelle in blue white and pink. You're writing essays on the evil predatory (trans) men invading (trans) women's spaces and mutilating their bodies with testosterone and cutting off perfectly healthy organs and rejecting the only good gender as traitors.

That last part is just verbatim, even.

Add trans in front of the genders in any transphobe's horrific ranting and you get your own posts. You're cruel, you're class traitors, you're feds in binders and gaffs too pathetic to even demand pay for the work you're doing for our oppressors.

Trans unity means I never give up fighting for your rights, even as you're throwing them to the wolves just for a taste of what it feels like to have your boot on someone else's throat. You justify it because of who you say has faced the "worst" pain, has been hurt the "most" by (trans)misogyny, because don't you know that women have the right to speak over any other marginalized person on their own oppression because only women really know what it's like to be oppressed?

Merlin's unwashed nutsack, do you fuckers even hear yourselves? You're indistinguishable from ter/fs!

Yeah, I'll keep fighting, because I can understand that even the most sniveling narcs who think they're "saving" people by betraying them, even the people radicalized enough that they actually believe in the bullshit they're spreading, don't deserve oppression.

Quite frankly, this post isn't FOR them, no matter how much it's worded like it is, because rage is not a tool of deradicalization and I refuse to judge even bigots every bit as taken in as your average Jehovah's witness or Amish person for doing harm while being victims of the group they're doing harm for.

(All the same, the accusations of trans people being indoctrinated and taken in by "MRA shit" are not only blatant projection, but also in the rare cases that they are true, pale in comparison to the quantity and scope of harm done by this actual significant growing group of radicalized trans people .)

Since I've mainly seen people with some form of "baeddel", who call people "transandrophobia truthers" or "transandrodorks" doing this, perhaps people need a reminder that baeddels were a group who took that name themselves (after it had fallen out of usage for several hundred years, claiming they were "reclaiming" it) who did a shit ton of harm to transmascs, nonbinary people, intersex people, and transfems.

These trans-woman "inclusive" radic/al fem/inists who actually are dangerous and violent towards every transfem that doesn't agree with you. TWIRFs are not a fucking joke. And to be exceedingly clear, there's a reason I hyphenated trans-woman in the acronym spelled out, because it's an adjective modifying inclusive; trans people of every gender make up "twirfs".

There's a decent chance they'll either take "twirfs" and wear it like a badge of honor, like some t/erfs do, or claim it's a slur, like... oh, like some terf/s do. I've read the playbook, and if there's a play I haven't laid out, I'm sure it'll be just as uninspired and plagiarized from te/rfs. But who knows, maybe they'll come up with something new and horrific and surprise us - every so often, ter/fs do that too.

Anyway, if you see this post and wanna tell me, an intersex transneufemmasc, what a horrible awful transmisogynist I am for acknowledging all forms of oppression I face and not just the single one I share with most of you, fuck off and block me. I've got no time for the usual suicide baiting, florid violent fantasies of me being raped and/or tortured and/or killed, and the like.

Besides, while you are fucking dangerous, I've got worse danger to deal with than you on a daily basis, for being a visibly genderqueer fat disabled person in a place where everything from gender roles to medicine is stuck in the 18-fucking-hundreds. I truly do not have time for your bullshit.

[possibilistfanfiction]

conservationist au already!? you write so fast dang (what are your secrets) (also it's okay if you want to keep them secret) (mostly i am excite for frog)

here she is! frog au! lol [ao3]

//

to see us blossom (while the green spreads like wings)

//

only our feet have been here, that i'm aware of. it's wild and remote and beautiful as can be. i just want to be quiet and love it. let it sink in. i'll be leaving the planet, sometime. and i'll miss it.

— dr. bruce means

//

'dr. silva,' diego bursts into your office, his hair fluffed and messy, 'i found someone for the expedition!'

'did you... run here?'

'yeah, from the lab.' he gulps a breath. 'i got excited.'

it's fucking awesome that diego, your favorite grad student, is coming on this expedition, but it's becoming a huge pain in the ass to plan — you try your hardest not to feel guilty about why, but it is mostly because of you — and is starting to feel more and more impossible by the day. you don't want to get your hopes up: you don't have that much funding, and it's starting to seem a little bit impossible logistically, even with dr. superion's help. but you'll humor him: 'so who are we taking with us?'

he waits a breath, practically bursting at the seams. 'beatrice zhang.'

'the photographer?'

'she's an experienced climber! you follow her on instagram, right?'

you have gratuitously followed beatrice zhang on instagram for the last four years — for her photography, because it is some of the most beautiful and thoughtful you've ever seen, regardless of the subject matter, but also for the occasional photo of herself, surfing or climbing or behind the camera, particularly delightful if it features her arms in a tank — but diego doesn't need to know that part. 'yes, her work is wonderful for lots of conservationist efforts.' diplomatic, you think, mentally patting yourself on the back.

'and she's hot.'

'i didn't say that.'

diego rolls his eyes.

'anyway, how would we even get her to come with us?'

diego grins. 'i emailed her.'

'what?'

he takes out his phone and shows you her instagram, which, indeed, does have an ‘email’ button, which, obviously, you've never paid attention to before. 'she hasn't responded yet, or her team or whatever, i guess, but i only sent it ten minutes ago. and it went to a legit address and hasn't bounced back, so, i just figured, why not?'

even though, last year, you had had a successful time in guyana, finding and recording a few new species, there are a lot of why not's, really: your GA probably shouldn’t be making these choices without consulting you first, but you don’t really care about that so much as your mobility is more limited than ever lately. the weather probably won't hold so who the fuck knows if it'll even be possible to reach to spot at all. and, plus, it's for a frog. one tiny frog, that may or may not exist — (you're sure it does) — in the middle of a jungle on the top of a tepui that's never been climbed. it's... a little crazy, when you think through it now, way crazier than it had seemed when you wrote the grant for funding last year. most people, even world renowned war-turned-wildlife photographers with insane biceps — especially them, probably — aren't interested in a project like this.

'well, the least that will happen is she doesn't respond,' you figure; you don't believe in any religion and life had dealt you quite the shitty hand for a long time, so if there's any balancing it out, maybe this will be a strike in the good column for you. so, 'yeah, you're right. why not?'

/

it's two days later when your phone vibrates about seven times; you roll over in... some girl's bed? okay, solid night, then, and when you look over at her, she's beautiful and fast asleep. you remember your fifth shot of tequila and vaguely how great riding her dick had been; you find your phone graciously plugged into a charger on the nightstand on your side of the bed, and when you go to the bathroom you see condoms in the small trash can — so, all in all, a success. your back is sore but not terrible and you groan when you see it's only six am, but there's texts from diego and you have a policy not to ignore those, no matter how stupid they occasionally can be.

these are unequivocally not stupid, though, because they start with dr. silva! and then ava!!!!! ava! and devolve into some emojis and then omg oh my god and finally check your email, which is really the only helpful part of that — but they're not stupid because when you do check your email, you see a forwarded message from diego first. it's a cordial reply to the email he had sent to beatrice zhang, from her, it seems, asking politely to be put in touch with the lead biologist on the expedition if possible. which, you remember with the tiniest bit of a happy jolt, is you. you open the newest email, which is, in fact, connecting you and beatrice. she’s already responded, and it’s kind of wild because, from the three short sentences asking if you could set up a video chat to talk more about the expedition or, if she happened to be close to where you were in the world, even meet near your office or lab for coffee, she sounds, well, at least interested. you don't think someone like her — someone who has photographed war, and famine, and wildfires, and, miraculously last year, a snow leopard and her cub — would even respond to something she didn't care at all about.

holy shit, you text diego. you need a cup of coffee, or, like, maybe three cups of coffee, and a breakfast sandwich before you can respond to that email, so you decide to get a move on. plus, it feels unhinged to respond to it from your phone, so you need to go home anyway. you should also maybe definitely shower, you think, as you look at yourself in the mirror: your makeup is a little smudged and your hair is an unrepentant mess. still hot though, you think when you quietly find your clothes and put your bra on, a deep teal that makes your boobs look awesome. thankfully, you were just in high-waisted, loose jeans and a cropped sweater last night, so after you wash your face and get dressed, it's not really giving walk of shame — walk of pride, thank you very much.

you google maps where you are and, thankfully, it's a nice enough morning and a short enough distance that you can walk to your favorite cafe and then to your apartment without having to call an uber. you grab your cane from where you'd left it propped up by the wall near the bed, and then, because you're definitely not an asshole, gently shake your, well, one night stand's shoulder. her eyes are green, and you do remember that much.

'i gotta go do some work, sorry.'

she nods. 'right. doctor.'

well, maybe you're a little bit of an asshole, but it's not your fault that people think you're a very important neurosurgeon or something. you are very important in cataloguing biodiversity, so you just roll with it. 'thanks for a great time.'

she nods with a soft smile, and it's nice to kiss her, gently, goodbye.

/

'wait, you're meeting with her? here?'

'yes,' you say, mostly annoyed at camila's vaguely unhinged energy. 'she's close by train, so it's better to meet in person.'

'oh my god,' camila says. she's one of your best friends and probably the smartest, most tech-savvy person you know. when you figured out how helpful it would be to have someone operate drones for you on this expedition, you hadn't even bothered to ask anyone else.

'don't you know her?'

'well, sure,' camila confirms. 'i did some drone work for her a few months ago in the bahamas when she was photographing sharks. but, like, she's amazing, ava.'

'well, hopefully she'll say yes.'

'you'll have to charm her.'

'i'm very good at charming hot women.'

camila rolls her eyes.

'i'm also very good at charming people to go find frogs with me.'

she waits for a beat and then relents. 'well, i suppose that's true.'

'come on,' you say, 'help me make a slide deck. i feel like she'd think that's sexy or something.'

'you're ridiculous.'

'it'll work, i'm telling you.'

/

beatrice zhang in soft wool pants and closed-toed birkenstocks and a crewneck sweater sitting ramrod straight at the decent cafe just off campus near your office is, quite honestly, not a sight you'd ever expected to see, but it is kind of a miracle. or, at least that's what it had felt like, when she had emailed that she was, actually, a few hours away by train and wouldn't mind a day trip to meet in person. you're glad that you wore your best professor outfit today, flared navy slacks that make your ass look divine, and a crisp white button up that you tucked in tight and rolled up at the sleeves, a camel peacoat and expensive loafers that dr. salvius had gotten you when you passed your dissertation two years ago. you usually wear... well, not this — you reserve this for conferences and presentations — but, if looking professional helps beatrice sign onto this project, so be it.

and, well, maybe it's not strictly professional to undo another button as you had walked to the cafe, and, like, you don't actually know if beatrice is gay or not, but you spot her and smile and wave and her eyes get big for a moment, and you’re afraid you’ve got it all wrong: you’re small and young and pretty and, sometimes, people think that disqualifies you from being smart. but then her eyes rake over you and linger, for just a moment, on your chest, so you're probably right. if this helps too, so be it.

you wave and she stands very formally; she clearly recognizes you, which makes you feel a small thrill of satisfaction. 'hey, glad you found it okay.'

'i've had much more difficult locations to navigate before, although the freshman can be a bit scary.'

it's deadpan, so it takes you a split second, but then you laugh and offer your hand. 'i'm dr. silva.' you want to roll your eyes at your title, which you normally feel quite proud of, all of a sudden. 'ava, any pronouns.'

'dr. silva,' she says anyway, and shakes your hand firmly. 'it's a pleasure. i'm beatrice, she/her.'

only after do you sit, a little sprawled, and prop your cane up on the table, does she sit too, and then looks down at the menu. 'do you recommend anything? i haven't had lunch yet.'

'well, if you're like, uh... —' falling prey to diet culture, you think, but you don't know beatrice at all, so — 'wanting a vegetable forward option, their salads and quinoa bowls are okay.'

she wrinkles her nose. you hide a smile in the collar of your coat.

'but their kimchi fried chicken sandwich is my favorite.'

'and the slaw?'

'well, i'm a fries girl.'

she smiles over the top of her menu, just slightly.

'but my friend likes the slaw, and i trust her.'

she nods and sets her menu down, her wrists resting on the edge of the table, her hands clasped. a practical smart watch, no wedding band. her full attention is on you and it makes you feel a little breathless.

you're saved from saying something incredibly dumb — you're very, very smart, and you're actually very good at flirting, but beatrice zhang is hot as hell and a certified badass and you also really want her to be, like, your colleague — when your server comes to your table. you both order, and you get the fried chicken sandwich too, even though you already ate lunch an hour ago — diego's always happy to eat your leftovers out of the fridge in the lab anyway.

you're not saved from saying something marginally dumb, though, because beatrice kindly thanks your server and hands over her menu and then looks at you again, fully focused.

'i like your hair,’ you say, instead of, well, anything else. you want to groan and slam your head down into the table, or something, because beatrice's brows knit together and she brings one hand to run through her floppy middle part, short in the back and on the sides, pushing it out of her eyes.

'oh,' she says, softly and definitely confused. 'thank you.'

you're sure you're blushing. 'sorry, i just, like, the last time you posted — you had long hair.'

it's mortifying, the moment you say it, because you can mentally calculate the last time beatrice posted a picture of herself on her instagram, and it was definitely over a year ago.

she also seems to realize this, because her confusion turns to a smug little smile that could probably eat you alive. you'd definitely let it.

'i read about the last species of frog you discovered, when the article came out.'

that was also over a year ago, and you laugh, tension releasing from your shoulders. 'so that’s how you knew what i looked like.’

‘sure.’

to be fair, the article did include a picture of you, muddy and sweaty and overjoyed, holding a tiny frog in the palm of your hand, but, ‘did you google me?’

‘i only take on projects, at this point, that i find interesting.’

‘so you think i’m interesting.’

she raises a brow, a scar that also wasn’t there over a year ago running an inch above it and then straight through, cleanly healed but not faded yet, stopping right on the top of her cheek — thankfully your brain didn't comment on that, even though it's kind of hot too. ‘i think that fact that you've already identified six new species of frog two years into an assistant professorship is interesting.’

'so that's a yes.' you grin. ‘want me to tell you about the project, then?'

she thanks your server when he brings her water and your lemonade of the day, and a coffee, and then leans forward in her seat. ‘yes,' she says. 'i do.’

you tell her about it as coherently as you can: you're sure there's a brand new species of frog — maybe more than one, if you're lucky — on the top of a land mass deep in the forest in guyana. you've secured enough funding to make it happen; bare bones, but still. you have diego and yasmine, your grad students, and michael, another assistant professor in your apartment who's helped you on expeditions before, mostly by carrying a bunch of shit. you've gotten camila — who beatrice is also very excited to work with again — to sign on to do tech work for you. dr. superion and dr. salvius are helping from here.

'so, anyway, i need you to climb the tepui.'

beatrice sits back when you're done, flicks through a few slides on your laptop that you'd handed to her with pictures of the jungle, the cliff face, the budget outlines and logistics and equipment you anticipate you'll need.

'do you know a lot about climbing?'

it's kind — to not assume that you don't; to not expect you to either. you shake your head no.

'i'm an alpinist, for the most part,' she says, 'which means that i climb, well —' she pauses.

'no need to be modest for me.'

she offers a small smile. 'i've climbed eight of the ten tallest mountains in the world.'

hot, you think, but you take a deep breath instead and say, 'that's impressive.' nailed it.

'yes, well.' she blushes. 'thank you. but this kind of climbing is traditional climbing — big wall climbing.'

'oh.' you frown. 'so, you can't do it?'

'i can,' she says, 'and i'd like to. i think i know enough of biology to be marginally helpful, and i can certainly photograph the expedition.'

your heart soars, warming your whole body, and you take a bite of your lukewarm sandwich to hide your smile.

'but i'll need a team. i'm confident that i'll be able to get up the wall, but i'm not experienced enough at this kind of climbing to lead on all of these passes.'

'we might not have the funds to pay much, if you bring on more people.'

she shakes her head. 'i have access to plenty of discretionary funds, so that shouldn't be a problem.'

'that's hot.' well, you tried.

she laughs, thank god. 'i just wanted to make sure that you and your team are okay with me bringing other people on.'

'as long as they aren't, like, shitty, you know. racist, homophobic, ableist. all that stuff.'

she nods, very seriously. 'i can assure you that, while one of my climbing partners is inclined to be an asshole, it's always done with respect toward important identities. she's more annoying than anything. and my other partner is the best person i know.'

'well, other than me, now.'

you can tell beatrice is torn between smiling and rolling her eyes; she does a bit of both. 'and, as far as logistics go, i could easily provide a helicopter to get us in as far as possible. less of a hike.'

it's impossible that beatrice didn't see your cane. 'i have adaptive equipment for myself. i can do the hike.'

but her brows knit together. 'yes, i assumed so: you're leading the expedition. i just meant, for my team at least, the fewer miles we have to bring photography and climbing gear in a jungle, the better. it's heavy, and then we have to do a major climb.'

'oh.' you bite your bottom lip. 'that makes sense. sorry, people suck sometimes.'

'i imagine so.' she looks at you very sincerely. 'i'm sorry.'

you wave her off. 'thanks. it is what it is, though.'

beatrice doesn't try to argue, although you can tell that maybe she wants to. 'anyway, whatever you think will help your team, and whatever will help mine, that falls outside of your grant funds, i can cover.'

'that's — are you sure?'

she nods. 'quite.'

'where did you get these discretionary funds?' you can't help asking.

'a bad man,' she says, leaning forward and whispering dramatically. it makes you laugh.

'ooh, did you kill him? warlord?'

'alas, no. my father, and he's already dead.'

'ah.' you snap your fingers. 'well, if another opportunity comes up, you just let me know. i have tons of lethal neurotoxins in my lab. i'm always down to... you know — murder —' you whisper — 'a billionaire. long haul ethics, you know?'

she nods very solemnly, fighting a smile. 'i'll keep that under advisement.'

you fight the urge to ask her for a drink, and you definitely stare at her mouth a little too long, but then you get it together and offer your hand. 'well, partners?'

she shakes it, hers strong and rough with callouses. the thought sends a little shiver up your spine, but you valiantly ignore it. 'partners.'

/

beatrice invites you, after a few days of emailing back and forth to create an updated budget and logistics plan, to meet at a climbing gym. it's to meet her other two team members first. before you all get together with your main crew for dinner afterward. she'd given you their names, headshots, and very formal bios, which you had kind of loved: lilith, who, according to beatrice's bio, will be the lead climber. when you google her, you find out that she's, like, a world champion big wall climber, so that bodes well. and then mary, another photographer and world class marksman — I know this isn't particularly relevant, beatrice had included as a footnote, but it is quite impressive — and avid climber too.

you're hopeful about it all, and you're hopeful that tonight maybe she just wants to see you alone, and to have you watch her climb. there's, like, a two percent chance you'll physically be able to climb, really, but that's fine. she'd texted you about it, far less formal than her perfectly punctuated emails, so that's a good sign. and she'd posted a recent picture someone took of her — a candid, petting the trunk of an elephant peacefully — on her instagram too. maybe that was scheduled — beatrice seems like the kind of person who would schedule instagram posts — but a girl can hope, you know? you liked it one hour and fourteen minutes after she posted, from the lab's social media account and not your personal one, so you figure you've handled this all perfectly. you're great, beatrice is a colleague, and you've got this.

you're stressed about what to wear to a climbing gym and then to get dinner afterward, although there's probably a locker room or something, but it's fine. you're hot in anything. (or nothing. not that the night is going to go there.) you settle on tight leggings you wear to the gym and a sports bra, a cropped jacket on over. it's, like, cute and femme, but also practical. you brush on some mascara and put part of your hair into a little bun so it won't fall into your eyes, and you pack a spare change of clothes in a canvas tote — slacks and a nice bra and a t-shirt that hugs your body perfectly along with a pair of platform converse and an army-green overshirt — in case everyone else changes before going to dinner.

you grab your cane and head out the door.

/

if you fall to your death, it's definitely not going to be because of your back or legs. it's going to be because beatrice is in loose pants that seem comfortable for climbing and a tight racerback tank, and when you walk in, she's hanging by one arm on a short wall, just chilling out there, before she seems to decide what she wants to do. she brings her legs up to find footholds and then she's almost upside down, holding onto the wall with both hands calmly and moving so fluidly — a leg stretching out, her chalked fingers grasping onto a tiny hold. there's a delicate tattoo along her right forearm, all linework, and there are scars all over her left shoulder, running down to her elbow from what you can see: some are jagged and some are clean, neat, like surgical incisions. they don't seem to be limiting her progress at all, because she moves over the outhanging ledge easily and then to the top before just letting go and calmly rolling to her feet after she lands without a sound.

the — very hot — woman, lilith, you know from the headshot, sitting on the floor next to the wall, legs outstretched, leaning back on her palms set flat on the ground behind, and looking impossibly graceful while doing it, groans.

'getting stuck that long on a soft V8? come on, beatrice.'

beatrice, to her credit, just shrugs.

'shoulder?' the other woman asks.

'it's fine,' beatrice says. 'just getting back into the groove of your tiny walls.'

'oh, ha ha.'

'8091 meters will really change your perspective. you should try it sometime.'

'no thanks, i'll stick to my world records, thank you very much.'

they seem like they might physically fight, but then they both start laughing. weird, but you fuck with it.

beatrice turns, her hands on her hips, and, like, whew, god fucking bless, and then waves with a smile when she sees you. she walks over. 'hello ava.'

'hey,' you say, suddenly feeling a little awkward: you have not a single idea what you're doing. 'that was pretty impressive.'

'it was not,' the lilith says.

beatrice heads toward her anyway, and you follow. 'you can ignore her most of the time,' she says. 'dr. silva, this is lilith. lilith, dr. silva.'

'just ava.' you look at beatrice with a raised brow. 'please.'

lilith lazily salutes. 'ava, then. our illustrious leader, i hear. beatrice is making me lead a 1000 foot first ascent for a frog?'

'i'm not making you do anything,' beatrice says, and lilith grumbles like a teenager. it's funny, and you decide that you like her then and there, even if she scares you a little. she scares you a little more when she gracefully gets to her feet. she's tall and imposing, with a sharp face and long hair braided back, more wiry than beatrice's bigger muscles, but — you're sure — just as strong.

she offers her hand, which you shake. 'in my defense,' you say, 'it is a very cool frog. we can even name it after you, if you want.'

this seems to amuse her, because there's a hint of a smile on her face.  'i do like first ascents anyway.'

'see,' you say, 'that's the spirit.'

'ava,' beatrice says, 'no pressure, but i thought you might find it fun to try climbing. only if you'd like.'

'i'm, uh —' you gesture a little clumsily with your cane, the tips of your ears turning red. 'not sure that i can?'

'mary is an adaptive climbing instructor,' beatrice says, gesturing over to the taller wall with ropes connected through pulleys at the top, where a strong Black woman with perfectly neat braids and a dark outfit on is sorting through a few harnesses on the ground. 'but if you'd rather not climb, lilith and i are just finishing up. we can show you a few things we've been practicing in anticipation for the route, and then change and go to dinner.'

beatrice doesn't say either choice with any more or less merit, or worth, or importance: they're choices, and they're yours, and they won't affect how much she trusts you or believes in the expedition. lilith is checking her phone, uninterested at this point, and you decide, as you always have, to try.

'yeah, sure. i have no idea what adaptive climbing is, though.'

beatrice smiles and lilith stays on her phone, texting. 'that's fine. i have no idea about ninety percent of what you study.'

'i find that hard to believe. you're a wildlife photographer.'

she hums, softly touching your elbow and then walking toward mary. 'conservationist photography, sure. but i'm not a biologist.'

you make a note that beatrice doesn't really like wildlife photographer as a job title, although she was polite enough to not outright tell you so. 'well, i'm not a climber, so, quid pro quo?'

'ah, but you will be after tonight,' mary says, standing with a smile and offering her hand. 'dr. silva, right?'

'just ava,' you tell her, endeared by the fact that beatrice had probably been very formally saying dr. silva to her team this entire time. you shake mary's hand as firmly as you can and feel immediately a little more relaxed with the confident, easy way she holds her shoulders, her kind smile, her bright eyes.

'beatrice and i go way back,' she says. 'this project of yours sounds amazing. i was excited when she asked if i wanted in.'

'of course i'd ask,' beatrice says, bumping mary in the shoulder, who rolls her eyes fondly.

'well, beatrice said you were promised an adaptive climbing lesson.'

'if you're still in,' beatrice says, 'mary can show you the ropes.' she laughs at herself. 'literally.'

mary groans, but you're delighted. 'well, don't leave me hanging.'

'no. not another bad pun aficionado. please.'

beatrice grins and you sling an arm over her slightly sweaty and delightfully strong shoulders. she stiffens a little, and mary looks to her for a moment, and you're worried you've overstepped, and fast. but then beatrice relaxes.

you step back and gesture between the two of you happily. 'is this our thing now?'

'if trading terrible puns is wrong, then i don't want to be right.'

mary groans. 'not sure why i agreed to this trip after all.'

'we can name a frog after you, if you want,' you offer.

mary perks up. 'really?'

'yeah,' you say, 'sure. i've already named one after myself and given five others the dumbest, gayest names i could think of.'

'i'm back in, then.'

you laugh. 'well, let's rock and try not to roll.'

mary sighs, but beatrice's muffled laugh into your shoulder is way worth it.

/

Hi Ava, I'll be in town today to get some equipment squared away. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have dinner if you're free. No shop talk, unless you want

you read and reread the text. you'd gone over shitty — expected, but still shitty — test results from an mri at your neurologist's earlier today, and, even though your team seemed to gel the other night, and all of your logistics are much less daunting now that beatrice has covered some of them financially, you had planned to stay home in your favorite boxers and most comfortable hoodie and wallow with a mediocre bottle of wine and good pizza and great reality tv.

but — hey, that sounds sweet. any places in mind?

beatrice texts back almost immediately. I don't know the area too well. You can pick, if you'd like

like, you're colleagues. you're about to be in one of the most remote parts of the world together in five days, with just a handful of other people, for weeks, maybe longer. you're the leader of the expedition but beatrice is, in important ways, a leader too. she's smart and beautiful and handsome and focused. if it's a date, incredible; if it's not, you still want to know her, you still want to spend time in her gentle warmth.

any food allergies/hatred?

she responds, No, I'm pretty adventurous

still, no clarity, but you set a place and time — one of your favorite tapas restaurants with a great little bar and, if it gets late enough, a good dance floor — and then set about getting ready. you eat a banana and take ibuprofen, which hopefully will help you be able to dance without much pain, and then get as pretty as you deem not desperate for a normal dinner with a colleague to be. which, it's you, so you're still very, very pretty, including one of your very best cleavage tanks. you finish your eyeliner perfectly and blow yourself a little kiss in the mirror. for good luck, or whatever. it's science.

/

'i got tired of it,' beatrice says. 'war photography is...' she pauses, and shakes her head, like she doesn't quite know what to tell you. you're totally sure she's not telling the truth, not really, but you know not to push, to spook her away. 'i could leave,' she settles on. 'as much as i hate the west, as much as i hate american and european, especially british, foreign policy, and its destruction of the world — i got to take pictures, and leave. at first, i thought it was something important i could do, to record the truth. political inherently, anti-imperialist, without being in politics. but, i was in occupied palestine, and, then, after —' she clears her throat, brings her fingers up to ghost over the scar through her brow — 'after. i couldn't do it. they're wars because of my history — our collective history — but they weren't my wars. they aren’t my wars. i can’t photograph them, at least right now. because i got to leave.'

you're horrified that she might start to cry — which isn't horrifying, not at all, you cry all the time, but you're supposed to be having a nice meal with your colleague and you had asked what you thought was an innocuous question about how she got into her more recent conservationist work, but clearly, not innocuous. you're starting to think, with a kind of clarity you very rarely have about anyone, that nothing about beatrice herself is innocuous. even her collarless button down and loose pants cuffed at the ankles — and the way all of her clothes, ever practical, drape with a tailored casualness on her small, strong frame — her easy hair that’s always actually perfectly trimmed and styled, the pattern of callouses on her hands: everything about her is intentioned. she means what she says. she means what she does. she means who she is.

'i started studying frogs with my mom,' you offer. it's true, and you mean who you are too.

she takes a sip of her water and nods in what you can tell is a quiet relief.

'my family is from manaus. my mom wasn't a scientist or anything, she was a bank teller, but when i was little, we'd go out often. she loved the rainforest, so, you know, i loved the rainforest.'

beatrice smiles gently. 'that sounds beautiful.'

you stare down at a croqueta and tear a small piece of it off, let the old ache fill your chest. 'she died, when i was seven.'

'oh,' beatrice says, 'i —'

'— it was a long time ago,' you say.

'sometimes that doesn't make it hurt any less.'

it's permission, to feel how you need to. most people accept when you tell them that and move on in relief, unwilling or unable to give you the space. but beatrice sits steadily. 'i broke my back, during the car accident we were in; we were visiting spain and, well. i had to relearn to walk. it took a really long time, and the orphanage i grew up in wasn't big on good physical therapy or really any care, so i taught myself what i could outside of school, got into university, got good medical care for the first time, like, ever. and i started studying biology. i went back to the rainforest as soon as i could, as a research assistant, and guyana was ... it's mind-blowing, bea.'

she weighs it all in contemplative silence for a moment, trying to decide what you need; what relief she can give. ‘i can't wait to see. i've always wanted to go.'

it is relief, what you feel, to be so immediately seen and understood. 'well, it's not just anyone i'd want to bring to the rainforest. my mom's favorites were always frogs, so —' you shrug, suddenly a little at a loss.

'so here we are, about to go find another.'

you pop the croqueta into your mouth, feel the dull pain in your chest dissipate when you realize you're close enough to beatrice's face to see her freckles. 'i have spinal stenosis, from the accident. it's progressing pretty fast, even with the best medical team, tech, surgeries, all that.'

she nods, like she understands what you mean without making you have to say it. it's a gift, bigger than she probably knows.

'i really want to find that fucking frog.'

'well,' she says, and lifts her glass, 'to finding our frog.'

'you know, it's bad luck to toast with water.'

she frowns. 'i don't usually drink.'

'you're very... controlled.'

she waits a beat and then grins. 'okay, one beer.'

'fuck yeah!'

'one, ava.'

'mhm. whatever you say, bea.'

/

'i have to take the train back,' beatrice argues — or, at least, tries to argue, because her eyes drift down to your boobs when you take your sweater off. success.

'you can just stay at my place. i have a mediocre ikea couch.'

'i can't let you sleep on your own couch.'

you laugh. 'oh, you definitely get the couch. i need all the good mattress support i can get before i sleep in a tent for a month.'

she smiles, gently and a little sad, but then the moment passes, a kind of grace. 'fine.'

'really?'

the set of her shoulders is looser but still sure, still so, so certain. 'yes.'

'hell yeah!' she laughs. 'shots?'

beatrice pulls a face but you order lemon drops anyway, mostly because vodka seems neutral and they're a good shot for people who don't drink often, sweet and tangy and fun. beatrice sniffs hers first — bold move, big mistake most of the time — but then nods in approval.

'to our frog,' you say, and she clinks her glass with yours. you touch it to the bartop and she follows suit, and then take it as smoothly as you can. it's an easy drink, so you don't have any problems, and she swallows without too much of a grimace. 'okay?'

'it's not bad,' she says, and your whole body hums, probably because of the two margaritas you had with dinner and this shot now, but also because there are freckles stretching across her cheeks and gold flecks in her brown eyes and if you let yourself look closely a tiny split on her lip, probably from the dry, cool air recently.

you shake yourself out of... whatever that was, and you order two more shots; she takes hers without hesitation this time, laughing when you spill a little down your cheek. she reaches a hand and wipes with her strong hand, tender, over the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, and then clears her throat, takes her hand back quickly, although you want to ask for her to stay. but instead, 'come on, bea,' you say, 'let's dance!'

she only groans in a show of protest for posterity, you're sure, because she's very strong and you're very small and when you tug on her wrists she follows you easily.

you love to dance; you have always loved to dance: what little you remember of your mom is full of green, the rainforest and the wall of your living room. she would push back all the furniture to the edges, just the two of you in a small apartment, where you slept in the same bed and ate fruit from the trees outside. she would put on britney spears and jump around with you; she would put on stevie nicks and hold you in her arms, swaying around. she was full of light, from what you remember, always ready to read to you, in portugese and in english; to help you with your math and your handwriting. she cut your food for you and bought you new shoes when yours wore through the soles. she had been a good mom in the way good moms are: happy to hold your hand, to rub her nose against yours, to let you eat the batter off the spoon. you don't remember much, not before the accident, but it had been easy, and beautiful — the mist and orchids and green, all around.

beatrice is a little stiff until you start jumping around, fully out of time with the music, just to make her laugh. and she does, a smile lighting up her whole face. her body is graceful like this too, like it's always somehow known exactly how to move. you wonder, fleetingly between songs, what she was like as a child, if she was as sure and smart and kind as she is now. someone crowds into her space from behind and then you're not thinking of anything other than the tickle of her hair against your cheek as she presses into you, the lilt of her laugh into your ear, the hard muscles of her shoulders and the soft, small swell of her hips when you bring your palms to rest there. you're drunk and she's beautiful, and you've kissed lots of beautiful people when you've been drunk. but she closes her eyes and sways to the beat and it's like the rest of the world falls away. it's like there's only you and beatrice and the cloud forest, above anything else that has harmed and will harm again. there's her gold skin and scars and tattoos hidden under her shirt, the healed slices down your spine, the air between your bodies: sweaty, sticky with spilled drinks, thumping bass, everyone else in this bar. there's only the two of you, and it's a little like you've been punched in the gut: you're falling in love with her. it's easy, right now, to put a name to it all, when you can look at her jaw without reproach.

she opens her eyes and looks at you, a smile on her face, and leans in your direction. it's easy, to bring your hand to touch where you had been staring, to say, 'bea,' as she laughs into your neck, says, 'this is so fun, thank you.' it's hard to not kiss her, but she's ... extraordinary, and you don't want your first kiss to be in the middle of a mid-at-best dance floor after a few shots. you want it to be somewhere beautiful. somewhere you already know; somewhere you're certain she'll love.

'let's go home,' you say, because you had done another round somewhere between songs and she's slightly unsteady on her feet. she nods into your neck and you take her hand.

/

you walk back to your apartment with her, one arm looped through hers — 'very gallant,' you'd said when she'd offered, and even in the dim light from the moon and streetlamps you had seen her blush — and your other hand using your cane. she had found it for you, tucked behind where you had been sitting at the bar; she hadn't asked anything about why you didn't use it when you were dancing, or why you need it now. you know so many good people and you organize a lot with some of your other friends who work with the disability center at the university, but there is some kind of a revelation about being seen so wholly.

but maybe you're also just a little drunk, because she sways a bit as you walk and her accent is lilting, tender, her hair messy in her eyes. it's probably as soft as it looks; you had lost your hair tie somewhere between shots two and three and you tuck yours behind your ear. you have so many questions you want to ask her but you hold them in because she looks up at the moon and the stars and it's enough, to be here with her. to know her laugh, now, and the way she has hurt too.

it's enough to just walk.

/

it hadn't actually taken too much convincing — after you unlocked the door and gave her some choices in pajamas, soft sleep shorts and a big cotton crew her eventual choices, and gotten her a glass of water and a few cheddar crackers — to get her to agree to sleep in your bed with you. perhaps it had been because your couch is ... an unknown number of years old — 'listen, bea, phd students make, like, no money, and it was twenty bucks on craigslist three years go' — or maybe, maybe, it's because she just wants to.

you settle in first, listen to her brush her teeth with a spare toothbrush you'd given her, and wash her face with your facewash — that she had frowned at, accidentally rude but pretty funny and, like, fair, you got it from the drug store on the corner and you're sure she has a whole understated fancy little routine when she's not out in the field — and then wash her hands after going to the bathroom. you love sex, so you sleep with people often. you've had a boyfriend before, that you cared about deeply, so there's some parts of intimacy that are familiar to you, of course. but this, beatrice carefully climbing into bed next to you, with her freckles and her eyelashes and the pink of her lips, is different: you're not going to kiss her, not right now. you're not going to reach out and put your palm on her jaw like you want to, or feel the warm skin of her ribs, the goosebumps that would inevitably rise there if you raked your nails across the ridges. you're not going to because, you know, somewhere elemental in you, that you want to know her, and love her, for a long time. you want to take her to the rainforest.

'where's your favorite place in the world?' you ask instead, whisper it into the dark, the soft outline of her face.

she's turned toward you, her hands tucked carefully under her chin; it makes her look younger. 'tibet. the himalayas.'

'makes sense. you and your big mountains.'

'what's the last mountain you... summited?'

'annapurna. it's the tenth tallest in the world.' she pauses, considering. 'are we playing twenty questions?'

her eyelids are drooping. 'i don't think you're going to be awake for twenty questions.'

she laughs softly. 'i want to ask you one, though.'

'hmm. sure. two to four questions, then.'

'do you... uh, well, okay. do you like women?'

it's so awkward, so out of place for someone so sure, that you have to fight the urge to burst out in laughter. but it's also soft, and nervous, her eyes wide. it makes you feel sixteen again, full of possibility. 'yeah, bea. i'm bi. i love women.'

she nods, tucks her hands even tighter under her chin, lets a big relieved breath out. 'cool.'

'yeah?'

'mhm. i'm a lesbian, if you didn't know.'

you want to say you're the gayest looking person i've ever met but you refrain. for the romance of it all. 'good to know.'

she tries hard to wink and fails miserably. you let yourself, just once, just for a moment, reach out and run your hand through her hair. she leans into your touch, relaxes under it, before you fold yourself back onto your side of the bed. 'you have one more question.'

'so do you.'

'okay. hmm. favorite ice cream flavor?'

she laughs. 'that's what you want to know.'

you nod. 'it's very important information.'

'okay.' she thinks hard about it, genuinely. 'mint chocolate chip?'

'that's so boring, jeez.'

'oh, i'm sorry. simple combinations of dynamic tastes is probably too sophisticated for you to understand.'

'okay, ratatouille.'

she tries, a valiant effort, to not crack a smile, but she eventually does. 'okay, my turn. favorite color?'

you let your eyes fall closed and imagine it all, the sharp thorns and the torrential rain and the chirp of the neon blue frog you'd found last time. you think about taking her there. 'green, of course,' you tell her, a promise, a future in the clouds. 'green.'

[adissonsss]

PT1: Headcanons(NSFW) How Bill Kaulitz(any era) would be like in bed

Notes; This is a 150 like special! I know that 150 likes isn't at all much, but for me it is, considering I just started writing on tumblr like a week ago. Thank y'all SO MUCH!

•This post should be longer than the usual(😚❤)

•I only have 2(two) people for my current taglist.. Does anyone else want to be added?

•There is 3 sections for gender specified headcanons (male, fem, gn)

•Enjoy, much love💜💜!

•This man in bed is a switch(imo). He dislikes what you dislike and likes what you like

^(obviously if you piss him off or there's some other situation, he'll be a different guy but that's for later😛)

•With Bill as a dom, there's either a service dom, mean dom or soft dom...

^He's usually a service or soft, not wanting to deny you your usually given pleasure(s), give you any pain or sadness, and just overall hurt you in any way

•You can tell he's close and overstimulated becaue he stops talking in english, whines, and stutters in German

•Praise+dirty talk is what Bill is all about;

"You're doing so good for me, schatz." (🙏🏻💗)

"Ich liebe dich so sehr, meine liebe." (💜💜)

Fem section;

•Face-sitting. (I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL). He will die a happy and fed man between those legs of yours.

^"I'm too heavy..."

^"I'll hurt you.."

^"You wouldn't be able to breathe.."

^Yeah, about that.. Bill doesn't give a fuck, and doesn't wanna hear that bullshit again.

•Please, just give this man what he wants, which is your (actually his) pussy.

•He loves your cunt; he's licking, tugging, teasing, slobbering, and kissing, and whining all over the area

^(can and will cum from being in-between your legs just hearing your noises and tasting your sweet cum)

•He adores your tits and nips, no matter the size

•Loves them so much you'd probably start lactating from his constant affection(I'll make a seperate post abt this bc😚😚)

^(he believes in free the tits, but that's only because his hands and mouth get to become the bra)

•If you are smaller/shorter/skinner than him, he WILL have a size kink

^(pressing onto your stomach where he can barely see his bulge sticking out, comparing hand sizes while you see stars, shoving you into positions you can't even fathom)

•Spells his name w/ his tongue onto your cunt

Gender Neutral section;

•He's touchy and needy, gripping all over your body, skimming his hands all over your folds, licking and kissing all over your skin

•He'll leave bruises, bite markes, hickies, and scratches that'll be a reminder to y'all for days

•The. Tongue. Piercing. It'll feel like heaven every single time!!!

•Please. Please, tug on his hair. He can and will whine!! (bucks his hips aswell)

•Kisses your head and smooths out your hair when y'all are done, looking at you w/ a soft smile, wiping you down with a cloth, bringing you water, and cuddles you with your body laying ontop of him

•Let's say your playfully flirting with a guy, and Bill is totally pissed. He's decided he's not letting you cum tonight, so he edges you until you beg, and you beg, and you BEG.

Male section;

•Toys, toys, toys

•He will recommend jerking eachother off

•Teases + edges you like it's nobody's business

•Loves it messy, slobbery, and chaotic

•This is where I can imagine mean/hard dom!Bill comes into play...

^(him denying your orgasm over and over and over again, using a vibrator all over your messy and bright red tip, just admiring you, how exhausted and overstimulated you look, and probably are)

•The tongue piercing, again.

-

•I hope this was enjoyable☺️! I tried my best🙏🏻, this was my first time writing for smut.

•I don't know German, so please excuse it if anything is wrong

G to E Translation;

Schatz = Treasure, sweetheart, dear

"Ich liebe dich so sehr, meine liebe." = I love you so much, my love.

Taglist;

@ilovebill-and-gustav

@limaswife

[wishamongtheflowers]

Connections

"There we go! All cleaned from last night's party. Had to carry some of them to their bedrooms on this damn ship though." Pale white arms stretched up into the air, pulling up long strands of blaze colored hair. Electric blue eyes oped and set onto the open sea where the sun peaked out.

Cue another sigh, "Been up all night again. At least I get to see the sun rise. Makes everything better somehow."

Another day survived had passed. Today was going to be the same. It didn't scare her as it should after seeing someone dead and the blackened killed. She didn't let the despair deep into her mind for long. She didn't have hope but, for a fleeting moment, she can be grateful to see the sun greet her a good morning at dawn.

"Kido?" The girl turned around and huffed.

"Hey Busboy," she just her attention back to the sun, "I already cleaned up my mess so you don't have to and them some."

"I have a name you know."

"I know," Kido chuckled," It's Busboy."

"Just how long have you been up?"

"All night for the most part." Kido shrugged off any feelings of deprivation with mere indifference.

"What have I told you about how that fucking effects you!"

"And what did I say? Dose 'I don't care' ring a bell." Kido didn't react with anger per usual interactions, "Geez Amari, your a worry worm of a human."

"The hell does that mean?"

"You worry too much," Kido stretched her arms up into the air, "it's not healthy either. Can't say I blame you. Everyone is unhealthy in some ways."

"Moreover," Kido continued speaking, "you don't have to worry about my fucking messes. Be glad I'm less of a pain in your ass."

Kido just waltz away leaving Amari alone.

"Interesting character is an understatement."

~

Kido wondered the shoreline for the upteenth time in a row underneath the moon. So many memories of this place come and go with every step just to be washed away. No one will know in the end what the dips in the sand hold.

"Still waiting."

"Waiting for what? You already know what all this leads. What are you waiting for?"

"Freedom."

"Freedom from what? You've come to terms with the fact getting rid of her isn't going to solve anything."

"I'd be one less stain off my skin."

"And to think I'm a part of you. Who are you now?"

"Myself. True to earth self."

"I can't believe you let yourself go. Besides, you're the last Horseman. You made it so with you own hands. Even the remnants of despair that haven't changed to."

Kido sighed and kept aimlessly walking her paved stretch of the shore. It's the middle of the night so she wasn't expecting anyone but she's been wrong before.

"Once she's dead I'll be able to enact Freedom. True freedom. Hope and despair as their true form."

"As you wish, it'll happen. They're are sacrifices here. Dawn is when she'll call the beginning."

Kido sighed, "Have to make my way back. I'm already bored."

The walk did help keep a part of her diddling around within its confinements. More over her methods to get the game in her matter of luck. It wasn't like the past and it sure won't end happily either. She has to handle herself for now. The island holds a massive secret underneath she can get to easily. It's her only savior now.

----------------------[Tags]----------------------

@after-neo-world @mikado-sannoji and anyone else that's interested.

[jamiedc-they-them]

Lean when you need (Platonic)

Hey Jamie!! I was wondering if I could send in a request if you're still taking them? Maybe one where Maximus and reader are friends and the reader has a small injury from fighting off some raiders and Max catches on and is like "let me help" but reader is a little stubborn at first? (You can definitely doctor this up as much as you need to! Sorry it's kinda rough) Thank you!! 🫶🏼

For my friend @samwise-babeyy hope you enjoy!!!!

Summary: An injury that you are determined to not let you slow yourself and your friend down has the opposite effect. Much to ones concern, and the other's annoyance.

It was a small skirmish. Nothing you both couldn't handle. You'd made quick work, although received a beating, from some junkies before. Raiders weren't much more of a threat, minus the guns. Gunshots were exchanged, and you both walked away fine.

Or, you did, anyway, for a bit at least.

"Y/N?" Maximus asked you as he saw you slow a bit. He may have his faults, but when it came to people he cared about, he could be perceptive.

"I'm - I'm fine," it was the stutter that gave it away for him, and where your hand went to.

"You've been hit..." he said, not fully believing it at first; "you've been hit."

You pull your hand away and seem to confirm it for him when there's red on your hand. Shit.

"It's not that much blood," you assure him, showing him your hand. You're right, it's not a lot. But still, blood is leaving your body.

"You - we need to sit you down," he says, stuttering himself in panic.

"I'm fine, Max," you assure your friend, "really, I --"

You sway a bit. And that's all he needs to confirm it.

He's by your side in a moment, holding you by your shoulders and helping you, making you lean on him.

"I can - I can walk."

"Not like that, you can't," he says, holding you closer to him.

You chuckle, though you regret it and groan in pain before speaking, "...you did...I've seen you walk off worse."

His face falls. You don't see it, though, "that doesn't mean you have to."

"What use am I if I don't."

He squeezes you tighter a bit more, "you matter to me, in any state, Y/N. You're my friend. That doesn't change."

"How - how sweet," you say, voice softening a bit. Your vision goes blurry. Maybe the wound was worse than you thought it was.

"Come on," he urges you, "we're almost there. There's a house - maybe...maybe they have supplies in," he hopes to anything and everything that there are some supplies there. You need him. You need him right now. He's panicking though. He heard the softening of your voice. The nature of it slipping away. You were slipping away.

He wouldn't let you go. You were one of the only friends he had. Ever. He wasn't just letting that end out here in some shitty desert.

You lean on him more and more, legs almost giving out by the time you make it to the house.

He lays you down as gently as he can, trying to stop the shaking in his own hands.

"I'll be right back, I promise," he says, giving your hand a squeeze before going further into the house. He comes back after a moment, taking the pistol you had on you to sweep and check the house.

"Idiot..." he hears you tease before your breathing becomes more laboured. Despite the situation, he smiles. Glad you're still fighting.

He goes into the house, sweeping and clearing. Trips over a door frame, but he won't tell you that.

He opens the drawers; the cabinets; everything. There's barely anything.

"Come on," he says, frustration building, "come on!" he screams, letting out his frustration. His best friend was dying. And this shitty fucking house had nothing in it to -

There's one more draw. He opens it. There's a rag. It's shitty, but it'll do.

He looks around. Curtains. Ok, he can work with them. He rips one off.

"Please don't be irradiated," he says, and rips it. He runs back to you.

Your breathing, but barely.

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey," he says, words rushed as he gets to your side, "look, Y/N, look! Look!" he says, "look, I found something. I can -I can help you."

You are barely conscious.

"Hey. Hey," he puts a hand to your cheek. He's never been the most tactile, but here all walls are down, "stay with me, "Y/N. Stay with me," he repeated it as he uses some of the wood from the cabinets to create a fire. He finds some old cutlery a heads it up. He hopes you're passed out when he puts it to your wound.

He doesn't sleep. Or, if he does, he has a quick flash of you not waking up and it jolts him away. Whenever he does, it's the most perceptive he's ever been as he checks to make sure your chest is still moving. It is.

It isn't until morning when you stir.

"Max..." you ask, throat dry.

"Hey," he moves quick, but makes sure to not hurt you more with the vibrations on the floor, "hey, I'm here. I'm here."

Your eyes open. You can't move your body yet, but your head moves.

"We're still here?"

"Yeah," he says, looking around.

"Why?"

"'Why?'" he parrots back, "I needed to make sure you were ok."

"What about the head?"

He looks at you, with a genuine shock that would be asked that astounds you. You need that head to make up for everything, and he waited?

"Y/N..." he says, "I wasn't just going to leave you. You needed help. So I helped. Beside," he puts a hand on your head. Your temperature seems ok, "can't exactly find that head without my best friend keeping their own head, right?"

You look at him with a cocked eyebrow, "that doesn't even make any sense."

He snorts, "No, it doesn't," he relents, "but I wasn't going to leave you. You didn't leave me with those junker guys."

"Yeah, well," you wave off, "they were arseholes."

"Well, you still helped me out. Still helped patch me up."

"So? We're even now."

He shakes his head, "that's not how this works. We help each other when we need it. Now, we'll stay here a bit longer, until you feel up for it, then continue on our way, ok?"

You don't really have the strength to fight, and so instead just shut your eyes, "ok."

"I'll be right here," he promises, looking to the doorway, "I'm not going anywhere."

He doesn't. And you do recover. And, together, you both do go and try to find the head.

You look at your friend in a new light that day. He's a genuine friend. You haven't had one of those in...well, ever.

Maybe friendships weren't so bad after all.

[catierambles]

Feral Instincts Ch.16

Pairing: The Rogue's Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1413

Warnings: It's rough, but if you've read anything else by me, you know I don't shy away from dark stuff. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY

Sy was sitting on the porch when August and Walter got back from their run, both men breathing heavily and not just from the cardio.

"Where's Steph?" He asked and they looked at him curiously.

"She's not here?" Walter asked, but he shook his head.

"Something happened between her and Gerry and she went out for a run." Sy said, using the nickname he had for Geralt when he was pissed at him, knowing the white wolf hated it. "Figured you woulda crossed paths."

"We didn't see her." August said, "What happened between her and Geralt?"

"Won't tell me." Sy said with a sniff, "She looked scared as shit though when she left his room. They mated, but he won't admit to anythin' beyond that." He watched August's hackles raise, "Already reamed him out, Walker, he don't need you goin' after him, too."

"But you don't know what happened?" Walter asked.

"Only what he's told me." Sy said, "Doesn't matter anyway, seein' how whatever it was affected her."

"I told her I loved her." Geralt was standing in the doorway.

"And that scared her?" August asked and Walter sighed, running a hand through his curls.

"I bet you all a tenner the last guy who told her he loved her was Lewis." He said and Geralt sighed.

"No wonder it fuckin' scared her." Sy said, "If Walt's right, she's gonna have some baggage with the word."

"Should we go look for her?" Walter asked.

"She probably just wants to be alone right now." Sy said, "Process some shit. She'll be back, she just needs a few to herself."

"I told you." Jordan said as he paced around her still on the ground. "Didn't I tell you? I told you that you weren't safe with them."

"And I'm safe with you?" She ground out through her teeth, trying to breathe through the pain. "What you did to me--"

"I only did it because I love you, Stephanie. You know that." He said and she twisted on the ground as her wolf was yanked to just below the surface. It didn't feel like when she did it with the others. She coaxed their wolf out with care, Jordan had grabbed hers by the scruff and was ripping it out of her, dragging it fighting into the open. The bones in her hands popped and contorted, blood seeping out from under her fingernails. "But they, those Alphas. They don't love you, not like I do."

"Jordan…"

"I saw your first shift, you know." He said and she looked up at him, "That's right. I was here, I saw it. They were too distracted chasing you down to even notice. Some protectors they are. I saw your first shift, and…" His face twisted in a frightening rage. "And I watched as they violated you. When they defiled you, and you let them!"

"They're my Mates." Her ribs popped as they spread outwards, pressing against her chest before snapping back into place, making her cry out.

"They're not your Mates, Stephanie." His face was suddenly very close to hers, his eyes aflame. "You're their whore. Their little fucktoy they can play with then discard." He backed away from her, starting to pace again. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't. It really doesn't. We're together again and that's all that matters."

"You're insane." She panted.

"Oh, that's what they would love for you to believe. That I'm insane, that all ferals are bat shit crazy." He said, "We're what wolves are supposed to be. Predators. Not these weak little pups that play nice with the sheep." She just shook her head. "But it's okay now, it's you and me again. I'll get you away from them and where you belong. We'll make our own pack, it'll be great. You'll see."

"I'm not…" She swallowed hard, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oh come on, Steph." He whined, "Don't be difficult! I can't Call you anymore after your first shift, fuck if I know why."

"I'm an Alpha." His laugh was high and almost hysterical, reminding her of a hyena.

"You? An Alpha? Now that's funny." He said, "But now that you mention it. Nah, I'm just feeling those assholes."

“Then what am I, Jordan?” She asked, anger starting to push through the pain. “What the fuck am I? I’m not an Alpha, do I feel like a Beta or Omega to you?”

“You…” He stopped, his brow furrowing slightly before he shook his head. “You’re messing with me, you’re trying to make me confused. That’s not very nice, you know.” Her back cracked, spine pushing outwards against her skin making her twist on the ground, ripping a cry from her lips. "I didn't want to do this, Steph, you know that. Hurting you is the last thing I'd ever want to do, but you shouldn't have run away, you should have come back with me, not stayed with them." She watched as he pulled a pair of work gloves out of his back pocket along with a length of chain, tugging the gloves on before going back to her on the ground. She tried moving away from him but he grabbed her, dragging her back and forcing her onto her stomach, twisting her arms behind her back. The chain was cold when it first touched her skin as he wrapped it around her wrists but then started to burn. "I didn't want to have to use silver on you, but you really gave me no choice."

"Jordan, please!" It felt like her entire arms were on fire, pain radiating and growing from her wrists the longer the metal was in contact with her skin. He forced a hard bit past her lips, securing it behind her head and flipped her onto her back, staring down at her for a moment, a smile coming to his lips.

"Baby, you don't know how good you look right now." He said, his hand going to her stomach, pushing under her shirt and she almost gagged against the bit. "Let's get somewhere private and I'll show you just how much I missed you." She tried kicking as he grabbed at her, but he tied her ankles together with more chain, her pants keeping this one from touching her skin. Picking her up, he threw her over his shoulder. She tried bucking against him, tried making him drop her, but the silver around her wrists was quickly sapping her strength, the pain making her vision dim. He started walking, but then paused. "Ah hell." Jordan took off at a run, weaving through the trees before coming to a halt.

"Drop. Her. Now." Hearing Geralt's voice, though twisted with rage, made tears well in her eyes.

"She belongs to me." Jordan snapped out, "Not you. Not them. Me. I made her. She's mine."

"You should really listen to the man, son." A small sob worked past the bit at Sy's voice. "That's his Mate and Alpha you're cartin' off."

"Our Mate." August. "Our Alpha."

"She's not your Mate!" Jordan growled out.

"Put her down. Nice and easy." Walter. She wanted to call out to them, but couldn't say anything around the bit so she reached out with her wolf, pushing past the pain, a shudder running through the area. "You're going to be alright, love."

"He bound her with silver." Geralt growled out and she heard him start moving closer, Jordan backing up a few steps. Something hit them like a truck and she was thrown to the ground, tumbling across the leaves.

"Walt!" August ordered, but he was already crouched by her, undoing the bit and throwing it aside.

"Ah, fuck!" He hissed when he touched the chains, ripping his hands away sharply. "I got you, love. Don't worry." There was the sound of sliding fabric and the chains were unwrapped from around her ankles and wrists, taking skin with them as they pulled away from her arms. They, too, were thrown to the side and he gathered her in his arms, holding her against his bare chest. There was a shout of pain, but she couldn't seem to be able to open her eyes.

"Fucker had a silver blade!" Sy yelled out, his voice strained. "Geralt, rip his fuckin' head off." She heard him run off through the trees after him and she exhaled a breath she had been holding, starting to sob quietly into Walter's neck.

"You're safe now, love, you're safe."

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 41

Trigger warning: Su*c*de/Self Harm/SA

Third POV

A few days pass, now Thursday of next week. Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Most are excited, sharing memes and such about family gatherings for the holidays. Eboni, unfortunately, isn't one of them. Everyday after school, she would spend her nights cutting the pain away. As soothing as it may be, Eboni's foster parents took notice of the many bandages wrapped around her arms and thighs.

At the realization of Eboni's self-harm, she offered to put the child back into therapy, which Eboni refused. She openly told them that they'll be wasting her money since they can't force her. So, taking matters into their own hands, they locked away all knives and sharp objects. This frustrated Eboni to no end. What is she supposed to do now? She HAS to relieve her pain. She can't face it. It'll be a losing battle.

So Eboni decides to starve herself. This has already begun two weeks ago, cutting her meal intake severely - only eating chips or gummy candy. But now, Eboni only drinks water. Her weight lost has become noticeable to her foster parents, but they decided not to speak on it. Iris and Luna also noticed, but nothing they said could make Eboni eat food.

Eboni is now behind the school, standing still as Alex has his way with her. He moves his hands under her hoodie, raising a brow. He can feel a difference. He looks down at Eboni, tilting his head.

"....you haven't been eating."

Eboni shrugs, head resting against the wall, not daring to look at him. He moves to pull her sweatpants down, noticing bandages wrapped around her thighs. "....and you've been cutting yourself." He states.

Eboni nods again, wanting him to get this over with - but Alex wants to press further. "First you become a pothead, then a alcoholic, now you're starving and cutting yourself? The fuck is your problem?!"

She slowly turns to look at Alex, face stoic and eyes voided. "You....you're my problem. You've always been the problem.."

Alex frowns, grabbing her neck, and grips it tightly. "Me? ME?! Oh, Ebs, I'm the greatest thing that has EVER happened to you. When will you finally understand that!?" He shouts into her face.

Eboni stares at him, her face still stoic, though she's struggling to breathe. "N...Never.."

Alex clicks his tongue, nails digging into the skin of her throat. He yanks her panties down, looking down before shoving his fingers inside. He pauses, noticing the cravings just above her lining. His eyes widen, filling with fury.

"That...that killer still has this much hold on you!? Fuck Ebs, you're really pissing me off today!"

"I...I will always belong to Jeff. Nothing you do or say will change that." She said faintly, feeling lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

Alex stares at her, clicking his tongue and stepping away. "The month is nearly over Ebs. That smiling freak wants nothing to do with you. I mean, come on, what man wants another one's sloppy seconds?"

"You did. Jeff was my first Alex. You know that. He took all my first. There's nothing you've done that he hasn't. Except for drugging and raping me."

Alex punches Eboni, the back of her head slamming against the brink wall. She whimpers, quickly fixing her clothes and shielding herself with her arms and hands.

"All this back talk...you really forgotten your place, huh?"

Eboni shakes her head, but Alex doesn't bother. He grabs her wrist and pins it behind her back, shoving her body against the wall. He unbuckles his pants and yanks her sweatpants & panties down. He leans forward, lining himself to her entrance.

"No worries, Ebs, I'll be more than happy to remind you."

And so he did - in such a brutal, demoralizing, and demeaning way. Eboni takes it, the pain and humiliation. What else can she do? She's too weak to fight back, to drain to cry out. Why bother? Every person Eboni has begged to believe her has turned their backs and ignored it all - at least the ones that had the power to do something about it.

"See, Ebs? This is where you belong. Stuck to me - guled to me. You should be leeching from me, begging and pleading for more. That doesn't sound so bad now, does it?"

It does. It's horrible. She can never love him. She can never allow herself to fall for him, to be his mindless doll to toy and play with - to command as much as he wants. Each forceful and painful thrust causes her body to rub against the brink wall, causing an unpleasant burning sensation.

"I...I hate you." Eboni finally said, voice dry and horse.

Alex pauses, a sorrow look filling his eyes. He grabs her hair and yanks her head back. He leans forward, a frown edged on his face. "Oh Ebs...that really hurt my feelings...your pussy will makeup for it."

So he continues. One round is never enough. He continued up until the sun finally began to set. Alex pulls out, Eboni slumping to the ground with shaky legs - struggling to fix her clothes. She lowers her head in shame, not bothering to look at Alex anymore. Once he fixes his clothes, he leans down, grabbing her jaw, and forces her to look at him.

"You'll regret that, Ebs. That hope you're still holding onto so desperately for that killer...I'll destory it - one way or another." Alex declares, kissing Eboni. He pulls away, smiling brightly. "Get home safe!" He waves before walking off.

After a few minutes of recovery, she slowly stands up. Eboni begins her slow walk back home, limping most of the way there. When there Eboni notices the empty driveway. The girl remembers Tiffany mentioning date night during breakfast. She sighs, unlocking the door, and stumbles inside, gripping the handrail for support on her way up the stares.

She unlocks the door to her room, closing it behind herself. She notices the bottle of birth control on her nightstand. She opens it, taking one pill dry. Then she goes into the bathroom, taking a burning hot shower - her cuts and wall scrapings stinging.

Eboni didn't bother washing her hair. She hasn't in about three weeks. Once her body is dry, she throws on Jeff's hoodie and curls into bed, holding her bunny plush close to her chest. She grabs her phone, opening her text chat with Jeff to send him another message.

Eboni: He raped me again. Said I forgot my place. He was so angry when he saw the craving of your name where it belongs. I stood up to him... told him no matter what he does to me - I'll always be yours. But...he told me you want nothing to do with me. I don't believe him. I don't wanna. You'll come for me, I know you will, Jeff. I...I miss you so much. Please come back already.."

After sending the text, the girl slips into another sleepless filled night. The night went by quickly, and Eboni got little sleep. Her phone is oddly silent today. Normally, Alex would blow up her phone with disturbing morning text. Besides that, Eboni also has a sickly feeling in her stomach, meaning the last day before Thanksgiving break won't be a sweet one.

Nevertheless, the girl stands from her bed, taking off Jeff's hoodie and hides it away. She puts on a different set of sweatpants and a hoodie, leaving her hair in a messy afro. She takes her bike to school, being a few minutes late. Tiffany & Daniel never returned home last night - leaving a message stating they had to leave on urgent business, meaning Eboni will be spending yet another Thanksgiving alone.

Upon entering the school, Eboni is greeted by eyes filled with disgust and judgment. Eboni is used to this, but the atmosphere seems different. To her horror, she figures out why once she gets to her locker. There tapped to it is a printed out screenshot of her dazed out face. The day Alex took advantage of her. Her bag drops from her shoulder as her body freezes - laughter, teasing, and tormenting names filling her ears.

With shaky hands, she moves to rip the picture off, opening her locker only to be greeted by green slime spraying all over her and thumbtacks falling to her feet. More laughter erupts around her, filling throughout the halls. The humiliation hits her as she realizes her mistake. Telling Alex she hates him is the biggest mistake. He leaked the recording.

Feeling her stomach bubble, she rushes to the restroom through the heavy crowd. She rushes into the first stall and gags, throwing up the only contents in her stomach - water. A girl notices and grins, sneaks up behind Eboni, and pushes her face into the toilet. The girl laughs, flushing the toilet while keeping Eboni head inside.

Eboni tries to fight out of her hold, but she's far too malnourish to do a thing. Once the girl has her fun, she pulls away, Eboni quickly lifting her head to breathe - coughing and gagging.

"Must've been what you sound like choking on his cock. Gross to be honest. He should've stayed with me." She huffs, walking out the bathroom.

Eboni didn't get a good look at the girl, but she'll never forget that snarky voice. She stands to her feet, whipping the slime as best as she can with paper towels and rings out her wet hair with her hands. She stays behind until the first bell rings, singling that she's late.

She gulps nervously, slowly making her way to her first period. She pushes open the door, earning a few whispers and laughs. The teacher eyes Eboni, knowing about the video as well but decides not to comment on it. They send Eboni to her desk when a surprise is waiting for her.

Slut.

Whore.

Bitch.

Dick Rider.

Pothead.

Alcoholic.

Cutter.

Attention seeker.

Desperate loster.

Sloppy Degenerate.

And many, many more. There are so many hateful words written all over her desk. The students burst into a fit of laughter, all pointing their fingers at her. Just then, the intercom sounds throughout the whole school.

"Eboni Brown report to the principal's office - now."

Body shaking, the girl quickly rushes out of the room and straight towards the principal's office. She slowly pushes open the door, greeted by the sounds of grunts and her barely audible whimpers. Principal Webb scrunches up his face at the sight of Eboni, haute-ing her from sitting down.

"This will be quick. This video was posted on the school's website under your account. Do you have any idea the amount of trouble I'm in because of your incompetence!?"

"I-I didn't...I didn't post that! It was -"

"I don't want to hear another word out of you. You are hereby expelled! You've been nothing but trouble and a distraction to the other students the moment you step foot into my school. Now begone. Your parents will handle the paperwor-"

"Foster...parents."

"That I'm sure are very disappointed that they're housing a future adult entertainer. Now, GET OUT!" Principal Webb shouts, which makes Eboni rush out.

She leans against the wall, trying to control her breathing. This can't be happening. There's just no way. One tiny slip up with Alex has retorted in her whole future being destroyed. Even if Eboni wanted to possibly go to college or make something out of her life , she'll never be given an opportunity to, all because of -

"I warned you, Ebs." Alex said, leaning against the hall wall across from her. "I warned you, Ebs. I didn't want to do this, but you made me. All you had to do was stick by me, glue yourself to me. But instead, you just couldn't let go of your first, huh? How pathetic really, but no matter! Just take this as a lesson learn. Always do as I say or face the consequences. Now come here and -"

Eboni runs. She runs straight towards the exit, not bothering to look back. She jumps on her bike and rushes to the nearest corner store. She parks her bike, walking inside, and places her hood over her head. She goes into the alcohol section, grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel's. She only ever drank wine, but she'll need something stronger for what she has in mind.

"Jack Daniel's, huh? Ah, don't mind me, miss you look like you need it." The cashier shrugs, pretending he didn't see the girl stuff the drink into her hoodie. Ironically enough, he also feels a sense of deja vu.

Eboni hops onto her bike, pedaling to her home. She drops her bike on the front lawn, opening the front door, not caring to lock the door behind herself. She rushes into her room, locking the door. She sets the bottle to the side and process to destory everything in her room this time.

"I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it. I DON'T DESERVE ANYTHING!"

Death.

Eboni pauses, staring at her ceiling with a smile on her face. Alex was right about one thing - Jeff no longer cares for her at all. All the text messages, all of this time - he made no effort to even try and help her - to save her. Ah, but serial killers aren't savers nor protectors. They're just killers. They aren't capable of caring, of loving - no sympathy nor empathy. Why did she hold so much hope in a man only capable of causing pain and misery - of murder.

Eboni laughs loudly, tears flowing from her face. It's strange. The girl thought she ran out of tears. Yet here she is, crying and laughing at her despair. Eboni glances around her messy room, noticing a pair of scissors and her birth control pills. She moves to grab both as well as Jack Daniel's alcoholic drink.

She walks into her bathroom, hooking up her phone to the bluetooth speaker - the only thing she doesn't destroy. The girl goes to her tub and turns on the ice cold water, filling the tub to the brim. She goes back into her room and takes off her clothes, staying in her undergarments and slips on Jeff's hoodie.

Eboni steps into the tub, a smile still on her face. First, she takes the remaining pills that she remembers Luna telling her not to take more than one. She tosses the empty case to the ground, popping open Jack Daniel's and chugs it down in one go. She coughs a bit once she's done, tossing the glass bottle to the ground. Eboni hums a bit, reaching for her phone to send Jeff one last message.

Eboni: I waited... and waited and WAITED. Alex released the video...under my account. It's all over the internet, I'm sure of it and I got expelled because of it. I kept my hope for you. I tried to endure it all....hoping you'll come back. But I realized something: Why would I hope in someone who's only capable of killing? I was just a toy... you would've gotten tired of me. The day you left - you didn't want to fuck a girl that's stupid enough to fall into the arms of someone else right? That's ok though....I'm finally going to end the pain Jeff. I can't - keep living like this. I just can't. I give up. But thank you....for making me think I finally meant something to someone.

Eboni did try to call Iris and Luna, but neither of them would pick up their phones. They must've been disgusted with her, too. She grabs the scissors, smiling at how oddly sharp they are. She cuts down her left wrist vertically, crying out at the pain, but she doesn't stop - continuing to do the same to her right wrist, blood gushing out, and filling the tub water.

Eboni feels the effects of the pills and alcohol, mixing with her rapid blood loss. She leans further down against the tub, humming to the song playing loudly on repeat. Death... finally. But alone. That's fine. The pain can finally stop. The nightmares can finally end. It can all be over. The battle of life has won.

"Everything...will be fine.."

[saucy-mew]

so, uh

woe, ichi omo fic be upon ye

"Kiryu-san, are you sure this is the right way?" Ichiban lagged behind, legs rubbing together surreptitiously. 

"Kasuga." Kiryu stopped, turning towards him. "You've been antsy all day. Is something wrong?"  

Raking a stray hand through his hair, Ichi tossed a sheepish glance away. He paced in circles, whispering self assurances – he was going to make it. He had to... right? There's no way he wouldn't–

fuck.  

fuck. 

"Uh, ha, fuck, so, you're not going to believe this..." 

A curious look tossed his way, bemusement clear on Kiryu's face. 

"I kind of, um, really need to–" A shiver runs through him, spine snapping straight up. His hands automatically reach downwards before pulling back, balling into fists.

"Ah.” Kiryu's eyes widen in understanding. 

Ichi felt his face heat up, embarrassment creeping up his spine. “I'm so sorry, Kiryu-san, I don't mean to be a pain…”

"It's alright - I'm just… not sure if there are any public restrooms nearby.” Kiryu looked around, wracking his memory before pulling out his phone. “We're a ways away from my hotel - do you think you could make it through a taxi ride?”

He swallowed hard. “I'm… honestly not sure, at this point.”

A thought crossed his mind. The nearly finished drink he was carrying - the cause of his woes, and perhaps… the solution? A flash of shame as his imagination runs wild in an instant, bringing a sharp gasp as a wave of desperation surges through him. 

A steady arm grasps his shaking one, a small whine escaping his throat as he’s guided into an alleyway. “I can't just--!” he sputtered, redness creeping up his face. He can't help but shift from side to side, both in need and in discomfort at the unspoken suggestion.

"There's no one else here." Kiryu states matter-of-factly.

"Still! Anyone could come by!” he protested, gesticulating wildly even as he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He can't even keep still at this point, bouncing on his heels in place.

“Unfortunately, we're running low on options here.” A pointed look at his current state.

"I know, I know…" Ichiban sighed, closing his eyes and steeling his breath. “All right, I can do this." Another shaky breath as he wills the thrum in his chest to slow down. “It'll be over before you know it." A resolute nod to himself. 

One last look around finds Kiryu's eyes meeting his. “Could you, um, look away?” Ichi averts his gaze sheepishly, turning a shade redder.

“Ah, right.” A flash of realization crosses Kiryu's face before turning his back, scanning the nearby streets. “I'll keep watch." 

Ichiban could not help being polite, even in his current predicament, a quick and strained, Thanks, Kiryu-san before his attention snapped to anywhere to where he could hide behind to go and relieve himself. There wasn’t much, only a dumpster and a few trash bins, and the seconds it took to make a decision seemed to weigh him down heavier until he felt his body begin to hunch in on himself. He quickly scurried over to the wall, the movement jostling him with every step until he was tense and trembling and breathless.

He never thought that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants could feel so good, the discomfort lessening as he was given more room, and he couldn’t help but let out a low groan in his throat.

But the idea that he was so close to getting some relief seemed to intensify the urge to go to an almost painful degree and, in surprise, he grabbed himself through his jeans to stop what he was sure was the dam breaking before he was even out and ready. 

With wild eyes and a sharp inhale, Ichiban kept a fraught hold of himself with one hand, and smashed another against his mouth. Soft desperate noises were muffled into his palm as he was fully aware Kiryu was right there and could hear him if he wasn’t careful. All he could do was wait it out, struggling and whining, until it settled enough that he could pull himself together shakily and pull himself out with shaking hands.  

It was loud. 

It was concrete, brick wall, every hard surface in an otherwise silent alley, and it was all he could hear. Ichiban could feel his eyes tearing up despite himself, feeling equal parts embarrassment and relief flooding his senses. It seemed to go on forever, like his body was drawing it out on purpose as punishment for having held it in for so long.

When it neared the end, he still felt stretched thin, as though he could give more, could want more, even when he finally finished and there was nothing left.

“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered, slumping against the wall, leaning his forehead on cool brick, eyes fluttering closed. Ichiban didn’t know how long he stayed there, heart thudding in his chest as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Looks like you needed that,” Kiryu mused, a hint of amusement in his tone, and Ichiban gave him an embarrassed laugh.

“Come on, man, don’t say it like that!”

[spaceoperetta]

today I learned a new phrase!

tw suicide, long post where I talk about how awful I've been feeling

'passively suicidal.'

of all things, I saw it on a twitter post about kendall roy

and, uh, that's what I'm going through right now I'm having a bad time.

I'll be fine I'm not going to do anything but I have cried every day for the last two weeks. don't give yourself constant jaw pain by letting a new-to-me dentist file down the side of your tooth. (I needed a filling replaced early bc of pain but it was nothing compared to this, I'm so stupid and instantly knew something was wrong after, I legit got home and wanted to hurt myself, but when I called the dentist back they wanted to file more shit down to fix it and, no.)

Ways to fix it run anywhere from 'get the filling adjusted by a different, trusted professional' (done, but they can't build up what was ground down) to 'try a mouth guard' (better but doesn't fix the issue) and I guess I'll need a crown or to cope with unending pain in my jaw for the rest of my life. except they make crowns off your current tooth and it's not right! and I got a filling since then elsewhere! something I am utter shit at because I caused it by saying yes it's not like I was hit by a car

hurts to talk, no singing from me, and I still can't do all that much shit with my wrists and therefore hands because, still recovering from wrist surgery. and my neck's been hurting for two months.

going to see a new therapist next week, at least. unfortunately due to my first hand POV of my siblings extensive health issues I always think my health issues will never go away/get worse. because that's been my past two years and also my past six months

anyway turns out 'passively suicidal' is the correct phrase for what I went through in college due to my whole breakdown and it's back except I'm not in school and it's in my body and even though I know it doesn't matter, they're issues I caused myself, one way or another. (and that's what's driving me crazy with self-loathing amidst the pain)

working on fixing things but I have no energy and mostly just sit around like a lump and crying a lot. I need a routine but that's hard when all I want to do is sleep or do nothing, barely keeping on with 'massage healing surgery site 3x a day' my first one was at 2pm today.

so, uh, I'm feeling up there with said college breakdown for worse consistent feeling in life. I'm not going to do anything I just feel sad and upset and awful most of the time either that or nothing and I have successfully zoned out for a few hours watching streams or internet videos. I have trouble imagining any future for myself, career-wise, personal life-wise, anything. I've never been good at that, and granted, I've spent more of my adult life being depressed than being productive.

anyway, hopefully like the mountain goats say, there will come a day when I will feel better, but when that day's coming, who can say?

I got some prozac from my pcp but haven't started it yet due to imagined, easily resolved barriers

I just feel like if I don't fix things it'll be like this forever and this will never go away. because it's fucking jaw pain and I have to fix the bite issue. my orthodontist said my bite's always been shit and my dentist said my bite is 'perfect' and uh I believe one of the more than the other.

I've just had a lot of health issues this year and half of them were caused by saying 'yes' to something I shouldn't have and now I'm in pain and the other half were 'so you played too many videogames two years ago to distract from the desire to self harm and now you just think about how that harmed you even more than that moment of slapping yourself would have'

yes I know it's all stupid

[like-rain-or-confetti]

REQUEST: Rogue having a panic attack and S/O trying to comfort them but not exactly knowing what to do?

Top Five

Okay so I tried to write this as best I could but as someone who has panic attacks on the regular, this is tiptoeing on a line. So its going to focus more on the confusion of how to help and the solution rather than the panic itself.😬

The Riddler: He backed you against the wall and you hit your head hard but the pain was an after thought as the Riddler crumbled before your very eyes. It was probably the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. He didn't finish his sentences. He yelled at himself. He begged and pleaded with no one. He couldn't breathe as tears streamed down his face. All the while, you had no clue what to do. No clue how to help him. You gasped sharply as he fell to his knees before you. You quickly followed suit. "Edward!" You pleaded. Although not much came to mind beyond his name. He shoulders shook with his cries. He buried his face into his hands. "Fuck, Edward come here!" You said quickly pulling him to rest his head in your lap. The man was so broken down that he allowed it, arms wrapped around your torso as he cried into your thigh. You hushed him softly. "You're alright. I-I'm here." You rubbed his shoulders and back. "I love you so much, Eddie. You're my whole world. Just breathe. We'll get through this. You're stronger than all of this." You continued to talk to him as he slowly settled to nothing but sniffles. He didn't let go. Not even for a second. He didn't say a word.

Scarecrow: "Jonathan, you just ran off is everything- what's wrong?" You asked as your eyes widened. You had never seen him so distressed. "Well, I believe i-it's a panic attack." He stammered, bent forward and trying to wrap his suit jacket around him tighter. "Oh o-okay, what do we do?" You asked urgently. "H-How do I help? Should I leave you alone-?" "No." He said quickly with a shake of his head. "No. I don't need alone, I need-" He cut himself off breathlessly before reaching out to you. "Come here." "Jonathan, what am I doi-?" "I need you to hold me. Tight. As tight as you can." Jonathan managed out as a sob escaped him. "I don't think I've ever seen you cry." "Well there's a first for everything isn't there?" He sobbed. You pulled him into you and squeezed him. He continued to sob. "Are you sure about this? It seems like it's making you worse." You said slowly, moving to let go and he shook his head. "Don't let go!" He cried out. You retightened your hold. "I'm not used to physical contact like this b-but it works for me. It's...it's something I never got growing up so ironically enough it...calms me down after a minute." You were silent for a moment, head against his shoulder. "I was thinking more of a sedative but this'll do." You said quietly. He seemed to find some humour in that. "First thing I thought of. For once I don't have any." He replied and you chuckled. "I don't know, in hindsight, how often do I get to do this for long periods of time?" You grinned. "Atleast it's benefiting one of us." He groaned.

Two-Face: You heard him cry out and came running. He was stood in the middle of the room almost doubled over, hyperventilating and tears running down his face. "Shit! Okay, what do I do!? What helps!?" He reached out for you. "You! You help!" He managed out. "Oh, okay!" You said loudly as you were pulled towards him. He hugged you tightly. You felt him hyperventilate against you. "I-I'm here! I've got you. Here, head on my shoulder not against it. It'll make it easier to breathe." You said quickly as you rubbed his back. "You're completely safe. Deep breaths. Take as long as you need. We'll get through it together, you and me, right? We always get through it together. I'll never let you be alone again. Either of you. I love you both so much!" "We don't know what happened-" Harv' managed out. "It doesn't matter babe, what matters is that you're safe and I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, alright? We'll ride this out together." You answered.

Black Mask: "Okay, we've got this, Roman. Nod or shake your head alright? Yes or no. Do you need help?" Slowly and stiffly, Roman nodded. "Okay, good! Do you want to talk about it right now?" Roman shook his head, his hands squeezing tighter. "Okay, last question, do you need to be alone?" You asked. He nodded. You nodded. "You've got it, babe. I'll be right outside the door, okay? I'm gonna make sure you get some time alone and when you're ready. You're ready. Take all the time you need." You sat against the wall beside the door outside. You heard a lot of yelling and things being thrown against walls and breaking. After half an hour, the door creaked open. "Hey, babe." You said quietly. "Want me to come in?" Roman took your hand and tugged you to stand and into the room. "Ready to talk?" You asked carefully. He said nothing but hugged you to him.

Mad Hatter: He was confused, uncertain of his surroundings. Uncertain of what was real. On days like these, that was too much. You looked at the uncontrollably sobbing man helplessly at first. You didn't know how to help him and found his distress very upsetting but he needed you. So you sat him down and pulled his head into your lap.his hand squeezed your knee tightly as he cried. Another reminder of his suffering. You held him, quietly offering words of reassurance. "I love you so much, Jervis." Your voice quivered. You were at a loss, wanting to take his pain away but couldn't see how to achieve that. You wondered if you should call someone but who? Instead, you stroked his hair and swallowed back your tears. "Just breathe for me, sweetie. You can do it. It'll help. You'll feel better soon. This will pass. You're safe and you'll feel so much better when this passes."

[rayclubs]

.

Testing the waters on how many vent posts it takes before everyone gets tired and leaves, but thankfully nobody actually reads these.

For the record, I am not planning to kill myself this time. I may sound like it, I may want to, but I'm not doing it. I don't have the means, nor the opportunity, nor the backup failsafe money bank for another hospital trip. So I'm not doing it.

I'm slowly chipping at the cut in my foot. I'm moving out in november, and I've realized I can't quit by then, so I'll just keep doing it. I'll get clean razors eventually. Until then, any handy tools will have to do. It... Feels good, if I'm being honest. Like I've missed it. Like an old friend.

I tried talking about it to someone but they told me in no uncertain terms to shut up and not bring it up again. They say not making jokes about suicide helps, but I've found that sincere, non-humorous discussions fair even worse. I tried so many times. I reached out to everyone I have. It doesn't matter if they tell me to keep it quiet outright, or just gently, softly, lovingly hint that I should drop the subject and go back to the usual jokey-jokes and lighthearted fun. I'm tired, and I've tired everyone with me. It doesn't matter how I'm doing, as long as I can keep things fun. Even my sister knows. She... She said nothing. I mean, she talks to me, just... Not about this. I can keep it fun and lighthearted, and it's not even untrue, I can still have fun, I just hurt. Every day from my waking up to dragging myself into bed I hurt, and I'm doing a terrible job of not letting it show, but it's passable and therefore enough. So I hurt, and I cut my hands, and I keep my scars from healing just to hurt in a different way for a bit, to take the edge off, to breathe. I can't wait for november, because there's only so much I can keep hidden from the people around me I don't trust, but once I'm alone? Once nobody is watching? I can cut all I want. Nothing else ever helps.

I really thought I was going to drown last friday. When pain exploded in the center of my chest and I lost balance, as the underwater current pulled me away from the shore, I thought that was it. I think maybe it was. It still feels like drowning, I think. What a pretentious thing to say. True though.

I'm acting like it's a recent thing but it's been going on for months. Years, maybe. I think I've always been wrong. The first time I burned my hand, I think I was thirteen? I still do that thing with the kettle, but I've learned other things. I want to try cigarette butts. I'm actually getting excited thinking about it, and you probably find it disgusting, but I sure don't. I'm past that. I'm a horrible person, if not in intent then in execution - I may mean well, but I'm not pleasant to be around, and I try, world knows I try for those I love the most - to make plans, to share interests, to talk about things without the looming weight of My Problem - tmcause that's what it is, right? It's my problem. Mine. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Maybe I'll get a bad habit. Start smoking or drinking or some such. Doubt it'll help as well as the cuts though. I swear I'm not planning again, but if a car hit me, I think I'd say "thank you". That's my way of dealing with the blame. A natural disaster would work just as well. As long as it's not me. I've done enough for one day.

I don't know how to end this. Just. For the love of fuck, don't preach to me about how it gets better and I'm actually secretly loved unbeknownst to myself. I know it's always meant well, I'm just finding it impossible to believe lately, and unlike you who knows me in monologue, I know people in conversation - there's no secret there. I'm fun. I do okay. As long as I keep it up, I might come out of the other end and still have friends. Wouldn't that be nice.

[my-personal-equations]

There come a day, Greg Plitt

You know there comes a day man,

everyone's gonna have this day.

There comes a day where being average, being mediocre, is just sick into you, it's just sick, it makes you want to throw up, because you've seen people with far less talent than you, as you're growing up with them, they're childwood buds or whatever else; they didn’t have what you had yet now they're to fucking become something that you haven't.

There come that day, it's either when you are young, you know, and it strikes you on the baseball field cause you're sick of striking out or it’s when you get fired from your fifth job you know, when your wife and kids are on your ass because you don't have support anymore.

There comes a fucking day where push comes to shove, where being mediocre, being like average and shit just fuckin burns and sucks so much you can’t deal in one more day and you get off your fucking ass, and you create something it's always been there, it’s always been inside of you trying to come out but you've never wanted to unwrap it because it's too much fucking pain and commitment.

You are scared you're gonna fail, you're scared if you started you never finish it, you didn't want to tell anybody.

You knew it was there, but you never wanted to embark on it, until something fucking hits, you get fired or somebody else get success reminds you what you could have been and them a fucking spark is born.

And no matter what happens, I’m never gonna be in this boat again.

And you get up and you go even if you get knocked and you just keep going keep going you a wild man, and life has never been so sweet.

That can happen in early age, it can happen at later age, it's gonna happen to somebody every... , you know, no matter what's gonna happen to you, and when it does happen to you thank your lucky stars that finally you're alive. It's time to unwrap to the potential you can be, superior man, it's within you, it's within every single one of us, and the people that have risen to that level were no different than anyone of us, it’s just they believed it and they are willing to work their fucking ass off to get it.

It wasn’t about the potential, it wasn’t about the genetics, it was about the perseverance and it was about being the hardest fucking worker in the room. That's what got him there.

And it didn't happen overnight, they got knocked down more than ever and stood up but they kept going and kept going and kept going and kept going because what else are the alternative to be average again, that sucks man, and it really sucks.

When you've tasted success at one point in your life, when you, when you have sex with a woman and that's the best sex ever you want to have sex with her again, when you eat a fucking juicy steak man you want to have that again, when you go out and train hard to play baseball and you connect and you hit the winning homerun you want to feel that way again.

When you taste these fire things of life, all the pain, all the work, all this sacrifice to get them, is well worth it.

If anything it's a small down payment for the price in the reward you got, and that feeling I once felt... how do you ever turn your back on it.

Stop running from the potential of what you can be guys, it's inside of you, it has always been there.

Grab a buddy of yours, say "man, me and you we are gonna do this together and you are gonna be on my ass" and "I'll never accept mediocre again, I'm always gonna give my 110 fucking percent, that's the only thing I can ever say a solid day's work, that's all that we'll ever find peace in".

If you guys do not do that I promise you, your life will haunt you for the rest of your days, if there's potential inside of you which you know it's there but you're too scared to tell anyone else about it and you go on and on, you get over and over and over and over and the winner might reach at the close.

And you knew it could have been given birth to but you never did.

I promise it will haunt you.. it'll be more.. it's a living nightmare dude, that fact that you had the ability to do something and you're too weak to turn the key and star the engine on it, it's a greater disappointment and a greater burden to carry than any of this phisycal sweat equity we're paying in the gym or sacrifice, all that is just nothing compared to a life where you're burdened by regret guys.

I hope you guys get the fuck I'm saying.

I'm telling you what, once you get it, come over this side of the fence, you don't see fucking problems anymore man, you see situations, you see possibilities and you can't wait to get them started man.

You are like "why did I wait so long to engage".

It doesn't matter about the past, it's today, what we're doing today, what we're going to engage now and once we engage we commit. There's no half commitment, there's no core commitment, there's full commitment, once we engage it's every fucking day we engage because that's the better life.

And the people you sorround yourself are like-minded and a better friends and family for life man, they have your back, they're solid individuals doing solid tasks leaving a solid impact of legacy for other people.

That's a solide life man.

It's your option though.

What are you gonna do?

[rainbowvolt]

I tried this once already but out of nowhere I got attacked by the overwhelming notion that my antics are pointless and that the world around me is crumbling and so I deleted the entire message and took some time to journal out my feelings in the classic rambling poetry style that I have perfected over the years. It didn't make me feel better nor did it provide any fresh prospective but I'm feeling better today so I came to the conclusion that if nothing matters then I'm going to go back to inviting just a little bit of chaos into the everyday lives of people I have never met just because at least im having fun that way. That being said, what the fuck is up gamer? I put on some sublime to write this one to bit now amazon music is playing beck (loser) but I actually really like that song so I'll allow it. Anyway I was on hinge the other day, because just like you I am chronically single, and unlike you I do care because being alone with my thoughts for too long drives me insane and to do shit like this for fun. So I'm swiping and I'm complimenting I mean just imagine me turning on the God damn charm, and I match with this one girl who I think is attractive and we're chatting it up and suddenly bam, no reason at all, I lose all interest. I just felt like it was pointless to even keep talking to her my heart just wasn't in it so I did, I stopped. I probably still could hit her up if I wanted but the truth is it's just a lot of work, relationships that is, and I don't think I have the time to dedicate someone that I want to be able to dedicate. It's weird. Life. Love. Happiness. I try to remind myself that happiness, at least the way that we see in happily ever after movies and books, doesn't really exist. The best you I can ever hope for is to be content. And I'm not sure if that's true or if that's pure unfiltered copium that I'm doling out to myself on a strict rationing schedule so I can make it through the throes of years long depressive episodes. I've considered therapy but whats a therapist going to tell me? Oh you're unhappy for literally no reason, just take these pills? I've done that ya know, the pills didn't make me happy they just made me numb to the world around me and incapable of emotions. Plus my job would kick me out onto the streets if I sought out help, I already got a waiver for it the one time and if I get back on them I'm afraid it'll be game over for my career. So I guess I'm kinda screwing the pooch here. It's always like that, coin tosses and horse races I guess. I just want to break free. I don't know if that'll solve it all, but I want the option to at least seek it out. I used to believe, genuinely, without an ounce of fucking irony that my depressive thoughts and feelings, and my borderline schizophrenic tendencies were genuine fucking shortcuts to creativity. I would sit there and really channel them into my poetry, but you know what? While some of that shit is undoubtedly the best I ever wrote, it wasn't because mental illness is some sort of magical potion, it's not because hurt and pain breeds greatness, it's because I was just being truthful I think, as raw and true as I could possibly be. And I've read some of it to people ya know, like my mom and a few friends, and they just say it's so good and I guess I appreciate their support but it's not good, it's bad ya know, i was trying to share a piece of me that i rarely let anyone see and I guess people just saw it as a piece without the deep emotional relationship that it has to my psyche, maybe I gotta specify like hey this is real shit. But ya know I've also been trying to breed a mental positivity, I try to tell myself good job and "hell yeah dude" for anything that could be considered an accomplishment. I wouldn't say it's the most effective but maybe it's doing a little something. This whole self awareness thing is kinda new to me, obviously, like I seriously lived the first 8 years of my life without a single thought, I remember like watching TV or having a conversation and it was just static upstairs.

Which is kinda funny actually cause now all I fucking do is think. Ugh. To be a frog. A mindless bug eating happy little frog. Those guys have got it made. Love frogs. A ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark and disappointing world. That and when people say bazinga. That shit is hilarious. Also, you have to say bazinga, that's the whole point of this. We've established a raport and now I'm cashing in pal, you gotta say bazinga, you owe me. And if you don't I'm reporting you to PepsiCo. They will bottle and carbonate your ass. You'll be sold worldwide. I wouldn't risk it just fucking say bazinga. I'm dialing them right now, doot doot doot look I've only got a few numbers left last chance bud

I, an autistic person who is currently wearing a flash t shirt, have been asked to say.. that word. Irony aside.. no. I'm not falling for your silly tricks, your insightful-incel Seinfeld style stand up routine, and so.. I turn it back on you. You have to say 'wubba lubba dub dub'. I'm exchanging all my favours, my coupons are going straight in to this uncomfortably shaped vending machine and my goodness something better come out. It's time to make good on your reputation, time to come forth and fulfil your destiny, to do what must be done; it's time to whip out a test tube or two to help Frankenstein some confidence into that ugly little lump of brain mass and say the damn words. Say. The damn. Words. Wubba lubba dub dub.

[unhingedselfships]

She stepped out of the en suite, oversized towel wrapped around her, smiling and about to prod Kenshi into helping her decide what to wear.

He'd tell her he didn't care and it didn't matter but he'd give in like he always did.

Her steps hesitated as she found the room empty, and eyes settling on the box she'd forgotten, she knew exactly what had happened.

She all but flew.

Through the apartment, door flung open, down the stairs and across the small courtyard, to all but slam into the side of the car idling at the curb.

A moment's hesitation, and the window came down.

"Ah, Kimi!" his tone bright, cheery and terribly forced, "You know I forgot something, gotta get going, I'll see you!"

"Kadokura Kenshi, so fucking help me, if you leave me out here in the street in a damn towel- get your ass back in that apartment.  Don't- don't you fucking leave me here. Don't. Don't leave me. Please tell me I'm not losing you-"

Her voice was breaking. She shook. He couldn't just go. He couldn't.

"Oh don't worry!" his voice a forced cheer, strained. Fake. "I just remembered I have to collect uh- bullets! From the factory!"

He grinned, strained. Practically hysterical.

Finger tips dug in. Clung. Clawed.

Desperation, sorrow, agony, coated every line of her.

She was shattering before him.

"I meant it," a rough whisper. All she could manage in that moment, "I meant every fucking word. If you asked me, here, now, I'd go. I'd leave it all. If you asked me tomorrow. Or the day after. Always. I can't be sorry for loving you Kenshi, I can't. Please. I need you. Just- Come back inside. I'll go somewhere. Anywhere. As long as you're here, it'll be ok."

He doesn't respond, his body tense, knuckles white with the force of his grip on the steering wheel.

Finally, voice gruff, "How much booze ya got?"

A hysterical laugh slipped free, "Oh love you know I keep the good shit, just for you. I even have like, seven jars of the family shine."

He turned the car off.

"If you can have a jar poured in the biggest cup you have within thirty seconds of my coming inside, maybe I could manage a chat."

Something loosened in her slightly, and she gave him a watery smile. 

Reluctantly, he followed her back inside.

They drank it straight from the jar.

…

Hours passed. Drinking and speaking in fits and starts. Voices slurred, emotions wild.

"See the thing is Kimi. The thing is. You're too stupid."

She flinched. She knew she wasn't good enough for him but to have it said so plainly-

"You think like, everything would be great or something. But actually, I'm shit."

…Oh.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, that you haven't figured that out yet. I'm not even- Like that's why Airi is shit! Because he's like me."

She laughed, pained.

"You think I don't know it'd be difficult? It would be so hard. But love, you're perfect. Don't you get it? I would fight so hard for you. I would make this work. Because I want it. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything. Do you think I'd be around so much if I couldn't stand you? I love you. I've always loved you. And I'm willing to weather any storm, even, no, especially, the ones you cause. You're not shit. You're Kadokura Kenshi, and I want you to be mine. You're enough. You're you. I love you. Our son, ours, is wonderful. All his best parts are yours."

He laughed sardonically, "Yeah, yeah, you always do this. Say some nice stuff and make me cry and for a second I believe the nice things and then blammo! Real life. You only think it because you're. An idiot."

"Yeah well. I'd rather be your idiot. I'll do this everyday, if that's what it takes. Real life is shit, I know that, but I'd rather it be shit with you. Can't- can't we take the little good we can get? Do you have any idea- you are my good, Kenshi. And I want to be yours. I'm sorry, I'm selfish. I need you. I can't- I can't lose you."

…

More time, more drinks, found them dancing around the living room. Laughing and crying, barely staying standing. Barely keeping each other up. Like they always did.

He'd started it. An exaggerated proposal. Meant and unmeant all at once. Vows. Spoken in fits and starts. Through tears and giggles. 

Sloppily he waltzed her around the room, humming a tune no one else could hear.

For a moment, it was just them. All the world away, just them.

Faking it was so easy it hurt.

…

Laying beside him, basking and wallowing.

"Would- Would you ever give us a chance? Would you let us try? I- I need to know Kenshi. I need to know where I stand."

A deep sigh, slow.

She whispered.

"I know I'm not- I'm not good enough for you, but. I want to try. So badly."

She moves, straddling him, pinning him.

He could move her, if he wanted, but it gave her a sense of faux-security.

She presses soft kisses, just barely brushing the corner of his mouth. The edge of his limits.

And begs. Begs him to give them a chance. To let her prove herself.

His denial, however gentle, stung, even as it was expected.

At least he'd told her he loved her. 

She could hold onto that.

…

They'd collapse into bed, late in the morning, warm and so very tired. Sun long risen. 

They'd wake and fall back into bed. Neither quite able to fully settle, and unwilling to completely leave.

They took the day, for each other, not really there. Not willing to be anywhere else.

The day, then night, would pass, clinging to each other, and everything they had. Everything they'd lost.

Dawn would rise, and life would continue, and the world would turn.

As it always did.

And part of her hated it for it.