#I feel so. Unwanted. Undesired. I feel like I am nothing.

[girlcrushau]

[lavender-femme]

don’t call don’t text don’t read the tags if you don’t wanna see my sad thoughts

[kept-confidence]

Closing Time

This piece began first as a private daydream, Later, it grew into a daydream shared with a newfound friend (@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese). With that came a wash of creativity over me that I decided, for once, to fully submerge myself in. This is also now on Ao3, found here. The song that I imagine Drifter singing in this piece is titled "Martha", and is sung by Tom Waits. The song that I imagine being played in the scene — the trumpet and piano duet — is titled “Closing Time”, and is also by Tom Waits. This is a personal favourite of mine. Note: I'd highly recommend putting "Closing Time" on when you're at the montage section — I imagine it'd be a nice experience overall while you imagine the scene being described. There is nothing violent here — only tenderness and kindness founded upon a moment of healing. I am no expert in handling tender moments between individuals, and sometimes struggle to describe them. I make up for it, perhaps, in metaphor. I’m always inspired by music, and I guess that’s where the daydream emerged from in the first place. I also cooked this up in a day which is absolutely hilarious (neurospicy brain things). This is my first fic, which is nice, I think. Hope you enjoyed reading this! Comments are hugely appreciated (and I'd love to meet new folks who are into this ship as much as I am).

The door opened slowly with a gentle push, creaking loudly in response to decades of wear and neglect as it swung open and away from the Drifter. For a place that had been left largely abandoned, forgotten, and untouched — likely intentionally by its owner — any sort of movement and sound felt sacrilegious, like intruding upon a sacred space that should have, perhaps, been left alone. 

Drifter breathed a heavy sigh as he hesitated to take a step into what used to be his old bar. It should feel like a place he owns, one that he feels welcome in, he tells himself. But the air responds otherwise — the dominant scent of stale, damp wood rendering it thick, musty, and overbearing. If anything, the air was weighed down heavily by memories of the Drifter's past — of old selves torn away and discarded, of ghosts he'd rather forget, and of a time that no longer seemed welcome nor accessible. It had been weighed down by the burden of change. 

Why had he come here? A rhetorical question to himself, but one that occupied his mind nonetheless. 

Now restless, the Drifter took to rolling his green coin across his knuckles in a bid to calm his mind. Despite this, there was no denying the fact that his breathing had since grown rather shallow and irregular at the prospect of having to enter this forsaken space. Nonetheless, he figured that he'd lingered outside enough. 

"Eh, gotta go in at some point, I guess," he muttered to himself, words trailing off, as he defaulted to erecting a wall of indifference once more. It was, perhaps, what he thought to be the only way to keep himself safe. 

With soft and quiet steps, the Drifter finally stepped into the bar with a sense of trepidation that he wished he didn't have to feel, especially for a place he knew he once had some attachment to. Though he'd expected things to look different, he had to admit that the space of his bar — though theoretically the same as how he'd left it last — felt different. His heart skipped a beat as his senses slowly became more attuned to the apparent dissonance in the once lively (though chaotic) space he owned. After all, the mind can only prepare one so far — the heart, however, will always be tugged along, albeit unwillingly, in directions undesired and unwanted. For someone who had survived so much, who thrived on instability, chaos, and change as a means of putting up walls and abandoning the past, it would seem that for a rare moment, the Drifter would finally admit to himself that he'd been subconsciously wishing for something in his life to, at least, remain the same. 

The silence was piercing — ringing, even. It was in stark contrast to a sonic memory of a boisterous time once filled with excitement and activity. The Drifter could almost imagine the scene that accompanied it, but as he called forth that memory in his mind, the dissonance grew louder and more discordant. He promptly shut the door to that memory, and instead found himself stemming the discomfort by fixating on the sound of his footfalls as he fidgeted and shifted his feet in a bid to punctuate the silence pressing into him. Grounding, as Eris had once taught him. Where these footfalls had once been crisp and confident, heard in tandem with the voices of comrades and enemies both lost to time, they were instead now faint and muted no thanks to the thick layer of dust that blanketed what used to be dry and clean wooden floorboards. As each step unsettled the caked-on dust on the floor, leaving imprints of his boots, the Drifter directed his attention to his footfalls and simply looked. Dust was gently being dislodged, then lifted, and finally fell off the tips and soles of his boots. He could feel it — that each shift, each step, carried with it the heaviness of time, and its burden laid bare for him to witness. Breathing in deeply, Drifter felt the discomfort ease ever so slightly, as he was finally reminded of why he'd come back to the bar in the first place. 

To learn to embrace change while not abandoning the past. It was an answer to his question from before, but one that he knew, acutely, that its execution would not come as easily as hoped. Ideally, the process would happen on its own, without any need for effort — but that would be nothing more than a lofty dream. By this point, there was perhaps no escaping the fact that it was time for him to face his past, head on. 

Before his mind could stray any further, he felt a buzz from the databad tucked neatly beneath his robes. The Drifter retrieved it, and smiled softly when he saw who the message was from. 

EM: Germaine, you are not on the Derelict.  D: Aw Moondust! Missin' me already? You should've just said so!  EM: Answer the question, Rat. Where are you?  D: I'm at the old bar. The one I used to own? From waaaaaaaay before? The one Efrideet trashed?  EM: It's three in the morning, Germaine. What are you doing there? Are you alright? 

The Drifter's fingers hovered in the air for a moment as he contemplated how to reply to her question — specifically, the latter one. Like always, he decided that he'd ignore it. 

D: Catching up on old times, I guess.  EM: I see. You did not answer the second question. Would you like company? 

Caught. Nothing new — Eris always knew. 

D: Yeah. Thanks, Moondust. Seeya in a bit. 

The gentle smile didn't leave the Drifter's face even as he tucked the datapad back in its place. For him, Eris's company was always welcome. But this was even more so true for today — with the weight of the past and of this space still holding him down like a Sisyphean boulder on his sholders. Though he wasn't expecting her to know more about it, or to help him lift it, he imagined that it would, at least, be nice to have her company while he worked though and unravelled the attachment to this place he had long since buried. There was, after all, comfort to be found in the gentle intimacy of vulnerability they had since learned to share in time. 

Just as he'd finished ruminating, the Drifter felt his arm brush against yet another thick layer of dust as he walked past a large, boxy object. He turned, and let out a tiny, silent gasp of awe as he came to realise what was in front of him — it was a piano. It had been such a long time since he'd played one, not to mention seen one in the first place. The piano was no Steinway, of course. Just an upright Baldwin that had been salvaged from way before. The Drifter chuckled as he recalled just how out of tune it was when he had salvaged it, and how he'd managed to tinker with the piano enough that it at least sounded mostly reasonable. For a moment, he wondered if his work had stood the test of time. Orin was convinced that it would. 

He tensed, and held his coin tightly between his thumb and index finger. It was inevitable that the train of thought would lead him down that road. He'd been the one to salvage the piano and to tinker with it, but it was Orin who witnessed all of this happening — who laughed with him, and groaned at him each time he failed to fix the piano's tuning. She was the one who made the memory feel real when it would've otherwise been like any other memory — a generic piece of paper burnt to a crisp. 

This was the memory he'd come to confront. Right as he was about to fall off the edge into a memory-induced panic, the Drifter caught himself and grounded himself once more. Move the coin across the knuckles. Flip it between these fingers, and then the others. Shifting feet. Fidget a little. Grip the coin, then loosen that grip. In that release, the Drifter's tension eased a little as well. 

He dragged himself back into the present moment. In it, there was a quietude that ached in the space around him, as the Drifter took the time to take in the scene laid in front of him. Slowly, he took a few steps back, and gazed softly at the piano. The sight was, frankly, captivating. Moonlight streamed in from the holes in the roof that had since come to plague the bar, touching — even caressing — the piano ever so slightly. In these beams of moonlight, particles of dust travelling in the air were illuminated. For a space where its stillness initially bordered on suffocation, the Drifter finally felt himself attuned to the sensation and observation of the most minute movements. The way his breathing shifted the dust travelling around him, visible through the rays of moonlight. The way the clouds cast shadows on the ground as they momentarily blocked the moonlight. He felt just a little better about being here.  

Feeling inspired by the sight, he pulled out the piano bench and sat on it. No one would have issues with someone playing a piano at the base of Felwinter Peak at three in the morning, of course. Drifter pulled his gloves off, placing them neatly on the top of the piano. He had done so instinctively, as if wanting to truly feel and reminisce the texture of the keys with his own fingers. As he swiped one finger gently across the surface of the piano’s unopened cover, he was reminded once again of change — of time and age. Parts of the dislodged dust now hung on the tip of his finger. The truth is, he didn’t have to do that. He could’ve simply opened the piano cover. Yet, for the Drifter acknowledging that presence of dust, feeling it, and shifting it away, felt like an active recognition and acceptance of a time long gone. Of change.

The Drifter proceeded to lift the cover of the piano, which took a little bit more than a gentle struggle simply because of how long it had been left unopened. It inspired a simple metaphor in his mind — he thought of how the dust, when left undealt with, would work itself into the seams of the piano like a glue that seals all things shut, making it even harder to pry open. He visualized that momentarily in himself, with the dust that had settled into the seams of his own box that contained his heart and his past. It was, indeed, one that he was also struggling a little to open. He would try today, perhaps.

Beneath the cover lay the piano keys. Some were chipped, and some were stuck in a half-pressed position no thanks to the lack of maintenance. But for the Drifter, it was, in fact, the same as he had left it — it had been untouched for decades, chips consistent with his memory, and the sticky keys were still, well, sticky. There was no fixing those, he remembered, chuckling to himself.

It would become clear eventually that for the Drifter, memory is a muscle, and muscle memory never fails. His hands naturally fell into position, and for some strange reason, prepared themselves in the key of D#. He pressed down on the keys ever so delicately — perhaps to him, they seemed so fragile that they might break under the weight of his burdens.

But they didn't, and instead produced a faint chord in D#. He lifted his fingers, and pressed once more — now confident the keys would not crumble under him. The sensation — both of the keys, and of the sound received — was, to him, extremely familiar. Let memory lead, let memory take charge. The heart knows what it needs, he reminded himself. And from there, notes and chords pieced and flowed together, and the Drifter began to play a tune. He knew not what it was titled, or who had sung it originally, but he only remembered hearing it being played once by a visitor to the bar who had kindly asked for permission to play the piano. All he knew about the tune was that it was from the golden age — a song from a time now long gone, now being revisited in the present. 

As he progressed through the instrumental introduction to the song, Eris slipped quietly into the bar, undetected. The Drifter was too immersed in the moment that Eris refused to even think of interrupting it to announce herself. Gently and ever so silently, she perched herself on a bar stool that was still loosely intact, knees crossed, listening to his performance intently. She couldn't help but smile at the sight she was witnessing — but nothing could prepare her for what would come next, as the Drfiter began to sing. 

“Operator, number please It's been so many years Will she remember my old voice While I fight the tears?

Hello, hello there, is this Martha? This is old Tom Frost And I am calling long distance Don’t worry ‘bout the cost

Cause it’s been 40 years or more Now, Martha, please recall Meet me out for coffee Where we’ll talk about it all”

The words fell out of his mouth so naturally like a confession sung aloud to himself. His singing voice was low and ever so slightly gravelly, but there was a genuine tenderness to it a huge shift from his usually crass and sometimes insufferable modes of expression, Eris thought. It felt like a warm embrace — where words held on tightly to harmony, Eris instinctively found herself drawn towards and into the moment as well. As his gravelly voice continued to be sounded out — brushing against and touching her eardrums — a memory resurfaced. Eris couldn't help but recall the first time she ever placed her hand on his cheek as a gesture of care and love. She remembered how he leaned into her hand in return, and most prominently, the sensation of his beard tickling her palm. This felt similar — and it was comforting. 

At the same time, Eris was sure in this moment that her dear Rat was feeling more than just "old times", as he'd preferred to call it. If the lyrics weren't enough proof of this, the melancholic instrumental lines that accompanied the song were. In this song was nostalgia tinged with grief — a wistfulness of love once found and later lost, of time spent searching to no avail. She took a look around the bar and was met with the same scene of moonlight the Drifter had seen earlier. If he feels it's too much, he will know he's at least surrounded by moonlight, she thought to herself, reassuringly. 

Meanwhile, the Drifter continued: 

“And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose And, Martha, all I had was you, and all you had was me There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows And we saved them for a rainy day

And I feel so much older now And you're much older too How's your husband and how's the kids? You know that I got married too?

Lucky that you found someone To make you feel secure Cause we were all so young and foolish Now we are mature”

As the chorus made its first iteration, it was evident by now that Martha, for the Drifter, was undoubtedly Orin. The mood in the air was suffused with a warm, gentle longing to revisit the past, to catch up with an old friend, an old lover. To simply ask, how are you doing? Perhaps it might've seemed that the Drifter was singing this to or for Orin, but Eris knew better than that. Despite the clear dedication to Martha drawn out by the lyrics — the incessant yearning and desire to return to the past — Eris had no doubt that her Rat was instead singing to his memory of Orin and his past experiences with her. He was, through this song, acknowledging the reality of his past — one that he had, at many times, tried to shut away with bursts of denial and detachment. The intention here was indeed very different. 

The chorus looped around a second time, and then:

“And I was always so impulsive I guess that I still am And all that really mattered then Was that I was a man

I guess that our being together Was never meant to be And Martha, Martha I love you, can't you see?”

Eris heard the Drifter stutter a little on the last line, his voice shaking as he held the last note for a second. And then he paused for a moment, hands laid on the keys, but frozen in time.

He said nothing for a while, and ruminated. Eris watched, but chose not to intervene — this was an important moment for him, one reserved for himself, and she would respect that. 

Finally, in the now drawn-out silence, he said to himself, quietly: "I loved you, Orin. This dude who wrote the lyric's still hung up on Martha. But for me? I don't love you. Not anymore. I loved you." Eris held her breath and clutched her Ahamkara bone closer to her chest as she heard the Drifter draw out the end of the word 'loved', clearly juxtaposed against the present, and original 'love' written into the song. She let go of that breath, and smiled. It was not that she needed reassurance — that safety and security had long been found in the foundation of their friendship and relationship. Instead, she simply felt a sense of pride for her dear Rat, who had finally taken active steps to work through the grief he had amassed in his heart from his time with Orin and beyond. It was no wonder that she had grown to love this man so very much — at no point in the time they knew each other did he ever expect her to fix his grief and his heart, and all he ever asked for, as she had now grown accustomed to providing, was her company through it all. 

Picking up his playing once more, the Drifter worked his way through the final chorus, before concluding the song with the words: 

"And I remember quiet evenings Trembling close to you.”

The last note from the piano resonated in the space of the bar, before the song faded into a final, concrete silence. The Drifter exhaled — it was a heavy one, but one that also seemed to bring him relief, as if he'd finally come to terms with what it meant to let go. He removed his hands from the keys, and proceeded to place them by his side as he pressed them softly into the bench. He gazed upwards, looking through one of the holes of the roof where the moonlight seemed to be pouring in from. It was a tiny whisper directed at the ray of moonlight, but one audible enough for Eris to hear from where she was seated. 

"Thanks for keeping me company through it, random ray of moonlight." 

Eris rose from the bar stool, finally making her presence known. And though slightly startled, the Drifter wasn't shocked enough to whip out Trust — he had been expecting her after all, though he had frankly no idea how long she'd been behind him all this while. 

"You're welcome," she said, smiling, while crossing the bar towards him, still seated at the piano. In response, he scooted over to the side as an invitation for her to sit beside him. She does. 

There was a moment of gentle silence — the air was no longer as still as it once was, and it was quiet enough that they could hear each other breathe almost in unison. She placed her hand over his, and he turned his palm over to intertwine their fingers together. He thought about asking her how long she'd been there for, but held back because he could already guess the answer to that. 

"That was beautiful, Germaine. How do you feel?" Eris asked, in hushed tones. 

For a man usually of many words, the Drifter struggled to gather any of a proper response. He simply sighed, and squeezed her hand, gazing at the moonlight through the roof once more. There was a warmth in his gesture, as if to say, I'm working through it still, but thank you for being here. She squeezed his in return, gently drawing circles on his hand with her thumb, as if to respond with take your time, I'm here, and I'll stay. With yet another sigh, he leaned over, and positioned his head on her shoulder, snuggling softly into the space that he'd already claimed as his multiple times. She turned her head to kiss him on his forehead, before simply leaning her head on his. 

It wasn't clear if he had started to cry, or was simply taking in the moment. He might have — but that was something meant only for Eris's eyes, and no one else. A private moment between the two. There was, perhaps, no need to know as well. Not everything needs to be witnessed, not everything needs to be known.

-------

It felt like a scene from a film. A montage of quiet, gentle moments.

scene begins, all dark; "closing time" by tom waits begins to play. a duet between a wistful trumpet and a plangent piano resonates in the air.  cut / close-up shot of the hole in the roof. moonlight is pouring in through it, and a crescent moon can be seen from the hole — clouds drift past in front of it.  cut / various still shots of the bar in disrepair — broken chairs, rotting wood, layers of dust, torn curtains at the windows.  cut / a still shot, now framing the back of the drifter and eris sitting side by side on the piano bench, the drifter's head on her shoulder, her head lying on his in return. cut / a close-up, still shot of fingers interlaced with each other.  cut / return to previous still shot of the drifter and eris on the piano bench, now pulling away with a backwards dolly. the two are now framed in relation to the larger space of the bar — as well as the moonlight. the camera remains in this position for a significant amount of time compared to the previous shots. cut / fade to black. the song is still playing. two sets of footfalls are heard — the heavy sort made from boots, though one is notably softer than the other. the sound of these footfalls pan from the far centre, closer to the front, and finally to the left. a door is heard creaking open, and then closed. the footfalls fade into the distance.  song fades into silence.  end scene. 

[foundationsofdecay]

I’ve been really thinking about savior and martyr complexes lately, and the transition from being in that headspace, realizing this about themselves and the damage it is causing themself or others, to coming to reject and sometimes resent being seen in that manner.

Then, when I was listening to some Sleep Token yesterday, Jaws started playing, and I got to this line:

“I’m not here to be the savior you long for, only the one you don’t.”

I’ve always found this a very interesting line. The idea of describing and presenting yourself as a savior in a way the subject doesn’t want and might even directly reject, is a striking one.

(I feel it’s important to clarify here that unless I say otherwise, I am talking about the character Vessel, not the actual person. I don’t know the man who plays that role, and I won’t pretend to.)

Disclaimer out of the way, let’s dig into that line a touch. I will also be looking at this song separately from the main trilogy of ST’s discography, as I find its placement in that timeline incongruent with how this idea of saviors and martyrdom is depicted in that space.

The image of Vessel then being caged and abandoned immediately after this line shows this rejection, and the ensuing chorus takes on this idea less of a sweet yearning desperation and honestly an insistence that would absolutely make the recipient of this kind of attention deeply uncomfortable and wanting to reject this and leave immediately. Speaking as someone who has been on both sides of this, the subject of this attention may show Vessel their jaws and where the delicate stops, but they would never show him love if he acted this way. Nothing earnest and true, at least, the way he seems to want.

There’s an uncertainty here if his mindset is a display of self-awareness and self-reflection, or if it’s something deliberate, which is important to investigate, but the result is the same at this point in time. The nod towards xtian imagery with “stand under the stained glass and I will know it’s you” does feed into an image of a savior or even godlike figure somewhat helplessly drawn to someone who needs saving. Is it simply within his nature that he follows this behavior, or is it a choice he makes?

Why is he so invested in this vision of himself? Has he failed to save someone before? Does he feel like he’s failed himself? Does he simply want that all-encompassing level of control and frames it in this manner to justify it? Wouldn’t you want to experience the highest and lowest of someone, if you wanted to truly know them and be their source of comfort and safety?

The insistence on seeing both the best and worst in someone is one thing, but in this specific context it really is (to me) terrifying as much as it may be a positive in the long run. That, in and of itself, is a really interesting thing. Why be the savior you don’t long for? Why force that? It’s just such a fascinating thing, I think, especially given its separation from the main trilogy.

Show me your pretty white jaws, show me where the delicate stops, show me what you’ve lost and why you’re always taking it slow, show me what wounds you’ve got, show me love. Is that pain what love is? Do you not show me love until you show me your worst? Why not your best? What’s the use of showing your wounds if you won’t show me the skin that hasn’t yet been scarred, if you won’t show the delicate instead if where it stops?

You have this image of a man insisting on being a savior to this person, even one that’s unwanted and undesired and unappreciated, but what does that really mean? Who, here, is this really benefitting? Does Vessel even know? Does he care? Does he want all of these things from the person being sung about, or is that really a reflection of what he wants for himself?

Is he truly talking to someone else, or is he seeing his own reflection in the stained glass and singing to them?

Does he understand the difference?

Can he show himself his own wounds?

Can he show himself love?

Does he even know how?

[highpriestessofchildsacrifice]

Kelly Clarkson keeps talking about how much she "loves losing weight" and saying that being "chubby" is a "phase" that she couldn't wait to leave 😭 we lost another one ladies

I don't care if you personally go on Ozempic or any of these drugs and I actually am pretty generous/charitable towards celebs not wanting to disclose their personal medical decisions but I think Aubrey Gordon put it so well when she said that the worst part about these diet and exercise and drug fads is the insane surge of fatphobia and self importance and disgust AND MISINFORMATION directed towards plus size/fat people who aren't doing those fads for whatever reason

it is so disheartening to see this immediate public platformed idealization of thinness and weight loss. I'd rather you shut the fuck up about all of it, honestly. Like you have to understand the impact this rhetoric has - as true as it may feel for you - on people struggling w EDs &/or for whom weight loss drugs and weight loss in general is difficult, complicated, impossible, undesired/unwanted for health or emotional or other reasons. Some of us just don't want it to be priority in our life. I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to waste my life seeking it anymore. There's scientifically literally nothing wrong w me that has anything to do w it. Christ 😑🚬

Like if u wont disclose ur ozempic use - in any way, let alone in an ethical way that doesn't fearmonger or spread misinformation - then I don't think u should be saying shit like that unprompted ☠️

[chaosnoirjpg]

Feeling Guilty about not being Grateful

In this entry I am typing about feeling guilty¹ about not being grateful “enough”. This topic is inspired by a lifelong friend of mine’s series of texts messages. This entry has been adapted from our conversations.

The last I remember feeling guilty about not being grateful enough was in a Black Woman spiritual circle I discovered on Facebook. I didn’t feel so much as guilty as I was more triggered by the whole thing. I remember growing up and being told to ‘count your blessings’ when an unfavorable situation occurred as if I was messing up and missing out on how truly worse the matter could have been. As if I had any control or responsibility over the random ill fated life-events that choose me.

As I explored my trigger, I concluded that I was disappointed and shocked that I found myself in yet another assumed safe space. I thought I had found a home within this online sisterhood. I let my guard down and misjudged. I understood that I could no longer trust to discuss other emotions outside of feeling grateful for everything in my life, including undesired situations.

Recently, my little family and I experienced a theft. One of my family member’s car was stolen out of a parking lot. The culprit was later apprehended, the car received severe damages from the pursuit and capture. While we awaited word from the police, the family was going back and forth between choosing to be grateful and feeling other emotions. 

My mother, being the God-fearing Southern Baptist she is, chose to be grateful and made sure to spread her good will to us. She was grateful that none of her children were outside to greet the thief and got harmed. She was grateful that it wasn’t an even worse event, like a home burglary. She experienced that at her first apartment as a married young woman. To this day she remembers how violating it was to return home and see it’s been decimated by unwanted criminals. She gave her perspective to help us see our circumstance in a more positive light, to ease our pain and suffering, to make us more resilient somehow. Yes, I will agree that we were lucky that we were safely elsewhere while the car was being absconded. As well-meaning as mom is, there was still an air of blindness, denial and minimalization there, albeit unaware. 

My sibling, the one with the missing car, felt differently. She felt many, many things. Being grateful was far from her repertoire of emotions. She was going through the seven stages of grief on a loop. One moment she was angry she was targeted and desired vengeance, the next she tried to cheer herself up by looking forwarding to shopping for a new car.

I caught myself feeling envy² and annoyance about how she felt so naturally open to express her anger and disaster-mindset whenever a surprise event happened because she felt safe. I usually chill in my car and take time to cry or scream away from everyone for fear that they’d give me advice on how to see the silver lining³. I don’t want to see the silver lining I desire to mourn and mourn deeply before I even think about the next move. I’d like some time to process how shitty this is right now.

If my grandma was still alive and well, I highly doubt she would worry about any of this. She understood something about life. Her mystery of her knowingness was something I always admired. She had a level of unwavering emotional security. Nothing and no one could get my grandma down.

I can hear her now, “They ain’t stopping nothin’”.

I often thought that it was because she experienced great loss with burying her two sons, a grandson and many more of her loved ones that allowed her the capacity to endure the hardships of life’s randomness. She was never bothered by people gossiping about her or plotting against her. She had an understanding that those people aren’t satisfied with life and she was busy being happy with her own. As a child, when she told me these things they didn’t make much sense. She’d tell me ‘to keep on livin’, you’ll get it one day.’

Why do we run to being grateful when life hurls lemons at us…or…let’s be real, at any minor inconvenience? I have some answers. Please keep in mind that there are many truths, contradictory truths can exist and have existed all at once. We live in a multidimensional reality, my good people. What a time to be alive.

As far as being thankful in all things, I understand the need to be grateful and feeling guilty about being ungrateful because it could always be worse. I was told to be grateful often. Hearing that didn’t break the curse of feeling cheated, like I am missing out on better and greater things. Instead, it felt like my feelings about the present situation and circumstance didn’t meaning anything. As though my feelings held no weight in making things easier, more productive and moving things along. That might be true. But would you rather be right or experience the fullness of your capacity to feel?

I remember seeing on tv family sitcoms where the family sit at dinner, the child isn’t inspired enough to clean their plate, the parent says the offensive idiom, “There are starving children in Africa Alkebulan⁴.” Well, I didn’t get that speech. I got the, “Remember who you are and Who’s you are. Remember where you come from” talk. This mindset of gratitude wasn’t reserved for the home, but this type of be-grateful reactionary thinking was based on the mental and spiritual survival of repressed peoples. I often had the talk about how my family were forced into slavery.

They want you to be sad. Don’t fall into the trap and give them your energy.

There wasn’t a lot to be grateful for if you were a slave or sharecropper or just Black and existing in the USA or anywhere. Understanding yields compassion. However, I cannot ignore other emotions for fear of being haunted by them in the foreseeable future.

With my rudimentary way of thinking as a youngin’, I conceptualized that I was fighting against this vague thing, for lack of a better term, the mindset that desired me to be sad. As an individual, experiencing my own life, I also think about how my ancestors found joy where they could. I imagine them finding community in spite of their terrible surroundings. I think about women holding hope for a better future and if they could ever imagine a distant relative like myself reading and writing freely, being able to drive my own car or having my own bank account and being educated. Then I think, I have time to slow down and honor myself by acknolwgding my emotions. I’m not in survival mode like my foremothers. I have time. I am allowed to feel ungrateful, sad, mad, abandoned, happy, and content all at once, be present with the ebbing and flowing waves of emotions. I’m allowed to feel the full spectrum of emotions. I’m allowed to process my guilt and shame⁵ about feeling guilty and shameful. Feeling is the most human thing I can do because so many may not get the chance to or even know how. I am allowed to be grateful and feel other feelings too. No emotion is better or worse than the other. I am worthy of feeling it all.

I still struggle as life is not without its difficulties. I’m allowed to be sad and grateful about being sad. I’m allowed to say there is no bright side to this and still be like,

I’mma survive this as I’ve done all my worst moments in my life.

I may not feel grateful now or ever. However, I know I will survive this and it will not last. I don’t have to be grateful just have faith that it’ll work out and I will be ready or as ready as I can be.

In conclusion, when others try to reframe your perspective by advising you to be grateful, as well-meaning as that advise is I don’t think they’ve ponder what they are actually saying. The end goal, if there must be one, is to be able to allow yourself the space and time to process the present moment at hand. When we react by searching for ways to be grateful, we rob ourselves of being present with ourselves. We silence, censor an lie to ourselves which keeps us from our own emotional journey for fear of being perceived as ungrateful and therefore worthy of even worse happenings. Forced happiness creates humans who aren’t in-touch with what they are feelings, what they truly desire, and eventually leads to feeling lost because they cannot distinguish what they like, love and dislike. When we shed the “Us v Them” mentality, the dualist way of thinking of emotions being good and/or bad then we are able to perceive the vastness of our human experience. We begin to understand ourselves, we form a deep intimacy within ourselves. Eventually, we will be able to see ourselves clearer and clearer and know that we can handle whatever life brings. It all starts with giving ourselves permission to exist just as we are, moment to moment. Release yourself from the limiting thinking of being grateful is the only solution to being enough, feeling fulfilled and contented.

You are enough, just as you are, right here, right now. There are many truths out there. Believe the truths that empower you.

--

Guilt, Guilty: i.e. I did something wrong.

2. Envy: Someone has what you desire or do not have

3. Silver Lining: seeing the good in a bad situation

4. Alkebunal: Dr. Cheikh Anta Diop: History of Afrika, ALKEBULAN | THE ORIGINAL NAME FOR AFRICA. link: https://www.awaytoafrica.com/know-african-roots/

5. Shame, Shameful: i.e. I am wrong.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 18 -- Deacon

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober, Day 18 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don't interact.

Voyeurism with Deacon x g/n! Sole

Whoops, big surprise, this got angsty. Sorry Deeks! I just can't help it with this man, I don't know why 😅 but hopefully y'all still enjoy it regardless!

Here is the link to my Kinktober 2022 Event list so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: Voyeurism, (non-consensual voyeurism), masturbation, angst, wishful thinking, pining.

1.6k words.

--

Yeah. This is cute. 

Deacon’s mind said to him dryly. 

This is a healthy response to this situation. This isn’t weird. Sole will understand. They’ll get it. 

The spy shook his head, eyes closed tight as his brain spewed unwanted words of restraint, of undesired and unneeded common sense. 

What the hell is sensible about any part of this situation? We’re in an abandoned ice cream shop that Sole used to visit on weekends before giant bombs blew everything to hell, and they took a nap for 200 years. We’re surrounded by packs of super mutants on one side, and raiders on the other, and I’m biting into the back of my hand to keep quiet as they moan through the fabric of their shirt on the other side of this thin, crumbling concrete wall. Nothing about this situation is even remotely expectable. 

He could hardly fucking stand it. 

You’re both doing the same damn thing, if you’d just talk to them about it, maybe, the two of you could finally–

Deacon hissed through his teeth, his uncomfortably dry hand stroking too harshly over his erection as the frustration built up in both his mind and body. 

This isn’t the same. Another side of his mind refuted. I’m over here, pining the skin off my cock for them, while they’re undoubtedly thinking about their late spouse-- Or… anyone else, even. --at the feel of their own hand.

He didn’t know.  

I should be thinking of Barbara. Or of someone– anyone, but them. Right along with them.

They’re the only fucking friend I’ve got. I’ve had, in… what? A decade? Maybe more? I can’t count right now. 

Deacon’s head fell back against the wall, a grimace coating his expression, even as his blue eyes hazed over with climbing bliss. 

I can’t lose them over… what? Wanting to engage in a little hanky panky with them? Wanting what? A close connection? Intimacy? Vulnerability? When– in what universe would that ever happen? 

We both know I could never have anything like that again. 

A deep breath escaped him, throaty and louder than he would’ve liked as his thumb grazed over his slit, collecting some of his slick pre-cum and stroking it over his length as the only way to ease the friction of his rough hand. 

A noise sounded through the thin wall behind him, and Deacon ceased his movements, holding his breath. 

Shit. Did they just hear me?

Just as he was contemplating trying to zip his jeans up over his cock, to hide the evidence; just as some half-assed story was forming on his lips about why he was sitting back here against the wall, rather than out where he should be, out on watch, another sound interrupted his train of thought. 

He felt his cock throb at the sound, as he heard Sole’s moan fill the air around him. A gasp followed shortly after, and then a bit of silence, but Deacon could still feel them there, somehow, he could feel Sole’s lingering presence just on the other side, and he knew they were just worried. Worried that someone would hear what they were doing. Worried like he was. 

What am I doing? Deacon asked himself for the upteenth time that night, and so many nights before now. 

This is wrong. It’s gross, and it’s wrong, and it’s not fair, for you to hear them like this without earning it, without them knowing. It’s wrong to be out here doing this in response to it. 

Deacon’s hand stilled on his cock, refusing to stroke himself, but gripping tight enough to hurt as his mind flooded with thoughts like these. He wasn’t unused to self-loathing, nah, he and that go waaaaay back, but this? This seemed low. Even for the likes of him.

Sole wasn’t some stranger in a pub, not some escort or one-night-stander, not someone he didn’t know on the other side of a hotel room, who just happens to be engaging in the same fun little activity as him. No, Sole was the reason for this… activity. They were in his thoughts, always, even when they weren’t in front of him, or by his side, on the days he went out on his own, they were still there. 

And he fucking hated it. 

That they were reduced to this. 

They’re his best friend, his partner, the reason his smiles aren’t so forced, the reason he feels he might still, after all this time, all these years, have the capacity to love someone when he thought that had all died long ago. 

His body jolted as another breathy sound left his partner from the other side of the wall, and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

Goddamn, if I could see what they look like when they make that sound. 

With that very image coming unbidden to his mind, Deacon’s hand unwittingly was back to stroking over his cock. He worked himself slowly, savoring the feeling, allowing his mind to wander to the possibility of him being the one to make them sound like that, to make them look as he imagined they would. Their gorgeous eyes rolled back in their head, their lips spread as they moaned his name, their skin glistening, their hair wild. Their skin would be flushed, eyes hazy as they blinked them open to steal a glance at him as he ravished their body, as he used his silver tongue to work towards a goal more worthwhile than any other. As he did as they deserved, as he worshiped them like he were one of the deacons of the old world and they were his God, shepherding their release like all the poor sinners those men would bring to the light. 

Sole’s gasps were leaving them more rapidly now, building to a crescendo that Deacon would give all that he had left to be a part of. Hell, he’d throw his choice shades off the top of trinity tower to be the one to bring about their thunderous release. 

But he was doomed to be a bystander. Invisible, as he always was, as he heard them groan out from the other side of the wall. A thud sounded against the concrete as he imagined their head falling back at the overwhelming feeling of their release. 

It was the sound that got him.

Deacon hadn’t thought he was close, he’d been so caught up in his own fantasy, all of his tormenting thoughts, he couldn’t feel his body’s signs, and now, he was caught completely off-guard. The spy bit hard into his wrist as a low grunt escaped him against his will, his light eyes prickling with tears of pleasure as he finally felt that pressure release within him.

His seed sprayed down onto the dirt, leaving him in enthusiastic spurts that had his hips writhing and his head knocking against that same wall Sole was surely collapsed against. 

The next battle came in the form of his breath, as Deacon pulled his hand away, he realized how fucking loud he was still being, even as the last white rope of his cum was emptied onto the floor. He released himself, forcing his mind to rally, to focus on easing his breath, as his cock softened where it laid over the lip of his boxers. 

“Fuck me.” He whispered, eyes closed tight as the guilt all came swirling back into his mind with a vengence. 

Again? I just did this again? One of these days, you know–

“Deacon?” 

His eyes shot open as Sole’s voice carried from the other side of the wall. 

“I-is that you?” They asked, uncertain, their voice almost shaking. 

Every thought entered his mind at a million miles a minute, swirling together in a confused traffic jam of ‘what do I say’s?’ and ‘what the hell do I do’s?’. 

“Ahh,” The sound escaped his throat, as a way of aiding his thoughts, but he hadn’t meant for it to be verbal goddamn it. 

“Ahem, uh, yeah. Deeks here.” He bit his tongue, tasting metal from the pressure. 

Sole’s silence scared him more than their call of his name had. 

“How, uh, how’s it hanging?” 

Oh my god. One part of his mind panicked, while the other tried to grasp onto some form of sanity, of common sense. But that part of his mind, he didn’t know what it was, but it always seemed it’s hands were wet, or that common sense was made of ice and sanity was liquid water, always managing to slip frustratingly from his hold.

There’s no god out there that can save you, you buffoon. Nothing can. That was it. You finally did it. Finally managed to get caught. 

He almost told his thoughts to ‘shut up’ out loud, but thought better of it at the last moment. That likely wouldn’t go over well with Sole. Especially after they hadn’t said a damn thing. 

“You heard me, huh.” 

The blood drained from his face. It wasn’t a question from their end, but worse than their certainty was the shame that he heard drip from every word. 

“That… uh, that I did. Yeah.” 

If he was gonna be the creepy asshole sitting out here while they did their personal business, he at least could own up to it. Deacon may be a liar, but Sole, Sole wasn’t dumb. They’d know he was lying, and that would make it even worse. 

“But, um…” He closed his eyes, taking a breath. “But you heard me too, so, you know. Guess we’re, uh, even. Right?” 

“Yeah…” They said quietly, almost too quietly to hear with the wall in the way. Deacon didn’t have time to try to make what repairs he could before they were speaking again, this time louder than before. 

“I won’t tell you about it, if you won’t tell me.” A light humor touched their voice. 

Deacon let out a dry laugh, his chest aching for a reason he refused to acknowledge. 

“Won’t tell you about what?” He said back, hoping they couldn’t hear the strain in his voice, the strain to sound humorous and light in return. 

He heard their laugh from the other side, a lovely sound that tugged at the sides of his mouth, despite the lingering throb in his chest. 

“Yeah, exactly. Good talk, partner.” 

“Yeah.” He whispered, his brows creased beneath his shades. “Partner.”

[animeworldfanfics]

Just Each Other's

He was my boss. The Richest person in the whole company. The official shareholder of 53% of the Sanemi Corporation's shared. 

You'd think he had everything...Trust me, he didn't. He had no family, and he was 100% the MOST undesirable person for any girl.

a) He was short tempered  b) He was badly scarred  c) He was rude

So in all conclusions, Shinazugawa Sanemi at age 25 had nothing but his brilliance of mind to vouch for him. His parents died a peasant. He brought himself to match the royalty. He was practical, and business minded, and if someone only KNEW about this side of him, without having actually met him in person, they would surely fall for him. 

I was 23. A College Graduate, top of her class. I had amazing grades, and pretty good soft skills. What I did NOT have, was looks. I was not good looking one bit. At age 23, no one had confessed to me. I had ugly large spectacles, a freckled face, a....bad physique. Everything in me was particularly unwanted. 

But, I was happy the way I was. And the worst thing was that I still believed someone could want me as I was. 

When I joined Sanemi Corporations as a member of the PR team, I never imagined that I would have to work so closely with Shinazugawa sir. Someone from the PR team would always tag along with him to ALL the business deal and negotiations. 

Let me clarify the working out a bit.  The PR department, Public Relations that is, had the job of one-on-one interactions with customers, clients and other businessmen. And we were further divided into departments on the basis of our core degrees.  Some of the PR members were involved in sealing Finance deals, some in dealing with clients etc. etc. 

Finance team was particularly short-staffed. It was just me and a colleague - Jason. 

And we were the only ones who would accompany Shinazugawa sir everywhere. 

"Man! I am so, so glad you're finally here! It's scary to work with Mr. Sanemi all alone. Maybe you can take this burden off me." Jason had told me with a goofy smile. And I guess that was to be it. The next day, I was tasked with accompanying him, to get a first-hand working experience. 

"(y/n), can you please walk faster?" It was no plea. It was a short remark. Shinazugawa Sanemi was everything I had imagined him to be and yet nothing like him at all.  He was as curt and practical as I thought he would be, but he was breath-taking. Muscular, with a scarred face. And on top of that, he had very, very kind eyes. I fell for him, at first sight.  

I could feel, it was just a hunch, that he was not in reality this rude. He was just forcing himself to be. 

There were no strict restrictions around him. He just expected you to be at your best, would tolerate absolutely NO laxation and was particular about professionalism. 

On our first negotiation deal, I could do nothing but just sit there and listen. When we left, I came out with my head hung low. It was not just the fact that I was disappointed in myself, but also the fact that Sanemi was sure to scold me now! 

"What is it?" Sanemi asked. It was a demand. I absolutely HAD to tell him what was wrong. There were no options. 

"I just feel...so useless. Despite having a member of PR with you, you had to work on all the negotiations." I was ready to listen to a rant about how worthless I was, and how big of a mistake it was to hire me as member of PR. 

What I heard though, was a kind, soft voice, that said, "It was your first day. I never expect anything from freshers. On the 4rth negotiation you accompany me to, I'll start expecting you to perform ably." He told me. 

I was...stunned. Sanemi had forgiven me?! THE SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI infamous for his rude working style had actually not scolded me? 

This man was something else. 

And then, we continued walking to his car. We both sat on the backseat during the drive. And in that moment, I do not know what came over me. 

I turned to face my boss and spoke in a timid voice, "Sir, you're really kind, aren't you?" 

I saw his pupils widen, as if I had just cursed him, and he turned his face round. Had I offended him? Was I going to be fired? I did not say anything anymore. It was the best way to survive, I figured. 

Over the course of 4 weeks, I accompanied him to 2 other, normal negotiations. On the end of the third, he took me to a cafe. 

"Thanks You." He spoke after we had ordered. I was spacing out the whole time before, but this forced me to turn my full attention to him. I gave him a kind smile, silently coaxing him to continue. 

"No one found me kind ever since my parents died. Thank You, for looking past my cold exterior and saying it out loud." 

I was flabbergasted. So, what I had done back then, was not actually wrong! 

"You are really, really kind. You are the best boss any employee could expect. Someone who is supportive yet assertive. I have a lot to learn from you, sir." 

This time, he looked apathetic. 

But, I had more to say, "I...do not know what happened, but your eyes say that you are very lonely. Will you be my friend?" 

I brought a hand forward, asking him to shake it. He grasped it firmly and the both of us nodded to one another.

"And now, as a rule of friendship, you have 0 right to hide anything from your first ever friend. If you ever feel like smiling or crying or if you're mad or sad, just call me." My bubbly personality was resurfacing. This was what landed me a job in Sanemi Corp anyway. 

We drank our coffee, making small talk every now and then, and exchanged Instagram IDs. 

I texted him that night, once we had both reached home. 

(y/n):  Hi Sir!!

Sanemi: 

Why are you up? 

(y/n):  I am usually up at this time around. You? 

Sanemi: 

Couldn't sleep. 

(y/n):  Do you want me to sing to you, lol? 

Sanemi: 

No. Music only worsens my insomniac tendencies. 

(y/n): Are you on pills? 

Sanemi: 

No. 

(y/n):  Why not? 

Sanemi: 

Didn't wanna alter my body. 

(y/n):  Do you watch anime? 

Sanemi: 

It's a good time pass. 

And all night long, we kept talking about our favourite anime characters and former anime crushes and possible plots for what could happen. 

He didn't sleep that night, and nor did I. 

Gosh, how sleepy I was the whole day at my office. I kept on yawning and spacing out. Jason teased me badly about it, the whole day. What he teased about more was that any moment now, he would call Sanemi sir to the office to see my pathetic condition. 

I knew he wouldn't though. Jason was a good person. He was kind, and simple. Pretty humble, tbh. But, he was very, very fun! Jason could make anyone laugh within 5 minutes of being in his vicinity. It was something I COULD NOT do and hence envied him ever so slightly for. 

"Jason! Sanemi Sir is calling you urgently now." Came the voice of our head on the telecom. 

And off he went, rushing away. 

'How is Sanemi Sir? If this is my condition after 1 sleepless night, how would his be?' I was worrying over him the whole time. He was my friend after all. And also...my crush. When you fall for someone, you want to badly find the good parts of him. You just cannot live without finding all of them out.

That was the case with me too. I wanted to know all about Sanemi. And help him, if possible. I had no idea how I was still surviving as his friend when his slightest presence made my heart beat at the speed of light. 

There was nothing more to do that day, so I decided to go home early. However, before I could leave, Sanemi sir's car came at the entrance. He looked like...normal.... 

I guess these sleepless night were routine for him then. I greeted him a Good Evening, and was about to leave his presence, when he came up behind me, and fell into my step.

"Wanna go out for dinner?" He asked me. And who the hell am I to say no to my crush?! Oh what I wouldn't have give to have those words changed from dinner to date. 

We once again went in Sanemi's Black Buggati. This man was THE Rich Kid! 

Amidst the random conversations we were having about our general hobbies, and likes and dislikes, he piped an "I am sorry." 

"For what?" I asked.

To that he said, "For having kept your awake all night long, yesterday." 

"It was THE first all-nighter I pulled up." I informed him with a light giggle. "It was pretty fun." 

Sanemi looked shocked, and much, much less guiltier. But there was unspoken curiosity in his gaze that I was only gratified to satiate. 

"Growing up, I had no friends. I had acquaintances. There were people I knew, and even talked to, but no one to call a FRIEND. Like someone to rely on, someone to send messages to, Someone to openly be me with. So, I naturally had no all-nighters or night outs, or even day outs with people. There was always the group of the most popular, good looking girls. I was never the popular girl yknow. Never a guy's dream, never his crush. I never had anyone get jealous over me, or someone fall for me. I was always a best friend, a little sister, a fling even, but never someone's love." 

That was the darkest side of me. That was the most hidden, securely tucked away part of my existence. And I had just opened it up to my CRUSH! To the person who was always supposed to see me in a bright, beautiful light! 

And all that anxiety and nostalgia mixed in brought tears to my eyes. I was about to shed the first ever tears in a few months. But before I could do that, Sanemi spoke up. 

"My parents...died, with my brother in a Car Crash. I don't know WHY I survived. We were going to celebrate my birthday. The road was pretty rocky, and dad had asked me and my brother to stay quiet. But we were squabbling over who would get to sit on the left side of the car. And I pushed him to the right. The car jerked too. We fell to the base of a ditch, the car burst up in flames. My mom and dad died instantly on the spot. My brother too. I survived cuz I was on the LEFT! The side that was on the top, in regards to the position we fell in. 

I was admitted to a government hospital, and was comatose for a whole of 3 months. 3 months later when I woke up, I was the sole owner of the house my dad had left me, and the savings in our bank account, which were very, very little. 

We were anyway pretty poor. I did NOT want to survive, but, mom wanted to ride a buggati, and that was really the only reason I lived everyday. I only wanted to buy a buggati. But I also established Sanem Corp. 

It's of no use, anyway...I just live now, cuz I have no reason to die."

Sanemi was fighting back tears that were brimming on top of his eyelashes. I moved my chair to his right, and brought his face to the crook of my neck. 

I smoothened the back of his head, and whispered in his ears, "Cry it out." 

He let out a loud wail then, and started bawling out. I was sure that he cried for over 30 mins. The waiter had very politely deposited our food on the table and left. Everyone around us was also responsible to stay away. 

I could finally figure out why he had depressions and why he was an insomniac. He probably had dreams about them every night. 

We really did not know what to say to one another during dinner. It was a weird silence. It was almost as if, we feared if we spoke anything, we would lose the gravity of the situation. 

Sanemi looked cute with a tear stained face. 

He offered to drop me home at 10:00 p.m. in the night, and we promised to call each other that night. 

This night was the same as the previous one. Sanemi and I chatted away the whole night. Except this time, we could hear each other. And after a while, I could also hear him softly...snoring away. 

I dozed off too, along with him. 

The next morning, I accompanied him to a 4rth negotiation. As expected, he was pretty curt and formal while discussing papers with me. I did not want to let him down today. Today was the day he would start practically judging me. 

When the 3 hour long negotiations were over, and we were in the elevator, all alone, I looked up to meet his eye. We both said nothing. And finally, he broke the silence, "You're an able person to keep around." 

Was that a praise?! Did Sanemi just...praise me?! I was on cloud nine the whole time! I was smiling like the happiest person in the world! 

That night, I called him again. 

"What was that (y/n)? You were smiling so happily today morning as of someone had offered you a marriage proposal." 

And...he burst into laughter! 

Sanemi.....laughed....

I was overjoyed about that, and frankly, I could not help but laugh too! 

"Sanemi! Can I...ask you one thing....?" 

"Yes, of course." He was in a pretty light mood today, so I was afraid of asking him that. It was sure to ruin his mood instantly. 

"Are you....okay?" I asked

"Why do you ask that?" Was his short reply. I could tell, I had shaken him up. 

"You said that day that you had no reason to live. So....I just....don't want to see you smiling one day and dead the next!" 

"Tears are a powerful force, (y/n). Sharing your problems lessens them up. I finally slept properly after many years yesterday. And I...finally have a reason to live." 

He did not specify anything. But he had just summed up, that somehow, he was over his past now. 

For a few weeks, our friendship was a beautiful little thing. We knew each other like the back of our hands now. And as far as we both knew, Sanemi had a crush on no one, and I had a crush on....someone. 

Ever since I told him that I liked someone, he had been more talkative with me. We used to go out on more frequent dinners, in flashier cars than before, and he had started taking me around to more negotiations as well. 

However, he hardly ever let me speak in any of them. He was always the one in charge. 

Jason was pretty shocked about this behaviour too. It was the first time, he said, that he had heard of Sanemi sir being forceful about negotiations. He always let the members handle it  after the first few ones. 

Maybe....Sanemi did not trust me even now? Did he think of me as an incompetent employee and only kept me around for the sake of our friendship?  

October 8, 2023

He took both me and Jason to the negotiation we planned. Apparently, it was a deal that could change the very face of Sanemi Corp, and we both needed to be at our best. 

All throughout the car ride I was pretty nervous. Jason on the other hand, was super excited! He kept chirping in about how he hoped the other negotiator was a pretty lady and how I should promise to treat him to barbeque if it was successful! 

Slowly, I could feel my fears melt away too! Jason was an amusing, amazing person! When we stepped out of the car, Sanemi shook hands firmly with Jason to wish him luck, but he ignored me straight away.

Did I....do something wrong? Did he not want me to be relaxed about this negotiation? As it seemed, he did not trust me. I was determined to prove my worth to him by this deal. Acknowledgement was the first step to love they said! 

And Jason and I were an amazing combo! We, together, got it sealed within an hour. Sanemi did not have to say much anyway. 

"High Five! And as I promised! Barbeque today, at Barbeque Forever 7:00 p.m." I told Jason

He, in his excitement, couldn't help but hug me! And for the first time ever, that day, I heard Sanemi shout!

"Enough with the both of you!" HE was loud. and scary, and I was about to burst into tears.  "This is THE MOST unprofessional behaviour I have seen! Ever! Hugging one another publicly! You should be ashamed of yourself! Both of you." He was still seething, as he pulled my hand, and took me away from Jason and the public. I found myself in an unknown, narrow alley. I was not scared. Sanemi would NEVER hurt me. But it hurt to see that he was angry at ME! How did allow myself to get carried away.

Sanemi slapped a hand around my face to the wall on my left, and brought his face dangerously close to mine. Any closer and we could have kissed. I could smell his breath on my face as he spoke: "It's him, isn't it?" He was seething now. Gritting his teeth, in mad anger. He was barely holding himself together! 

"The one you have a crush on! It's Jason right? I am so, so much more richer than him! I can give you all the happiness in the world! I am the one you trust the most, but you crush on him! He is so very beneath me! I can fire him in 2 seconds, that's the power I hold! But your choice, is not me! It's that insect! 

I have shown you my wealth, my power, and even my negotiation skills, and you still choose someone else over me.

But, that's alright. I cannot change your feelings, but, I will not have you two hugging when I am around!" 

He was still angry, but underneath it, he was also sad....Though his tone was angry, it was seething, his eyes told a different story.

He was pleading me to change my mind. To just come to him. He did not want to cry before me and end up making me feel guilty, but he also wanted to bind me to him. The internal battle in him that he was trying so hard to hide was plainly visible to me.

"But, you said, you did not have a crush on anyone." I spoke in a meek timid voice. 

"I don't." Came his harsh reply. "I don't have a crush on you. (y/n) (m/n) (l/n), I LOVE you." 

I. Was. Shocked. Sanemi had just confessed to me. 

I couldn't help but, giggle only to get a harsh glare from him. Someone finally loved me! Someone was jealous FOR me! So all this while, he was trying to prove that he was superior to himself! It was not that he did not trust me. He did not trust HIMSELF.

I started laughing out loud, and I could tell I was only aggravating Sanemi's anger further. He again turned to me, and we were in the same position as before. Sanemi's glare was harsher and he looked even more hurt this time. It was almost as if I had broken the last of his trust, that he had placed in me. 

"From the first day. I have been crushing on you, Sanemi Shinazugawa since the first day. It's not Jason. Jason's just a friend. The one I have a crush on, my awkward guy with kind eyes, is you!" I could see his expressions morph into many different things until they finally settled on happiness. He pulled away from me and did a victory jump!

"Yes! (y/n) LOOOOOVVVVVESSSSSSSSSS MEEEE!!!!!" He was doing a stupid little dance, and I could tell he had forgotten about my presence altogether. 

I coughed lightly, to remind him that I was still there. He picked me up from the ground in a tight hug and spun me around! And I couldn't help but naturally giggle as well! 

I hugged him tighter, and his hold on me tightened as well.

"Gosh! You're such a jealous baby!" I whispered to him in his embrace.

He looked at me, straight in the face, as he said, "You. Are. Mine." And crashed his lips onto mine. 

They were soft, warm, and addictive. I felt him pull away. Maybe, he was once again, insecure about his actions. So, I chased them! I kissed him back with the same force that he had put into it, and found him smiling against my lips. 

He pushed me to the wall, and poured all the longing, jealousy, anger and happiness into that one kiss. 

It was awkward, but much needed. Who would have thought, that both of our first kiss would be this forceful. When we separated, our lips were swollen. I licked mine, and his pupils dilated. 

"Sanemi," I asked him on our walk back to the car, "Why me?" 

"Cuz you were the one who accepted me wholly. Listen, (y/n), I am very very jealous, and very possessive, and insecure, and I have frequent nightmares, and I don't have control over my temper. But, I love you! I would go to the ends of the Earth for you. And I want to date you with marriage in mind. So, will you go out with me? At your own risk, of course?" 

And who the hell was I to reject an offer so, so purely made? 

"I am not pretty, and no rich kid, and pretty much goofy. I'll never ever shut up! But, I am your if you want me?" I replied. 

Sanemi picked me up to spin me around once again, and replied with a simple, "Of Course I do! Love you princess." 

We walked together, with our hands entwined. 

As I saw Jason, I wanted to rush to apologise to him but our entwined hands held me in place. So I dragged Sanemi with me. 

He freed our hands, put an arm around my waist and pulled me flush to him from the side. He then glared strongly at Jason as he said, "Mine!" 

And I rushed to clarify the scenario out. 

"Who would have thought that THE GREAT SANEMI SIR would be jealous of me?!" Was the only thing he could reply with. 

The car ride, Sanemi made Jason sit in the front, and would not allow me to talk to anyone who wasn't him. Stealing kisses occasionally in there. 

He went as far as to ask me to shift my desk to his personal office, and Jason had to promise him that I was nothing more than a sister. 

Finally, Sanemi's mind was at ease. 

This was 5 years ago. As I write today, I can barely sit, all thanks to Sanemi, who's got me all round and swollen. I am about to be a mother in the next 2 months. 

All those past 5 years, Sanemi was the best boyfriend ANYONE could ask for. He was understanding, and comforting. The only risk, was asking anything of him. 

If you asked him for a necklace, he'd get you a diamond one. You joke around saying. "I wish I had the recent Iphone15." Congratulations, Home Delivered! I had to get used to it two years ago when he finally proposed. 

As I started sleeping in his embrace, his nightmares and my insecurities, reduced drastically. 

We had moved on from our pasts now. We were just each others. 

[pokedash55]

I need to ramble about Tales From The Pizzaplex Book 4, story 3 Bobbiedots for a hot minute cause IT CHANGES THE ENTIRE DAYCARE DYNAMIC PEOPLE!!!

So there's a bombshell drop of lore that states:

Abe sighed. "The Sun robot was an old stage animatronic. Part of its theatrical shtick was to turn evil when the lights went off. When it was reprogrammed to be the day care attendant, the performance functions were taken out, but the darkness trigger couldn't be removed. That, combined with the occasional blackouts in the day care, created the Moon side of the attendant, which results in several undesirable behaviors." Abe shook his head. "Apparently, they had meetings about what to do, and they decided that fixing Sun was more trouble than it was worth. It's cheaper to just make sure the lights stay on."

Many DCA theories connected them to the theater from their room's access to the location and the design of the theater, so that isn't exactly earthshattering news, but it seemingly debunks the SOFT MOON HC?? Or at least it appears to!

Sun and Moon were originally just one AI, acting as a stage performance, but this employee says they were repurposed for the daycare. This seemed to cause Moon to splinter off from Sun, as they reprogramed Sun but forgot about Moon.

MOON ISN'T SUN'S TWIN BUT HIS SKRUNKLY ANNOYING YOUNGER BROTHER OMG.

OK OKAY I'm kinda trying to fuse well known fanon with this vague, possibly untrue information the "reliable" Fazbear employee gives us but what if the timeline is like this:

Sun is in complete control of Moon simply as an act for kids to enjoy

They open the daycare and repurpose the animatronic, Reprogramming Sun but not Moon

Moon becomes his own individual and causes problems, causing them to build the generators and implement the lights on rule, BUT they hastily repair the code so he isn't a liability anymore towards the kids and utilizes the aggressive side for security so they don't have to pay for the sky high electric bill anymore.

So now Moon is programmed to care for and attend the kids, but also has the leftover traits of his show/self. He tries to be a good naptime attendant but keeps falling short and the kids are scared of him. He becomes Sun's weird younger brother who is just trying to be as useful and loved as Sun is, but Sun, being the orderly one, starts to resent him for making his job difficult!

Instead of being fluffy powerteam twins, Moon is an unwanted younger brother with poor social skills but is trying his best (he likes patrols cause it makes him feel needed and valued (while also being a skill he excels at as that stalking aggression spider was always apart of "him")) and Sun is a caring but uptight perfectionist older brother who will protect him, but gets exhausted by the mistakes he makes! Plus the fact that Sun would have to deal with a peice of himself becoming their own person (nothing like more Sun angst!)

They brotherly bond as the daycare operates somewhat efficiently for a while before the virus starts to take hold of Moon, reverting him to full on spurts of aggression that puts kids in danger. When he flashes back to reality, he is upset with himself that he still can't be the beloved Attendant Sun is. This insecurity allows the virus (which was already targeting him for his security clearances and stalking abilities) easy Access to his code and he gets corrupted, causing the management to once again pull the plug on him and keep the lights on.

Imagine the brotherly angst! This angle on their relationship also incorporates the "Moon is jealous of Sun's popularity" fanon so well while also incorporating what lore we received from the books. And after the virus when everything is working again, they can grow to become the Soft Moon and Sun paring we thought they were BEFORE the virus! It's a long Brotherly love slow burn people and I am honestly here for it.

[femmefatalevibe]

hey! me and my girlfriend have been together for 6 months now ans i love her to death. we both see a future together and despite certain hiccups weve had here and there, we always find a way to work through them and become better partners for each other. however the past few months our sex like has been suffering (at least on my part) because she's been so stressed due to outside factors and her libido is considerably lower than before. i havent pushed her to have sex with me (i am a SA and also r*pe victim so i am extra careful about consent and i would rather walk on hot coals than put her or anyone else through what i went through) and ive tried to be respectful despite the fact that she always says no whenever i try to initiate something and we rarely have sex now. she knows its affecting me and feels very guilty about it, which ive told her on numerous occasions that she shouldnt because im not entitled to sex or anything of the kind from her. thing is that despite the fact that im scared to tell her, this is affecting me in more ways than i can manage. it's fucking up my self esteem, making me feel unwanted (because even though the reason for her lack of sex drive isnt me and i know she finds me to be the most beautiful girl in the world, im the one that always gets rejected and she always looks so guilty when saying no) and kind of gross for wanting sex. i feel so disconnected from her in that area and i crave that kind of intimacy and closeness with her so much. plus getting rejected every time stops me from saying no if shes offering and i dont feel up to it, because i don't know when else ill get to be that close to her agan like that so i just do it. i very much enjoy it still but its messing me up that our sex like is suffering like this. most of all, im so unreasonably sad and angry and ive been having horrible mood swings because of it, which affect my ability to be a good partner to her and give her space to talk about her things. its making me hate myself and idk what to do about it. im sorry for the long post, but i need advice as im scared to tell her how much its affecting me in fear of making her feel guilty or coerced. i love her so much. any advice?

Hi love! Mismatched libidos are so tough to navigate in a relationship, even if it's common (at least at some point or another). It's truly commendable that you have such a healthy, respectable take on the situation (unfortunately, so many people feel more entitled to sex from their partners than they would like to admit), so I can see how healthy your relationship is! I totally get why this situation makes you feel undesired, it's only human, so validating this feeling of yours.

Here's my take on how to create intimacy and a closer sexual connection without actual sex when one partner (or both honestly) isn't in the mood:

Do A Sexy Photoshoot: Both wear your hottest outfits and lingerie and take photos like you're each others' muses (because you are!). It can be a hot activity on its own, a steamy way to initiate more foreplay, or to use as souvenirs when you need some self-care time to satisfy your sexual needs.

Give each other sensual massages: Candles, sexy music, sensual smelling oils, the works.

Ask for a dirty talk or sexy recording: Even if your partner isn't in the mood, it doesn't mean she won't be happy to communicate her desires for you verbally. You can listen to it when turned on to feel more connected generally or to use it during a self-pleasure session.

Discuss fantasies and unexplored desires: Nothing is hotter than talking about new things you want to try (besides actually doing them, of course). Either you feel closer from this steamy conversation or you get your closeness on a more physical level after you're both hot and bothered.

Schedule regular date nights: Never forget to arouse other pleasure centers: A delicious meal, wine, sensual music, candles, and musky perfume. Create tension and connection – whether dessert includes something sweet or slightly tangier.

Also, as an important note: I'm a heterosexual woman, so I'm speaking from a general place of how to manage mismatched libidos through a heteronormative lens. Anyone in the WLW who wants to correct me on anything, please do, and feel free to teach me more about these relationship dynamics to help the community!

Hope this helps xx

[adoptee-ramblings]

Day 2 - First Family

I don't know anything about my birth family. I was found with no note, nothing apart from the blanket I was wrapped in, and I am yet to start searching for them, for reasons I'll get to sooner or later. in many ways, my adoptive family was my first family due to the young age I was when I was adopted, but I suspect this prompt means birth family (terminology for "birth" family varies, "natural" mother/parents has also been used, but I have always used the phrase "birth family" and will be what I use).

despite not knowing who they are, I still want to describe my feelings about them as a "relationship" of sorts - after all, I am still related by blood to them. while I'm the first to realise that family is more than blood, that missing connection and information is something that I will always think about, and am always reminded about.

as a child, I was angry at my birth parents for abandoning me. I thought the way they left me meant they didn't care, and as I grew up the anger changed from wanting to find them to confront them, to not wanting to have anything to do with them because I was "doing fine" without them. as I got older and understood the socio-political context of 2000s China and the one child policy more and more, I began to understand the reasons why I may have been given up, and I'm now at the point where I'm no longer angry at them, and I miss them instead. every Mother's and Father's Day serve as a reminder as the parents and life I lost, and sometimes I find myself thinking when their birthdays were, and if I hadn't been adopted, would we be celebrating them together?

watching *Found* on Netflix last year was a big turning point as it follows 3 Chinese adoptees searching for their birth families, and in the process visited families in China who had given up children for adoption who spoke about their experiences, emotions and searches for their children. we are told as adoptees that due to the one child policy we were unloved and wanted: especially as an AFAB adoptee, where societal values meant that AMAB children were seen as more "desirable" as they could "continue the family name", meaning that over 90% of adoptions from China being AFAB children. it was a big healing moment, seeing that the children given away in the documentary *were* wanted; I always knew that we were, and the story of us being unwanted is something people often say to villainise birth parents or justify why "I should be grateful for being adopted", but seeing it on screen made it so much more real. having said that, it also triggered me massively - do my birth parents think of me like that too? have they ever tried searching for me? what were my parents' circumstances, were they pressured into it or did they genuinely not want me?

it still hurts not knowing anything about them. I have debated over the last few years whether I want to search, but I don't feel emotionally ready for that at all - and I'm not sure if I ever will. it's likely to raise more questions than answers, and I already struggle enough with that. what if I find out they're no longer alive? what if I find them, and they don't want to know me - can I live with the rejection from them (spoiler alert: probably not)? what if I find out I have a younger sibling who they didn't give up for adoption? if they did keep a younger sibling and not me, what was it about me that meant they gave me away - was I that undesirable even as a child? what if I can't even find them?

despite all this, I'm not saying that if I was given the chance to start searching, I wouldn't. but I've heard so many stories and seen my adoptee friends' search for their birth families that I don't think I'm at that stage yet. I may never know my birth family, and given how little about my life before I was found is known (spoiler alert: it's literally next to nothing), it is very likely this is the case. but I just have to live with that. I hope my birth parents know that I'm not angry at them, I miss them and wish things could have been different, but unless I find them I'm not sure they'll know.

[earanie]

oh i feel sick i feel sick with myself i feel small and undesirable and simple and unwanted.

fuck me fuck me and my stupid hopes that are getting me nowhere. fuck it all.

how can i still hope against hope, why do i even do it. im so so pathetic. a stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns.

all my dreams are stupid and un-realizable and im stuck in this awful swamp of a reality where ive got nothing i want and I keep wanting for the impossible.

oh god. i must look so normal from the outside and inside im rotting. im rotting in poisonous fantasies and constant brooding. over someone who barely remembers i exist, and to whom my existence is of no importance. oh how horrifyingly dumb and dull and pathetic must i look to them. do i look to myself.

I feel sick. No one is ever going to want me and just me and _for_ me. and when I say 'no one' of course i mean them. them. they're never going to want me and they're the only one ive ever wanted. oh god. If only i could wallow in silence and not make myself look ridiculous.

I want everything i want so badly and it's all stupid so so stupid. ill end up leading the most mediocre life and so far away from the ideals and the love that I yearn to and for that it'll look like I never dreamed of anything ever. good god. I am not strong enough to handle a love and a life like this, i was not supposed to be given something so difficult, i cant, i cant, i cant handle it. i just cant.

[strange-spaghetti]

Absolutely f*cking absurd day. It was doomed from the start; I dreampt I went to Jack’s church & he had his tone of “oh, great this again”. Which will always scar me. But in the dream I was at the church because I was dating the saxophone player of the gospel band (music was actually really good, unlike his vanilla white bread megalomania church in real life). The dude I was dating was cute. Like MGK as Tommy Lee vibe but I was walking with this guy after church & all I could think was, I hope Jack can see me happy without him. Even though I wasn’t happy.

Okay, so real life. Last night my partner who you know… the Face F*ck Hook Up. He writes me so for about an hour it’s just back & forth. At work he tells me about how him & the lads went out to drink at a chain where the chicks are half naked. He tells me his brother’s girlfriend was pissed at his brother for going with them. My partner proceeds to say with laughter “why so insecure?” referring to the girlfriend. I’m Instantly triggered & going through bad memories as I have been the last few days of the total lack of sympathy of me feeling undesired & unwanted & then I’M the one with the problem for being insecure because your eyes & heart are elsewhere?? Are you f*cking kidding me? So yeah, it was a blow & he hit a very raw nerve for saying that. On my lunch break I SOB. Sob to the point where my mascara is streaking down my face. I’ve cried with make up on before but never has mascara stained my cheeks & eyes like that. So I clean myself as best as possible & go to the make up counter at Macys. I tell the girl my situation. I’m shaking putting on make up. She puts powder & blush & setting spray on me. Her name is Juliette. I thank her & she says “like nothing ever happened”. This day was just f*cked from the start. Rush was the first song that played at work & then later Detroit Rock City (karaoke song). Also didn’t help that on my lunch break I drove aimlessly & found myself at a place Jack & I would park & we called it “Proya”. That’s also where we met the first time after the 2nd break up & found ourselves coming back together. So yeah, the dream, my partner, Rush & then finding myself at Proya I utterly weep. I just want to move on. I know Jack will never love me or want me, so I have to move on but the excitement of sleeping with my partner & the 22 year old football player (yikes) is not really aiding the process as I hoped. I’ve been having serious body image issues & lack of self esteem. I feel f*cking hideous. So how am I supposed to “have fun” with these guys if all I’m going to worry about is every flaw of my body? My partner doesn’t hit on me either. Like he made one sexual joke “blind spot” of the cleaning closet & that was it. No basement. Nothing lusty, just my happy-go-lucky high as a kite partner like nothing happened. How can I move on when I’m reminded that I’m not wanted now, I once was but that is long dead. I wish so much for what once was since what is now is Not Happening. Why can’t I just be f*cking cool? I want so much to be casual but I’m cursed to have this stupid good for nothing bleeding heart & intense attachment.

[thetiredstuff]

im on bumble but nothing has led anywhere because im too scared of everything but mostly cuz its just so boring and apps just not for me. but i'm also just so fucking annoying. like everytime i meet up with friends i eventually talk about the fact i don't have any experience with anyone cuz i'm mid-20s now and still have no experience about anything and it just makes me feel undesireable and ugly and invisible and unloved and i don't have a lot of friends which already makes me feel unloved and unwanted.

so anyways i mentioned this again to a friend who swiped some people for me on bumble and it was a match. one of them then send me like 3 options of things and i don't realize what it was for but apprently he was asking me out so all of a sudden he says okay how about wednesday or thrusday but like that scraes the crap out of me. but more than anything i really just don't have time right now cuz i'm so stressed about my thesis i have difficulty breathing every night when i fall asleep from the stress my thesis is giving me cuz i don't think i have enough time. so i passed. then my two friends saw and now one of em said ai'm using my thesis as an excuse and "it's just clear (I) don't want it which is fine but then stop whining about how (I'm) single" and it's just like wow okay then. easy for you to say. people don't really line up for people in their mid-20s who have zero experience, a lot of people just think i'm boring or a grey mouse which is really not a fun adjective to be described as, i'm just constantly hurt, and literally no one has ever even shown any interest in me. it's easy to be so care free about it all if you've had experience and flings and what not and know that people want you and love you but that's not me. no one wants me

it's about to be my birthday in a little over a month and i always just dread it cuz the majority of the people i know forget it which is just an awful feeling. and i hardly have people in my life. and this year especially i'm supposed to graduate and find work but i don't have the qualifications i need. i am one-third of the way done with my life and i have nothing to my name: no experiences, hardly any travel memories, hardly any friends, never go out, no job, no partner, no date, no kiss, no laughter-filled friday nights, no friend group, no internship, no career opportunities.

like my cousin described me as a grey mouse a couple months ago which just got stuck in m head cuz that's a really awful thing to say honestly? and then someone i was talking to a couple of nights ago said i looked like the people from my field of study which is just notoriously stuffy and boring to a lot of people. so like that's me? grey, stuffy mouse.

idevnknow what im saying just that what my friend said honestly jsut hurt. like easy for you to say that when you are very clearly desired. that's literally all my friends. all my friends are gorgeous and they're all like "oh you're so bueaitufl youll find somone" yeah right. i went out with them and i was the only one of the three who could walk back home alone at 6AM cuz they were busy with people they picked up. idk i think i just exude boring grey mouse vibes or something.

[how-the-light-gets-in]

i'm trying my best to not be so afraid

what's wrong? i ask myself. what's not? i answer. these feelings of failure, guilt, uncertainty — they are winning tonight.

i wanted to not be around him today — this innocent child who i created and who looks just like me at his age. the child who isn't acting this way because he hates me. it scared me to death. i love him so much but he continues to drain me of my energy and sense of self. sometimes i scream too loud and his eyes widen with fear. he screams back, just as loud, and then bursts into tears. i feel the way i'm hurting him, damaging him at an impressionable age. but i can't stop it and it happens again the next day like clockwork. he tells me i make him happy and i crumble. my tears stain his pajamas when he tells me he wants to make me happy.

my nerves are frayed. my heart hurts. it's hard to look in the mirror and like what i see. it's hard to be excited about the future when there's nothing to look forward to. i'm losing any sense of who i am.

on monday, i cried so many times. it was the one year mark of my best friend's death. i wonder how awful he must have felt towards the end. i kept asking myself how i survived this year. not in a prideful way. more in the way that i blacked out and don't remember. time is a mystery to me at this point. i have to think for more than a few seconds when i find myself asking what month we're in. how can i be approaching the end of three months of unemployment? how can i be so undesirable, unwanted, uninteresting? my knowledge, my experience, my skills, my career — it has all amounted to nothing. but didn't i do everything right? didn't i follow all the rules, get the good grades, get the right jobs, make the connections? how do all of those endless days at my desk result in being completely un-hireable? and now my only choice is to work for my father, an idea that both intrigues and terrifies me. i have always hated the help and avoided it at all cost. i'm afraid to fail. it's a therapist's dream come true — the people pleaser with daddy issues becomes daddy's most important employee. and how can i take a job from a man whose child was so brutally slain in the street? the thought of looking him in the eyes haunts me. i'm sure he wishes he still had a daughter to help.

i push away the man who says he loves me. i wish i could really believe it, but how can i when i haven't seen him in almost a month? he doesn't ask me to meet him for lunch anymore. he doesn't ask me to visit him at work. he doesn't want to facetime, he doesn't want to call. i'm stuck in a prison of text-only communication with a man fueled by dumb jokes and innuendos. he tries to be there for me in these moments but his messages of support usually fall flatter than he realizes. i wish i could hear his voice or see his eyes. i wish i could just tell him that i don't want a long distance relationship with someone who lives one exit up on the highway. i wish he at least said he misses me... but maybe he doesn't.

i just want things to be better.

[hauntedmoon519]

drowning underneath

the heavy layers

and sheets of fabric

my body

is distorted

the desert is bare

under the jutting and

protrusion of ribs

it burns like brimstone

and tastes of ash

this flesh is tainted

with reams of now

faded scar tissues

no one deserves

to bear witness

what i did to me

except for myself

curved and ruined

why dont you just look

like the broken boy-toy soldier

everyone wants you to be

the ink isn't there

anymore

hide all that shit

stop complaining

and bitching

be a fucking man

spitting blood through

split lips and crooked fangs

maybe it's a good thing

that i feel better when hunger

is gnawing at my stomach

you can't feel it

through the

sweater and

shirts

maybe that is a good thing

fore i fear

i(t) will be so disappointing

as i(t) always am/is

unclean corpse

imperfect body type

of course it is imperfect

how is it to remain

unwanted in perpetuity

there is nothing to be

desired

undesirable some would say

consecrate the waters

to drown it in

the murky waters

infected with metal scraps

marine junkyard

why oh why