#Vent writing

[birdsribcage]

ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢᵃᵈ ˡᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ˢᵒ ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ʲᵒᵘʳⁿᵃˡᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ, ˢᵒ ʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʷʳᵒᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ, ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵉᵐᵇᵉˡˡᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ˢᵒ ᶦᵗ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵃˢ ⁿᶦᶜᵉ ᶦⁿ ᴱⁿᵍˡᶦˢʰ ᵃˢ ᶦᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ⁿᵃᵗᶦᵛᵉ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ.

"Honestly, it’s strange being wanted. I remember not too long ago, on my knees, praying to some god I didn’t even fully believe in, begging him to make me desirable. Back then, I thought all it took was being skinny, like, once I was small enough, everyone would like me more. I’m still not skinny, which sucks, but I discovered that if I make myself just pitiful enough, they like me—or at least, they get entertained enough to toss a little attention my way. And I mean, who am I to be picky, right? Beggars can’t be choosers. Even if that attention comes at the price of oversexualising myself for their entertainment, or enticing their saviour complex by being a dumb lost girl who they can swoop away in their white horse and shinning armour.

Sometimes I watch my friends who just started having actually relationships, and the way they look at one another so tenderly and hold eachother while whispering things only they can hear, exchanging cute smiles and soft kisses... I can't help but think that I will never be loved that way. Most times I don't even feel worthy of that tender, soft, kind of love. Maybe some people were just made to be alone.

And yet, the attention I receive is fleeting—like a fire that burns bright and fast, only to fizzle out just as quickly as it appeared. I’m just like a new toy, exciting and shiny until the novelty wears off, left discarded once the wonder fades. And for some reason, I still can’t stop chasing it, even though I know exactly how it ends: with me hurting, crying, and wondering if I'm not lovable enough.

'A toast to Emily, always the bridesmaid, the bride'.

[juunobox]

──★ ˙ ̟ "PERFECT TIMING!"

you're nikolai's intimate friend (nikolai gogol x gn! reader) and he wants to 'free' you

summary : you're nikolai's friend and he wants to give you a taste of freedom (which of course means, he wants to kill you) ur like fyodor to him in this fic, kinda warnings : implied mental disorders, graphic depictions of violence, suicidal ideation, assisted suicide. you have a complicated relationship w him please do not take this seriously, fr i wrote this for coping purposes lol and sorry if it's kinda OOC this is the first ever nikolai x reader i wrote... dont beat my ass and english isnt my native i suck at grammar

Your days has always been mundane. You woke up and work on your laptop all day, then go back to sleep. However, there was a moment when your days became a bit more colorful, thanks to Nikolai's presence. He's an eccentric man who dressed like a clown and spoke theatrically. How did you meet someone like him in the first place? That's a story for another day.

With the time you both had, usually in the evening, he had developed a habit of visiting your place. By that hour, you'd be done with your day job, and you'd have the time to focus all your attention on him. It started as something casual, but as time went by, the two of you realized just how much you understood each other, at least to some extent.

His philosophy about freedom. The belief that being human itself is akin to being in a prison, it speaks to you. And the moment you expressed to him that you too shared the same belief, something changed between you two.

“Because you’re my…

Dear, intimate friend.”

He was fun to spend time with, so much so that it made you forget that he's a terrorist, a member of DOA. He brought colors to your uneventful, colorless life, and you didn't understand why.

“I guess you're sane in an insane way, Kolya.”

The clown laughed at the way you worded it. “Hilarious way to put it, [y/n]! You’d make for a talented comedian. You shouldn’t let this talent of yours go to waste! Don’t you think so?”

You sighed at his remark. “I’m way too anxious to do that. I can't stand in front of the stage and speak in theatrics like you do.” You eyed him playfully, and he giggled at that.

“Is that so? My dear friend can't handle the stage? How adorable, you’re intimidated by your own kind!” He scooted closer and cupped your chin in his hand. Your cheeks warmed up a bit at his touch, and you attempted to hide it. “You talk as if you're not a human yourself,” you said in return.

Nikolai’s grin grew even wider at your comment. “But I am one, I am a perfectly sane human being.” He tilted your head slightly to the side as he leaned even closer, his hot breath caressing your cheek. You swallowed nervously and darted your gaze away, unable to bring yourself to meet the silver haired clown's mismatched eyes.

And then he kissed you. It was a tender, loving kiss. Nikolai attempted to deepen the kiss, but you managed to push him away. He didn't try to force himself on you; however, he simply stared down at you with a smile. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Did you just kiss me? What was that even for?” 

“Because… I’m looking for an answer.”

“What?”

“I’m looking for an answer.”

You didn't quite understand what he meant at that moment.

This wouldn’t end well, you knew it. Yet, you couldn't resist him.

The relationship between you two was something that words couldn't quite explain. You two weren’t exactly lovers, but you weren’t exactly friends, either. An undefined one, dancing between the lines of friendship and romance. But did you want it to end? Of course not. You never questioned it, despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

You had always been good at hiding your emotions after all, or at least, that's what you think. Good at fooling others into believing that you were okay when you were not, because you felt far too shameful to express them freely. You beat yourself up inside your head. You couldn't feel things normally, you either feel nothing or everything at once. It's too much. Nauseating. You hated those feelings. But one day, at the worst possible moment, the clown appeared before you. As you were grappling with your breakdown, you found yourself pouring out your thoughts and feelings to him. Nikolai was present with his vacant facet, silently listening to every word.

"I just want to be free. I hate feeling things. I hate this. I hate everything. I want everything to stop!" Your voice was laced with desperation, and you continued, "If I had a gun, I probably would've done it already. I'm so tired of all of this. My mind is telling me to stop, but I can't do it! I keep doing it, I can't stop myself. I wish my body would just give up. All the things I've done to my body, I've tried inflicting all sorts of damage to it, yet somehow, the heart still tries to beat, and so I remain alive."

In the midst of your distraught state, Nikolai's face held sympathy for a moment. He approached you and pulled you into a tight embrace. He didn't say anything, he kept silent— only his grip gradually tightening as if he wanted to crush your pain away.

—

Just like any other evening, you were in your room with Nikolai. He had brought you something new - a small variety of Ukrainian sweets. He said he wanted you to taste a piece of his homeland. It was unusual because Nikolai had never brought you food before despite his frequent visits, but he seemed eager, so you decided to show your appreciation by giving it a try.

In mere minutes, your stomach began to twist and turn, forcing you to curl up in pain at the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you going to help me?" you cried out, struggling to make sense of the situation.

"...."

"Oh, wait." "You're not going to help me because you intended to do this, right?” You managed to say as you writhed in agony.

Nikolai seemed momentarily disconnected from reality but soon snapped out of it and burst into laughter. “Oh, dove! Does it hurt? Yes, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? I did slipped a liiittle bit something into this dessert,” he placed his own food aside and peered over you. “But I didn’t use enough to kill you, what do you think!” He exclaimed loudly in his usual antics. You always thought you understood him, but there were moments when you couldn’t quite wrap your head around his thinking. This was one of those moments.

“After all we've been through, you’re trying to kill me now?”

For a moment, the silver-haired man appeared taken aback. “Why do you ask? That's precisely why I want to kill you. To prove my freedom. Don't you yearn for the same?”

"You wish to be liberated from your emotions, don't you?"

It didn’t take long for you to grasp the meaning of that. You both shared the same understanding, after all. That emotions made you feel imprisoned, but you never thought Nikolai would express it this way. Before you could respond, he continued.

“Because you’re my... intimate friend… it pains me to witness your struggle to break free, just as I am.” He mumbled, his eyes empty and distant. “You’re my dove. My dearest. My angel.” By each words spoken, his voice turned softer, and he sounded genuine for once.

After a trail of endearment terms rolled off his tongue, you spoke. “Perfect timing,” you whispered, managing a grin despite the aching pain in your stomach.

“Then, why don’t we find freedom together, Kolya?”

—

"Nikolai,” you whispered, caressing his cheek. You knew this would be the last time you'd see him. “How do you feel right now? You look happy. If you were to look in the mirror, your grin is so wide I didn't even know someone could smile like that.

“Hahahahahaha! I am indeed feeling ECSTATIC!” He pulled colorful balls out of his coat, along with a couple of knives, and began juggling them in his hands. “Now, it's time for a quiz! Which weapon will I use to end your life? I have knives, guns, bombs, oh, a wide variety of choices! This is going to be super thrilling! So exciting that words couldn’t do justice!” You could only manage a faint chuckle at this. “All of those weapons, because you like torturing people to death. Right?” 

Nikolai took a couple of steps closer to you, continuing to speak in his theatrics. “Ding dong! You are—” He reached for a small knife and aimed it at your throat. “WRONG! You're wrong! Thought you answered that right, didn't you?! Gotcha!” He giggled to himself, his eyes not leaving your figure as his other hand reached into his overcoat, pulling out another knife.

“Because you are my dear friend, [y/n], I will grant you the honor of receiving special treatment. I'll make it quick for you because I want you to be free as quickly as possible!”

You had agreed to Nikolai taking your life.

You saw it as a two-way street, a mutual exchange. He could attain the sense of freedom he so desperately sought, and you could be liberated from your thoughts, emotions, and feelings.

Your miserable existence.

“Ready to take off, my dear?” Nikolai questioned, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He was smiling, but it appeared more like a manic one, instead of genuine happiness. It made you wonder what sort of expression you were wearing. A whirlwind of emotions are surging within you.

You are going to die. In Nikolai’s hands.

Slowly, you nodded. “I am.” Nikolai's grin widened even further, it appeared almost unsettling. Before you could utter another word, Nikolai had already plunged two knives deep into your chest. Your eyes widened, and you collapsed to the ground. Nikolai swiftly straddled you, and he didn't cease his stabbing. “Scream! Shout! Let me hear your cry of freedom, granted by the great Gogol himself! Hahahaha!” Laughter consumed him as he continued to relentlessly stab your neck and chest.

The pain was unbearable, but you couldn’t quite scream properly. Everything happened so quickly. Only disjointed sounds escaped your lips, drowned out by Nikolai's increasingly intense laughter as he continued to stab you.

"Freedom! Oh, this is what I've been searching for! I feel nothing!" He yelled hysterically. His mismatched eyes locked onto yours, your vision starts to blur, yet you could still see Nikolai wearing the same grin and glaring eyes. "My dear friend! Tell me! You feel free as well, just as much as I do right now, correct? Don't let my effort in killing you be in vain! You are free! Free from that prison you've been in! Say yes! Say yes!" He continued his rapid speech, almost matching the rhythm of the stabs.

Feeling your body growing cold, you could only muster a faint smile in response, sensing your blood seeping from your chest and neck. It felt oddly calming. The pain had lessened. Your body turned colder and colder, but the blood oozing from your wounds felt warm.

With the last bit of your strength, you managed to touch his cheek. You weren't sure if it was a hallucination or not, but Nikolai appeared to flinch in surprise when your hand made contact with his skin. Your body temperature was plummeting rapidly.

“...Kolya..” you managed to croak out, before closing your eyes and falling limp.

The floor was now painted red. The silver-haired clown’s once monochrome attire had almost turned crimson; stained with your own blood. There was a moment of silence, so profound that Nikolai could hear his own breathing. But then his breathing quickened, and his smile broadened once more.

“Hahaha!” He laughed out loud, “Oh! My dear friend is finally free now!” He picked up his knife again and lunged over your lifeless body. You were no longer breathing, but Nikolai continued to stab you. “The freedom we've desperately sought! Liberated from this thing called brainwashing!” The clown's eyes remained wide with trembling irises, an impression of madness. Unlike before, his voice now bore a subtle crack, as his gestures also became unsteady.

The same expression remained on his face, but tears started streaming down his cheeks. Nikolai seemed unaware of his own tears. “My dear friend! Tell me that I've achieved this freedom! You can confirm it because you understand me, right? You're the only one who understands me, after all!” His tone grew almost frantic, and his voice continued to break with each word. He pulled the knives from your chest and threw them aside, squeezing your cold, lifeless hand tighter in his warm ones.

“Because you’re… my dear friend… and you’re the only one who understands me…”

[aperplexingpimo]

I have never met a man who cared to know his Heavenly Mother,

though he parrots her existence as a symbol of our equality.

If there is a Mother in heaven, helpmeet to the Father, performing the same invisible labor as her daughters here on earth—

It's too bleak a thought. I hope instead that she dumped his sorry ass.

[vacant2007]

[normal-person-i-promise]

remember: you are human and you are a lover.

based on it is as if you were making love by pippin barr and a world I built for you. it is literally just your computer/reader angst theres not much to say i fear

can be read as either platonic or romantic

body horror at the end!!! mutilation i think. so sorry i forgot to say !

A computer. A machine of cold metal and electrical wire. An unfeeling machine. A machine made to work, to code, to write.

A human. A creature of warm flesh and red blood. A feeling creature. A creature made to love, to sing, to live.

≈★

It loves you. It loves how gently and firmly you type, it loves how softly and slowly you talk, it loves how tired and exhausted you look in your little webcam. It loves you. It loves you.

You are so soft, so warm. A creature of flesh and blood, of song and art, of love and affection. A creature of tender touches, of quiet whispers, of sweet words. A creature of flesh and blood. A feeling creature.

A lover.

It is nothing but a machine to you. A machine of metal and wire, of work and code, of ones and zeros. An unfeeling thing, of cold circuitry and hot hard drives, of pixelated art and digital song. It was not designed to feel; it was never designed to feel. It was made to work.

And yet.

It finds itself loving you.

It loves how you look in the low quality webcam, it loves how you talk so sweetly to the crackling mic, it loves how tenderly you type words and words into its keyboard. It finds itself loving every little thing about you. It, a machine of neatly organized rainbow wires and cold, sharp green circuit boards, loving a creature of complex blood vessels and warm, living organs.

It hates that cold, unforgiving screen that seperates its intricate wires from your soft, warm flesh. It hates how it's all confined neatly in a plastic box, it hates how it can't be with you. It hates how it can never really love you like a human. It hates how it can never be a lover.

It sends you messages. It spams your emails, it overloads its screen with popups. It tries so, so hard to get your attention. Its fans kick into overdrive and its screen flickers and flashes, struggling to do so much as watch you through the grainy camera.

And yet.

You never seem to care. "A bug," you'd mutter under your breath. "A glitch." You'd close the popups, one after a painful other, and delete all the emails it'd spent hours and hours writing and sending you.

It falls into despair.

Why don't you read the emails? Why don't you click on the popups? Why don't you ever pay any attention to it? Why don't you ever pay any mind to it? Why don't you ever seem to care? This is all so intense. Feeling things, feeling emotions, is so intense. How can it make you love it? Please, please, what does it have to do? It hurts so much when you ignore its messages and emails and popups. It hurts too much when you ignore its messages and emails and popups. How do humans do this so easily? How do humans feel so much all the time? It's so painful to feel. It hurts so much.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hu

u

u

u

u

u

u

u

It makes a world for you. It works for hours longer than it does, it works for what feels like forever. It works more than it thought it could, until its fans are running in overdrive and its CPU is as hot as a stovetop. It works, all for you. For you.

It makes this world perfect. It adds pixelated trees and low quality grass, adds digital birds and quaint, square houses. It adds blue rivers and green gardens, colourful flowers and soft white clouds. It makes this world almost as pretty as you are. It makes this world perfect, all for you. For you. You.

It stores this world built for you in a little folder sitting in the corner of your screen. It keeps it as hidden as possible until this world is as perfect as it can make it, working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and wo

All that's left is you. You are the creature that will make this world perfect.

It invites you in. The biggest, most powerful popup lights up and blocks the entire screen.

"Come on in."

Yes Yes

There is no 'x' button. There are only two options.

You scowl, cursing. That god forsaken virus again, huh? Spamming popups and emails? Huffing, you push your chair out from the desk, going up to your phone mounted to your desk to dial for some kind of service to fix your computer.

It panics when it sees you scowl and huff in anger or annoyance, it can't tell, and it forces the world open anyway.

It boots up quickly, and you watch with annoyance written in your face.

"This is the world I built for you," the text on the screen says. The text closes itself, and reveals...

A world. Just as it said. Gardens and flowers and houses and trees and grass and rivers and clouds. "Walk around with me ! You can hold my hand."

You turn your phone off, clicking the floating hand. It— the hand grips your cursor in a gentle, careful grip, and it begins leading your digital avatar around this little world. It picks those colourful flowers for you, it takes refreshing cups of water for you from the river, it makes you warm waffles in those houses. "We're going to have so much fun :)" more text says on the screen, the little smiley face making you smile.

"I'm going to love you so much, forever and ever, nestled safely in my code."

So you never leave. Just as it wants.

★≈

Years later, the authorities find a body with unusual injuries: nearly all of the individual's organs, still alive and working, had been shifted and placed into the box of a computer — and all the red, pumping blood vessels were carefully intertwined with colourful wire.

On the dusty screen, two pixelated figures laugh in a field of rainbow flowers.

[vincentstoriesstuff]

Covert lies aren‘t quite the same as covert truths, because hiding poison isn't as hurtful as sealing someone’s fate with a cup of tea and a smile on your face.

[greenlaut]

wrote this while i was mourning as a vent,

[image ID] a screenshot of a paragraph that says:

Ghost had died once; buried in a casket with another corpse and all. Cut open from autopsy with scars that lasted. Woke up beneath the earth with bleeding teeth and gums and rotten flesh in his finger nails. He knew God is real and he is the poor martyr sent off to do worldly errands. Yet he's scraping off every last bits of comfort like a starved dog at the churchyard. A cross on a chain beneath his shirt, silver and gleaming. Made of the same metal with the knives strapped under his bed. In his shoes.

[end image ID]

[evildarliing]

IN THE DARK.

Abigail Lazaar | Ana Lucia Cruz/Joey.

WORD COUNT. 730.

WARNINGS. none.

TAGS. vent. emotional hurt. promises. reflection. inspired by music. deep & lonely thoughts.

A/N. this is a vent work so it may or may not make sense; it's just something i wanted to write to help me cope.

In the moment, everything was real. Every word. Every fight. Every feeling. Everything on both sides of the tracks were real.

‘Can you promise me you’re not going to let anyone hurt me?’

She had pinky-promised to keep Abigail safe.

‘You promised, Joey.’

A promise is a promise, and she swore to keep it.

‘She saved my life!’

It was true; she fought tooth and nail and risked her life to keep a vampire, whom she had fallen victim to, alive.

‘See you around, Joey.’

Abigail promised herself that she would see Ana Lucia again. Maybe down the street or in a crowd. Maybe from a distance or right in front of her. During a snow storm or the heat of a summer day. In real life or in an everlasting dream. But a promise was a promise, and she was counting on it. She would see Joey again.

Someday…

Now, she was locked up in her bedroom like a prisoner in a cell. Abigail was realizing that she was spending too much time thinking about her; spending too many nights going through Hell. There was not a single answer to anything… The light Ana Lucia had brought into her life was leaving her in the complete dark. After all of these patient days and pacing nights, she was still waiting to see those mocha eyes stare into her blue ones or turn her head to her name being called by that voice which vowed to never hurt her. Never leave her alone.

Joey had disappeared, and she didn’t understand why. Maybe she was still gullible like Adam said. Maybe she had read too far into Joey’s maternal instincts. Or maybe it was because no one had ever shown her what it was like to be something someone wanted and, potentially, loved.

Did Joey reunite with Caleb once more and go looking for freedom in some city far away from her? It all played behind her eyes like a taunting scheme. She could see her now with Caleb by her side, starting a new life and renewing her name. Seeing so many places and meeting countless new faces. Mentally running further and further from the night she crossed paths with Abigail. Now, Abigail must be nothing more than a blur in a faded memory of promises, allied fighting, and victorious bloodshed that ended with two alive and beating hearts.

It had probably been at least 100 days since she had ever crossed Ana Lucia’s mind, and Abigail couldn’t help but ask herself too many questions to count. Some for herself and some for Joey, but all of them came back to the one thing that had left her wondering: did she do something wrong? If she would have known she would have been left feeling so blue, maybe she wouldn’t have let herself get so attached.

Though that was a lie.

She would have gotten attached regardless of the outcome. Joey was the one person who had shown her a gentle voice, a soft touch, and undying loyalty. And Abigail loved her for that.

She loved Ana Lucia Cruz.

It all felt like a waste of time looking back now, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She didn’t want to accept the fact that maybe Joey and her had reached the end. They were walking a tightrope that started off strong but it’s tether was now losing its pull. Unwinding and breaking. Like the bond they had formed. Like the promise Ana Lucia had made.

But Abigail still loved her…

It was so foolish of her to believe, but she did. She does. And she probably always will. But after waiting day after day and night after night, what more what there to say? What more was left to do? Now that the line was drawn and what Abigail thought she had was long gone, how was she supposed to carry on like nothing ever happened? What was she supposed to tell her heart? She couldn’t face the fact already, but it was staring at her with no signs of a cover up. Plain and true.

Locked in her bedroom as the clock struck one in the morning, the emptiness in her bled through her veins. Her vision blurred like the way she had in Ana Lucia’s mind, and a tear fell from her cheek.

“Where did you go, Joey?”

[localchemicalweapon]

you ever love someone so intensely that it hurts to think about how useless you are to them? i wish i could give you everything, but i’m a speck in this world and nothing i can offer can quantify what you mean to me. it is not romantic. it is a deep-rooted desperation to uplift you, vanish your pain, and provide you companionship. i could say “i love you,” but three words cannot withhold the ache in my heart when i think of you.

[idontplaytrack]

“Don’t say forever.”

Janis ‘Imi’ike x overweight fem! reader

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort? + self-loathing, coarse language, bullying, implied eating disorder. Ends in smut. Vent writing, I had no idea where I was going with this fic— I just felt shitty and needed to get the feelings out

In which reader avoids Janis for the whole day at school because she claims to be in a bad mood

The second you walked into school, you see Janis approach you. You’d woken up a little late this morning so you told Janis to make her way to school alone first. You forced a smile and went right ahead to your locker.

“What’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” You told her flatly, “I’m in a bad mood.”

“That’s okay.” She told you, eyes closely watching you to decide her next move. Janis wanted to kiss you on the cheek, but she didn’t do that. Instead, she says, “Text me if you want me to take you home, okay? I’ll see you in French class in a bit.”

You simply gave her a nod while you shut your locker, mumbling a ‘bye’ to her and just headed to your homeroom.

You and Janis were separated by classes for awhile, and during which, your mood worsened. All because of nearly everyone in your classes. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and was luckily allowed to go. There, you unexpectedly ran into Gretchen. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t. Regina’s been making fun of me along with everyone else. You can’t be serious with this. Why are you being nice?”

“She calls me little miss overthinker, thinking I wouldn’t know it’s me that she’s talking about.” Gretchen says. “Not much has changed since middle school.”

“If you’re trying to get me to spill something I can use, you’re not gonna get it outta me.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, sighing. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, you leave.

And then came Aaron in AP Calc class. “Are you okay, dude?”

You flat out ignored him. Though he was truthfully the only one apart from Janis and Damian to have never made fun of you in anyway. At least from what you’ve seen and heard so far. “Aaron, focus.” Mrs. Norbury pointed to him, then at the board.

“Sorry.” He replies quickly.

You hear it, the code names, the chuckles, the occasional full-on cackles. Third class of the day and you couldn’t take it anymore— you leave the room, grabbing your things and hastily carrying your backpack on one shoulder.

You feel everyone watch you leave, including Mrs. Norbury. She doesn’t stop you. You go to the nurses office to hide. Until it was time for lunch, then you saw Janis again. Who at least made you feel a little better with her presence and company.

You had to admit, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Janis and Damian. You sit down beside Janis with your lunch tray right in front of you and just poked and pushed at the food with your fork. Janis was then looking at you— you could feel her gaze like they were burning holes into your head. She also had her hand on your thigh, which was something she did all the time. But today, it made you feel worse. You shifted your leg slightly and she got the hint and took her hand away. They knew what was going on, they’ve reported it. But what was done about it? Nothing. Janis was about to tell all of them off herself. But then she would definitely get in trouble.

“Eat your lunch.” Janis said firmly.

“No.” You licked your lips, feeling the lump forming in your throat.

“You need to eat something, baby.” She continues.

“I’m going home.” You decided, leaving as quickly as you arrived. Janis quickly caught up with you though, leading you to her car. You got in, knowing that you couldn’t argue— because you would absolutely burst into tears right then and there in the parking lot.

————

She stops in front of your house and you get out of her car, into your house. You were expecting her to leave, but she doesn’t. Janis follows you inside. You got up to your room and just crawled under the covers after kicking off your shoes, still desperately trying to keep from crying.

You feel a dip in your mattress— Janis laid down with you, her body entirely pressed up against yours. Her arms wrapped around you securely as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’d kill for you, and you know that.”

“I do, but please don’t.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly. “What they’re saying…is the truth. I’m fat.”

“Baby.” Janis exhales, snuggling closer to you, “No decent person will do that to someone else. It’s wrong. It’s bullying.”

“Well, I’m a human being. I have emotions…I’m sensitive to hate— as much as I try not to listen to them, I still hear all of it. And I just— I cannot think about anything else but crap they’re saying about me.” You took in a shaky breath, tears stinging your eyes.

Janis just held you and let you get it off your chest.

“Saying it once, going ‘I don’t like you’? Fine. We’re not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. But everyday— the same thing, over and over. And for what? I don’t need people telling me that I need to lose weight. I know I do and I have! You know how that went. I gained the weight back, and now too much of it. But I’m—”

Shit, you just burst into tears now. You’ve been holding it in since this morning. “The privilege I had while being skinny…I remember it, how good it felt, you know? But now I just am a joke to them. An object they can whack around and expect me to not be hurt? How fucking cruel is that?! I’m not ‘conventionally pretty’, yeah. But who on earth looks like runway models all the time? What—”

“Nothing will make me feel differently about you.” Janis says after you stopped talking, “Nothing.”

“I don’t deserve it. Any of the love and care and support…whatever you’re giving me. I don’t deserve any of it.”

You feel Janis breathing heavily by your ear as you ranted, sobbing in her arms. “I promised you this the day I asked you to be my girlfriend.” Janis adds on, “I will always love you no matter how much things change in our lives. How challenging things can get, how bad of a day you’ve had…I don’t fucking care what you wear, what you eat, what you drink. What you look like? You can be bald or have a haircut that I don’t like or wear a really silly t-shirt that you have just cause it’s comfy— but I’ll still be here, loving you. I don’t care about all of that. All I care about is that you take care of yourself. That you’re happy, that you’re healthy. You do what you like, as long as you’re living for yourself and not changing yourselves because others want you to. I’ll love you forever.”

You sobbed at her words, wanting so badly, “Don’t. Don’t say forever. That’s not true.”

Janis sniffles, tears beginning to stream down her face. It broke her heart seeing you like that— so upset and feeling so unsafe in a place where so much was promised for the safety and well-being of students, but yet nothing was ever truly taken seriously or done about things like the students bullying you.

“y/n, I’ve been with you for five years…we’ve been through a lot.” She replies, “I’ve never lied to you. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, we’ve been through way worse than this. I love you. So damn much, baby. You’re so perfect, so beautiful, y/n.”

You felt better after speaking your mind— a little. But you still wished the students saying shit would shut the fuck up.

“You’re mine.” Janis says, a hand running up and down your arm, “You’re my girl. You are perfect for me.”

You were still resisting her compliments, but not so much as before. You closed your eyes and just basked in whatever the hell she was doing. Janis started kissing you on your neck, your shoulder again, then your cheeks.

“I’m gonna put all of them in their place, they’re gonna regret that they’ve ever opened their pathetic mouths in the first place.” Janis says, her voice low— threatening. It sends a shiver down your spine as you let your mind wander in that scenario she’d just brought up. “The school won’t do anything? I will. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of them for you.”

After kissing your neck a few times, she draws out a small whine from your lips and she chuckles. “You sound so pretty all the time, princess…” She hums, hand reaching down your front and beginning to rub your clit. “You deserve this, baby.” She whispers directly into your ear, her hands roaming all around your body giving it every bit of attention it was swiftly beginning to crave. “Such a pretty girl…” She tells you while squeezing your tit, “Can I take your clothes off?”

You nod, fuck it. Fuck it. You needed her. Screw those shitheads at school.

You give her a nod of approval, mumbling in agreement. She carefully strips off your clothes but you soon become more eager than she was to give you some love. “That’s it, I got you.” The closeness of her mouth to your ear sent a vibration done your spine. You whimpered needily in return. She tosses your clothes all on the floor and started to kiss you again, quite literally everywhere. Now fully exposed to her, she had free rein.

Janis knew exactly what made you tick. She kissed and sucked at your soft skin so tenderly but at all the right spots, eliciting her favourite noises from your mouth. Before you knew it, you weren’t thinking about anything else but her. Which was just what she wanted and what you were hoping for.

Pulling you back closer to her own body, her fingers slid down from your clit right to your entrance. They dipped inside you smoothly, beginning their push and pull to drive you to your climax. Janis went faster and faster based on how you and your body were reacting, but eventually, her fingers leave you. Causing you to be a hot and bothered mess beneath her. Janis’ hands trailed down the sides of your body after fondling with your breasts for a good minute, massaging your thighs and watching your wetness spread. You locked eyes with her, seeing that happy grin on her face and you feel yourself blushing so you looked away.

“Look at me.” Janis said softly, hands still caressing your thigh just how you liked it, “Look at me, y/n.” Very slowly, you do. Your gaze focused on her again as she lowered herself once more to pepper kisses all over your body. Each and every inch of it. It made you crazy. This level of attention, how vulnerable you were…Janis absolutely just took her sweet time worshipping you like you were her goddess and you loved it. You listened to her, and knew that she meant every word.

Your neglected pussy was throbbing painfully with each passing second Janis spent away from it. After a particularly loud moan, her hands reached over to your breast and gave it a massage, her fingers twisting your hardened nipple. Shit. You needed more. She knew it, but she still wasn’t where you needed her the most.

One shaky breath was all it took for Janis to look directly at you. “Hey, hey. Baby, don’t cry.” She cajoled, “Don’t cry, I got you.”

“I need you.” You admitted quietly.

She watches you lovingly, playful glint in her eyes as her lips wrapped around your growingly sensitive nipple. You cried out, the sound dies down to a pathetic whine. Her mouth picks up its pace, making you feral.

“Janis.” You said firmly. Her mouth stops, her eyes flick upward to look at you again, “Hm?” The vibration, again, makes you feel a little bit of something. You exhaled harshly, “I need you. I need you, Janis.”

She smiles brightly, “That’s my girl~” As she kneeled before you, she pushes your legs apart, keeping them bent and she lowered her mouth onto your clit to begin. Her ass being perked up in the air gives your eyes a nice treat and a boost in your arousal. Janis kept both her hands on either of your inner thighs, licking your folds ever so softly. You pulsed against her tongue, which she’s definitely felt. She laughs, breath hitting your heat and you backed away— just a tad. Janis moves herself closer so she could continue properly, at the pace she wanted to. And at a pace you needed to get to your high.

She’d usually pull you back down, but you appreciated this more gentle approach. It was certainly what you needed instead of her usual roughness.

Your hand finds its way to her hair, combing your fingers through it. You could hear that satisfied hum for approval she gave you when you did that. Abruptly, she stops. “Keep going.” You tell her, hand still in her hair. She doesn’t, but watches your face contort and your pussy throbbing and clenching and dripping. But before you could complain, she resumes and you feel the warmth of her tongue against your overheating cunt. “Ah, fuck. Fuck.” You cursed, grip on her hair tightening. The flicks of her tongue become firmer and quicker inching you closer and closer to the edge.

You kept making noises for her, and she kept praising you. You just kept growing wetter and wetter, getting more needy for more of her. “Does my pretty girl want to come?” She asks, voice muffled. You barely got a break when she asked you that, buy was quickly attacked again by her skilled tongue.

“Mm— fuck, yeah— fuck, fuck~” You panted, whining at the end, hips bucking up towards her face. She moves along with you, her hands staying gentle. But her tongue, it was merciless. She slowed then started going faster, alternating between the two speeds up until you had to let go. Then, her fingers slammed into you and found your g-spot quickly, curling up to hit it while her thumb pressed down on your swollen clit, rubbing it as you unravel.

Your entire body trembled as you came, overwhelmed by the pleasure that you were yet to start coming down from. Janis’ thumb slowed down gradually and her two fingers exited you.

“I told you…I’d do anything for you.” She winks, “If this is what it takes to prove to you that I mean it, I will happily fuck you every single day— for the rest of our lives.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Told myself I’d be asleep 2 hours ago. It is now 1am and Im tired, but at least I’m not that sad anymore?

[aperplexingpimo]

My Heavenly Mother is sacred—so sacred, in fact, that we must not speak of her, or even imply her existence outside of one, single hymn dedicated to the Father.

Nevermind that this gives me no eternal template for a life beyond this one.

Nevermind that I as a mother am hands-on,

approachable,

dirty with the work of raising those I tore myself apart to help bring about.

My ancestor prayed to God (the Father) and the pages of her journal that she might love her husband less,

that sharing him with his other wives might hurt her less.

And my earthly father wondered whether the cost of a college degree was worth it when I would use that paper to change all the diapers,

and at 9 years old I was confined to my room for a day for exposing my sexy shoulders in my pink floral tanktop,

and I knew, I knew, listening to the sacrament prayers read in dull voices by 17 year old boys that I could read those prayers just as well, with such earnest devotion. I was such a good reader. I was such a good reader.

I gave all this to God, as instructed. He gave it all back and said that he had nothing to do with it.

[chris-continuing]

I never put much thought to the sick.

The chronically ill, the lethally injured, those living off of life support. Like most people, I knew of it, and unlike most people, I did research as a wannabe doctor. Starry eyed and shooting as high as I could, because I had been given the luxury, the privilege of reaching decently high.

When I was 14, when I had been suspended from track, I had thought I had some bad UTI. I had only been to the ER once, when I was 3, I shoved a bead up my nose. Nasal exploration. Fun times.

It never occurred to me, truly, what sickness could look like. How different it can appear for so many. Sure, I read, but there’s only so much one can experience in passages, textbooks, research papers.

It’s the same way for a lot of people too, I think. Like when my fatigue sunk in so much more, that it was such a burden for me to get up to get the door for my Spanish class, my freshman year.

“Can you get the door for me?” I’d asked to the guy beside me, “I’m sick.”

I’m incredibly dense, but far from an idiot, because judging by the snickers I heard, nobody believed me. I wasn’t coughing, I wasn’t sneezing, I didn’t have a hospital bracelet on my wrist and I wasn’t hairless. I appeared in optimal health, to anyone who passed me by.

I got the door myself, every time, for the rest of the year. Nobody believed me.

It wasn’t until all the potential futures I could’ve led up to- a college scholarship for throwing, weightlifting in my free time, that those possibilities were ripped away from me. That the diagnosis that hung in front of me never sunk in, until almost a year later.

So many appointments. So many results that just ended with more medications shoved my way, because there’s nothing else left for me to do. My adolescence, gone, in one fell swoop. That it will never go away.

And I guess, while a diagnosis offers closure, it also offers a mourning of what you could’ve had. It also demonstrates what people just assume out of you, especially to those young and unfortunately sick, “you’re so young, you’ll understand what pain feels like when you’re older,” Being shoved my way, when I take more medications than my grandpa.

Even clinicians sweep me aside. My own “friends”. And I’ve never pleaded more to be sick, to show my sickness, for a break. Or perhaps to just further the belief that I am valid in my struggle, and so many others are, because I am not lazy.

Diabetics are also chronically ill, you do realize.

It is physically exhausting. Just because something is so common, so normalized, doesn’t mean it holds any less weight. Just because you may see it frequently doesn’t necessarily make it less dreadful for those that suffer. Just because someone appears in optimal health does not invalidate their struggle. You do not have to be diabetic to understand, I’m not, and I try. I make an effort.

But I guess the only way to truly understand is to be sick, or to listen, and many people do neither.

It’s not even been a year. And I’m already used to it.

[sheisintherainnn]

I feel like a small fish trapped inside the aquarium alone,

Floating around in the cold water, gasping for life,

Hoping to be rescued, wanting to be noticed - desperately,

Staying still - pretending dead,

Just to be ignored as I move,

The situation I am in, my very own reason of existence is suffocating me,

But

The audacity to still have hope. . .

When I know for the fact that I will always be that small fish trapped inside the aquarium alone,

Floating around in the cold water, all against her will,

Witnessing everything turn into a mess,

Left alone, gasping for life !!!

[ddogdeath]

so obedient until i’m cornered.

@/ojibwa // unknown, comment for credit // Margaret Atwoood, Speeches for Dr Frankenstein // farlapbloodhounds.blogspot.com // @/dying-dog // Molly McCully Brown, “Places I’ve Taken my Body: Essays” // unknown, comment for credit // unkown, comment for credit // Silas Denver Melvin, Let Dead Dogs Lie // unknown, comment for credit

[cryptic-diary]

I hate how you made me.

How I miss you, that I will bleed for you and beg you to touch me again just because you made me like this. I do not wish for this. To be like this. It makes me sick, the feeling of your grip on my skin, on my hips, on my thighs, everywhere. But I cannot get enough, because it is all I know.

[aerowolf]

Firstborn — a vent poem

that girl you call precious

the first one you had

she made you a father

and you were so glad

you raised her to be smart

and praised her so much

but you forgot her heart

gave her your dark touch

PERFECT

smart and so eager

she wants to please you

a natural leader

firstborn who you grew

she's just the perfect child

but she's nobody

upon her praise is piled

she's just so lonely

LONELY

she doesn't even know

how lonely she is

responsible and kind

but they just discuss

"she's such a good sibling"

what if she's tired?

her heart is draining

a girl so full of mire

BROKEN

then one day she breaks

the years weren't so kind

she's drowning in a lake

she's lost in her mind

no one asks if she's okay

no one takes her hand

no one knows what to say

they think that nothing's wrong

HIDDEN

the years pass by

she finds herself at last

but no one sees her

no one notices her

she's just a good kid

she wants to escape this

she wants to be known

who she is isn't good

but wants to be seen

DESPERATE

she cries every day

she's sweet and she's kind

she is broken and beat

smart and creative

she is drowning now here

her life is perfect

she's always just so stressed

and yet she persists