#crying tonight because my skin fucking burns and rashes every time i wash my face at night bc everything in the bathroom is moldy

[femmeboyhooters]

Why does life ALWAYS have to be shit

[confused-as-all-hell]

Nina Zenik's trade was love.

Her lips were the colour of teenage breakups, her eyelids dusted dreamy gold. Her kisses tasted like melting chocolate, and the touch of her bare hands was wildfire, burning, destruction. Within a cage of ribbon and bone, her heart wept for quiet.

Her smile could have set the world aflame.

Nina had ridden desire until her body gave out, had slept with infatuation in her bed, had risen to the prying hands of lust. She had never known gentle touches or warm butterfly lips; men and women both saw her body, saw an opportunity, a conquest.

She loved, my god, she loved.

But nobody had ever loved her.

Some tried; they took her to quaint little cafes and pretty sparkling monuments, but her laugh was too bright, her grin too wide, she was too much to be managed.

Her friends did their best to cheer her, and their kindness was often her lifeline, but Inej’s comforting hand never struck out, and Kaz’s vicious mind never bent towards anything but his studies, and Jesper was too busy with his boyfriend for more than a friendly hello.

Nina had never expected them to wage her wars, but some little, nagging part of her mind longed to be fought for.

So when she met Matthias Helvar, she hated him.

He was gentle, kind, waited on her opinion, halted before kissing her fingertips. His warmth, she thought with breathtaking terror, was just a ruse.

No person on the entire fucking Earth could romantically love her.

She knew that her giggles were just too raucous, and her body too curved, and her wit could have cleaved the moon. She knew she was too much, and she knew she wasn't enough.

When she was studying, when she was jesting, when she was laying on top of Matthias' broad frame, the vines crept in.

When she heard him sneer at a young woman, when she heard him degrade her, their, rights, those tangling vines nearly fucking strangled her.

For the first time in her life, Nina fell silent. The stars spun before her eyes. The ocean was in her ears. The hatred and bewilderment clouded her lungs.

When she mentioned it to Kaz, he only frowned. "Helvar isn't known for his humanity," he said fairly.

Nina didn’t shake. She didn’t sob. She didn’t bury her face in her hands and weep.

She was still Nina Zenik, and she would not lose her heart over a hateful boy.

She only turned to Kaz, seated at her desk, and Inej, cross-legged on the bed, and Jesper, sprawled on the floor.

And Nina did what she had forsworn eight years ago.

She begged.

They were good to her, her friends.

They worked quietly and quickly, abandoning their piles of homework to soothe her furious heart, ditching their responsibilities for her anger.

It was their love she clung to when red flashed before her eyes.

Yes, she cared for Matthias, more than she ever wanted to admit.

But she was proud to be a female, and prouder still to be a feminist. She refused to dissolve her values for a few hours of sex.

They worked through the dregs of night, and when the first wisps of sunlight spun around the stars, Nina at last sat back.

Later that day, Matthias Helvar was expelled.

She had been staring at his back during one of their lectures, silent silent silent, as Inej squeezed her hand tight.

When the announcement came, all she felt was a bitter surge of terror.

The look on his face, the misery and humiliation and awful bewilderment, it would fucking haunt Nina forever.

He turned to her, eyes full of hope. "I was with you that day," he said softly. "You know I didn't."

Matthias, bold and kind and gentle, the god of burnished gold, a saviour like none she had ever known. His kisses tasted of salvation, his laugh sounded of redemption.

And fuck if the pain on his face didn't break her damn heart.

I'm wrong I'm wrong I'm wrong.

For just a second, Nina wondered if she had acted too harshly. But the image of the girl, sobbing into into her hands, screaming she was worthless and awful and didn’t deserve to be called human….

“I am so sorry, Matthias,” Nina said softly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Months later, Nina still dreamt about the hopeless look in his eyes, the way he would pick her up and kiss her neck, how his kindness was her tether.

Did she love him?

Yes.

She loved him, simply, bitterly, indomitably.

It felt like dying.

It felt like waking up in the middle of the night, heart hammering, and trying to shift the veil of sleep from your gaze because something's wrong, something's out of place, and fuck if it isn't a boy with pretty blue eyes.

It felt like searching for your oblivion in someone else's body, and their hands are too wide, and their breath too rough, and the fury that lights your bones aflame is too fucking much.

Nina was no stranger to heartbreak. Many, many boys had shattered her courage, her wit, her pride; she had built it up again, a fortress of red silk and crimson anger.

But to break someone else's heart, to dream of a guileless laugh like rumbling thunder, to think of his coffee order whenever Inej asked her what she wanted for breakfast, it was nearly too much to bear.

She tried to heal herself.

She tried changing her perfume and restyling her hair, tried shedding the skin of a rash, reckless woman, and dressed in the suitable tones of a graceful lady.

But a quiet life did not suit Nina Zenik.

The roar in her head could have broken queens. The hum of adventure in her veins moaned for one more taste. The tide of kindly words and gentle smiles were unfamiliar in her mouth.

Her friends always did their best to extend a hand, and it was due to Kaz's ability to hack the school website that her grades remained polished. It was thanks to Inej's quiet that Nina could breathe for just a bare second. It was put down to Jesper's raucous laugh that she clung to life.

How stupid, she told herself, to cry over a boy.

But she knew there was no shame in crying over a boy. It was natural to mourn a relationship, a missed opportunity, and it didn't make her less.

What she really meant was: How stupid, to cry over an awful person.

Was Matthias awful?

That remark, that stupidly bitter remark, was terrible, yes. But she in her indomitable fury had reacted so harshly.

Worse men than twenty-three-year-old Matthias Helvar had learned better. Couldn't he?

For a second, hope lifted her heart on the wind.

The very next morning, she hurried out to the center where Matthias was doing his penance, and she begged to speak with him.

When he stalked out, tall and breathtakingly handsome, aurete hair brushed back and glacier eyes gentle... fuck if she didn't lose her damned mind.

"Nina," he whispered, so softly, as if her name was his salvation.  As if they were back in the safety of her bedroom, bare among the silk sheets, limbs intertwined as he gasped for her to keep going, not to stop.

"Hello," she said shakily.

"Nina, my love," he said again, his words heavy with sorrow. “My sweet garden flower.”

Her joy rose like a crashing wave, and for just one second, it felt like she might conquer the entire fucking world.

"Matthias," she said, her voice strangely airless.

He rushed towards her, fingers reaching, and she dared to close her eyes. His calloused palms brushed against her bare throat.

"My darling," he murmured into the hollow of her ear. "Oh, Nina, why would you come here tonight?"

"Am I unwelcome?"

He laughed, but it was injected with something akin to misery. "You were always welcome, Nina. I never turned you away from my door. My bed was yours. My hands, yours. The key to my dorms hung around this pretty neck. When have I ever denied you houseroom?"

"I thought you might hate me," she admitted, still trembling. The idea seemed ridiculous now.

"Hate you?" Matthias echoed, thumb grazing her pulse point, pressing down gently. "My fucking god, Nina, I have detested you since the very moment you said my name in that damned lecture hall."

Her heart stuttered.

"Every aspect of your pretty fucking face," he whispered, still soft as if he was kneeling for his confessional, "reviles me. Your laugh, your grin, those little melodies even the birds cannot mirror. The way you write your birthday cards. The way you sat by while I was convicted for a crime I did not commit."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, light as a butterfly's wings. "Oh, my darling, but you knew. Was I so terrible to you? Did I not sing you to sleep and hold your hand and bring your spring blossoms?"

She tried to croak his name, but he ghosted a finger across her lips.

"I loved you, Nina Zenik," he said. "I love you still. But send me to fucking hell if I wouldn't drive a blade through your heart." He pressed his mouth to her own again, so delicate, so careful. "I thought you cared for me."

But Nina was beyond responses. She was dashed on the rocks, laying on the stretcher, amid the ashes of her ancestors.

"No?" said Matthias gently. "Very well, my sweet love. Go to your grave in my arms, as I went to heaven in yours."

His fingers brushed her lips, grazed the swell of her breasts, closed around her throat.

When Nina woke the next morning, it was to her own unmade bed. Her neck was so swollen, peppered in bruises and markings in the shape of broad fingertips. She could barely speak.

She didn't know if she would have, even if given the choice.

The words within her, the lovely ebb and flow of their comfort, had washed away with the tide at last.

Within a few days, the markings on her skin had nearly been scrubbed away, and the gasping pressure of her larynx had eased up enough for her to cry.

She felt like an untethered ship, bound for no shore, alone on the ocean with no hope of salvation. No matter how loud her desperate screams, there was no lighthouse beacon shining through the storm, no gentle arms to welcome her home.

Her tears fell like raindrops, pattering into her morning tea and onto the silk of her pillows, rolling down her face and staining her clothes with salt.

Inej tried to soothe the grief, and her grace was often enough to hold the hurricane at bay. She slept in Nina's bed, hands outstretched as if beseeching forgotten gods, the set of her delicate face troubled.

Kaz worked hard to keep her grades high, and he seemed to take her desk as his own, working there until the latest hours of night whenever Inej ran late. He was always there, irate and dry perhaps, but there.

Jesper, newly engaged to bright-as-the-stars Wylan Van Eck, could be counted on for mindless chatter and familiar jests.

It helped, of course it did.

But nothing filled the hole in her armor, the pride Matthias had so aptly destroyed.

Some people had thought of Nina's rage as a monster, a beast slithering through the night, a serpent prone to striking first and thinking later.

But she had loved that fury, loved her pride. It gifted her a defense against sneers and remarks and hatred. It had given a little girl with happy eyes a purpose, eighteen years ago.

Nina blazed like fire, lovely and breathtaking, but so many forgot that her flames were not just pretty. They were scalding, awful, burning hot to the touch.

And she had been fucking stupid enough to think Matthias could withstand the inferno.

And she had been fucking stupid enough to think Matthias could withstand the inferno.

It was ten months before she saw him again.

Nina was leaning over the counter at a little cafe, doing her best to remember her friends' orders, touching her fingers one by one.

A laugh, like the demanding rumble of a hurricane, crested over the cafe.

Her heart fucking stopped.

Matthias was seated at a rickety table, arms tucked behind his head. He was grinning at a boy seated across from him, one of the number who had snickered at his remark over that weeping girl, all that time ago.

He glanced to the side, laughter on his soft rosy lips, and caught glimpse of her.

It was too late to smooth her straight dark hair, or wish she had worn a ball gown instead of ripped jeans and one of Jesper's T-shirts.

It was far too late to do anything but stroll up to his table and lean across the wood.

"Aerts," she said with a click of her tongue, indicating the other boy. "Darling, and I thought your sad little gang provided good company?"

"No complaints," Aerts said with a roguish smile. "You look pretty enough to whine in my ear, though, Zenik. You fancy a tumble?"

There was a shuffle, and a loud thud, as if Matthias had swung his foot into Aerts' shin.

"Fuck off," Matthias said jerkily to her.

"I'd much rather get off," Nina said dispassionately.

His ears turned red. "You've grown more petulant than ever."

"You didn't mind my whining," she said airily.

A hand flashed in the air; Kaz, waving her over impatiently.

Nina waved to signal her understanding before turning back to the boys. "How about it, Helvar? For the sake of nostalgia. I'm going home with somebody tonight, might as well be you."

Aerts didn't seem offended she'd turned him down. On the contrary, he grinned shiftily at his friend. "Go on. It'll be fun."

They barely made it to an alleyway before Matthias was kissing her.

The sex was quick and rough and furious, bruised lips and roaming hands, gasping moans and clever fingers. It was Nina with her head thrown back against the wall, eyes fluttering like the wings of a dove. It was Matthias bent down over her, whispering I hate you I hate you I hate you as though the words were his litany.

When he knelt before her, the sun was in his skin, his hair, the brush of his tongue.

And suddenly they were in their first year again, learning to love and lose and grieve and gift.

He bought earrings shaped like little stars for her because he had seen the way her eyes lit up.

She left a bouquet of white lilies on his bed because he had once mentioned they were his favourite.

He kissed the curves of her body because he had seen the disgust which others regarded them with.

She let him cry on her shoulder the anniversary of his sister's death because it hurt it hurt it hurt.

But just like in their first year, they parted.

He would always be the boy with some semblance of poison in his heart.

She would always be the girl who was simply too much for anyone to love.

And if they met, again and again, in thrift shops and opulent restaurants and beaches and nightclubs, they could pretend it away. They could smile, wave, sleep at night with the memory of a sweet laugh ringing in their ears.

Maybe one day, another day, a kinder day, they met again.

Maybe this time, Nina would ask him to heal the hatred in his blood.

Maybe this time, Matthias would tell her why he had hurt that girl.

Maybe they would love each other anew, a spring blossom eager to flower again, an old oak tree strong enough to outwait the storm.

But for now, the blossom will wither and die every winter, and the tree will go gently to the hurricane.

For now, it is Matthias, the king of ice, Nina, the queen of fire.

For now, love is simply not enough.

[lihikainanea]

so it's summer and it's great but the heat is absolutely unforgiving. what if Tiger gets like, a reaction from the excessive sweat that this season brings and there's like a rash-like discoloration on the sides of her body, her back? I get these every summer and, it's hard to look at myself in the mirror when I put the cream on so they go away. I'm thinking Bill would help, but after Tiger lets him since she's a lil embarrassed and shy about them.

Ohhh bubs, I feel you. I have SUCH sensitive skin that I swear, I cry and then I have to spend like a week treating the eczema outbreak on my face that my own goddamn tears cause.

The heat and all that comes along with it can have some icky side effects and my girl tiger ain't spared. Heat rash? yep. Mild sun allergy that causes a rash? Yep. Hives because she's basically allergic to everything outside? Yep. Eczema outbreak because all the rashes are stressing her out? Yep.

Are we even going to talk about underboob and thigh chafe? Shit, yes we are because this is some real life BULLSHIT that most of us have to deal with.

And what if it's exactly that. Hear me out. She's been purposely avoiding getting nekkid with Bill for a few days--She's got this weird heat rash that's going down one side, itchy as all hell and red and bumpy. She manages to camouflage most of it with a loose fitting sundress, something of breathable material, but she just happens to need a strapless bra with it--and strapless bras are an Enemy of the Goddamn State, man. Maybe it's a nice cocktail hour at a schmancy new bar that opened so she's dressed cute, except one of her completely heat-resistant friends got them all a table outside because clearly this friend was born and raise din the fires of Hades, so a heatwave doesn't bother them. It's outside, and tiger is fucking dying. The sweat running down her side is making her itch even more and burning the sensitive, already-irritated skin there. She feels like she's fucking melting into a puddle under the blaze of the hot sun, which she's pretty sure is searing her make up off. She feels like a swamp monster.

And if that's not bad enough--the group decides to walk for ice cream after. They decide to walk QUITE a long ways for ice cream. And all that sweat that she has going underneath her dress is just making her bra dig into the fragile skin under her breasts, and the more her thighs rub together as she walks the more she can feel the chafe like, peeling off a layer of her fucking skin and she wants to die.

And Bill for his part is kind of walking a bit ahead with his boys, maybe it's been awhile since he's seen them so he's not keenly aware of the absolute hell that tiger is currently in. Until she snaps when, after ice cream, it's time to walk alllllllll the way back to the car.

"Fuck this," she mutters, "I'm out." And then a little louder. "Bill, I'm out."

He gives her a worried look, taking a few long strides until he's back with her.

"Okay kid," he says, "We can leave as soon as we get back to the car."

"Yep." She smiles, wide and scary--but doesn't move.

"It's...It's this way," he gestures somewhat helplessly to the direction everyone else continues walking in.

"Sure is."

She still doesn't move.

"....tiger?"

He jumps a mile when she lets out the loudest whistle he's ever heard, nearly giving him an uppercut as her hand shot up quickly. A cab came to a screeching halt, and she opened the door.

Confused but knowing better than to argue, Bill folded himself in half in the back seat as the cab drove them the 3 minute distance to the car.

"Are you....okay?" he asks cautiously as she buckles up her seatbelt in his car, and tiger just...man, tiger wants to go home. She's so uncomfortable, she's so itchy, everything burns, she's still overheated and she's just so over this night.

"I'm tired and too hot," she says instead, "Just take me home."

And like, look. Once they're home? Bill goes to unzip her dress because she always needs help with it, but tiger kind of smacks his hands away and huffs. He doesn't think much of it, she's just fussy and in a bad mood and she doesn't always want to be touched when she's feeling that way. And tiger, in the meantime, is just trying to locate either some calamine lotion or some cortisone cream or hell just a million ice packs that she can place on her side, between her thighs, under her breasts--everywhere that just seems on fire at the moment.

She heads to the bathroom, closing the door so she can rummage the cupboards in peace. She finally takes the dress off and flings her bra across the room and she winces at what she sees in the mirror. Her entire side is red and bumpy, an angry, itchy rash scaling up her torso. Tenderly, she rubs the skin under her breasts and bites her lip in pain--the skin there is raised, bright red, irritated and stinging. A quick check on her inner thighs reveals the same thing. She sighs, running the tap so that Bill won't hear her.

But listen, Bill? Bill just thinks she's washing her face, and he wanders in with a little whisky digestif and to see if he can entice her into taking a bubble bath with him. He opens the door and tiger shrieks, grabbing at a towel to cover herself--but not before he got a good view of what seems like half her body, bright red and irritated.

"Tiger," he gasps softly, "Kid what happened?"

"Bill get out," she squeaks, wrapping the towel around herself.

"No," he says. He yanks at her towel but she smacks his hand away.

"Bill," she says, a tad more angry now, "Leave me alone."

"No," he says again, "Tiger, show me."

"No."

"Tiger," it's his turn to be stern now, "We have rules. And so help me, if you don't drop that fucking towel then there will be another part of you that is bright fucking red. Now show me."

"It's okay," she sighs defeatedly, "It's just... a bit irritated."

She opens the towel a tad, showing him her side. Bill puts the whiskey glasses down and hold the towel open, leaning to get a closer look.

"What happened?" he asks softly, "Are you allergic to something?"

"No," she mumbles--god this is embarassing--"It's just...the heat. It gave me a bit of a rash that won't go away."

He nods, his eyebrows knitting together, and he tugs gently to undo the knot on her towel. When she protests he gives her a stern look and she sighs, letting him undo her covering. Gently, he runs his fingers along the side of her breasts and trail them down her rib cage.

"And here?"

"Strapless bra, sweat, and rubbing," she winces when he hits a sensitive spot and he apologizes, "Recipe for disaster."

He nods, his eyes sweeping over her looking for more markings.

"Anywhere else?" he asks after a beat. Tiger bites her lip, and he gently tugs it free with his thumb. She sighs, giving up, and rests her foot on the toilet so he can see her inner thigh.

"Dump truck thigh chafe," she says, "It's a killer."

He leans, kissing the marking softly.

"Oatmeal," he says as he stands and turns for the door, "A lukewarm oatmeal bath, and some calamine lotion."

"Bill, I'm handling it. It's not--"

But he spins back around.

"We. Have. Rules." every word is short, curt, and accentuated with a step as he backs her up to the tub and looms tall over her, "Don't we sweet girl?"

"Yes."

"And do you think that hiding this from me--spending the evening in discomfort and pain and not telling me anything--is that following the rules?" he asks. God he's authoritative when he's like this.

"Probably not?" she tries. A quick, challenging quirk of his brow and suddenly she's not so brave. "No, it's not following the rules."

"And trying to stop me from taking care of it when I do find out, is that following the rules?"

"No," she says meekly, "It's not."

"That's right, it's not," he says and he kisses her softly, "So you're going to let me take care of these markings, and then you're going to get some brand new ones."

And listen, Bill is more just pissed that tiger was in pain, clearly for at least a few days, and she didn't tell him. He's even more pissed that she sat there so uncomfortable that night, and also didn't tell him. But he puts his anger aside to care for her first--and an oatmeal bath it is, he gets in there with her and soaks while they sip their whiskey. And when they get out, he carefully dabs calamine lotion all over her--giving it a second to dry before pulling his big shirt over her head.

"Bedroom," he says, "Now."

Tiger slinks away--but also, man, what if our girl just ain't feeling it tonight? Yes, she was bad. Yes, she broke the rules. She's a little small about it but she's dealing okay, and truth be told she just...ugh, the thought of another patch of her skin being red and irritated and sore from a spanking is just kind of too much for her. It's a discomfort and a pain that she just doesn't feel up to dealing with tonight, after already spending so much time uncomfortable. SO maybe she's kneeling on his side of the bed when he comes in to find her, and as he approaches she just kind of thunks her head on his thigh, fiddles with the waistband of his boxers.

"Bill," she says softly, "Can I...can you punish me tomorrow for this? I've had enough discomfort for today. I don't want it."

Bill's heart could explode. He smiles at her--big and wide and totally dopey, hooks his hand around her arms and sets her on her feet gently.

"Good girl," he purrs, kissing her deeply, "My good girl."

She coos a little at that, and he tucks her into his chest for a tight hug.

"You tell me when you're ready to be punished kid, and we'll do it then," he tells her. She nods, and when he lays out in bed tiger just lies flat on his chest, sticks his thumb in her mouth, and starts snoring a few seconds later. Bill just lovingly tends to her for the next day or two--lukewarm baths, lots of calamine, lots of unscented soothing lotions--and then eventually after a few days when he's sitting on the couch playing a video game, tiger just walks in, shimmies out of her panties and lies across his lap.

"Let's have it bud," she tells him, "Make it hurt."