#fucking. trigger warning United States of We Hate You i guess

[apollo-zero-one]

I have to call the healthcare dot gov helpline again.

And this time if they do not have a clear answer for me I am going to get hysterical.

I am twenty two years old I have NO idea what I am doing I am Suicidally Depressed and Cannot Afford My Medication I am the one handling this because no one else in my God Damn House apparently knows how to use a computer and it is Not my Fault that I live in a hellhole of a country that decided to make millions of people jump through stupid little hoops and beg like a dog for the PRIVILEGE of Not Dying Of Preventable Things, so SOMEONE is going to tell me what I need to do to get this stupid government health insurance or mark my words I am going to kill myself on the steps of the capitol building . FUCK

[littlemisslipbalm]

“I know you, Harry Styles”

Summary: Your boss asks you to quarantine at his house to watch over the place and his dog. He then calls you let you know a friend of his has gotten stuck in Los Angeles and needs a place to stay, so he has offered his friend the home that you are also going to be staying at. His friend is Harry Styles. Harry and you get to know each other while you both navigate through this uncertain time. 

I’ve had this idea for awhile and im sorry if it’s a little late now, since strict quarantine has ended (lowkey might be coming back since california has been getting bad again), but still i really liked this and wanted to write it. Also look at how cute this sidelook from Harry is in this gif ^^ :) his nose is so slopey

It hasn’t been the easiest write so no worries if y’all hate it. I might do a part 2, but def no part 3 this time, unless it gets easier to write. 

Word Count: 4.5k | Warnings: mentions of quarantine and Coronavirus (pls take care if the situation is triggering to you), language, drinking 

Enjoy! (Feedback appreciated as always)

-

You weren’t sure what to say, you didn’t want to break that bliss of him not knowing you knew. “I,” you took a sip of wine, trying to gather a bit more courage, you then laugh meekly, “I, uh, know what you do.”

“Damn…” he said. Harry also took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the gulp. “I was still debating whether I’d say that I was a musician or an accountant, y’know, something random.” You smiled, Harry was funny, you decided. 

“You’d lie to me?” you said, a hint of flirtation behind your words.

“Oh no, never.”

-

You were living in Los Angeles when the Coronavirus outbreak first arrived in the United States and California went into quarantine. You lived in a pretty small apartment in Silver Lake and you weren’t excited to be cooped in there, alone for at least the two weeks they had just announced. The governor issued that everything would be shut down by morning and you had to admit you were a little stressed. Just as you were about to walk into your apartment and lock the door, ready to shelter in, your boss and friend of yours called.

“Hey Y/N,” David said quickly over the phone, “You know how I’ve just left for England two days ago and I’m already here. Well, since I’m not a U.S. citizen, I can’t come back. Which is fine, but I was just wondering if you’d mind quarantining at my house and just watching over it? Until I can get back?”

You sighed, “Oh my god, David. I’m so sorry.” “The U.S. announced their border closure so strangely, I couldn’t have known...But it’s fine, really, I’m actually kind of happy to be home.” You nodded as if he could see you.

“So do you think you can do it? I’ve been having my neighbor check in on my dog, daily, but I’d prefer a friend to be at the house with him right now.”

“Oh! Yeah of course, I’ll pack a bag and head over right now. I’m honestly relieved you��ve given me this offer. You’re house is fucking huge and my apartment is tiny.” David chuckled at your slow response but happy tone.

You were right, David did have a nice house. His place was up in the Los Angeles Hills, a place he’d inherited from a wealthy grandparent. It was definitely going to be an upgrade for quarantine. David’s place would make it easier to be alone because of his cute little dog around, a swimming pool, a beautiful kitchen, literally anything you could have asked for.  You drove up the long driveway, to the rustic house, David refused to call a classic 70’s mansion as much as you insisted upon it.

“Guess it doesn’t matter what I call it now, huh.” You said to no one. You pulled out your spare key, David had given to you for emergencies when you had started working directly under him. You opened the door and stepped inside to the empty mansion. Checkers, David’s dog came running up to you, pawing your legs and howling his tiny voice at your arrival. You smiled, setting down your bags and grabbing Checkers from the ground. “Hi, baby!” You swung him around and he licked your face adoringly. You ruffled his fur and then placed him back on the ground, he wasn’t more than eleven pounds.

Then you went to find your bedroom. You heard your footsteps echoing throughout the empty house and it definitely felt weird. Being alone, in this big house. You wondered why you had to keep convincing yourself it was so great. Then your phone rang for the second time today. David again. You threw your bags at the foot of the guest bed and walked back through the house to the main room adjoined to the kitchen, near the front door.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Y/N, thanks for picking up! And thank you for agreeing to watch the house -”

“Yeah, of course, I’m just settling in.”

“That’s great! But, I hope you don’t mind, a friend of mine has similar luck to me. He was just supposed to be in Los Angeles for a couple days, but he’s gotten stranded there and has nowhere else to go. He’s a good friend of mine and the house is most definitely big enough for two…” He trailed off, slightly anxious to put you out, when you had already been generous enough to leave the comfort of your own place during this stressful time. “So, I told him he could stay at mine, if he didn’t mind living with a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger?” You asked, slightly confused from what David was saying.

“Yeah, yeah I mean, I told him you were a friend and that you worked with me, obviously.” You laughed with some relief, “Ok, I’ve got you. That’s fine, more than fine, he’s got nowhere to go, it’d be rude of me to say no to him joining me in this mansion,” You got a little excited and emphasized the mansion.

David groaned, but finished, “Well, great! Because I’m pretty sure he’s already on his way. Bye!” The line went dead.

You wouldn’t say you were unhappy that you were going to be sharing the house. The loneliness of the empty house had grown daunting the minute you heard your footsteps. But you realized David hadn’t even given you the name of the man you were going to be living with for supposedly the next two weeks. As well, what if you and the man didn’t get along and were at each other’s throats for two weeks.

You shook the thoughts from your mind, trying not to make any presumptions. Then, you began to put away the groceries you had brought with you from your apartment and refilled Checkers’ water bowl.

Maybe twenty minutes after your phone call with David, informing you of your quarantine housemate, the doorbell rang and you jogged lazily to the foyer with the grand front door.

In front of you stood, a man with mop of dark brown hair on his head, some large green eyes, a nice outfit, and an array of tattoos peeking out from under different parts of his clothing. Wait- you thought - this isn’t some random tall, good-looking white guy. And then it dawned on you. David would be close friends with Harry Styles. This is so typical of that man. And for him to never tell you that before. That is especially David, trying to keep this guy all to himself.

“Hi, I’m David’s friend, he said he’d call ahead and let you know, I’m ‘Arry,” he rested one of his bags on the ground and reached out to shake your hand. You blinked your eyes, still a little surprised at who your roommate was going to be, but determined to be chill about it. You then reached out your hand to meet his. You took note of the largeness of his hands and how soft they were. His hand slid perfectly in yours and his eyes intensely gazed at you in the hallway.

“Yeah, he called, I’m Y/N.” You released his hand after realizing you still had hold of it, just a touch too long. You stepped aside to let Harry bring his things into the house. “Do you need any help with your bags?” You asked quickly, not wanting to seem rude. Harry turned to you as he had just stepped into the house and was exactly beside you, he quirked his head, “Oh no, I’m alright, no need to worry about me.”

“Okay,” you simply responded and walked back into the kitchen. You had left your phone in there and still had some things to organize, David didn’t keep his house as clean or organized as you liked it. You always set to work around his house whenever you came by, no matter his protests. Music was playing from your phone over the bluetooth speakers David had in the house, a mix of random songs for the month that you had compiled a couple weeks ago. It was a mix of your favorite artists: oldies and some newer stuff. You turned it up as you got to work.

Your music played loud enough that you didn’t hear Harry walk into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said. Startled, you flipped yourself to face him, discarding the box of cereal you were moving to be with the other cereals.

“What’s up?”

“I know we don’t know each other,” Harry started. You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with this. “And I’m fine if you don’t want to really interact, but I was actually kind of excited to find out that I wasn’t going to have to be all alone in this house for two weeks.”

Your lips quirked up in about a half smile as a soft chuckle came out. You rested back on the countertop behind you, feeling more relaxed at the rest of Harry’s statement. Harry stared at your figure still taking in the stranger in front of him. You seemed fairly laid back and he liked the music he heard from the speakers, assuming it was your selection.

“Oh. Yeah,” you began, scratching your head, “I know, I was excited to not have to be in my apartment, but then when I got here I got lowkey scared of being here with just myself and Checkers.”

“Wait, Checkers is here?” Harry’s mood and tone immediately picked up, looking excitedly around for the little dog. “I think he’s outside,” you said, crossing to one of the many back doors. You called for David’s dog, you and Harry’s third roommate, and he came leaping through the door.

He ran to Harry and Harry knelt to grab the dog and pick him back up. He twirled Checkers around over his head and kept repeating “Who’s a good boy” before placing the dog on one of the couches. On the couch, Harry playfully flipped the dog on his back and scratched his belly. Checkers wiggled and opened his mouth trying to nip playfully at Harry. Harry in turn put his head right near Checkers’ and shook his own fluffy hair in the dog’s face. Checkers went wild, loving the attention he was receiving.

After a bit, Harry let Checkers go and stood up, you had been watching on amusedly, “God, I love this dog, so fucking cute,” he said. You were surprised Harry knew David well enough to know his dog, but you dismissed it. Then, you laughed and agreed with him.

“Well, do you want to get to know each other over dinner tonight?” Harry inquired as you walked back into the kitchen, still trying to finish your self-given task of cleaning it up. “Sure, why not?”

-

It was the dinner time you and Harry had agreed upon. You had showered and unpacked over the past few hours. Harry, from what you knew, had done the same. You two hadn’t talked much more since he had suggested the dinner. The guest room he had chosen was on the second floor, like yours, just down the hall. After checking the time on your phone, you left your room and went downstairs. You found Harry on the couch with Checkers, reading a book. You tapped his shoulder from behind the couch and he turned his head to look up at you. “We said 7, right?” He snapped his book shut after raising her brows, coming out of a reading trance. “Oh, yeah,” he responded, rising from his seat and heading to the kitchen. You followed after him, “So what do you want to eat. I brought some groceries with me so we could cook something or there’s always take out.”

Harry opened the fridge, “Let’s make something, yeah?” He leaned back from the inside of the fridge and threw a smile to you over his shoulder. He was very confident and charismatic in person you had noticed just from the few odd moments you had spent with him already. You liked his music and felt like you should tell him you knew who he was, but you also liked the feeling you got that you were just two normal people living together for a little.

“Alright,” you began, walking to his side to look into the fridge as well, “Any requests, Harry?”

You looked up at his face, he was quite tall, taller than you had really thought. He was a really big figure up close, slightly intimidating if you were being honest. He simply demanded attention just with his presence, something strong emanating from him. You could see that strength in the lines of his jaw, lined in stubble, his green eyes set deeper in his head, the sinews in his neck. In every part of his body, there was strength, yet he spoke with a kindness about him. You were extremely interested in getting to know more about him, for this very reason. How could such a big, intimidating man in size and presence be known for being so kindhearted and in touch with himself and the world? What was his secret?

Harry simply began to remove various items from the fridge, placing them down on the island behind the two of you. He only said in response to your previous question, “Like Mexican?” You nodded and laughed, you’d grown up on Mexican food.

“I was thinking fajitas would be good, what do you think?”

“Yeah, absolutely, how can I help?”

Harry grinned at your attitude, he could tell you were the really fun, easy-going type of person. He was glad you weren’t being weird with him, even if he was a stranger. He finished taking the ingredients from the fridge and then gave you instructions on what he needed help with. The two of you set to work, this time it was Harry’s music playing over the speakers.

-

You sat at the dining table in the next room over from the kitchen and seating area. Harry had told you to go ahead as he finished your plates of food. Moments later, he walked into the room holding the plates. “Ta-da!” He exclaimed while presenting the two plates of food, that looked admittedly, very tasty.

He had changed his outfit from earlier and you were just now noticing. Earlier, it had been a striped dress shirt that he had dressed down with rolled up sleeves and half of the buttons undone, revealing a nice string of pearls, with navy high waisted trousers that cinched at his slender waist. Now, he was in a simple purple knit sweater and brown corduroy flares, still wearing the pearls around his neck. Neither of you were wearing shoes, both wearing only socks. And while Harry might consider that to be a more casual outfit, you were in leggings and a hoodie with a sun on it that you had thrifted awhile ago.

He sat down across from you after placing one plate on the placemat in front of you. The dining table was huge, meant for dinner parties and entertaining, not a traveler and a young employee. You took a bite and hummed in appreciation, but then said, “Wait.”

Harry stopped eating and looked at you, concerned there was something wrong with his cooking. “Red wine,” you stated. Harry’s worried face grew into a grin. “Red wine,” he echoed in agreement and nodded his head. You hopped up from your seat and ran into the kitchen, looking for the cabinet David kept his wine in.

After finding a reasonable Malbec, a favorite red of yours, you grabbed an opener, two glasses, and went back into the dining room where the munching Harry awaited. He was happily chewing his food as he gazed at you as you placed the glasses between your plates, uncorked the bottle with ease, and grabbed the glasses once more to pour the wine.

Finally, you sat down and said, “To whatever the fuck we are about to get ourselves into.” Harry laughed and offered a “Salud” in response. The two of your glasses clinked and you both drank, afterwards setting off to eat your food.

As you ate, you began to talk. Harry started, “So, you work with David?” while taking his fork and stabbing at a cooked bell pepper slice. You finished chewing, “Ah, yeah, he’s my boss. But we work pretty closely, I’m kind of like a personal assistant, but I do more than just his scheduling and errands.” Harry nods.

You weren’t sure what to say, you didn’t want to break that bliss of him not knowing you knew. “I,” you took a sip of wine, trying to gather a bit more courage, you then laugh meekly, “I, uh, know what you do.”

“Damn…” he said. Harry also took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the gulp. “I was still debating whether I’d say that I was a musician or an accountant, y’know, something random.” You smiled, Harry was funny, you decided. “You’d lie to me?” you said, a hint of flirtation behind your words.

“Oh no, never. I would’ve definitely just told you who I was if you didn’t know, but it’s nice to pretend for a little.” He grinned as he said the words, his elbow resting on the table with his wine glass in hand. You ate some more, letting his words linger in the air. It’s nice to pretend for a little.

“Well,” you finally said, “I won’t give you any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a guy staying at the same house as me. Doesn’t matter to me what you do to pay your bills.”

Harry liked that. You were very intriguing, the way you spoke to him. Especially now that he was sure that you knew about his music and celebrity. “You make it sound like I’m a sex worker or something naughty!” he said, feeling more comfortable with you with the more time that passed and the more wine he had.

“It’s kind of the same thing...providing a service - that your body is an essential part of providing it properly.” You stated smugly, looking over at Harry from behind the rim of your glass. “And there’s nothing wrong with sex workers,” you added.

“You’re right,” he stopped, wanting to continue the conversation, but confused how to move on from sex workers. “So what do you think of my music?”

“I thought you wanted to be treated like you weren’t a celebrity,” you countered.

“That’s out the window, c’mon,” he said, leaning forward.

“You just want me to boost your ego,” you smirked, liking the banter that was coming so easily between you two, “Like I said, I know you, Harry Styles.”

He scoffed at your teasing and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t actually annoyed, he was enjoying this. “Then you’re a fan, huh?” Not letting it go without you saying how you felt about his music.

“Fine,” you sang slightly, shifting in your seat. “Your music,” you paused again, enjoying Harry eager to hear your opinion and you being in control, “is better than a lot of other modern stuff considered good by today’s standards.”

“So you like it?” He said slowly. That was probably the most roundabout, vague compliment he had ever heard. He picked at his almost empty plate, still staring at you.

You tilted your head and placed it on your palm, looking to the sky as if you were thinking about his question hard. Finally, you shifted your head in your palm so you were looking at Harry wearily. Then you shut one eye and said, “I guess,” before shrugging your shoulders as if you didn’t care at all. Harry let a single blow of air out of his nose, like a short laugh, before standing and taking both of your plates. As he walked out of the room he whistled lowly, “You are such a tease, Y/N.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and you heard him cleaning up. You were about to call out to him and say how he didn’t have to do the cleaning since he did the majority of the cooking, but then your eyes fell to the half drunk bottle of wine. Normally, you’d re-cork it and drink the rest at a later date, but it was still early in the evening and you and Harry literally had nowhere to go. Also, the two of you hadn’t gotten past the work question of getting to know you. There was still a bit more to learn about each other and you were happy to continue to discuss over wine.

Harry reemerged from the kitchen and you held up the wine bottle to him and waved it, “We need to finish this.”

“Have I told you yet that I like the way you think?” Harry walked over and grabbed the bottle from your hand. He quickly poured both your glasses much fuller than the usual standard glass of wine. When you eyed him curiously about the heavy pour, he only shrugged practically saying it’s just us drinking it who cares if we fill up our glasses extra full.

“No you haven’t, but I like the way I think too! I’m very smart you know,” you said with some play in your voice as you walked through a doorway that led to the sitting room. Harry trailed behind, bringing the now less than full bottle with him. You both sat yourselves on the couch, a fair amount of space between the two of you, not too close, but not too far apart either.

You both took long gulps of the wine. You were starting to feel a little warm from it, but you enjoyed where the wine was taking your conversation so you weren’t planning on stopping. Harry’s big green eyes squinted slightly at you from behind his wine glass, similar to how you had done earlier. He lowered it and licked his lips. There was definite tension between the two of you right now. Maybe you both had realized the implications of being alone with a stranger for two weeks with no interruptions and no distractions. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating because all you wanted to do was keep teasing Harry and have him keep baiting you.

Harry asked a question suddenly, breaking the silent staring that had been going on. And the tension was broken the two of you continuing your getting to know you for the rest of the night. By eleven, the bottle was empty and forgotten on the coffee table and you and Harry had scooted closer. You had similar likes and dislikes when it came to music. You talked about fashion and what it was like to get to wear top designers all the time - Harry being the wearer, not you sadly. You asked him what it was like to tour and he asked you more about your job and living in Los Angeles, how it was to not walk around the place and be bombarded with people. Then, you circled back to travel.

“I’ve been lucky enough to travel a lot in my life, too. I traveled with my family as a kid and I made sure my job would have me traveling around, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry took the last sip of his wine and set the glass down, readjusting himself to lean on his arm on the couch, looking at you.

“Was supposed to be with David in England, actually, but I got held up and was going to join him next week,” you mused, finishing your wine as well and leaning your body so your back was fully against the back cushion.

“No way, I was supposed to leave next week, too. Who knows, maybe we would have been on the same plane and crossed paths like that without even knowing,” Harry said excitedly.

You rolled your head to the right and looked at his face, how it had lit up at that unlikely prospect. “You probably wouldn’t have known, but I’m sure I would’ve been able to tell, probably have a whole crowd of fans there waiting for you, end up having to delay the plane for ya’. And I’d be sitting there like ‘which famous prick is holding us up?”

“Oi!” he swatted at your leg closest to him, “Has anyone told you you’re a bit mean.”

You raised your brows at his physical contact and his words. You shifted to your side again and slid your legs beneath you, looking directly at Harry. “Yes,” you said seriously.

Harry laughed at that. At least you were honest, and you were funny, too. You joined his laughter, it felt contagious, the way his voice was so loud, but so jovial. His eyes managed to twinkle even as he squinted, his smile taking over his entire face.

Without either of you noticing, the two of you had shifted extremely close to one another. You finally realized because you felt Harry’s breath fanning over your face. His breath smelled of Malbec, but his over scent mixed with it and turned it into something enticing. You wanted to lean in more, but the only place further to go was his lips.

Harry’s eyes flickered to meet yours, confused yet delighted about the situation he had somehow gotten himself in. The two of you breathing in each other, chests heaving from laughter, hearts beating from wine, and bodies ready to ignite the minute they touched. You remained there for a few moments more, basking in his glow.

And then you whispered, “I should go to bed.” You pulled away and retreated upstairs to your room. Harry was left there, sitting stunned at the whole situation. How had that happened? And what had you just stopped from happening?  You were thinking the very same things as you sat down on your bed and calmed your breathing.

This was going to be a long two weeks.

-

Part 2

taglist: @cronias13, @theresthingsthatwellneverknow, @harrys-cherrry, 

[scandalousfemale]

Fall to Pieces

Rafe Cameron x Y/N

An unexpected and unnecessary part 2 to Lists, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Y/N helps Rafe get sober after he told her what he had done. She’s conflicted because now she’s getting glimpses of a better Rafe but she can’t forget or forgive him so he makes it right the only way that he knows how.

WC: 5,308

Warning: smut, mentions of shooting the sheriff (but he did not shoot the deputy), mentions of jail, mentions of drugs and withdrawals, mentions of funerals (they think Sarah and John B are dead), spoilers, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, mentions of anger, mentions of parental unit dying/going to jail, mentions of PTSD, mentions of nightmares, y/n pulls a knife out on Barry and regrets it immediately, mentions of drugs 

A/N: Hello! Thank you for taking the time to even look at this fic, I worked really long and hard on it and I had a great time writing it. It was my first time ever writing smut so if it sucks, I’m so sorry. I’m also running on no sleep because I’ve been editing this all night. That being said, I tried my best to proofread, I’m sure that there are tons of mistakes anyway. Again, thank you for reading my fic! I ended it the only way that felt right to me. Oh, and it’s inspired by Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

It’s been 7 months since Rafe showed up at your door and ripped your heart out of your now gaping chest. 6 months and three weeks since his family held a funeral for his sister in which he couldn’t attend because he was going through withdrawals. 6 months since his friends and family started asking you about his whereabouts. You’ve lied to everyone you knew back on the Outer Banks, telling them that you haven’t seen him since that summer.

You’ve convinced yourself that you were okay with taking care of him even if you weren’t together but for the first three weeks while he was at his worse, every time you had to touch him, you wanted to throw up (most times you did). You just can’t help but picture him killing Peterkin, sometimes you have dreams where you see it happen and you didn’t do anything to stop it, then you’d wake up next to him and have to move to the sofa just from the disgust. Though you’re not exactly sure what really happened that day, and he wouldn’t tell you, your overactive imagination filled in the blanks for you every night for those first few weeks.

The fifth week was better, in the sense that your disgust was slowly being taken over by hate. You hated that he had put you in this situation. You hated that you allowed yourself to care enough to take care of him. You hated that you love him but most of all, you hate his father for screwing up his children so much that one would rather die than go back to him and the other couldn’t stay sober long enough to know right from wrong.

You were also able to convince your parents to help you co-sign and move into a house near the school instead of staying in the dorms. You said that it’s because of all the teens partying around you and that you couldn’t concentrate on studying but really, it’s because of the noise complaints that you’ve been getting. It’s been hell studying for finals while sleeping next to someone going through cold shakes or nightmares. You’ve told yourself multiple times that Rafe was going through withdraws while also suffering from PTSD but it didn’t make you feel any better when you started missing classes or came home to your living room completely destroyed because he had a rage fit due to the cravings. You’ve offered to send him to rehab but he wanted no trace of where he could be so you complied.

A month after getting everything straightened out, you were finally moving out. You were happy that you could go further into the city where Rafe could go out more, spend more time around other people than surround himself with his mistakes, and four walls. Though the process wore on him, you could tell that he was becoming a better person. He was more patient and understanding. It would be a lie to say that his fuse wasn’t still just as bad when someone would trigger it but it seems you’ve been doing a lot of that anyway—lying.

  Seven months into living together and him finally being sober, you want to say that he reminds you of the old Rafe but he doesn’t. He’s much more mature, his sad eyes tell a story that he’s seen way too much, too soon. Some days, you wish that you could take his pain away. Other days, you wish that he’d drown in it…at least you wish you thought that.

Renting a U-Haul, and maybe to fill your own fantasy of moving in together like a normal couple in college, you had Rafe help you pack. Was it a good idea? Probably not. Most of the time you ended up yelling at him for packing the bedroom things with the living room items. When you saw him put the dishes in with the DVDs, you had banished him to the house for the rest of the day, telling him that you’d pack the kitchen away by yourself. You were happy that you’d actually done that though because it gave you the excuse to give the two of you some space. You had found yourself getting close to him again. Leaning in when you laughed, touching his arm to show him something on your phone or when you window shop. You didn’t want to give him mixed signals but how could you not when you’re confused yourself?

So, you left Rafe unpacking all the boxes of clothes and moving around the furniture while you came back and tackled the kitchen. You almost wished that you had asked him to come along just for his company but after waking up in his arms last night, groggy from being tired, you figured that it was best to put some distance between the two of you.

A soft knocking sounded from your door and the smile that appeared on your face should’ve been criminal. You were almost too happy to see him. You couldn’t—wouldn’t let yourself forget what he did, though it was hard to remember when you’ve never seen Rafe in that state. Pushing your thoughts aside for the millionth time, you yanked the door open, your smile immediately dropping. You tried to shut the door as quickly as you opened it but a hand lands in the middle of the door and pushes it open the rest of the way.

“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend,” Barry said, as condescending as ever.

“You’ve lost that title the minute you started selling drugs,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He was right. Barry and you go way back, back before you were considered a “kook”, before you even knew what it meant to be a part of figure 8. Well, technically your moms go way back. You two were destined to be friends since you’ve come out of the womb. You shared secrets, scars, heartbreaks, skinned knees, all the same. You held him when his mom died and invited him over to your place every single day, unknowingly introducing him to his future clients. Your mom loved him like a child and if you ate, he ate. Until, of course, you started dating Rafe at fifteen and Barry started finding new friends. About a year later, the friendship was over. One night you walked in on him selling drugs to Rafe. You told them both that you wanted nothing to do with either of them if Barry kept selling and Rafe kept distributing but neither of them listened. Barry continued selling but stopped coming around, breaking your mother’s heart. As for Rafe, well, we know that story.

“Yes, of course. Big, bad, naughty, Barry,” he rolled his eyes and though his words had a hint of humor, his eyes did not. He shoved past you and made his way inside your apartment.

“What do you want?” You said in a clipped tone, eyeing his figure to see if he has any visible weapons on him or not because last time he showed up at your apartment, he was not so kind.

“Rafe,” Barry said matter of factly with a bright smile. As if he wasn’t talking about someone who supposedly dropped off the face of the earth seven months ago.

You stared at him and shrugged, “your guess is as good as mine.”

“Y/n, I’m not going to ask you twice and I don’t exactly do well to being lied to, where is Rafe?” He leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyeing you.

“I haven’t seen him,” you lied through gritted teeth. You backed yourself into your kitchen, feeling comfort that there was an exit behind you while Barry was in your line of sight.

“Baby, if you only knew what he’s done, you wouldn’t be protecting him right now,” Barry chuckled as he took a step towards you, “he owes me a debt and I’ve given him long enough. Now, I’m here to collect. Listen, it’s either me or the SBI, it’s your choi-,” he didn’t have the time to finish before you found your hand wrapped around your kitchen knife bringing the blade down on the sink beside you.

You tried to speak between breaths, “Stop it! Stop!”

Barry’s irritating smile has finally dropped from his face. His hands out in front of him as if he was prepared for you to lose it and charge at him...and maybe you might. At this point, you’re not really sure what you planned to do. You just needed to protect Rafe.

“He’s mine,” you breathe out a declaration you haven’t let left your lips since the night of Rafe’s confession, “you don’t get to take him, the SBI doesn’t get to take him, fucking death doesn’t get to take him from me without my permission. Now, get the fuck out of my apartment right now because I do not know where he is and if I did, I would never tell you,” you said with an eerie calm washing over you. You keep taking steps toward Barry who hasn’t moved back once.

“Come at me, baby, I have nothing to lose,” Barry said with his arms at his side, faking vulnerability while his shifty eyes were telling another story.

“Yes, you do,” you assured him, “We both do, but the difference between us is that I’m willing to lose it all. Are you?”

“You think I’m going to just forget what his little sister did? She stole from me. Now I have leverage over my best seller— my best thief, and you want me to let that slide because a chick with a knife who can’t even keep it steady enough to point at me wants to threaten me? I’ll come back every single day if I have to.”

“His little sister is dead, haven’t you heard? Her and John B got washed away in the storm and you still have the nerve to talk about her? You can come back every day if you want to. I’ll give you the keys to the place. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t live here anymore.” You gestured toward the empty living room and the boxes beside the two of you.

For the first time, Barry let his guard down long enough to take a look around the apartment.

“I left him,” you continued your half-lie. You did leave Rafe, at your new house, “when I found out what happened, I left him and I couldn’t handle being on campus where I knew he could find me,” where you knew anyone else could find him, “so I’m leaving.” You shrugged, feigning indifference. Setting the knife down on the sink as if that wasn’t the most insane thing that you’ve ever done. You dug into your purse. “Here’s something for your troubles, yeah?” Your mother always told you to have cash on you and finally, it has come in handy, you pulled around about three grand, almost 1/3 of what you got for selling your car.

“Take it,” you shoved the money against his chest. With no hesitation Barry’s clammy hands landed on yours, pressing both your hand and the money against his chest. The contact instantly brought you back from your previous panic. You couldn’t even believe that you had pulled a knife out on him, what were you even going to do with it? It’s not like you were…it’s not like you were Rafe. At the realization, you met Barry’s eyes with so much sadness, “this is the last thing I’m going to do for you, Barry. For your mom, I hope you can get a real job one day,” you said sincerely.

“Always had a thing for the bad boys, huh, y/n?” Barry said, the joking tone in his voice disappearing as he took the money from underneath your palm, letting your hand fall.

“Just the lost ones,” you admitted, “goodbye, Barry.”

He pocketed the cash, giving you one last look before turning around and leaving you to the boxes.

   The house was surprisingly mostly unpacked, except for the two new boxes that you had brought back with you, though in your defense, you didn’t have a lot of things to begin with. After a long-needed shower—more so on Rafe’s part since you left him to do the grunt work all day, you had fixed up dinner for the both of you.

Something had shifted inside of you since the talk with Barry. You could no longer ignore your feelings now that they’re right in your face but you’re still so conflicted. You love Rafe. You love him so much and he’s sober and trying for the first time. You’re seeing him in a new light but today, after picking up that knife, you can’t get over the horrible things that he’s done and it’s tearing you apart inside.

From the archway of the kitchen, you can’t help but look at the boy on your sofa. He’s probably watching some dumb show, his long legs stretched out in front of him while he’s nursing a bottle of water, the sadness in his eyes looking more and more permanent. Your fists clenched up beside you as tears threaten to fall as you made your way in front of him. You can’t count the number of times you’ve seen him like this, the number of times you’ve fantasized about him like this but with your children crawling all over him as you’d laugh and sip a cup of coffee. Now that’s really all it’ll be, a fantasy.

Rafe had set the bottle on the coffee table in front of him as if sensing a confrontation coming on and it fueled your anger even more. You hated that he knew you so well and that you two were so well connected that you could both feel the shift of the energy between the two of you without saying one word. You finally made it in front of him, your knees touching, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his.

He waited, looking back at you as your tears fell from your face and his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out towards you but thought better of it.

“I hate you,” you said pathetically as your shoulders slumped. You angrily wiped away your tears as you shook your head at him. The boy who once was your dream. Rafe didn’t even flinch at your words, he knew it already. He hoped that you’d change your mind about him but he knew from the very first night that things would never be the same.

Without saying a word, Rafe reached for your fists, kissing your knuckles knowing that you’d never use them against him. As if apologizing for even causing you to form them.

“I hate you so much and I can’t forgive you for what you did; I’ve tried,” you said through your tears, “but I also love you so much,” you whispered your confession. His head snapping up at you, searching for your lies and finding none.

Before you could even think, one of his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you down to straddle him as the other came up to your face, forcing you to now look up at him.

“You still love me?” Rafe finally spoke, brushing away a few of your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ve always loved you but you make me hate you,” you said as you leaned your face against his palm, missing the feeling of intimacy with him.

It was almost like something had changed within him, as if he was arguing with himself and finally made up his mind when he leaned in closer to your face, his lips brushing against yours, “Don’t. Tonight just, just love me, okay?”

How could you say no to that? You nodded and it takes him all but a second for his lips to touch yours, knowing that the minute you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile.

The kiss was electric. It was something that you had no idea you were even craving until his were on yours and you couldn’t get enough. Your tongue swiped at his lower lip, taking it in between your teeth and giving him a soft bite, using his gasp as an invitation for your tongue to enter his mouth. Rafe didn’t deny you as his hands worked his way to your hips that’s been subconsciously rocking against his. You worked your hands up his shirt, lingering on his abs, feeling them expand and contract with every breath he takes before removing your lips from his just to pull off his shirt.

Heavenly. It was the only word that came to your mind when you looked at his body. Rafe didn’t give you much time to marvel at the sculpted figure that is his body before pulling your face towards his again, “fuck, y/n,” Rafe breathe and it sent a shiver down your spine. You can already feel the wetness pooling between your legs, knowing full well that the thin layer of your pajama pants is doing nothing but allowing him to feel it, too. Just like how you can feel him grow underneath you, making you whimper when you rock against him the right way. You made your way down his neck, kissing and biting him, marking him like you were teenagers again. Rafe growled at you when you bit a little bit too hard into his shoulder.

“Y/n, baby,” Rafe rasped, trying to get your attention but it was useless, “princess,” he said almost inaudible as you were about to rub out your own orgasm against him. Suddenly, his hand came down hard on your backside, and instead of yelping, you moaned for him to go harder which all but caused him to pull you away from him. Your arms suddenly empty and your chest heaving, you looked at Rafe’s plump lips and eyes that are dark with desire. He stood up and didn’t waste a moment, he allowed you to jump onto him, supporting your weight with his arms around you.

You quickly yanked off your top, allowing your breast to press up against him when you wrap your arms around his neck, “I need you,” you admitted against his neck. More than he knew. In more ways than he could give but for now, you could accept him like this. You felt your back slam against the wall as he fists your hair in his hands, forcing your head back so he could kiss your neck and leave some marks of his own. By the time he reached your bed, you needed your release. He had set you down on the bed, almost too gently. You reached for his pants but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I want to taste you first,” he said with what you thought was supposed to be a smile but he was already preoccupying himself with pulling off your shorts. You were almost sure that he moaned just by the sight of your spread legs as if he hadn’t already seen you like this a hundred times.

You laid back and spread your legs further, reaching for his head with his hand but instead he interlocked his fingers with yours saying, “don’t rush me, princess, I want to remember this.” It felt like an eternity before you felt his lips on your inner thigh, causing your body to shudder. Slowly, you felt his tongue delve into you, flicking your clit just right enough for you to buck your hips against him. He wrapped his lips around your clit as his tongue worked it just the way you liked until your nails are leaving marks on him as you scream, “Yes, Rafe, right there, please don’t stop!” Your words along with your moans, giving him the confidence that he still remembers how to make you cum; and you did. Hard. You could’ve sworn that you went cross-eyed for a moment as your thighs attempted to shut around his head. He brought his hands up to hold them back as he continued, bringing on another shaking orgasm.

“I need you in me, Rafe,” you said as this point, almost delirious but you needed the closeness. “I need you to fuck me like you just—like you hate me,” you said but you weren’t sure if you meant it. Granted, in your state, you’d take him any way that he’d come but you just thought back to all the times you’d slept with him in that last month before everything went to shit. When he was at his worst with drugs that most times, he couldn’t get it up, and when he could, it would be rough and fast.

Rafe crawled up your body, using his thumb to wipe his lower lip and then sucking it clean, causing your eyes to flutter. You pushed down his pants until they were around his knees and he kicked them all the way off himself but he didn’t pounce on you and started drilling you. He almost seemed…hesitant.

“I know you hate me but I don’t,” Rafe started, slowly as he began inserting himself into you, inch by inch, “I can’t fuck you like I used to right now. I can’t fuck you like I’m angry, I need to-,” he stopped himself with a moan as you clenched around him, “I just need you to fuck you like you love me okay?” He rasped, looking more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. You nodded, grabbing a hold of his hair as you wrapped your legs around him, you kissed him deeply before looking at him in his eyes, “I love you Rafe,” you breathe and that was all it took for him to lose his control.

After basically wrestling around in the sheets, you both came multiple times. Each time with whispers of promises of forever that you both knew was just something said in the heat of the moment. When you both felt spent, though not nearly having enough of each other, Rafe had gotten up to go to the bathroom and get a wet cloth to come and clean you up. You haven’t been this reckless since you two were sixteen and had a pregnancy scare, so you were thanking the heavens for your birth control right now.

Rafe had put the towel away in the bathroom again but didn’t bother to put on his clothes as he laid next to you in bed. You rested your head against his chest as his finger started trailing your spine.

“I saw Barry today,” you said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe tensed, pulling you closer to him as if he could protect you, “What did he want?”

“Other than a trip down memory lane?” you offered, “you.”

Rafe didn’t say a word as he kissed the top of your head and you drifted off to sleep.

  The sun was evil, you were sure of it. The blinding light had awakened you and all you tried to do was burrow deeper into the hard body next to you. Only except, the body wasn’t there. Blindly, you reached out beside you, almost in a panic when you couldn’t feel anything other than the cold sheets, indicating that it has been vacant for some time. You finally opened your eyes and sat up; your body deliciously sore but you couldn’t even enjoy that right now. You walked into the living room, naked as the day you born, only to see a small duffel bag by the door.

“Rafe?” You called out, only to have him appear from the kitchen with an orange juice in his hand. He took a look at you and his eyes lingered on your body, the marks that he left on you. The marks you left on his neck and chest, obvious as well, but you couldn’t concentrate on that, “I can’t believe you,” you spat out as you turned on your heel and made your way back into the bedroom.

You didn’t make it past the door frame before Rafe’s arm snaked around you and pressed your back to his front, his lips coming down to your ear, “stop,” he said, his tone was almost like an order but you knew it was a plea, “whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, stop it.”

You turned around in his arms, willing yourself not to cave when his face was inches from yours. Willing yourself not to cry when his bag is inches away from the door, “you’re leaving me,” you stated.

“I’m not leaving you,” Rafe corrected, “last night was just…amazing but it did remind me that being sober isn’t the only thing that I had to get done. I have loose ends, y/n. I have things that I need to make right. So, yes, I am leaving but do not think for a second that I’m leaving because of you. I’m alive because of you.”

“Nice speech,” you said bitterly, crossing your arms across your chest as you stepped out of his grasp, “you’re leaving right after we had sex. It’s still a douchebag move to make.”

“Y/n, I told you. I had a realization. Trust me, if I didn’t-,” he stopped himself, watching you as you pulled his shirt over your head, “if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t but I need to like, I don’t know. Clear my head or find myself or whatever the fuck it is. I need to go back to my dad and show my face. Fuck, I need to visit Sarah’s grave.”

“And you can’t do all of that with me? Here I am again, re-arraigning my whole life for you and Rafe Cameron can’t eve-,” he cut you off by lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. His kiss was hard and bruising.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe parroted the line he said seven months ago, only this time, he whispered it with a smile ghosting around his lips.

“I love you,” he said as he caressed your face with one hand, the other still holding you up, “I love you and you do not fully love me like before. I can see it in your eyes, princess. We laugh and we might’ve fucked yesterday but it does not change anything. You don’t trust me so I need to go and make things right, okay? You told me that I needed to love myself before you can be with me again, before you can love me again. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Okay?” he said as he set you down on your feet again.

You nodded, you understood. You weren’t dumb enough to think he’d stay here forever anyway, no matter how much you took care of him and he was right. There are still days where you can’t look at him and having sex last night might’ve made it clear where you both stood with each other but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you still hated him-you were just too drunk off sex to act on it.

“Yeah. Okay,” was all you could say. Though you gripped onto his hand like a child as he walked to the front door, picking his bag off the floor and effortlessly resting the strap on his shoulder. He turned to you and reached into his pocket, leaving a small gold chain necklace in the palm on your hand. A lame replacement for his own hand, you thought, but you willed yourself not to grab onto him again.

“Thank you. For literally everything. For changing your whole life for me. For stopping everything. No amount of thank you will ever be enough,” Rafe said sincerely and though it looks like he wants to, he doesn’t kiss you.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, your voice small. You gripped the necklace to your chest.

“I don’t know. But I fucking hope so, y/n,” Rafe said before turning around and walking out of your door.

                                                        Epilogue

“It’s been two years, dad,” you fidget on the bar stool in your parent’s house, you were finally back in the Outer Banks for the first time since Sarah’s funeral. A small simple gold chain hangs from your neck. You don’t remember the last time you took it off.

“A lot of things have changed, y/n. He might not be who he was anymore,” your dad warned, his eyes trained on yours and even though you know he meant that maybe Rafe isn’t like the boy you fell in love with when you were fifteen, all you wished for was that he wasn’t like the boy he was when he was nineteen.

You held up your glass of water, as if you’re making a toast, “then here’s to changes,” you smiled as your dad shook his head.

 When Rafe had left your house, two years ago, he had come back to the Outer Banks like a boy on a mission. You weren’t exactly sure what had happened but rumor has it, he reached out to JJ, Kiara, and Pope to help put his father in prison. From there, they had recruited the help from Mrs. Lana Grubbs, who somehow had enough information to put Ward away for good. Of course, in the midst of getting his father in jail, he had to come clean about his involvement in the murder of Sheriff Peterkin—something that should’ve been a capital offense, but with the help of a very good lawyer (thanks dad) and being involved in the arrest of Ward Cameron, it was brought down to voluntary manslaughter. Rumor also had it that Ward Cameron could’ve gotten away, he could have stuck to his original story, seems like the police bought it anyway but once he heard that Rafe was basically selling himself out for this, he complied, knowing that his son would get less time. By all means, Ward was not a good father and even a worse excuse of a man but you’d like to believe that that was his way of telling Rafe that he loved him enough to do this, especially since he’s lost Sarah.

You sat outside of the prison, in your car. You saw the barb wires and the guards and almost got cold feet. You wrapped your hands tightly around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white and took a deep breath. You didn’t know why you were so nervous but you felt like if you exit your car, you’d turn into a puddle of goo. After a couple of breathing exercises, you’ve gathered enough courage to walk up to the gate, giving the officer your ID, hoping that you’re still on Rafe’s visitations list. After a couple of minutes, just enough to make you sweat, they led you back to a room. Metal chairs had lined up against the glass, a phone at the side of each divider.

Reminding yourself to breathe, you sat down on the cold steel. You picked up the phone, eager to hear Rafe’s voice. As the rows of inmates started filling up each seat, sitting in front of their loved ones, your eyes searched for him. All the orange jumpsuits looking the same but then you felt it. That connection, that energy that you once shared with this man who was once the love of your life and now almost a stranger. He sat down across from you as you looked up at him, a grin painted on his face, and for the first time in a while, his smile reaches his eyes, “hey princess.”

tags: @millyelliot @snkkat

[reynesofcastamere]

Surface Breach(1/3)[β]

(A/N: Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait on this one. I went back and forth a LOT on which direction I wanted to take this in. and both the weather and irl things have not been cooperating with my muse. X_X. Anyway, the prompt for this was  ‘Ahsoka completely breaking down and Maul comforting her’. Sequel to ‘Pressure Points’, so set about 2-3 years after ROTS with circumstances being closer to canon. Warnings for: Non-consensual abduction, emotional manipulation, possessive behaviour, intrusive thoughts, violent outbursts, violation of physical autonomy/boundaries, mentions of possible body modification/invasion of privacy, major character death and some internalized shame regarding sex and sexual practices. Once again, potentially triggering sections have been marked off with ‘****’. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka...drifts for an uncertain amount of time. She gets vague impressions of eating and performing other necessities as if through a thick haze. There’s a...person who helps her with these things. Someone with warm hands(which are very appreciated, wherever she is, it’s cold) and a low, pleasant voice that she could curl up and listen to for hours. Mostly she sleeps, deep and untroubled by nightmares or immediate concerns. When she comes to, there’s an overwhelming grogginess and a slight chemical tang on her tongue that she only gets from prolonged bacta treatment. Not full tank immersion, but there are a fair amount of patches stuck to her skin under the loose robe she’s currently wearing. Peeling them off carefully, she finds that most of the bruising and other marks that covered her body-like a tribute to poor decisions- are either gone or greatly reduced. And she doesn’t feel...sore in any tender places. Kind of a welcome change. Which now brings up the question of Where the kriff am I and how long have I been here?

Ahsoka catalogues her surroundings: Simple bed, storage unit, two doors presumably leading to a refresher and an outside corridor. It’s very...bare. Easily left behind or packed up. Whoever is staying here doesn’t plan to do so for long. She finds her lightsabres, clothes, and armour in the top drawer, and her boots placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Only when she is nearly finished getting dressed does she take out a long, even strip of black fabric. For a moment, she thinks that there must have been an error of some kind, until the memories of her most recent slip-up rush in like floodwater through a broken dam. There’s a hot, tight feeling in her gut that balances precariously between desire and shame. Maul has an obsessive personality. She knows this. So why am I encouraging this disaster by-Ahsoka can’t even finish the thought. It makes her sick. And so very angry. She’d made the mistake of seeking him out for something other than business, and he had flat-out abducted her. Any number of people or her objectives could be in danger right now. Her fingers fumble slightly on her wrist-comm as she checks it for tampering. Still functional. She’ll have to disassemble her equipment later, to ensure there aren’t any tracking chips or other unwelcome additions. 

He might have embedded something in me while I was under. It rattles her, not remembering, not knowing what Maul could have done, given the opportunity. And he’s close. Even with apprehension curdling in her veins, she can tell that much. Slipping the blindfold into a pocket, she pulls her boots on and pauses for a moment in front of the door. So. Time to find out whether she’s a prisoner or a...’guest’. It opens seamlessly, and she almost gives a sigh of relief. Until she realizes that it leads directly into his office. Ahsoka steps through into a moderate, dimly-lit space. The glow from the screen of the datapad he’s perusing throws Maul’s left side into sharp relief. “Sit.” No need to guess whom he’s addressing, or that he expects to be obeyed. And as there are no other chairs in the room -besides the one he’s currently occupying-, her options are limited. She folds her arms and prepares to stand her ground, only to find herself pulled forward. There is a struggle, though the distance is so short that by the time she breaks out of his Force grip, she’s already right in front of him. Ever the image of arrogance, he sets the ‘pad down, only now raking his gaze over her body. If it’s just to assess the state of her injuries, she might not mind. As much. Except this is Maul, so his motives are guaranteed to be awful at best and downright terrifying at worst. She takes the opportunity to loom over him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand. “You have one chance. Tell me why in the name of a Hutt’s karking diseased brood pouch you thought any of this was a good idea.” The odds are heavily in favour of him lying, or any facts being filtered through his...particular mindset. There is still a possibility that she can glean some scraps of truth from whatever pile of waste product he presents her with, though.

“You were incapacitated, and your stability is, shall we say...currently less than sound.” He answers, lazily resting the curve of his jaw against one set of knuckles as he sprawls. “I acted as I saw fit.” Even when appearing relaxed, Maul is still a coiled serpent. She can never forget that. “Although I am curious...What you might have done had you woken up alone.” “Gone back to work with a few new bruises.” Ahsoka retorts flatly. Which is true, minus some details. It might have at least given her more motivation to stay away from him; knowing with certainty that she is viewed as a plaything for him to use roughly and toss aside on a whim. If only.

“A poor deflection. Nevertheless...” Maul hooks two fingertips under her chin, pulling her oh-so-gradually towards him as he leans in close. The resulting kiss is unexpectedly gentle. She didn’t think he wanted... But he’s-this is-good. Not hurried or violent. She finds herself angling her head to get a bit more contact, tongue peeking out to tentatively flick at his lower lip. He purrs, and she feels...oddly pleased as the physical connection deepens. Their tongues entwine and slide in a tantalizing dance to the point where she hums. Ahsoka is dizzy from either a lack of oxygen or budding arousal when they pull apart, chest heaving slightly as she takes in some much-needed gulps of air.  Still, there has to be a catch.

“Explain why I should allow you to leave, Ahsoka Tano.” Sometimes, she really dislikes being right.

“That’s not something you get to decide.” Ahsoka practically spits in retaliation.

“You ran.” Maul hisses. Like she’d had any other choice. It doesn’t matter if he’s gentle, fucking is just one more way for them to hurt one another. “And avoided direct contact for months only to slink back beaten and exhausted to the point of collapse. I have spent the last four days looking after a husk.” Ahsoka nearly hates the look in his eyes right now. Because he is so very good at pretending to truly care that she almost believes it.“Is martyrdom so much more appealing?” The Dark Side seems to slither over her as he purrs, deceptively pleasant even while it attempts to invade.

**** She sinks into his lap as he tugs her down, thighs parting instinctively under his touch. He fills the space between them with far too much ease.  She refuses to urge him to get this over with, already. Bad enough that she wants anything from him in the first place, that trading pain, degradation and cruelty with a monster gets her off at all. Except that it does. Ahsoka had hoped at first that it was just the physical aspect; That finding someone who could bite and claw at her in the right way would satisfy this...twisted craving in her off-time. There had been satisfaction, and a few personal revelations, yet it wasn’t enough.  “Rex and I buried the men you killed. So many more innocents are dead, dying or suffering under the syndicate.” Any mention of Satine Kryze or Adi Gallia sticks in her throat. She cannot bear to see his pride over those victims while he’s touching her. “You’ll betray everyone and everything for power or revenge.” What good has it done, pushing herself to the absolute brink to fulfill her duties, all but throwing herself into the arms of strangers? She’s still here, on the receiving end of that searing and inescapable gaze. “And you still don’t get why I can’t stand to look at you when you’re-” Finishing the sentence is impossible, both because she cannot bring herself to say the words and suddenly she cannot stand him, his presence, his touch, any of it. 

“I should have just killed you then.” Her shoto is ignited and at his throat in the span of a heartbeat. Maul doesn’t retreat or let go, fingertips pressing bruises into her hips even as he half-bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Taking his head off would be right. The Rebellion needs his resources, not him. Criminals are easily manipulated, and Ahsoka will be free of these urges-The lightsabre is actually burning his skin now. He’s pressing into it, practically inviting-His eyes are-Her mouth is dry. Maul has always been a reminder of who she might have been, and what she might become if she ever loses herself. Everything comes crashing down on her at once, and the next thing she is truly aware of is that her weapon is deactivated and re-holstered, eyes leaking copious amounts of tears. **** He guides her hands to his chest, fingers automatically digging into the material of his vest once he lets go. Her face lowers to rest in the crook between neck and shoulder, breathing stuttered and wracked with quiet sobs while she trembles. Maul doesn’t embrace her. Merely...accommodates her current state of being. The pulse against her lips drops from frantic beats to a measured, steady rhythm. Ahsoka doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to go further down the path to becoming a desperate, selfish, manic person that would sit back and watch everything burn to ashes. 

Her chest is full of broken transparisteel and every breath hurts. The tears are a deluge that take far too long to dry out, and when they do she wants nothing so much as to sleep again; curled around a warm body for comfort and safety. Obviously she can’t do that for a number of reasons, but it would still be nice to have the option. “Does this-” A light brush along her flank. “-mean I am forgiven?”

“No.”

“Good. What I am, my actions...They do not affect who you are, Ahsoka Tano.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not? When the Empire falls, you still intend to bring me to whatever ‘justice’-” Maul scoffs. “-Your reborn Republic sees fit to mete out. Our alliance has always been one of convenience. Physical intimacy does not change that.” “What the Republic will do to you is the least of what you deserve.” Ahsoka states with firm conviction, raising her head to make eye contact once more. “And am I really supposed to believe you’re not going to try and twist this to your own benefit?” “No.” He replies simply, though she can see that eerie, devouring light in his eyes beginning to emerge. “You already know what it is I want from you. And it means nothing if you come to me unwilling and utterly broken.”  “Hm. We’ll see how long that stance lasts.” Her response is justifiably skeptical. “I have work to do, so if you could point me in the direction of your hangar...”

“Of course.” Maul lists off directions as well as the model of ship she’ll be ‘borrowing’, her own presumably still hidden where she’d left it. “Close your eyes.” “What are you doing?” “Providing incentive. Return to my side when you are ready.” The pad of his thumb traces her lower lip sensually before he tries to close the remaining distance between their lips, only to have her lean away.

“If you want it that badly, you’ll have to catch me, next time.” She can practically feel the air crackle once the hushed provocation leaves her mouth. If she is to keep succumbing to these desires, it will be on her terms.

“It is not wise to tempt me when you are so close to freedom.” The rasp in his voice and the dilation of his pupils indicate that he is seconds away from pushing her down onto the desk and ravishing her senseless. The thrill of it is enough to make her grind down against him, once.

“Try it. We need to have a talk about boundaries anyway.” Ahsoka smiles, a challenge in her eyes as she loops and ties the blindfold around his left wrist before getting to her feet. “I’ll be in contact.” Maul actually lets her go when she walks away, this time. She feels...better. Not healed or whole, but better than she was. In any case, the work of toppling a tyrannical Empire waits for no one, and she has a lot to catch up on.  (A/N: Ahsoka’s still planning to see a med-droid ASAP, since they haven’t had that discussion yet and it’s been thoroughly established that Maul is Bad With Boundaries. I’m sure that most of you can guess what the second part will involve. [I’m predictable that way, lol.] In any case, I will be trying to get my WIPs out sooner and my inbox is still open to all interested parties. Cheers, everyone!)

[yoursxcruelly]

P.S.-FUCKING-A.

I am not putting this under a fucking readmore because all you racist pieces of shit out there need to hear this. No trigger warnings, no fucking nothing. I don't really give a shit anymore.

I cannot express in words how fucking stupid people are when they go around saying bullshit like "I just want to point out that Ge*rge Fl*yd held a pregnant woman at gunpoint once". Ok, well what's your point with that? Please fucking explain.

Because as far as I know, the fucking president of the united states of America has raped women, laughed about raping women, discussed raping women, and sends out death threats/hate speech to anyone who isn’t white, yet he is still very much alive.

A white teacher (gym coach?) molested and raped a majority of his female students, and when an angry father who had all three of his daughters raped by this man, lost it on him in court and attempted to beat the shit out of him, he was tackled to the ground by security and threatened with an assault charge if tried to do it again. And guess what? Almost every fucking white man I read comments from was defending this child molester/rapist against the father who wanted to beat the shit out of him. Calling him an animal for trying to attack a child molester.

So, basically, what you’re saying is that we can't dare touch white people when they do something horrific like rape women and molest kids, but you're using something a black man did in his past that was not even half as horrific as that as justification for his murder? And let’s not fucking forget what he did in his past that has NO FUCKING RELATION to the thing he was actually murdered for, which was NOTHING. He was murdered for NOTHING.

White men wanna talk about how a young man white man raping an unconscious girl got his life stolen from him by being forced to serve three months in fucking prison and how he’s a changed man not even a YEAR later, but you all just can’t wait to demonize a black person for the shit he did wrong that was far back in his past (which wasn’t nearly half as horrific as what those white men did).

Fuck you. Seriously fuck everyone who brings up this man's past as justification for his cold-blooded murder. Fuck you racists pieces of shit. 

[wolfprincesszola]

The Forgotten Truth

18. Ugh I also hated this chapter. ————– Summary: Alice Reed is an undercover cop who finds herself in Detroit, her childhood home again. How will she deal with it when her past comes face to face with her?

Trigger Warnings: Mild Mentions of Suicide

Content Warnings: Swearing

Read it at ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133892/chapters/68934498

<Masterlist> ————– Chapter 34

“What results did you get for that day?” Gavin asked as soon as he came back into the precinct in a separate room with his partners.

“Narrowing it down to the United States, there are still a lot of things. One thing that stood out to us though was….androids. Jericho rose up on this day.” Hank replied, “I think we have a classic case of the humans being shitty people again.”

“Do you know what they have in store?”

“No, that’s the thing. We never learned their plan because they never did anything while they were breaking and entering. It’s almost like-”

“THEY WERE THE FUCKING DISTRACTION, GODDAMMIT. How could I not see that?” Gavin groaned. “That’s why Vincent’s job was done. That’s why Mal isn’t helping him anymore. They’re launching their attack on November 9th and we still don’t know what it is.”

Before Gavin could try and say anything more, the lights had turned off.

He went to reach for his phone to realize that it was an infiltration and none of their devices were able to be seen.

He interlocked hands with Nines, being able to see the general tall shape of said android. “What do you see?”

“One person. Masked. Matches Mal’s body measurements though.”

“Okay, walk up to them slowly,” Gavin replied, allowing Nines to pull him along.

“I wouldn’t step any closer than that.”

Their voice was distorted and changed, but it echoed within the precinct. No one was moving. Gavin knew they were freaking out, but they were trying to find out where the person was.

“Show yourself.”

“Afraid I can’t do that. Would ruin my whole plan, but I’ve got to say...isn’t Markus coming back to Detroit and hosting a ball to celebrate the androids’ success on November 9th? Would be a shame if someone were to...ruin it.”

“What are you implying?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just...if you want to see your sister alive, you might want to not attend the festival.”

“My sister’s alive?”

“But of course. She never died. All she did was go out to play for a little while. We’ll take her home...if you let us have this one win.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t go to the ball and your sister will be safe. She’ll be let go and she can choose what she wants to do, whether it’s wanting to go back to believing in her brother again….or making herself a new life in New York.”

Gavin knew it was Mal. But could Mal be his sister?

“Are you really threatening me with my sister’s life?”

“I’m threatening your morals….but I guess you’d actually care about that puny girl’s life.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“She tried to kill herself the moment she saw you deleted every part of her existence. That everyone pretended like she never even existed. She thought you gave up on her because the only person she wanted to matter to didn’t matter for her. I’d think that’s enough to think you wouldn’t.”

“Mal.”

“Hi, Detective Reed.” Mal tilted her head, which Gavin assumed was her smiling under the mask and dark.

“Did I ever tell you...thank you?”

“What for?”

“You spared Connor’s life. I mean, you’re a little shit for wiping his memories, but...thank you.”

“I...no problem, I guess. I just didn’t want your sister getting up in my face with morals.” Mal snorted.

“You’re not a bad person, are you?” Gavin asked, “We overheard you saying that you were forced into this. What are they up to?”

“I’m not telling you.” Mal snorted, “I meant I was forced into the department. If it were up to me, I’d be doing worse things. All I’m telling you is that if you want your sister alive, you’ll stay away from that ball.”

“Warning received,” Gavin replied.

“Good.”

With that, Mal started to leave, but immediately, everyone tried running after her.

“Wait, Connor and Nines, stay back, she’ll deactivate you if you get too close.” Gavin replied, “Hank, do you have a light?”

“No, she took our phones, remember?”

“They’re on the desks, you dumb fucks.” Mal snorted. “Anyways, gonna dip. Remember my warning.”

“Connor, Nines, Hank, go into the hallway.”

“No way, she’s a dangerous criminal and I’m not-”

“Trust me. I just need to talk to her. Alone. I have a question.”

“Oh? Questions? I’m interested.”

“Gavin-”

“She’s not going to kill me.” Gavin rolled his eyes, “Please just trust me.”

“Five minutes and then we come back in here.”

“I mean I could just shoot him right now and clean it up in less than 3 minutes-”

“She’s not going to.” Gavin sighed as his partners walked out.

“Alright, what’s up?” Mal asked.

Gavin grabbed his phone on the ground, opening the flashlight. He could see the mask Mal had on. She had her hair down.

“Show me your face.”

“That’s not a question.”

“I won’t rat you out unless I see your actual appearance again. Show me what you look like without the contacts, without all the makeup making you look like a different person, everything.”

Mal seemed to sigh, taking off the mask and taking out her contacts. She wasn’t wearing any makeup.

She smiled at Gavin, who knew why she looked so familiar the first time he saw her.

“Hi, Gavin.”

Gavin’s breath hitched, his voice was barely even a whisper, “Hi, Alice.”

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Cassidy you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Igor Karkaroff!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

It’s always a joy seeing people apply for a second character and it was such a pleasant surprise to get this app in our inbox! I feel like you fully fledged out a character that we haven’t seen a lot of, and gave him a life beyond the little skeleton that you based it off of! It’ll be so intriguing to see a character like Igor on the dash and to see you personify a character that is as underplayed and unknown as him and make him your own! I’m sure he’ll be a fantastic addition to the dash, and we can’t wait to see how you explore him further. *your fc change to Boyd Holbrook has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: physical abuse, violence, death

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Cassidy, 22, she/her, Pacific Timezone, United States.

ACTIVITY

I feel like I’m decently active. I try to get out one reply a day, if not more. I do have more time to write now, but just to be on the safe side I’d say 6/7 out of ten.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I’m already a member of this AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL group, but it was through the marauder rp tag….I think.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I feel like the many characters of Harry Potter are misfits, outsiders, people who just don’t fit in, and I’m definitely part of that group. I think last time I said Sirius (yay for dysfunctional families) or Luna (because she’s always being herself no matter what). This time, I’ll say Neville because if one guy didn’t fit in well it was him. Sure, he had friends, but I think even then he still felt like an outsider even if that wasn’t true. He had major insecurities, but we read and watched him develop and move beyond those which takes guts and I really dig that.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope! :D

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Igor Einar Karkaroff

‘Igor’ is a common Slavic name and means protected. His mother chose this name because she wanted her son to always know that she will always be thinking of him no matter what. To her, it is meant as a blessing.

‘Einar’ comes from the Old Norse name Einarr, possibly related to the concept ‘the einherjar’, warriors who died in battle and ascended to Valhalla. ‘Einar’ means one/alone and warrior. This is also the middle name of his father.

I found pretty much zero information about the meaning/definition of the name ‘Karkaroff’, but in Turkish ‘Kark’ means unsettled, so there’s that.

FACE CLAIM

First choice: Boyd Holbrook

Second choice: Taylor Kitsch

Third choice: Wentworth Miller

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’ve had my eye on Igor for a while now. He’s not the most played character from what I’ve seen and there isn’t a lot about him anywhere (I guess I have a type). There are no long lists of headcanons or a few dozen dreamcasts and aesthetics rolling around in Tumblr, or extra hidden facts if you look hard enough between the lines. All we know is what the books say and how the movies portray him. And he has an ugly, cowardly, slimey personality. But all of that is why I was so drawn to him. His bio made me see him in a different way and the more I develop him in writing and in my head the more excited I get. It made me start thinking about who he was as a 29 year old man, what made him the way we saw him, what was his role is and why.

Young Igor is not the man we know or think we know, but that is exactly what he wants you to think. He is an intangible mystery, like trying to catch smoke with your hands. All people annoy him, disgust him, he hates everyone and everything. He sleeps all day and stays up all night, smoking half a pack of cigarette as he tries to wash the blood out from his clothes. Nothing fazes him because he’s seen it all, he’s done it all; that’s what happens when you attend Durmstrang Institute. This is the real Igor, but no one sees the real Igor. Not some, not a rare few, not close friends- no one.

On the outside, he works for a wealthy pureblood family training and tending to their dozen or so horses, for both racing and companionship. The work is quiet. It’s just him, the horses, and his thoughts, just how he likes it. It pays well enough for a room every night at the Leaky Cauldron and to put food on the table. He is always dressed neatly, always very, very clean, and almost too formal even in the most casual of situations. His connection to the Inner Circle is Orion Black, who has slowly introduced him to a handful of Death Eaters and like minded people within the past year. He is still earning their trust, but he’s so close he can taste it.

Igor doesn’t care about blood status or the lack of magic. He is a dark, dangerous man by nature. Being a Death Eater means having all the fun and no consequences. And it allows him to continue his search for the people who killed his family, making him the last Karkaroff.

Igor has the dark mark. He always wears his mask when it’s needed and only a few Death Eaters know he is one.

I stopped myself here, but I’ve written more about his family and stuff in his about on his mock blog.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Igor is male and uses the pronouns he/him.

Igor/Chemistry. Also, I think Igor would like Alecto and Edgar. She’s very Durmstrang in his mind and Ed seems pretty dark, ya know.

Igor does not do romance. He doesn’t cuddle, he doesn’t kiss, there is no hand holding or hugging. He doesn’t want to know your life story and he will never ask for it in the history of ever. The only thing he wants to know is your age. Hell, he doesn’t even need to know your name. Once he’s done fucking, you better get your clothes on and the get the hell out of his bed. There is only enough room for one person on his very large king bed. Maybe a cat or a dog. He hasn’t decided yet.

With that said, Igor is an intensely private man, not very experienced if we’re talking about the number of sexual partners, and sex just isn’t important to him. Relationships don’t matter to him either. It will only get in the way of his ultimate goal. He values intelligence more than anything else.

He is pansexual, with many hedonistic qualities. I don’t think Igor would really know the term ‘pansexual’ so when it comes to his sexuality he doesn’t put a label on it and simply likes what he likes.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-A MOCKBLOG: https://igorkvrkvroff.tumblr.com/

-A PLAYLIST: https://igorkvrkvroff.tumblr.com/tagged/%7B-igor-%7C-music-%7D

Depending when you check out the mock blog, there might be a few headcanons which will be labeled as so.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

That answer is easy. His first thought his is family. Igor wouldn’t want to bring them back from the dead, but he’d want to be able to access all of their memories, their final thoughts, the last things they saw. Happy memories and, their favorite ones. He would be able to revisit these memories over and over again. It would most likely have to be a spell, as it would only work after a person died when their consent is not needed. The spell would only be needed to be performed once, but it would have to be very soon after death before the body has mostly or completely decayed. (wow that’s a little morbid).

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

Igor would bring a couple packs of cigarettes. He’s a fighter and not afraid of much, but if he doesn’t have a smoke on him he will go batshit insane. He would probably bring Severus Snape with him. He’s just as mysterious as Igor is and the kid doesn’t talk too much and when he does it usually has value to it. Most importantly, he can trust Snape not to do something that could cost them their lives.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

The hardest decisions to make for Igor are about the ones who he chooses to trust. Short of saving his life, there is not much one can do to earn his trust even if they have innocent intentions. It takes months, even years of knowing each other. His closest friends are back home, brothers and sisters who he went to school with. There may not be many of them, but Igor knows he can trust them with his life.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Igor would do anything to make sure his affiliation with Voldemort and the Death Eaters does not get out. It would get in the way of his own personal vendetta. Igor has business with many people, each one carefully used to his exacts needs and if any of that got out it could mean his life.

WRITING SAMPLE

Word count: 867

Trigger warnings: physical abuse, violence, death

It was the first day of spring in Kalmar, Sweden; beautiful, peaceful, and quiet. Daylight broke only five minutes ago and the town was barely waking up. A young eleven year old boy was rising from bed, his footsteps so quiet it was like he was floating above the ground. Although it was now spring, there was still snow on the ground and a biting chill in the early morning wind. The boy got dressed in thick furs and thick boots. He passed by the kitchen where a young man sat alone, just getting home from work, vodka in one hand and a book in the other; he did not look up so the boy continued on. He grabbed his bicycle (that he bought with his own money) out of the shed, dragged it to the sidewalk, and started pedaling to the office of the local newspaper.

The snow had melted just enough to where it only took him one and half hours to finish his paper route instead of the usual two. The boy returned the bag to his boss, a generous old man, and collected his weekly check; 50 kr, muggle money, but it was just as good as the magic kind. With a hug, the boy left and returned home.

If only his route he had finished sooner.

He could hear his twin sister sobbing inside his home and he was still on the sidewalk. The blue bike fell to the ground with a loud scraping noise as he took off; the tire stuck up in the air spun as it was left. As hard as he could, he opened the front door, ignoring it as it bounced off the wall, catching everyone’s attention.

“Nikolai! Go to your room! NOW!”

His mother pointed at him then the stairs, but his father, who was tall, angry, and greasy, who has been gone for three weeks, smacked her hand out of the air and grabbed her wrist, twisting the bone as she bit down on her lip to swallow the cries.

“BOY! Go sit your ass down. Right. NOW!”

His eyes darted around the living room; two lamps were broken and a glass of orange juice puddled in the middle of the floor. Time froze. The air tasted like poison.

“BOY!”

Nikolai watched himself turn his head as he looked at the kitchen where smoke was rising up behind the counter; breakfast was burning, the kettle was going off, his twin sister was watching their parents with fat tears running down her face, blood dripping from her cheek, and horror in her eyes. He watched as his father yelled again. He watched as his father marched up to him still body and just as he raised his hand, a bright red light shot out from behind him and slammed him into the wall.

“Igor!” Nikolai shouted as his brother descended down the stairs in a black robe and red cotton pajama pants with the Durmstrang insignia printed on it. His wand was high in the air.

Igor ignored his little brother, gently pushed past his mother, and walked right up to his father where he crouched in his own piss, moaning with pain.

“You broke my fucking leg, you fucking bitch!” His father screamed, spit flew in all directions.

Igor tilted his head down at him with a look of pure disdain, only letting out a rough sigh.

“What did I tell you I’d do if you ever came back here?”

His voice was so calm, so cold, it gave Nikolai chills.

Igor’s father gritted his teeth through the pain as he tried to stand up, swinging at his oldest son, but with one strong kick Igor broke the other leg.

“Igor!”

“Mom, take Nikolai and Natasha upstairs.”

“Igor, please,” she said as she waved the twins over, putting her arms around them protectively. “What do you plan on doing?”

Igor kept looking into the glossy eyes of his father, “Mom, take them upstairs or you all are going to watch me kill him.”

Only the cries of Igor’s little sister could be heard.

Finally, his dad spoke, “…son, have mercy on your father…”

“Mercy? You want mercy?” Igor growled, pressing his bare foot down on his father’s chest. “Did you give mom mercy when you beat her within an inch of her life? What about Natasha, when she couldn’t leave the house for three weeks because of the black eye you gave her! Or Nikolai when his arm was broken and in a sling because of you! YOU! The man who is suppose to be their father!”

Igor’s cheeks felt wet as he pressed down harder on the man’s chest. “Or me, who you use to practice the cruciatus curse on? Where’s your mercy now?”

His father was babbling, completely incoherent as he tried to reason with his son, but Igor wasn’t listening. He wasn’t listening to the pathetic cries of his father, or his mother begging him to not do it, or his little brother and sister crying into their mother’s stomach.

Time stood still. The air burned his throat like fire.

It was only Igor and his father.

“I should have done this years ago.”

[biprince17-blog]

Red **Trigger Warning**

Why does it have to be me?

I've tried so hard to be a good, loyal person. Every time - every single fucking time - I'm the one to get hurt. I try to hurt like a normal person, but I do it all wrong.

Apparently I'm a slut, whore, piece of shit, worthless, bitch, trash, horrible, disappointment, disgrace, lazy, helpless, out of control and so much more. I've been called far worse, but I won't - I can't - get into that.

Is this feeling - this enticing urge - right? I want to die. No. I don't want to. I've never wanted to. I just want to disappear and stop being a problem. It's the same thing, I guess - disappearing and dying. I want to disappear so no one has to deal with me, but all the same, death seems like a better option because then I won't have to come back.

Sleep, that solves my problems. Well, at least I hope it will and wish it would. I can't sleep though. I'm either too paranoid someone will kill me in my sleep - though I wouldn't mind death, I just have my own way of wanting to go - or I honestly can't sleep.

Oh, right. It's my phone. I stay up on my phone, forcing myself awake until the early hours of the morning. That's how insomnia works - I force myself awake. I wouldn't need my phone if it wasn't the only way to talk to my friends. My real friends, by the way.

Honestly, I don't have many friends. Just the few in the United States and United Kingdom. Haha, it's funny to think about that. All my friends live in united places. I used to have friends everywhere, but we've grown so distant, its like we don't even know each other.

It hurts to think I can be that forgotten.

Which brings me to why this is titled "Red". Yes, probably from the moment you saw the title, you knew exactly what it was. The "red" I'm talking about is metallic and beautiful. It stains the skin in the most brilliant ways. The smell is so erotic and the taste is bittersweet.

Oh, and the tool used to mine this red liquid gold is just as metallic and beautiful. It's an instrument of pleasure for few who use it. It graces its victim with pain, yet pleasure. It makes tears flow and red gold pour out.

I've never liked the red gold, it seemed too perfect and beautiful. Everyone needs it to survive, but I can't stand it. The pain doesn't last long. Not like it used to. Now, it's just a few deep swipes and the pain last nearly five to ten minutes, at the most.

It's sad. I never asked to be like this. I never wanted to do these things. I never thought I'd end up being fully alone in my room with only a beautiful metal tool and red liquid gold to keep me company.

Haha, even my dog leaves me. Now that's really sad. I can't even keep the attention of a pet, much less a simple conversation with a human. People don't even ask if I bleed anymore. They just assume I'm getting better and I am! I'm getting better at hiding things - like my feelings, thoughts, urges.

My friends need me more suddenly. I won't deny them the help, I'd never even think about that. It's hard though, always being the one everyone runs to. I care, maybe too much sometimes. I've been hurt before and everything was fine, but this time it's different and I can't understand why.

I remember when I was just eleven, barely old enough to be considered as someone with depression or anxiety. I remember being in my room after a fight with my grandmother. She was - no, still is - my everything. Unconsciously, she taught me how to mask my emotions. Because of that, I tried to hurt myself for the first time.

Haha, I just realized some of you will hate on me. Ask me why I do this, why I say this, why express this if I'm really depressed. Most will be disgusted with me because who would tell about hurting themselves? Why tell the world?

Well, my answer is: fuck you, I do this so people know that I'm not okay. I don't hide my scars because what's the point? If you actually gave a fuck, you wouldn't call me disgusting, you'd try to help. I'm just an embarrassment, so fuck it. If you don't care, then I won't care.

Now, I'm laying in bed, thinking about everything I just wrote over the past twenty minutes. It doesn't faze me anymore, the name calling, the disappointing looks, the "I'm sorry I can't help" masks everyone puts on, the fake concern for my life. Most are secretly cheering me on so they won't have to deal with me.

It's one in the morning.

I've never been okay. I can't take much more of this. As bad as it sounds, I want that red liquid gold to flow so fast and hard from the rivers it comes from. I want to smell it's erotic smell and taste it's bittersweetness. I don't want to die, no - I simply want to disappear and if I were to die, I wouldn't mind it one bit.

What's wrong with me? How can I say and do these things without concern for myself? I wish I knew the answer to that question because it would make it a hell of a lot easier to understand myself.

I don't understand myself, so why do people think they know me so well? I don't belong here. I don't want to be here. I'm a fucked up mess with no future at all. What's the point in me being alive anymore? All I do is mess things up. I hate when people assume things, it hurts. I wish I could just die.

Why am I like this?

~M. A.