#i couldnt even defend myself without getting hurt even worse next time.

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

headphone emoji. i cannot be arsed finding it.

real.

im gonna shuffle my playlist for a fic im writing so bear with me

you got Brother by Madds Buckley

yes i am aware this is a mha fan song

no i dont care

no i dont watch mha

anywhizzle

fav lyrics are

"and i left you alone/in a house not a home/and i watched the burning grow as my hair filled with gray"

i really love this song because my brother is leaving for college either this fall or early spring, and i havent thought of my house as home in years because of my parents and my brother and him bein the favorite.

so it feels like from the pov of an older sibling leaving their younger siblings in an abusive house, an if that aint my brother n i, i dunno what is.

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Blade is a fearless woman out in the apocalypse on her own when she comes across Negan in the woods. Quickly feeling a connection with him, Negan learns Blade does not like to share him.]

Smut

Negan and Blade

It had been eight months into the apocalypse now, you had no shelter, little water and only squirrels left to eat. Being by yourself wasnt much of a strain for you as most of your life you spent alone before the apocalypse. Standing by a fire you made in the woods, you cooked a few squirrels you had caught earlier in the day sharpening your knives leaning against a tree. Suddenly hearing the sound of crunching leaves not to far from you, you instantly stopped what you were doing. Putting your hood over your head you slowly began to turn, your knife ready for aim when a man appeared through the trees.

"Shit," you whispered looking at the fire behind you. Not trusting anyone, you didnt want to cause any attention on yourself but it was too late.

"What do we have here?" A mans voice made you turn back quickly ready for defense.

"Dont come any closer." The man could barely see your face hiding behind your hood. Noticing the knife in your hand the man lifted up his hands with a lazy smile.

"Come on, sweetheart. Put that down before you hurt yourself."

"Oh arent you quite funny." The sarcasm in your tone he actually liked. Observing what you had around you the man frowned noticing squirrels being cooked behind you.

"Ho-ly shit. Squirrels? Really, sweetheart?"

Right away you could tell this man was one who liked to play games, arrogant and slick. A man who thought he had a alot of charm thinking he could distract you with his little pet names.

"Stop speaking. Where the hell did you come from?"

"More like where the hell did you come from, darling. As far as I'm concerned your on my side of the woods." The cockiness in his tone made you scowl, he didnt seem intimated by you at all.

"Says who?"

"Says me. Negan."

"Well, Negan. I dont give a shit who you say you are. This is free land now get out of my face before you get hurt."

"Well shit-" Negan observed you from head to toe raising his brows.

"You do look like a you can give a mean fight." He noticed your buckled up black boots, your black ripped jeans, black top and a leather jacket, just like him. Yet, he couldnt help himself. With a smirk he slowly put his hands down and started to walk towards you.

"Dont push me, I mean it." You warned him waving the knife in his face when he suddenly caught your wrist in his hand. Still, you moved too quickly for him. Negan didnt expect you to get loose so quickly and next thing he knew you now had the knife pointed sharply against his neck. Looking up, careful not to move he laughed in disbelief as you held your place.

"Well look at that, a little tougher than I thought after all." Still with a cocky tone yet a look of surprise in his eyes, Negan did not move.

"Listen, darling I've got a sanctuary not far from here." He looked around at your surroundings with the knife still pointed at his neck.

"You look like you could use some help-"

"I dont." You responded stubbornly, truth be told you definitely needed help. But, having always found a way out of your struggles you were sure youd find a way.

"Listen to me. I have a sanctuary, I can give you a place to stay. You can have real food, shit we can use a girl like you on our side. What do ya say?" You couldnt believe even with a knife to his throat this man still had the urge to smile down at you. His offer did not sound bad at all, after all it was getting cold and you were running low on food.

"Where is the place?" You asked as he responded by pointing in the direction he came from. After a moment of uncertainty you slowly pulled the knife away from his neck leaving a red mark. Negan cracked his neck with a sigh.

"And if I dont like it. I'm leaving."

"Whatever you want, woman." Negan stood back as you gathered your belongings and pulled your hood back. For the first time Negan got a glimpse of the woman whom he had just had a confrontation with. Long dark hair lay over your shoulder as he noticed the other side of your head shaved.

"Mmm." A sound of satisfaction escaping his lips making you look up.

"What?" You asked with an attitude that he couldnt help but want to see more of.

"Nothing, darling. Nothing at all."

"Well, are you going to lead to where the hell this place is?" Placing your hands on your hips you asked with very little patience.

"This fucking woman." Negan muttered under his breath with a chuckle before leading the walk before you. Usually you would've never trusted a strange man this way but desperate times called for desperate measures. Plus, you knew how to defend yourself, you had faced worse before.

After a bit Negan and you walked side by side, his eyes helplessly drifting to you here and there. Your style attracting him, your fearlessness intriguing him, Negan wanted to know more.

"Do you have a name?"

"Of course I do." You responded sarcastically.

"Well are you going to tell me it, darling? Or are you going to make me fight for that too? I mean unless its cause you like the nicknames I've given you-"

"My name is Blade." Your interruption quickly silencing him.

"Blade..." he repeated as he looked you up and down.

"It sure fits."

Negan led you into what he called the Sanctuary. A heavily guarded space with many others, you had no idea how close you were to so much life all along. Right away you noticed each person having a job at the Sanctuary as everyone looked busy working on something. It was clear they didnt stay here for free. Introducing you to who he called his 'right hand man' Simon, Negan showed you around. In a room you entered, sat a few ladies clearly dressed differently from everyone else.

"These here are my lovely wives."

"Wives?" You looked at him strangely before looking back at the women. They were dressed in tight short black dresses, all wearing heels, you wondered where they found any of this. Raising a brow at him you crossed your arms wondering what he had in mind.

"If you thought I came back with you here to play a role of one of your wives, your sadly mistaken." Your loud voice making the women turn to you wondering who you were. Negan right away blocked their view of you, standing before you as he leaned one hand on the wall behind you.

"Easy, sweetheart. It wasnt a thought but since you mentioned it-" he bit down on his bottom lip.

"You would look damn good in a tight little dress."

"You wish," your tone just as arrogant as his and he liked it.

"Just a little bit." He whispered before you moved out of the small space he cornered you in and left the room.

"Just show me where I'm staying." Walking off Negan followed you closing the door behind him. Showing you the room you would stay in, it was nice to see a bed. You couldnt remember the last time you slept in a bed, it had been months. Negan noticed the way you looked at it and wondered how hard you must've had it all alone. He wondered how long you were all alone.

"This good enough?"

"Its great," your attitude quickly changing back to a nonchalant manner.

"Tell me, Blade-" Negan took a step in front of you wanting to be face to face.

"How long you been on your own?"

His question making you throw your head back with a chuckle, it had been so long since you last saw your family.

"Since I was seventeen," Negan frowned with your response a bit confused.

"Oh I been on my own long before this apocalyptic world ever took over. This is nothing new for me having to fend for myself, Negan. That's why I said if I have to leave I will, nothing I haven't handled before."

Negan squinted his eyes as you spoke, he could tell you've had it rough.

"Well let's hope you dont have to....I think it'd be nice having you around."

Was that a genuine compliment that didnt involve your looks or any sarcastic remark? He could tell you almost cracked a smile.

"Well, I'll let you get settled in. Theres food in the next room, make yourself comfortable." Negan began to walk out before you quickly turned towards him and called out for him.

"Hey Negan?"

"Mhm?" He turned to you leaning on the door way.

"Thanks," without saying a word he winked at you and left the room.

The next few days you began helping out the men by securing the fences surrounding the sanctuary. No one had put you up to this job but you knew you could do it.

"Well well well, I dont remember assigning you to this." Negan showed up behind you watching you twist the wires securely.

"I'm good with my hands, didnt think you'd mind."

"Good with your hands huh?"

Rolling your eyes you turned to him making him laugh.

"I'm sorry, some times I cant help myself."

"Well learn how to, or save that energy for all those wives."

Negan raised his brows at your quick come backs. A man who always enjoyed giving sarcasm yet rarely was ever on the other end.

"God you're fun to tease," you couldnt help but laugh along with him. You knew he purposely picked at you just to hear you come back at him. He enjoyed the feistiness you gave him, he enjoyed you not giving a shit to what he might think.

Just as you finished you went back inside to grab something to eat and Negan followed. He watched as you prepared yourself a sandwich, reaching across the table making your shirt go up he noticed a tattoo on your hip.

"What's that you got there?" Standing back straight you looked down to where his eyes were and pulled your shirt down.

"A tattoo. What never heard of one?" You responded defensively making him smirk.

"I got a few myself. Rarely come across women with them, especially in such a....sensitive spot." His voice was low as he came to realization that maybe you enjoyed a little bit of pain.

"Can I see it?"

Hesitantly you pressed your lips together before slightly lifting up your shirt and revealing a tattoo of a rose wrapped in barb wire.

"Mmmm.." he leaned in looking at it closely.

"Mean anything?"

"My middle name is Rose," you explained as he his eyes squinted.

"I take it the barb wire means pain," he continued looking up into your eyes.

"You can say that," you responded softly.

"How old are you, Blade?"

"31," you sat down across from him and began to eat.

"So you've been on your own since 17, shit wheres your family?"

"Hopefully dead," your response was blunt before you took another bite.

"Surrounded by assholes huh?"

"Real big assholes. They didn't care for me so I dont care for them, I've been better off alone anyways."

"I cant argue with that," Negans eyes wandered over your features.

"Done a pretty good job with yourself."

Not really knowing how to take a compliment without some form of back handed comment you looked away.

"Yeah well you gotta do what you gotta do," you responded confidently.

"What are you doing here anyways? Wont your wives wonder where you are?"

Negan chuckled at the mention of them, he could tell you were enjoying his company and didnt want him to leave.

"I wont go anywhere if you dont want me to, darling." His unexpected response making your cheeks turn red.

"I never said-"

"Do you really think you can lie to me?" He leaned in close staring directly into your eyes across the table.

"Why the hell do you want to stay anyways?"

"Maybe I like spending time with you too."

What the hell was this man doing? It was hard to deny that you did indeed like spending time with him but, this was the last thing you needed. The man had multiple wives, an arrogant way of thinking but God he was so sexy.. His style attracted you to him, his voice, his eyes whenever he spoke to you.

"What are you thinking about?" Negan bit his bottom lip with a smile, he could see right through you.

"Nothing. I'm exhausted and I'm full and want to go to bed soon."

"Oh yeah? Is that what's going through your head right now?"

"Yes. That's it." You stood up picking up your plate and taking it to the sink. Negan stood up with you eagerly following you by the counter.

"You sure that's what you're thinking about?" He asked again with a grin leaning his face close to yours.

"I think you're thinking about something that involves me....and you just cant admit it." His voice was a deep whisper, the way he spoke sent a tingle to the pit of your stomach.

"No the hell I am not. What the hell makes you think that?" You walked past him rushing into your bedroom as he quickly followed behind.

"Look at you, you could barely stay still. You're fidgeting, getting all nervous. Am I making you nervous, baby?" He teased.

"Dont call me baby," you turned to him with frustration.

"Fine," he stepped close to you and spoke very slowly.

"Then look me in the eyes and tell me you're not thinking about what I could do to you." Your lips parted as you smelled his scent so close to you. You couldnt speak, you couldnt move and Negan knew he had complete control. Looking down at your lips he slowly caressed your face and leaned in for a soft kiss. Not fighting it you felt his lips sensually move against yours, his tongue slipping through the crack of your lips to tease yours. Moaning against him, Negan didnt separate his lips from you as he reached behind him and shut the door. Taking off his jacket and quickly unbuttoning his pants Negan threw you back on the bed. Continuing to kiss you down to your neck, you felt his tongue make swirls on your skin making you squeeze him.

Negan pulled off your clothing and aggresivly turned you around. The tattoo of the barb wire rose continuing from your side to your lower back made Negan lick his lips in satisfaction.

"Get up," he spoke hoarsely as you got on your knees and positioned yourself in front of him. Feeling his large hand on your lower back you felt him easily slide in you. Negan wasted no time in grabbing your hips and making you slam back against him. Moaning you grabbed the covers tightly, it had been so long since you felt this pleasure. Negan could tell by the way you cried out when he first entered you. The sound of longing to be touched, the sound of your needs finally being met.

"Give it to me harder," you spoke seductively only arousing him more. Negan grabbed you by your hair pulling you back up against him. His hand grabbing your throat as he pressed his lips to the side of your face and kept thrusting. Groaning, he gave your throat a tighter squeeze. Gasping for air, you could hear him breathing erratically against your ear.

"Oh Blade," you rolled your eyes back at the sound of his voice, he couldn't hold himself any longer. Negan pushed you back down before he quickly pulled out and released himself all over your back.

"Fuck.." he moaned as he stepped back out of breath. Cleaning yourself up as he got dressed, you stood up and walked towards him

"You should stay here tonight," your suggestion making him look up at you with half a smile.

"Oh darling I would. I've got some business I need to take care of but-" he stood up and ran his hands up your thighs and hips.

"I promise I'll come by as soon as I'm done." Negan grabbed your face and kissed you passionately. What the hell was going on with you? Why was this man getting a hold on you so quickly? Without saying anything more Negan left your room leaving you to think over what just happened. Leaving you to think over the way he looked at you, the things he said to you. He actually admitted to liking to spend time with you, the thought made you blush to yourself. You couldnt wait for him to return, it being so late at night you wondered what business he had to take care of. A little while later you stepped out of the room with a smile still on your face when you looked up and suddenly felt a crushing feeling in your chest. Negan was coming out of a room with two of his wives laughing. Of course you knew he had wives but after having touched him and slept with him, the thought of another woman with him made you burn with anger.

"Some business you got going huh?" The smile immediately left Negans face as he looked up at you before him.

"Blade, darling-"

"Dont 'Blade darling' me, what the hell I was thinking?" Angrily you walked off back to your room leaving the two women confused as Negan sighed. Following you to your room he entered right behind you slamming the door shut behind him.

"What the hell is your problem with me?"

"What is my problem? Taking care of business huh? Business with those girls?"

Negan frowned with a puzzled expression.

"Pardon my french, sweetheart but wait a fucking minute, are you jealous?"

"No! I'm not jealous," you denied the truth as you turned your back to him.

"I just dont like sharing what's mine."

Negan raised his brows surprised with your response.

"So I'm yours now huh?"

You scoffed at him turning to walk passed him before he blocked your way.

"Hang on now, Blade. I actually kinda like the sound of that. So does that make you mine now too?"

"No, why would I want to be yours when you have all those women, "you spoke in disgust before raising your brow as if you has just come up with an idea.

"Well since you get to have your fair share, then I should too. Simon looks-"

"Oh I'd be very careful where you're going with that, sweetheart." His expression turning very serious as he stepped closer to you.

"Why cant I have my own fun, it's not like I'm one of your wives who have to abide by your selfish rules while you do as you please." None of the women Negan had met had the nerve to argue his way of being.

"I dont want you to be one of them," he shot back.

"Good, cause I didnt want to anyways."

"You know what the fuck I want?" Negans voice rose as he took a step closer to you.

"I just want you to be mine and shit, I'll be yours the way you want me to." Negans words catching you completely off guard, so unexpected it left you speechless. There was something Negan couldnt explain that pulled him to you in a way he had never felt with any of the other women. Negan may not have been a one woman man most of his life but when someone caught his eye, it was hard for him to look past it.

"You dont even know me," you muttered.

"Shit, you dont even know me all that well but I know you have the same damn feeling I have." The two of you looked at each other in silence, you couldnt deny the connection you felt with him.

"You dont want the wives? Hell, they dont have to be there but-" he unexpectedly pulled you close to him aggresivly.

"I expect there to be no one else on your side either."

"I'm not looking for anyone else," your response was quick and spoken with confidence.

"Good," a smile slowly spread across his lips as you felt his hand slide down your back and grab your ass.

"You're lucky I like you," you squinted your eyes up at him making him laugh.

"Shit, well I am honored, doll."

"Dont patronize me," you scowled at him.

"Not at all, Blade, not at all."

Negan leaned in and took your lips with his feeling content with the thought of you being the only woman for him.

[arthurflecksgirl]

Last day at HaHas/ Arthurs POV

The pocket mirror is reflecting my face. Did it change in the slightest? Is it stil the same face it always was without the make up? Or is there somethig different to it now? Is there a glimpse that shows off the changes on the inside? Can they tell? Does anyone know anything? Or is it still the face of the invisible man? Still just one face in the crowd. And not even that anymore when standing alone. Faceless. A faceless existence of an invisible man.  Maybe thats why I love wearing make up. To make me face visible to others. And show them what they want to see. A smile.

I`m not smiling, my face is resting in a state of being in deep thoughts. I always am. In deep thoughts I mean. Deep  is an understatement really. They are making their way into the very core. My thoughts are the very core of my so called existence. Is it even called existence? Because no one ever told me that, No one ever came up to me saying "hey Arthur, I`m glad that you exist!" No one ever told me "Fuck. I just hate that you exist." eighter. So if no one loves and no one hates you, you are just..... a thought inside of your own head. You don`t exist outside yourself.

The mirror may show my face but it doesnt proof anything. So I am not even looking. My eyes are focused on the inside of my locker and what will go into the trash or into my brown paper bag next.  First the mirror. The last thing its surface wittnessed was my face being unable to even look into it. I`m too afaraid of what I might see. Or what I dont see anymore. I`m not sure which fear is worse.

An empty make up pallette, a sponge, a set of cards, my hopes and dreams.

My ex workmates discuss over the news. If that man that killed the three guys on the subway was eighter wearing full make up or a mask. What difference doesn it make? Make up is just another version of a mask.

I`m alone. Standing in the coner of the changing room, and I know. I have all the answers to their questions and for a second I just wish they would know that this guy they talk about is right among them. That mysterious guy that is "Good for bussiness because they got clowns on the front of every newspaper ." Glad I could help with your fucking business, even now after I got fired. Maybe that was the best I`ve ever done for this place. That thing I didnt even intented to do. But I did and now you can all go on and discuss every single detail without knowing anything because you are being as blind and ignorant and stupid as usual.

But guess what? My eyes just started to open now. If I can defend myself by shooting these assholes on the subway, yo can`t bully me here at HaHas anymore. Especially not on my last day. Now that I empty this locker.

My locker. Yeah I can`t deny I am a little bit emotional over that. But not because of this building or this room or anyone here. Okay there is Gary. He`s a kind soul but ..... This room.....nothing but bad memories of me sitting in the corner, not being talked to, me sitting on that bank, staring outside the window until I lose all sense of time, waiting for a beam of sunlight coming through, me doing my make up day after day after day and they keep chattering but they don`t say anything. Nothing that has meaning. And I´m painting on that smile, trying to find something meaningful, something real. A moment of truth. But you can`t find it here and I couldnt find it within myself.

Not until I did that.

Killing those guys. It was a moment of truth.

The very first moment in my entire life I choose to act. For myself. I choose to be more than the guy thats being kicked around . More than the invisible man. The none existend. You can`t get killed by someone who doesnt exist? Right? So maybe there is one way to proof after all.

"Hey Arthur. I`ve heard what happened. Sorry, mate!"

Gary. Yeah he`s the only one who never joined bullying me. Maybe because he knows how it feels when others are making fun of you. I feel sorry for him that he has to work in such a shitty place with such shitty people. He deserves better. But even though he says he cares there is no real goodbye. No hug or anything. Which makes me a bit sad. I would have prefered to hug him and tell him to take care. Its just sad.  A smirk is crossing my face.

"Yeah, doesnt seem fair" Randall says while he is doing his make up. The tone in his voice is disgusting. You can tell that he is glad that I`m gone. This was what he intented all the time. I try to stay calm as the anger is staring to grow. I`m throwing the rest of the stuff over my shoulders, I dont even care about if I would need this anytime soon. Who knows if I ever find a job as a clown again? As bad as these guys are. I loved being a party clown. I loved this job. the emotions I feel while getting all my stuff out of this locker are about the kids I visited at hospitals and birthdays. Thats what I will miss. I dont know what to do now. Without this job, there is no one left to make them smile. Its not just a job I lost here. Its so much more.

One of the guys is asking me if I really brought a gun to a childrens hospital. And why I did it. I take the horn honk, my paper bag and go my way.

Yeah I did. I brought that gun because I was carrying it everywhere. because you are not save in this fucking town. Not even on your way home to take care of your sick mother dressed as a party clown.

"Is that part of your new act Arthur? If your dancing doesnt do the trick you`re just gonna shoot yourself?" The stipper asks.

Maybe. Maybe this will be the final act after all. Shooting myself in front of an audience is something I should consider. At least it would make them watch.

You can`t look away if a clown just shot himself right in front of your eyes. You gotta look and it will hurt a little, seeing his smile still lingering on his lifeless lips. Remember it. Remember him as someone who wanted to make you smile but you wouldnt have let him, so he decited that this would be his final smile to the world.

I turn around "Why dont you ask Randall about it? It was his gun!" Randall looks at me with a mixture of shock and anger on his face. "What?"  

Can`t handle the truth, huh? Gotta deal with it MY BOY!

"I still owe you for that  dont I?" I point at him and he doesnt like it.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he takes two steps towards me. But I turn around and leave. Not cool to play the innocent one, Randall. Not cool. We both know what you did. Just go and tell them.

"Stop talking out o your ass, Art" he adds.

I  squeeze the honking horn before I throw it over my shoulder. I can feel Randall coming closer. Watching me as I walk away. Suddenly it feels good to leave this place. I hated being lonely among people in this room every morning. I hated hearing their voices and laughs and all the smalltalk they did without even looking at me for once. I hated Randall and the way he was picking on Gary. I hated this fucking stripper for being such an arrogant prick. I hated Hoyt for reminding me of my teacher back in scool.

Maybe I will just continue being a clown without all of this shit. Maybe I`ll become a better version of a clown now that I am free of you. There is this money problem now but I will figure it out. Maybe I´ll find a new job as a bartender or I´ll just go my way and rob the pharmacy.

Now that I realize how much I hated it here I have to blow off some steam.

I gasp "Oh no!"  a step back and another "I forgot to punsh out!"

One last look into their faces before I punch the clock with my fist until it falls off the wall. It feels good to see it lying there on the ground. I`m thinking about how time seemed to stand still around here. Because every day in this locker room was the same. This is my big fuck you to everyone looking at me right now. Why is it that now you can look at me as I go?

I laugh as I turn around.

The radio is playing a song that mentions my clown name. This kind of coincidence doesnt exist. Carnival is leaving the building but he is stilll here. A melodie stuck in their heads now Haunting them. The radio knows. Music always knows. Music knows your secrets. Who else knows about me? The invisible man is rising, becoming visible.

".....and turns to sorrow....king of all hear me call, hear my name is Carnival....."

I go down the stairs with an edding pen in my right hand. The bright yellow "Don`t forget to smile" sign reminds me of the day I got beaten up by those kids. This is not a place for real smiles. This is a place for fake smiles being painted on every morning. Painted onto sad, angry and worn out faces.

I cross out the words "Forget to" so now it says "Dont smile". Much better. Much more realistic for HaHas.  Now you can look at this  everytime you leave. Just like I had to look at the original version every day.

"I dance down the rest of the stairs. My name is Carnival keeps playing. keeps telling me that people finally know who I am. I kick the door open and there is light.

@impulsiveclown @will-you-be-there @jokerownsmysoul @missjoker96 @arthurskitten @lynnesm @nonnymousse @gwynplaine89 @ajokeformur-ray@damnrightobsessedwithim @sgtsavoytruffle  @duhliriouss  @flowerglitterwoman @thirstforfleck @spookyhome @iartsometimes  @you-cant-cry-in-here @bustafatclownnut @jokerismyhubbie  @check-out-this-joker @darknessisafriend  @arthurhappyclown    @neon-umbrella-for-stella   @call-me-harley-quinn  @arthurjokersgirl @raven-romanoff @ivedescoveredheathsjoker

@aarthurfleckk @mylovelycrazyworld @clownalog @ajokerfangirl  @the-one-who-is-chaos @sabrinaeileensnape @

[knifey-shivdarks]

i’m having them biracial blues and this is 100% a rant about my life written in some weird ass...i dont know man, i got up in my feelings and it’s hardly coherent but

gif credit, cuz i couldn't get it in the actual gif adder thing

i dont think ill ever forget schoolyard taunts about my thick, black body hair. or that my eyes were demonic because if the light didn’t shine just right, they could almost be black. or that my eyebrows were too big and oh they can see a little bit of hair connecting between them. i never forgot when the girls who were supposed to be my friends started calling me broccoli nose because it’s wider than theirs, you see. or when the boy i had a crush on and a boy who’d always been my friend decided that instead of friend, i should be their yard workers or maids or harvesting their food but its funny ha ha cuz that’s what mexicans do! i wont forget that my hair was boring and why is there so much of it? why is it frizzy? “because i dont have that problem!” said the girl with strawberry hair. and the color! black, but just shy of the inkiness that is beautiful.

i won’t forget that my skin was brown or that the little girl i ran into at toys-r-us, excited and chatty because she’s a friend i thought, walked away with her mother berating “you didn’t tell me she was mexican!” as i stand next to my red-haired, light skinned cousin. i wont forget that no one could say my name proper and it was never worth the effort to try and it didn’t matter if they’d known me for years because it was too foreign on their tongue and it didn’t matter. but heaven forbid i didnt properly pronounce theirs because “its not that hard!!!!” it’s only hard when its attached to someone like me, right? even when it comes from europeans just the same, forced onto my people like the blood of theirs in my veins as a result of their violence.

i’ll never forget thinking my abuser of seven years was so beautiful, right to the very end. i wont forget being eight years old and fighting against fear every time i saw her but going all the same because she was all golden hair and ocean eyes and certainly that means shes good. even as she tells me to shave my hands, my stomach, get rid of the nasty hair that makes me look like an ape. even as she tells me my mouth is too big, my lips look like they’ve been stung. i suppose we are taught, then, from youth to see beauty in our aggressors. for how lucky we are, just to be in their presence. i felt that, in some obscure way. desperately and with all of my being i felt that and hoped and prayed and wished that i could be her.

that i could look like her. it was all i wanted, to look like her because maybe then the world would look at me and see something pretty. something worthy of love. beautiful, and good in all the ways i was told - even without words - that i couldnt be. something worthwhile.

i wanted to look like the mom who raised me. the one i wanted to be perfect for even when she never asked me to be, never even implied it. because to her, i already was. she always told me i was beautiful. braided my hair and kissed my cheek and told me all the things i got from my family that lived across the country, some still in mexico, and why it was such a beautiful thing. do you know what it’s like, that the person who sees you as a treasure is the one no one would ever connect you to? to go out with your mom and your two friends, and people are shocked to hear that youre her child and not the blue eyed blondes? even with her brown hair and hazel eyes and no features to share besides, it was more believable that they were her daughters rather than you.

their only similarity being the color of their skin and yet the message is clear even if you can’t articulate it: you couldn’t possibly be from her, someone who belongs to the group that sets the standard for beauty and worthiness.

that wasn’t me, brown skinned and dark haired and with every feature that runs strong in my papa’s family. my tia said it herself, when i was born. “oh julie, im so sorry. she has the family nose” because she knew, too. my beautiful tia who has no need for shame and she knew that my moms whiteness couldn’t protect me because their features showed full force in me, left no place for my mom’s family to show itself.

i wont forget that the world told me from day one that i was less than. i would always be less than. it’s awful funny, that i lost my love of the outdoors when i first heard that it darkened you. no more summer days spent in the pool, fingers pruning but refusing to get out. no more bike rides, gone in the morning and returned by dinner. no more outdoors karaoke or baton twirling in the driveway. the tree i once loved is abandoned and the branches i’d climbed till i couldn’t any longer grow weak and lonely with time, missing the child who’d settle in and fall asleep in its branches. the warmth of the sun was something i deprived myself of for years with only the wishes of lightening my skin, getting rid of just one of the many things that separated me from everything i thought i should be.

but i found that it didn’t matter how pale i became. because, you see, it’s not a lightness that indicates whiteness. its an “i havent seen sunlight in a year” kind, one that doesn’t fool many and never for long. and how could it? my name would betray my heritage even if my features didn’t.

at twenty-eight, i still havent recovered. i havent learned how to live under the sun again. i havent learned to rediscover that kid that would wait for the weekend and the adventures it’d bring, step outside my door and into the sunlight and stay there in the world, under the heat of the sun until it started retreat into the night.

i wont forget that all expectations of me were based around what i looked like, what they saw in my name. how surprising it was, that i might know things. how unexpected it was, that i understood anything. after all, how could i deign to perform better than some of the other girls, the ones that were expected to go places when it was quite clear where most people expected me to end up.

it didn’t take long, for anger to show itself because it was easier to show that than shame, sadness. it’s strange, that at twelve, a black girl calling me a “white bitch” was offensive for the first part rather than the last. white...white....the thing i wanted to be and yet i was angry when she called me that. angry even if i didnt understand why, at the time. but i do now. i understand the fury in my bones at that moment when she pushed me and i swung back, a kid noted for being quiet and well behaved because i couldnt believe that she saw that.

that because i was not darker then my struggle did not matter. that because i did not look like her, then my disadvantage didn’t exist. the one thing id yearned to be a part of felt like a fist to the gut to be sided with because...i wasn’t. it was the first time i realized that maybe there wasn’t a place for me. that i’d be doomed to be too white for all the people who could empathize with my struggles and too brown for all the people who’d been a source of them.

and it only got worse when people would thing, for appearance, that it was better. but its not a compliment to be fifteen and having a guy hit on you because he “likes them spicy” wink-wink, nudge-nudge. it’s not a compliment when someone wants you to be his spicy hot tamale. even when the things that were detriments about me aged into something desirable, it was twisted and tainted and never felt like anything close to acceptance.

and then....and then to get out of all of it, all those moments that tore me down and made me ashamed to be who i am and realize the beauty in my features, in my wide nose and big lips and dark hair all over my body. to learn to love these features that mark me as part of a people with a history so rich and roots so deep into the soil of this continent...to learn these things and fight against all those ideas and people who ever made me feel otherwise and then be told that it is not my place. that it isn’t true, what i said. that i am pale and so that means i am white and i don’t know racism because my mom is white.

it’s a unique thing, to be biracial, and i dont think people talk about that enough. one foot in one history, the other in another. both but not enough for either to accept you. and i know that truth, too. i remember family gatherings with my moms family. i remember feeling always like my brother and i were julie’s little mistakes. oh sure the words were not spoken but in a sea of white people who married white people and had white children...the contrast makes you aware.

aware that you are not a fit. aware that they will love you only if you never bring up your papa, never bring up the aggression against you simply for existing as a product of love and understanding between people from such different worlds. little whispers about your papa that you wont understand for years as your mom shakes her head no, no, he’s a good man because her love has never gone. changed, perhaps, from what it was. but steadfast and true. they criticize him for his drug problem but she tells of a man who always took responsibility for his failings, always admitted his wrongs, never harmed a hair on our heads.

a good man who is sick but a good man nonetheless.

both, but never fully one or the other. and they let you know that, too. even the ones you’d thought all your life were the few that accepted you fully. but then you argue, you fight to defend your people against the new husband of a cousin you loved so much. the anger...the anger feels like a heart about to explode because it isn’t all anger. its fear and sadness and hurt and the anger is what you grasp onto, inflate as you stand shaking to take a breath, get distance before a panic attack has set in. you do that a lot in life.

and you hate crying but you sit on the front porch doing it anyways. your mom knows better than to follow but your aunts dont. so they come and they talk and they try to ask whats upsetting because well we were talking politics, people don’t always agree.and you scream, voice breaking “he’s talking about my people!” because how could you have ever identified with whiteness? but you don’t find understanding or comfort. only your favorite aunt, the one you loved for so many years, the one you thought accepted you no matter what, says with just as much passion: “we’re your people!”

and you realize, in your mid-twenties after a lifetime of being mistaken, that the acceptance is only if you throw away a part of yourself. that only if you will forget your mexican half do you matter. that they would prefer to forget you’re not white because how can they possibly love you if you arent?

it’s a lonely thing, too. because your papa is sick and he did not do right by you in the all right ways. and you spend your childhood missing him, wanting to live with him because living with mom is too painful if that’s what it will be like. but it bitters, too. childish ignorance cant last forever and for years you are angry, furious, refusing to see his sickness as that and instead as a choice he made.

he chose to leave you. to stay with a woman who looks like him, to create a child who belongs. one who learns his native language and gets all that you dont. the good and the bad. it....hurts, that the first words your little brother says to you are in a language you cant understand because your father...he lived far away for so long and where else could you learn when your mom can’t speak it, either? he’s three and spanish will be his first language and age will bring anger that this is so when your attempts through your life just never seem to work.

you just cant seem to make the words right. they feel wrong on your tongue and youre sure it’d make anyone who knows the language laugh.

people often dont get why i am offended by being called white. because well, im not, for one. sure, my skin is pale but my features are not those of a white person. to reduce it to that is so offensive when my experience has been lived as a person of color. it’s rare that people assume i’m white. and yea, it makes me mad when they do.

because i haven’t benefited from whiteness. i have never been treated as it. ive noticed people treat me poorly by my name alone, before they’ve even seen me. my MOTHER has noticed this. she kept my fathers name and she’s told me before appointments made at new places, she is often regarded more rudely but when she shows up and they see her whiteness, it changes.

for me, though, the biggest indicator is that other mexicans seem to....know. its a blessing and a curse. its adorable when little mexican kids come up to me, start trying to say something in spanish. it makes me feel this...wanting. to be a part of that culture, to learn more that i havent been able to because im across the world from everyone who was meant to connect me to it. but it hurts, too, because its another realization of my defect.

that i am a part of them, but only partly. and not everyone is so kind. some will see my distance from my heritage as sign enough that im not a part of it at all.

this...really got away from me and honestly, i dont even feel like ive really scratched the surface. this wasn’t meant to be a “poor me” but to be honest.....just because people have it worse than i do, and i KNOW they do, doesn’t make my suffering less significant.

so much in my life i have been told my people of color that i cant say anything and i have no right to it and this and that and whatever because my skin is pale. some try to make me say im white passing if i must engage but you know what...fuck that

if i was white passing, this post wouldn’t exist.

[soft-zombie]

tw: mentions of sexual assault, self harm, suicide, and mental illness. nsfw (part 1)

i am young

i am happy

i am bright

but you

a cruel shadow

lurk behind me

i am innocent

i love you

more than anything

i defended you

when others cursed your name

‘just a simple drunk’ they would say

i wasn’t supposed to trust you

but i never understood why

so i ignited their warnings

forcing them to watch with gentle sighs

you were my choice

i rode with you

i followed you

like a lost puppy

i looked forward to you

i saw past your alcoholism

i saw past your crude behavior

i saw past what others made for you

now i know that wasn’t the right choice

you came upon me

you waited until you thought it was safe

you rubbed my hand over your crotch

you thought i’d never tell

and i almost didn’t.

i almost let you get away with it

but then

then you waited again

waited till you thought i was at my most vulnerable

waited until i was supposed to be asleep

and you defiled me

when you thought no one would see

because you are a fucking pussy

you couldn’t bare the thought of others knowing what kind of sick twisted fuck you are

and you were too weak

to be looked upon by the child you hurt

so you waited

until you were almost guaranteed you wouldn’t get caught

maybe you’d done it before

maybe i had never noticed

but you didn’t count on one thing

you thought i was weak

i was

i was scared of my own shadow

but you

i was not afraid of you

not till that night

you were my idol

but in less than a minute you were my biggest fear

had my mother not educated me,

i would have never told

i would have listened to you

i would have ‘been a good girl and gone back to sleep’

but i was smart

i waited

waited for you to go back to sleep

because i knew you would do worse had i done so when you were awake

i ran and i sobbed

i was a child

and that night

it all started.

the thoughts

i was nothing but a child, a child to be preyed on

but i started to think

would the pain go away

had i opened my veins

in the bathtub?

would life be better

if i was no longer in it?

was god even real? had he abandoned us?

first, you took my innocence. then, you took my religion.

then, the obsession.

it started simple

i washed my hands

to clean off the wetness of your... weakness

but the cool water

didn’t get deep enough

so i turned the water hot

then hotter

then so hot it stung

and then i scrubbed.

i scrubbed till my hands we angry

and red

practically glowing

but i kept going

going until the skin almost burst, spilling the blood i so desperately craved to get out of my system

and they stopped me

i wasn’t supposed to hurt

but i already did

i ached inside

i was breaking but i was too young to see.

they stopped me because they had grown afraid, afraid of what i’d do.

you took my innocence, my religion, and now my sanity.

i didn’t sleep much that night

i got questioned over and over,

forced to relieve the moment you hurt me again and again

but i found it better

to be awake

than to sleep

because all i saw was you

i didn’t get to sleep till the early hours of the morning.

i was supposed to stay another day, but i had to go home

i couldn’t bare being near you.

so you took my innocence, my religion, my sanity, and now my sleep. but that wasn’t enough, was it?

i had to go to school

i had to live my life

pretending i was okay

i wasn’t supposed to tell anyone

i couldnt

but i did

i was young

scared

and oh so tired

i told and no one took me seriously

no one but my family.

that’s when things got bad

i used to have a brilliant memory. i could tell you the color shirt you wore three easters agi without giving it a second thought

i knew the difference between reality

and imagination

but you had to fuck that up, didn’t you.

suddenly i didn’t know if that hippo was real, if i really said that out loud

if i was where i thought.

not only did you take my innocence, my religion, my sanity, and my sleep, but you took my memory too. again, you couldn’t leave it at that.

i made it through the year

i went to therapy

but not for long

i was too young

too afraid of myself.

and then, i grew angry

i was mad

because i didn’t know what was real

i was mad

because everyone around me wouldn’t shut up

i was mad

because i couldn’t retain anything

i was mad

because i hated you

i was mad

that i lost one of the adults i cared most about

but i refused to get help

instead, i lashed out.

i lashed out on everyone and everything around me

be it they were nice

or slightly annoying

you took my innocence, my religion, my sanity, my sleep, my memory, and now, now you stole my control.

then, i found out about hurting myself

i found out

that i could slash thin

angry lines

along my skin.

at first i didn’t even try it. i was scared it would hurt

but i was so desperate, desperate to feel anything but angry

i didn’t want to hurt my friends

so i turned all that anger onto myself

i got razors from ‘friends’

i spent night after night

pulling the steel blade until it left a line of blood

it wasn’t enough

so i cut a little deeper

pushed a little harder

scratched until the blood flowed in a steady stream.

so you took my innocence, my religion, my sanity, my sleep, my memory, my control, and then you made me self destructive? why stop there?

you drove me into the arms of a girl

you left me fearing any sort of intimacy with a man

i was always going to love girls

that much was obvious

but you forced me

into a scared, yet sexual creature.

i fell for a girl who hurt me as you did

i let her rape me, time and time again, hating each time more than the last, but at least i felt anything but anger

she tortured me

she made fun of my frail body

she told me i needed bigger breasts

and i thought that would help.

so i ate

i ate until my stomach was round

and my features were too damn large.

i ate until i hates another part of myself

that’s when i became numb

i stopped caring

i smoked cigarettes

i kissed older boys

i engaged in kinks i was far too young to understand

and then

and then my mom got fucking cancer

as if my life wasn’t shitty enough, right?

so i did what i thought was best

i. shut. down.

i left everyone who cared about me

save for three people

i didn’t care if i woke up the next morning

i didn’t care when i’d fall asleep.

and i did not, fall asleep

my insomnia came, of course it had always been there, but never this bad

suddenly i stayed up every night far too late, encouraged by my social media

it seemed to be the place i would gain validation

and then i lost it

i lost my connection to anyone remotely healthy

because i was young

and stupid

very

very

stupid.

but i didn’t care

i spent hours reading

scrolling through facebook, as it was the only media i was allowed.

my grades fell.

my energy, fell.

i fell

down a deep, dark rabbit hole.

you took my innocence, my religion, my sanity, my sleep, my control, and my feelings.

you made me, a void.

but

you also

took

my sexuality

i was at the age

where i should be horny

and i was

all the time

but i couldn’t think of normal things

i could only think of vile things

because that’s what i was taught.

it was either that, or porn

and porn got me in trouble.

so i would imagine being abused

because it was all i knew

and i was embarrassed.

by myself

i was ashamed

i wanted

to love men

but i was afraid

of them

of myself.

you took my innocence. my religion, my sanity my sanity, my sleep, my memory, my control, and my sexuality. but on you continued

i was

a girl

i was

happy

as

a

girl

but you

[modernnonfiction]

lol im gonna talk about how sucky my life used to be under the cut so pls dont read if you dont want to this is like a stream of consciousness thing because im feeling Depressed

this is honestly so extra but ive never really said all of this out loud or written it all down. I had a diary when i was 11 and i said some of this stuff but she found it and ruined me for it so i dont ever talk about it. i think i just realized why i dont talk about it by writing that out wow. but anyway, 

my parents got divorced when i was six. i was sad at the time but honestly? i wasnt that upset in the grand scheme. i found out later it was bc my mom cheated on my dad with my current stepfather lol. but before they told us that was happening my mom just disappeared for three months and my dad was sad all the time. i remember that was the nicest my dad has ever been to me; he used to carry me down for breakfast every morning and id watch tv on this big round chair in our old house. when my mom came home i wrote about it in my little journal at school and i dont think my teacher thought anything of it.

my mom moved to an apartment and my dad kept the house. since we were so young we’d spend the first half of the week with one parent and the second half with the other. i think we switched to an every other week arrangement when my dad got remarried. 

my parents never liked to tell me when they went on dates but i always knew. they were probably worried about upsetting me but i wouldnt have been. i understood that my parents were broken up and i didnt want to change it, because i knew it was a grown up thing. they would always try to explain to me in a non direct way what was going on and i always hated it. i was intuitive for my age and i never really liked the skirting around the issues. it seemed important to my parents that i knew i could ask questions and be upset but i genuinely didnt feel that way.

my dad dated a really nice woman with two little girls my brother’s age for a little while. i sometimes wonder what wouldve happened if he married her instead. i see her at church sometimes with her two girls. i don’t think she ever remarried. 

my dad met my step mother after her. i really liked her. she had three daughters that were younger than me, an older daughter and an older son. they were all nice. i would go to their house whenever i would be staying with my dad and i would have sleepovers with her younger daughters. i always loved going to their house because they had so many things to play with and a big backyard. now that i think about it i think my dad asked to marry her after only like nine months. thats never really enough time to get to know a person. i was so happy though. i had been praying for a little sister for so long and then i was going to have three! my dad married her during the summer on a beach in florida. we all travelled there together and stayed in a nice beach condo. i was excited to be the flower girl in the wedding and to wear a pretty dress that matched all of my sisters. 

things started going south that weekend. I went to the grocery store with my younger siblings and my stepmother on one of the first days, and i was messing around as kids tend to do. i wasnt doing anything wrong. it was 10 years ago, i’ll give, but i do remember feeling surprised because i had never heard my stepmother speak to me this way. she told me that if i didn’t shut up she would spank me, which shut me up quite quickly, but it felt weird. 

this is the part of the story where i feel like people will stop listening and tell me im overreacting, but i know that was when i realized something wasnt right. it was the tone of voice that tipped me off, thats something i cant really convey. I rly hate how right now i feel like i have to defend that her telling me she would hit me is wrong. but it is. i’ll leave it at that. im not spoiled, i was hit plenty of times after this comment. none of it was right, but it happened. my point is hitting children is wrong, it was wrong when it happened to me and its wrong now.

but anyway, the wedding happened. things got progressively worse for me that whole weekend. i remember sitting on the stairs in the condo playing with my dollhouse absentmindedly because i had gotten yelled at earlier. after the weekend was over, my granparents picked me and my brother up so that they could go on their honeymoon. i remember laying on the bed one morning in our hotel room thinking that something wasnt right.

dammit i was just a kid i just keep thinking about that i was a kid i was little why didnt she like me

a lot of my childhood is a blur now because of her. there was a lot of yelling, some hitting, her generally just making me feel like shit. there were good moments too, and i tried so hard to like her and get along with her but i just couldnt. she terrified me. she would look at me in a way that made me forget how to speak, i was so scared of her. 

she made me feel stupid, that was one thing she did a lot. me and my brother were really smart kids and that made her so mad. i never understood it then but i do now. she would look for ways to make us feel stupid so that she could have a moment of superiority. over an 8 year old of all people. thats what made her so vile. 

i was a really emotional kid. i still am emotional, to be fair, but when you’re a kid, you never really know how to control that, you know? I was always made to believe i had done something wrong when my stepmom was around, and it showed. i clung to my dad a lot, and she hated that. 

the moment that i flash back to the most, the one thing that i think makes me hate her so much, is the time when i was 8, probably less than a year after she and my dad got married, i was sitting with my dad on the couch watching tv, and something inside her snapped. idk what it was that tipped her off, but she started yelling at me, saying that i was avoiding her, and that i was being selfish and rude and awful. i was confused and upset and just plain scared mostly. i argued that i wasn’t trying to do anything to her, i was just watching tv with my dad. there was no way i could be avoiding her because that wasn’t even a thought that occurred  to me. She wasn’t having it. I knew that this encounter wouldnt end without her hurting me. i dont remember how it got to this point, but she got so mad that she just stopped talking to me, went to the dining room and pulled out a chair. she dragged me off the couch and made me stand behind it. she told me that i had to stand behind this chair and think of why i was avoiding her and why i was being mean to her, and then when i had an answer i had to sit down and tell her. i stood behind that chair for hours while her and my dad fought out of earshot of me. i dont remember how long it was, but i remember it was long enough for the sun to set and for all my siblings to go to bed. i genuinely tried to think of things to say to her, but they weren’t real, and i didn’t want to lie. i couldn’t think of anything because i didn’t know what i had done wrong. after a few hours, i resolved that i could just stand behind that chair for the rest of my life, because i was in the church choir and i took dance class, and i was used to standing for long periods of time. she came back when she was done fighting and when she saw i wasn’t sitting down she snapped again. she hit me over and over and over and between each time she would ask me what my reason was for a avoiding her. if i didn’t say anything she would hit me. if i made something up she would hit me. this went on until she got tired out and left. i hung over the chair and cried. my dad came to get me and i told him i didn’t do anything. he said he knew, and that if i just apologized to her, she would leave me alone. i didn’t want to, but he said even if i didn’t believe it, it would make her stop. i told her i was sorry and that i wouldn’t do it again, whatever “it” was, and she said “whatever”. i went to bed after that and cried myself to sleep.

the next morning we went to church and afterword the same thing happened. she was mad that i was “avoiding” her in church. instead of hitting me that time, she pulled out a notebook and wrote down two questions: “why did i hesitate from holding [my stepmother]’s hand in church?” and “why did I ignore [my stepmother]?” (i cant quite remember the second one, but it was along those lines.). she told me that if i were “smart enough to be in gifted classes at school” that i was “smart enough to answer those questions in essays”. she left me alone and made my siblings go play outside. i sat there stumped for a while, she would come and check on me and make sure i wasnt falling asleep, and would tell me to start writing something. my dad came in later and just told me some crap to write so that i could be done and go play with my siblings. she was upset that he told me what to write, but let me go anyway. i went to see my siblings and they asked me what happened. i told them and they shrugged it off. 

you know, people say that abuse makes your brain block out memories, and i used to think that my memory was pretty ironclad. now that im actually thinking about it, i can only remember a few isolated moments. all the rest of it is just a blur where i know that she was awful to me and i was miserable but i have no idea the specific circumstances. 

im also thinking about how my dad didnt try to stop any of it. he would help me through it, and he would empathize with me, but he didn’t try to stop it. sometimes he would join in and that made it worse.

i’m gonna list the isolated incidents that i can remember just so that its written down.

I found out that santa and the easter bunny and their affiliates were not real the first christmas after my dad remarried. i told my little brother and sisters that i didn’t believe in it right after my revelation, because they were my best friends and i told them everything. my dad and stepmom found out and i got in so much trouble. but it didnt make sense to me because i didn’t know that what i did was wrong. didn’t stop them from hitting me.

i was playing with my little sister and slapped her on the back. i did it too hard and it hurt her. she was wearing a swimsuit top and he had sensitive skin so it left a handprint. i apologized, it was an accident (and just as a side note she hit me first and i was retaliating. not that it matters.). she told my dad and stepmom and they called me to the kitchen. said “you know what we have to do now” and hit my bare skin as a punishment.

took me to a rollercoaster park knowing that im scared of rollercoasters (about 9 or 10 in age at the time) got in trouble for being afraid of the rollercoasters. my dad pulled me to the side and told me that i was gonna get a beating when we got home. we went to the waterpark section of the theme park and they wouldnt let me go swimming because i wouldnt ride rollercoasters. i had to watch my siblings go swimming without taking my eyes off of them to underscore that the reason i wasnt swimming was because i was being selfish and spoiled because they paid money for me to come there and i was afraid of the rollercoasters

i’m just gonna stop for now bc this is a lot and im tired.