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Hot Damnvers.
Of course Alex went for it.
Of course she did.
And Maggie is a saint. She knows where Alex is, because she’s been there.
And I really think she didn’t mind the kiss: I think she liked it. I think the “wow” had multiple layers, quite frankly. Because quite frankly, there’s been lots of flirting, a lot of making love with the eyes, and it hasn’t all been Alex’s. (And some people are just flirty, and that’s cool; but chemistry.)
BUT Maggie knows – she knows – that now is not the time. That Baby Gay Puppy Alex Danvers™ can’t do the thing now. And that she, herself, doesn’t deserve the burden that Baby Gay Puppy Alex Danvers™ is unknowingly trying to put on her.
But when she’s ready (when they’re both ready)… that’ll be one helluva kiss (part two).
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What's the biggest challenge of being in a sex starved relationship?
You're still in love with your spouse, and you know they are with you, too, but it feels like this big chunk of your relationship is just missing. There's a hole where the physical intimacy should be. Every night when you climb into bed, you hope this will be the night they give you a sensual brush of the arm to let you know they're in the mood, and every night on end you're once again disappointed. It's the rejection you feel when you make a slightly flirtatious offhand comment and feel their whole body tense up with the unpleasant possibility you might proposition them. You're being rejected, either implicitly or explicitly, every day by the one person you're supposed to know wants you. But most of all it's the disconnect. This is something that weighs on your mind EVERY day, but when you bring it up, it's like it doesn't even register to them that sex 3 times a year could be a problem for you.
When it feels like we're soulmates and just get each other on everything else, why is this one issue so different? Why can't he sense how devastated I feel? Why doesn't he try to fix it? I'm just at a loss. I love him and I love our life that we're building together. But I just don't understand why we can't address this one giant, missing piece.
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There's that saying that the opposite of love isn't hate, it's apathy. In that moment, reading those letters, I felt the full weight of the world's apathy, and I was absolutely crushed beneath it.
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Just a little rant.
I just had to rant. I know that I will get a backlash from this but I just had to. Why do people let life dictate their lives. Why is it that people can live their lives based on fear. Why is it that people always complain about life and yet be unwilling to do anything because they feel like they "can't".
They can if they want to. In fact, they know what they should do if they honestly face themselves. And yet they don't. It's frustrating. The solution is there. It's obvious. They know it themselves. It's within their reach. And yet they stray away. Why. Just because of "insert-excuses". Is it really? Can't they really not? What are the effects if they do. What effects are so important that it can't negate what you wish to do. Is there a certainty it will happen? If so, at what percentage?
If you think about it even a little bit logically. It makes sense. And yet, it doesn't.
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Mine no longer
I used to think that you and I were a thing. Unchangeable, connected and compatible. No matter what happened, you and I fit each other and it worked. What I didn’t realize was that we were simply living in the moment. We worked, we fit, we understood each other and we knew each other, but we are that no more. You had gone on to be the person you wished to be, even though it had turned against you in the most logical way possible. You became you. But it wasn’t the you that I had hoped to see. It wasn’t the you I had hoped you’d become. You became someone else.
Something clicked when I met you in my own country. You came for the visit, hoping that things will be good and it was, yet it wasn’t. You weren’t the person for me anymore and we outgrew each other, away from each other. You are focused on living the way you think you ought to, concentrating on work and survival, but no longer able to see into the future. Maybe it was my ignorance, or maybe it was that I had other things about you I had to fix, but in the end it came down to the same. You hold on tightly to the things that cannot be held onto. And it made me sad.
Before you arrived, my mind kept wondering what beautiful things could happen in the weekend you were here. Maybe we would make beautiful love. Maybe I should take you to a nice candlelit dinner, maybe I should bring you about to see the beauty of my country, but in the end I decided against all of it. You were tired, exhausted and I could see it. So I let you sleep, sleep through the days that we were supposed to share, sleep until you can sleep no more and all we could do is sit on the couch and watch TV, only to see you on your phone again because you had emails to reply to. Yes, work emails. Emails you could not ignore because your life was on the line. Your life is always on the line, just not for the right reasons. Even sex was not a thing anymore because you had too much on your mind to even consider it. A sexless and disinterested person who would barely eat during the day. How could I possibly even think about bring you out and about when all you wished to do was snack, neglecting all the regular meals that is required on the day?
It felt strange when I woke up from that dream and you were there. I didn’t feel even remotely attracted to you anymore. Instead, I was repulsed, feelings of rejection that I could not ignore because you were no longer my person. You are barely someone I can recognize. That’s how much you have changed. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who changed. Changed in the sense that I expect else from people now. Especially at this age that I am, seeing how people are still unable to deal with issues of their own makes me pity them. It makes me wonder how little one has done to support themselves and that as we reach the subtle age of 30, we no longer are able to correct ourselves. Jobs you can find, hobbies and skills you can learn. But personalities set by the age of 30 last for a lifetime and this, what I’m seeing from you, is no longer the kind of person that I wish to be with for the rest of my life.
No longer.
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When I was 16, I waited 2 weeks to say I love you and 6 months to have sex. Now that I'm 31, I wait 2 weeks to have sex and 6 months to say I love you.
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[WP] A superhero whose punches heal rather than harm. Their origin story is kicking the shit out of a kid with terminal cancer.
Chris this, Chris that. Chris, you're so cool. Chris, let me help you with that. I'm sick of this shit.
Chris Mayer, the freshmen who just joined high school, was loved by everyone immediately. The girls, the guys, the jocks, the losers- everyone wanted to be his friend. Me? It was my senior year.
One day, I was eating lunch in a bathroom stall and just grew sick of it all. Sick of the unfair bullshit, the way people were nice to him but hated me. It was just because of his cancer, I knew it damn well. Worst of all was the way he smiled at me, or waved and said hi to me like nothing was wrong. It was him I hated most.
June 19th: the day I graduated from high school. My uncle was there, but no other family, and certainly no friends. Yet there that little bastard was, IV rack in hand, cheering and clapping for the senior class. Someone dedicated a speech to him. Everyone gathered around him after the ceremony. My uncle left halfway through, before I even got on stage.
I left before the midnight party began, just after sunset. Since my uncle had abandoned me, I was forced to take a bus stop that was almost a mile away. I took a shortcut through a side alleyway to the building our graduation had been held in, where I found Chris bent over and retching violently.
"Oh, dear," he said weakly, forcing a small laugh. "I came here so no one would see me like this. It's pretty bad these days."
No words formed in my mind; there was only an animalistic rage swirling, mudding my thoughts. I pummeled the living shit out of that frail, little boy. Every punch was vindication, every tooth knocked loose a symbol for my shattered dignity. Soon I was just taking out all my angers on him; my family, my loneliness, my uselessness. He was an emotional punching bag I'd made literal.
By the time I stopped, it was too late. Fuck, there was so much blood on me and the road, and his twisted little body. And yet, through labored breaths, through broken bones and missing teeth, he tried to smile. He tried to say something to me as well, but the blood pooling in his throat left the words inaudible before he started choking.
I ran. I didn't call for help, I just ran. No one caught me, somehow, and he died that night in a hospital bed. Not from the cancer eating away at him, but from my fists. I cried the whole night, and couldn't sleep for three days because every time I closed my eyes, I saw his mangled little face trying to smile. That whole time, it was me I hated, not him.
That night, I went home and punched myself in the face as hard as I could. I wanted to give myself a taste of what I'd given the poor boy in his last few hours, to feel what he felt, but no matter how many times I hit my face... I felt nothing. I checked a mirror to see if I'd just broken myself, but I looked sharper than ever.
Ever since then, I've haven't been able to hurt someone with a punch. In fact...I heal them, like my hands are imbued with the life I stole from him. Hands I'm afraid of, because I know he's haunting me.
I don't know how...
...but I wish they'd worked that way on the day I graduated.
- author: resonatingfury, source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4lnl48/wp_a_superhero_whose_punches_heal_rather_than/
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