celia-006

[celia-006]

Your Lieutenant... Ghost x reader

Jubilant laughter rang through the halls as you made your way to the mess hall. You’d initially thought, perhaps they were planning something for you, as it was your 26th birthday. That assumption had rang through your mind all day, you’d thought about what they might’ve planned. Maybe a small gathering at the local pub a couple minutes from base. Maybe just a simple few beers in the mess hall. You were a woman in the military for christ's sake, you were easy to please. And, of course it wasn’t unthinkable to assume that your team of two years would remember your birthday? Your team- the group of men you bled with, killed with, hell, killed for. Being the only woman, let alone only sniper, on the task force wasn’t easy. It came with many men underestimating your talents, for the longest time no one really trusted you. But overtime, you earned everyone’s respect and their friendship.

While you had to win over most of your team's favor, Lieutenant Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley, was on your side from day one, not that he’d ever let you know that. For the first couple months you thought he hated your ass, but in reality, it was quite the opposite. While he kept his affinity for you hidden, he of course acted like he despised you. It was easier for all parties. Emotions complicate things, make his life harder. He first saw you, when you were in a training room with three other recruits, all male. They were your rivals for the Task Force position you currently occupy. You were just a tyke compared to the fucking weapon you are now. And that was what…three years ago? They had you cornered, practically hazing you, titling you the “barracks bunny.” He never could stand for sexism in the military, let alone in his own fucking base. Whilst he was just about to step in, you threw a deadly right hook and one of the recruits fell to the ground. Followed by loud shrieks of pain as you broke ribs and sent teeth flying. Of course he knew you weren’t a damsel, you had made it as far as being a recruit for his infamous task force. He only had to step in when you had your boot to that scrawny rookie’s neck. Grinning menacingly as his blood dripped down your face. That was the minute he knew, you were getting the fucking job. 

Truly, he’d never seen a damn recruit that… deadly. With a fire in them like he did you. Not that he’d ever let you know that he admired your boldness, as far as you’d known for the longest time he thought you were an arrogant idiot. That day, about an hour after he practically had to pull you off of those sexist pigs, you got the job. And for the next year you’d trained with him. Every. Single. Damn. Day. Up at 0500, followed by a three mile run with the lieutenant. Then a prompt breakfast, succeeded by intensive hand-to-hand combat training. Sparring with him always ended up with the both of you sweaty, heaving chest to chest. Him usually on top, because of course he had to best you at every damn thing. At least that was the case for the first month. But of course you’re a damn quick learner, and while you seldom got him pinned, you sure as hell made him work for it. After four hours of combat training, you had artillery training with Soap and Konig. One of the easiest parts of your day, you’d thought. It was easy, besting a colonel and Soap, watching their faces drop as a woman outperformed them. It was also one of Ghost’s favorite parts of the day. Because he could watch you from afar. Of course some of his tendencies are a bit.. off. He loves to observe you. When you’re in your element, shooting. It’s like it’s just you and that gun, he swears to god. The way your eyes dial in to the target, delicate, yet strong hands gripping the gun. What would your hands have looked like gripping something els- ”Doesn’t matter, never’l happen, he’d always told himself.”

After that first year of intensive work and training, you’d earned your callsign, among the TF141 and it’s enemies, Apex. You’d obtained a kill count that almost rivaled Konig’s himself. Which absolutely killed him, but of course he loved ya. You and Ghost had grown close though, as it was coming up on year two with the task force. The proximity of training had done something to him. Seeing your chest heave with exertion, your beautiful skin glistening in sweat. Eyes locked in determination. Your only goal to knock him on his ass, which you did, of course. Eventually things had grown close enough to call you “love.” First time he did it in front of the boys, Soap snorted beer out of his damn nose in shock. Yet, none of them commented on it. Ghost had plenty of women to warm his bed occasionally. In uniform and civilians, but they were all… stress relief. They knew their lieutenant, and understood this was a different dynamic. The first time he called you love, was after you’d taken a bullet for him, about a month into your official entrance to the force. He was fucking enraged that you’d done such a thing. Called you a “fucking moron, damned idiot,” shouted at you, “how’d you even survive this long if you’re that damn dense?” It made absolutely no sense to him why you’d try to protect him. He almost wanted to push you away, to Antartica. He couldn’t have someone try to save him. He was beyond redemption. While there was tension from that sacrifice you’d made for him, it had faded into a comfortable pattern. Training, silent meals together, bickering here and there. Being on his six on all missions. You were his eyes, the whole team's eyes. You kept your boys safe. God you loved every minute of it. 

And now look at you, freshly 26 and they forgot your damn birthday. Moreso, he forgot your damn birthday. The laughter of the boys grew louder as you pushed open the rusty door to the mess hall. They were all sitting at the usual spots around the circular table. Cards and poker chips strewn across the table, cigar smoke floating around the group. This was the usual, normal weekend at base. It helped you all unwind and relax. Except right now there was a goddamn gaping hole in your heart the size of Alaska. A girl sat beside Ghost. She had on a private’s uniform… what the fuck was a damn rookie doing at the task force’s Saturday night poker? You put on a happy face, sure they forgot your birthday. It’s alright, you’re the idiot for assuming that shit, right? “Whose this lass right here, boys?” you ask in the most chipper tone you could muster. Even though you felt like going to the shooting range and brooding all night, you wouldn’t. Price answered, “This right here is the new addition to the force.” He sounded almost prideful. Generally, you expected more notice on decisions like this. Today was like being in the fucking twilight zone, everything was on it's head. The girl looked up at you, and gave a pearly white grin as she sat thigh to thigh with the lieutenant. It made no damn sense why this was the first you had heard of her.

What the hell was up with that? He never let anyone that close. You once saw him deck an orderly for accidentally bumping into him. Accidently. God, what a shit day. “Name’s Anya,” she introduced, with a kind of confidence typically reserved for more seasoned soldiers such as yourself. “Apex,” you replied, with no real hospitality except for a reserved smile you gave in return. Only Price and Ghost knew your real name. Anya had blue eyes, and blond hair. Pale, porcelain doll skin. She looked like she could be one of those American sorority girls, or perhaps an actress. It wasn’t the fact that there was a new woman on the task force, a lot of times you missed having other girls around. Hell, it wasn’t even the fact that they’d randomly mentioned this one day out of fucking nowhere. It wasn’t even the fact that they forgot your birthday… for the most part. It was the way the little blonde was nustled into Ghost’s side like they were fucking. She looked like a doe, defenseless, cute, even. Was that really his type? Soft women. That sure as fuck wasn’t you. You were coarse, prone to anger. Rough on the outside. Scarred, inside and out. Was unmaimed women his type? At that thought you felt the pit in your chest turn into a void. It couldn’t even justify what you felt for Ghost to call it love, or a crush, or any stupid shit like that.

You’d die for him. You knew that. Price, Gaz, Soap knew it. Ghost knew it, even though he fucking hated it. Yet here you were, sitting across from Anya and Ghost. Jaw locked, teeth gritting letting your fingernails embed crescents into your palm. Anymore and it’d draw blood. You couldn’t even remember what Price said Anya’s specialty was. Sure, she was probably good at it considering she’d made it to this caliber of operations. But she would never be on your level. Yet here she was cozy with Ghost. Did they know each other before this? Why didn’t Ghost ever mention her? 

You looked closer at Anya, noticing her touchiness with the boys. The way she threw her head back when she laughed. She seemed right at home here. This all broke you. Forgetting your birthday. Her being so close to Ghost. For christssake, you were a sniper, fucking act like it, you told yourself. Generally, you'd never let relations among damn men bother you. You'd come out of burning buildings more unscathed than this. Anya perked up as she observed your downcast gaze. Suddenly the corner of Anya’s plush lips turn up in a malicious smirk. She didn’t have good intentions with what was about to come out of her mouth. You knew it immediately. Wolf in sheep's clothing, damn she was good. Her little doe-eye act didn’t work on you. “What’s your real name, Apex?” Of course she knew the black ops courtesy. You don’t get to know your mates real names until you earn your own damn callsign. Callsigns kept people safe, and were signs of respect. Soap just didn't care that people knew his real name. And only you and Price knew Ghost's real name.

Price looked at her almost pitifully, assuming she didn’t know the unspoken rule. You replied to her, “You’ll learn that, if you earn your own callsign.” Soap choked on his beer a little bit. He let out an amused chuckle but added nothing to the verbal brawl that was about to ensue. While you were utterly devoted to Ghost in the most subtle yet unspeakable ways, you and Soap had grown a comfortable friendship. More like siblings, truly. Something about that dumb fucking mohawk and accent you could barely understand made you want to hit and simultaneously protect him.

Ghost stares at you, with something you couldn’t quite put your tongue on. Not that you wouldn’t mind putting your tongue on- Fuck it didn’t matter. Not with this shitty dynamic and this bitch drooling all over him. 

“Wha's got ye in a knot, bird?” Soap had whispered quietly, which was unlike him. Because he was so fucking loud all the time, but he sensed the change in your disposition. He knew this was hurting you. Knew that seeing this new girl with Ghost was like a knife to your heart. He didn’t know about your birthday though. No one did. You ignored Soap’s concern and simply observed. It was like a silent conversation between you and Ghost. A dance between you two, a silent push and pull. You felt like you were being dangled off a building. A rope slowly breaking as you swayed to getting close to him. Just for him to push you away. But how much is he willing to give? 

Usually, you were so fucking loud you put Soap to shame at these little gatherings. But, of course today was different. “Everyone tells me that you’re such a bloody life of the party but you seem different today!” Anya commented in a patronizing tone. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your glass of whiskey, and said nothing. All other conversation ceased as the boys zero in on the tension between you and Anya. Ghost, more so than the rest of them, focuses on your reaction. “You don’t need to concern yourself with anything about me, doe.” you retort.

Alcohol…anger…jealousy. Not a good mix with you. Ghost sure as hell knew that when he had to pull your ass off of a couple lads and lasses multiple times.  She grins even more, “Come on, there’s gotta be something that got your knickers in a twist, girl to girl tell m-” 

You sit the glass of whiskey down with an eerie calmness. With the kind of solemn, yet deadly attitude you only reserved for the field. 

“My team forgot my birthday.” Might as well get it in the open. She was reveling in your brooding anyway. 

“Apex, world renowned Apex, bothered when her little team forgets her birthday,” She jeers. She had some nerves. Kinda balls that a lot of men never had. You liked that about her, maybe in another life you’d be the one to train her because of that fire in her. But, that reality would never come true. You wanted to strangle her. And maybe you'd do it.

She expected you to storm off, to shout, or yell. But instead, you grin. Fucking hell, Ghost thought, she’s gonna deck her. He’d seen you fight enough to know when you were about to spill blood. And at that thought, he sees a blond ponytail slam against the ground. 

He absolutely hated the girl, and thinks Price made a mistake. She was overconfident, and was bad at hand-to-hand. Only thing she had goin’ for her was her technology skills. He wanted to make you feel jealous, and she was perfect to use. After what happened last week, he was desperate for anything to get your attention. As much as he’d hate to admit it. You were spending too much time with Soap. 

Blood spills against the ground, sure as hell not your blood. You’ve her knee to her throat when Price finally pulls you off of her. “Come on ‘Pex she dinnae mean it.” Soap says. You finally let your shoulders relax. Ghost just stares, He found your reaction amusing of course. Especially when you bend down in Anya’s ear, “stay away from my lieutenant.” He was close enough where he could hear your whispered threat. Also close enough to see Anya’s face turn white as a damn ghost. You stood up and brushed yourself off, offering an unsympathetic apology to Price for causing a scene. Soap had a shit eating grin at the sight he just saw, you rarely lost your shit, except for now of course. 

You looked up at everyone, surprised at the sight of what you did. Embarrassed that they forgot your birthday. You try to let those emotions roll off of you. Like you always have. Just a job, you told yourself. Should’ve expected such, they’re just my coworkers at the end of the day, you repeated. It just stung, worse than a bullet wedging between your ribs. No family. No friends outside of them. And they forgot. It was like a cancer that had taken root in your brain, everytime you thought about how Ghost was letting Anya touch him, not to mention forgetting your birthday. You sigh, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and made your way to the porch. 

The cool air was like a soothing blanket against your heated face. You stared into the night, and wondered what was staring back. You mainly thought about Ghost. He’d really been avoiding you these past couple weeks truly. Yes, it was true that your one-on-one training had been over. Maybe it was that time you’d been so close to nudging his mask up. And it scared the shit out of him. So, you’d hung around Soap more. And of course, the hell that went on in the mess hall today was the first you’d seen of the lieutenant all week. 

You, too, had your fair share of men. None good enough to keep. Just stress relief. Unbeknownst to you, Ghost knew every one of their names. Even the meaningless one night stands. He knew their ranks. What division they were in. How good of a fighter. All of them were just boys in his opinion, not able to give you what you really needed. But then again, could he have even provided that? He just needed to be with you from afar. He’d settle with it, or at least tried to. The close quarters training was torture. Getting to know you was like torture. Having your curves memorized was torture. The sound of your heavy pants brought him to insanity. But it was also the closest to heaven he’d ever gotten.He wanted to run his rough fingers over every one of your many scars and trace them. He wanted to demand to know where they were from. Who gave them to you so he could do a lot more than maim. Wanted to trace them with his tongue too. Wanted to know every inch of your body by touch, taste, and smell. He was a primal man, after all. And he needed you. The way his heart raced when you were so close to pulling his mask up. He was about to let you. He hated the way warmth pooled in his stomach. Despised the way that nasty fuzzy feeling embedded itself in his brain. Loathed the way you were in his dreams. In the nightmares, too of course, where you would die in his arms. However, there was something so much more excruciating. You avoided him. So of course he went to drastic measures like letting that awful little blond drool over him. 

After an hour of thinking about how you called him “your lieutenant,” which was still so fucking crazy, he decided to come outside. You knew he was coming just by the quiet footsteps. He just stood behind you, letting only his presence interrupt the silence of the night. You could feel his eyes trail over your form. You loved it, of course you loved it. You knew his smell. The musky vanilla, with notes of cigarette, sweat, gunpowder, and cologne. What you’d give to smell that cologne on him fresh out the shower. That would never happen… right? You were just stuck with this god awful, sour feeling rotting inside you.“Didn’t think she was your type, LT.” you admit, breaking the silence at its creases. He takes a second to let out a gruff reply, “Didn’t think you’d care.”

You look over your shoulder to look at him, “you forgot my fuckin’ birthday, ‘course I care.” The whiskey loosened your tongue, you’d have never said that sober. You stand up, silently taking him in. The way the moonlight made a glow around his sillhouette. His imposing form, that should've screamed "don't fuck with me," but all you heard was "fuck me." Yeah the alcohol really loosened a lot of things... didn't it. You drunk in his body like he was cool oasis and you were thirsting to death. He saw the way you looked at him, too. He knew you were going to be his ruin. The reckoning. 

He retorted, rather coldly, but laced with another emotion you couldn’t quite identify. “She was right ‘bout one thing, y’know. Don’t know why this is such a big deal.” He fucking goaded you. You stepped closer, eyes tracing the way his lips encase the cigarette he’s smoking. Seemed like a sin just to watch, hell, he was sin himself. 

There was one thing that pissed him off more than the attitude you threw around. Albeit it did amuse him generally. It was when you turned cold. When you avoided him, of course like you were this past week. You had willed your eyes to turn darker, with a somber expression.  “You’re right, I should not have crossed that boundary. Apologie-” He interrupts you. Gruff, coarse voice imposing on you, “Now don’t give me that bullshit birdie. This bothered you didn’ it?” You could swear he almost smirked. He needed to be bathed in that fire you had that he loved so much. Even if it was from making you pissed.

He fucking enjoyied this. What a damn sadist. Did he just enjoy playing with your emotions? You sigh and take a step back, “You’re fucking reveling this aren’t you?! Now I knew those boys are frothing out of the mouth cause they’d fuck anything that walks, but I didn’t know you were like th-” He takes a step closer and presses a gloved finger to your lips. “Jealous, are you darling? Y’ know it’s all fun and games.” You push his shoulder to put some distance between you two. “Ah fuck you, god you’re such a dick.” Your chest heaves with anger and disappointment whilst your skin craves his touch. His blond eyelashes flutter as his honeyed eyes stay glued to yours. Eye contact was his thing, damnnit. It was unnerving and hot at the same time.

He leans down to your ear, “Tell me, what was it you said to her before ya’ got off her?” Y “The fuck does it matter?” You spout angrily. You knew he heard every word you said. You just wanted him to hurt like he hurt you. 

“Of course it damn well matters, you called me your lieutenant.” There were only centimeters between the both of you. You could feel his breath hit your skin, how it danced across your face. Unknown to you, your display of possession meant everything to him. No one had ever claimed him like you did. Not that it meant that much to you, he guesses. Of course he was Ghost, La fantasma, бугимен, and the embodiment of nightmares. He had a deep bond with all of the task force. They respected him. Understood him, even. But they never really claimed him like you did. And this killed him, not knowing if you really meant it. You were dangerous, you were ruining him. And he couldn’t help but want to be ruined. He'd atone at your altar. Worship you, if you'd only let him.

You didn't budge, but kept the tantalizing proximity from his masked face. Wishing he’d just take it off. “Fine, I take it back, it was the heat of the moment. Now go fuck her and leave me alone I’m sure she’s waiting.” In the blink of an eye he shoved you against the wall. By God, you knew how to piss him off. Hands pinned you on both sides while a knee wedged between your hips to prevent movement. He knew you felt something, knew you did. He knew this would be bad for both of you. Sure, he felt bad he forgot your birthday. But he’d make it up. He’d be so good. So good to you. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. God, the fuckin’ mouth you have,” he says, tracing your lips with his fingers. That made you dead quiet, the way everywhere he touched left your skin on fire. Made heat shoot down to your very core. 

He looked at you in a way you’d never seen him look at anyone before. Hungry, starved, but laced with a masochistic restraint, that was barely tethering him to his sanity.The eye black around his eyes made it seem even more sensual. Something dark in him that was going to claim you. You needed it so bad. While he was masked, his eyes had said everything that needed to be said. You knew he wanted you, but you were still hurting. You two were perfect in the sense of miscommunication. Likely stemming from rather terrible childhoods. You stayed silent, and let his fingers rest against your lips. “You don’t make any sense.” You said quietly. More like a statement than a jab against him. He was back and forth, with you and against you. Like he was tugging you along just to leave you. While sure you were deadly as hell, smart, and observant, when it came to love you were more clueless than a teenage girl. To be fair it was always difficult for you to imagine what love was. Something fabricated. Made for valentines day. It seemed like a myth or folklore. Or like something everyone else had but you weren’t allowed to have. And that didn’t bother you. Deep down on an atom-based level, what you’d felt for Simon Riley extended much farther than any language. 

He lets out a humourless scoff, “I know. Love, believe me I know, but you aren’t exactly clear y’self.” You roll your eyes, of course he would turn the argument back on you, it was practically his signature move. Yet this bickering only made the heat ignite into full on flames between you both. “Oh fuck y-” He clamped a hand over your mouth, not forcefully, but with a firmness that made you quiet. “Aye now don’t go pullin’ that shit. You’re over here runnin’ that mouth to Soap. Ya’ don’t train with me much no more and you talk to those fuckin’ sargeants.” He scoffs, as his mouth sits next to your neck, “even though I taught you everythin’ you know.” His coarse voice, partly from the cigarettes, sent chills down your spine. It was like you had just been dunked in a cooler of ice. 

The rough, gritty voice hardened from years of the military is the only thing that lulled you back to your faculties, "Don’t play a damn fool, lass. You know what you mean to me. You think I devote that much time to just any recruit? Think I train ‘em for fuckin’ years? Teach ‘em everything I know? Nearly go into a fit of rage slaughtering when they get shot on a mission?” He looked away in a failed attempt to maintain his stoic facade. But you could see through it, he knew you could. That was part of why he liked you so much, loved, really, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself. “Lass, I didn’ know what would get your attention. You’ve avoided me like I’m the goddamn plague. Doesna bother me that the base does that. The fear, the respect, it’s good. But when you avoid me, it- its-”

For the first time Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley could not finish a sentence. He fucking stutters. “So you let that little doe drool all over you.” You interrupt as a statement. Angrily. With that fire in your eyes that makes everything in him harden just looking at you. He swears to whatever god will listen, when it came to you he was like a pubescent boy all over again. After hand-to-hand sessions, which always ended up sweaty and pressed up against one another, he always had to make multiple trips to the bathroom to… relieve himself. It was like you were a fucking succubus, he’d always thought. 

You could tell he was amused by your anger the way his mask creased and the way his honey brown eyes lit up. “Sure as hell worked, yeah?” He said in that sultry, practically sinful tone. It was insane, the way just his voice sent energy straight to your core. You had to crane your neck to really look at him, but he was pressed against the crook of your jaw and shoulder. So you felt him. Felt all of him. Felt how he needed you as it brushed against your stomach. It sent jolts of electricity shooting through your very being. The heat of his breath against the side of your jaw made your skin feel like it was on fire. “If I remember correctly, I’m your lieutenant. Or care to repeat it? Memory’s a little dull.”

Ghost wasn’t ever touch starved, he made sure he had plenty of “stress relief,” as he’d call it .Plenty of bonnie lasses warm his bed, in at night out swiftly in the morning. Like clockwork. Always kept his mask on while taking them from the back. It was just to relieve his stress, there was never any true openness. He knew those women would run when he revealed himself. He always felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing when out in the civilian world. Even at base too. He felt alienated, like an unwilling monster. When people got too close, bad things happened. Or, so he thought. He knew he was absolutely fucked because when he’d fantasize about you, all he wanted to do was let you rip the mask off. Let your soft hands trace over his rough skin.

You could sense the change in him. The deep look in his eyes, as if he was trying to memorize you. As if he was counting every freckle and blemish. Branding it in his mind, he was your lieutenant. He wanted to swallow you whole. Crawl inside you. Have you crawl inside him. If you were a flame he'd walk in with a smile on his face. If you were a sea he'd drown a happy man. Whatever his sorry life was, would be bearable as long as you were in it.

“Your lieutenant, huh?” He repeated gruffly. “Did ya mean that?” He never wanted to admit it, but his heart raced in anticipation. It was like his whole body was pulsing with a need only you could satisfy.

“How do I know this isn’t just for your amusement Simon?” you asked softly. He betrayed nothing as he yanked your hand and placed it over his racing heart.  It was going 90 miles a fucking minute. “Ya think I’m lyin’ love?” He was almost challenging you to question his honesty again. 

You had nothing to say to that. To his proclamations. You knew he wasn’t lying. There was literally nothing in your mind. But him. His face. His voice. His hands. God, his fucking hands. They were against your hips, right now. Practically burning himself against you.

“You aren’t lying.” 

His crows feet crinkled, he let out a low laugh, “No. Couldna if I tried.” 

Your head was spinning, you couldn’t decide if it was from the previous events of this night, the whiskey, your lieutenant, or a combination of all three. Along with the dizziness from the proximity to Ghost, it came with a boldness.

You took your fingers to his face, and pulled his mask up to his nose. This time he let you instead of swatting you away like he did last time. He had a cleft lip scar, you’d never guessed. His lips plump, a mauve pink, he had pale skin. Even his damn lips and chin… they were beautiful to you. 

His breath hitched as you raked your fingers across his lips. He was nervous you’d find the cleft lip scar ugly. He did, it was part of why he loved his mask. However, you looked at him with amazement. Like he was the only fuckin man on earth. And dammit if he didn’t love it while it scared the shit out of him at the same time. 

“Love,” he whispered hoarsely. You were his vice, his tether to earth. His damnation and redemption. He knew, at that moment, he’d start a war for you. With you. Against you. Whatever you wanted as long as you were involved. He’d let you do what you wanted with him. Love him, hate him. It would kill him if you were indifferent, like you were this past week. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Being so close to you, to your lips. To your skin. Generally he wouldn’t call himself impatient, but he needed to taste you. He slammed his lips against yours. He tasted like whiskey, cigars, and everything you ever needed. His tongue grazed your teeth begging for entrance while his hands pawed at your ass. Breathy moans escaped him, reverberating across your skin. “Fuck…” he let out. He was never a moaner, always the quiet grunter, a gruff sigh when he finished. But by god you made him… a mess.  You made him a mess. Afterall, he was your lieutenant though.

This is edited and left at a better note. Also because I suck at writing freaky and ending stuff.

I am so so so sorry. 

I just saw a post on tumblr that said rather create something than let it rot, to matter how embarrassing it is. 

Hence this. 

[celia-006]

Everyday I wake up with an unquellable sadness that cannot be expressed. It creaks at the hinges, jagged metal meeting flesh. I want, I wish, I will, I can, but never I am. There has never been an I am.

[celia-006]

sometimes I feel like I’m just another one of those tumors that are constantly growing inside of my fathers body. Trying its best to expand but realizing its futile efforts are for nothing because the simply fact is that it is deathly. I feel malignant I guess. Yeah I feel malignant.

[celia-006]

my dad just ask me to not think less of him as a dad because he’s crying. Same dad who humiliated me in front of my mom and sister and told me I was a despicable human being. Times change I guess.

[celia-006]

I wanna starve the bad stuff out of me until I’m nothing but a holy bag of bones.

[celia-006]

Sometimes I deadass read my writing and I’m like I’m so cool I’m on track to be the next great American author then other times reading what I write is like looking into a mirror and my reflection smiles at me like a demon from hell and it makes me so uneasy.

[celia-006]

I would rip open my abdominal cavity pull out my ribs and let you wear them like a medieval suit of armor. I’d let you wear my teeth like shiny pearls and a cool summer night. I would let you wear my intestines like a long feathery boa. Even dismembered I would’ve been interwoven into you sentient or not- I see no difference.

[celia-006]

I love you like the person you are and the damn dog that I am. I love you like the lethargic stray on the side of the road with ribs jutting out and with cracked paws. I love you like the scared newborn puppy with its tail tucked between it’s young legs. I love you like the damn dog you just ran over. I love you like the dog with its ribs filleted open praising the sky. I love you like the dog I saw get it’s guts get swallowed by starved buzzers.

I felt bad for it. It didn’t deserve that.