#I hate splitting on people it makes me even more suicidal than I already am

[anxietytriangles]

Had to block my bfs number for the day bc he texted something mildly annoying and it sent me into a rage. I love being mentally unstable.

[sometimesiammybpd]

tw // mentions of suicide, self harm

when someone asks me how i'm doing, i default to "i'm okay." it's the safe answer. any less than okay and they get worried and any more than okay and they think i'm doing better than i am. because that question has gotten harder and harder and harder to answer as the years go on and it's because all i feel is rage and anger. or emptiness, but usually either one or the other or a mix of both. even when i have an off day or i wake up not feeling . . . the worst . . . i still don't really feel happy or okay. i just feel. i don't know.

i want to be okay. i want to be normal. i don't want to keep spending my days wondering why i can't be like everyone else. it's so tiring to feel like i'm forever emotionally stunted as a teenager because every little thing sets me off and makes me split. it makes me feel like i'll never have control over myself. and it makes the cycle so draining because i swear i am trying so hard to understand my issues and problems. i am trying so hard to work on them and become better even if i'm already decent, but it hurts when all i see is the definition of insanity. doing the same thing over and over and somehow expecting a different result. i don't enjoy snapping at people or feeling so much fucking hate all the time, but no matter what i do it doesn't feel like it'll ever go away. it's gotten me to a point where not only can i not trust anyone, i just don't even trust myself. i don't trust myself to be around my friends or be around my family and NOT because i'm abusive or anything but because i don't know when something will make me split and i don't want them to start seeing me as abusive. and i do admit, i don't know what form of BPD i have or if this is just anger issues or what but when i get set off into an episode and i'm starting to split badly, i just. i feel like i age regress to like three years old. because i start throwing things and yelling and screaming and my body starts to get hot because i'm getting so overwhelmed. and then if i get pushed enough, i either shut down, cry, or both. usually the first one. and when it happens at work, it makes it even worse. i literally had an episode that got me so fucked up that i kicked the hell out of the trash can in the office for 5-6 minutes, spewing trash everywhere, and then broke down crying because that's how overwhelming everything felt in the moment. i fucking hate it so much.

and i've tried to put it into words what an average day for me feels like now. besides my hypersexuality taking over half the time, i just feel rage and hatred unless i'm euphoric. i also feel like i've already contradicted myself a lot and honestly, how this reads is how it feels. it makes no fucking sense to me and it's. just.

yeah.

i don't know. i really don't know. the other thing that really makes living day-to-day so hard is that . . . well. all i ever think is that i'm faking everything. that i've somehow managed to convince myself and everyone around me for years that i have all these things wrong with me that i really don't. and i can only really explain parts of it. like, i don't feel the way other seem to feel with bpd. i think i said it earlier but i really don't cry. stress or overstimulation or whatever just comes out as rage or anger and i hate it. there have been many conversations with close friends where i've vented about just the fact that i can't cry (unless i get pushed so far that my emotions don't know what else to do).

the scariest part is all the things i don't have answers for, i don't even know if it'd be worth getting answers at this point. i know that not everything has answers and that's tiring on its own right but it scares me. because it falls into that same category. what if i don't deserve to know? what if this is my way of suffering after all the years of pain and suffering i caused others to go through? what if i'm not able to accept the answers? i mean, these are some of what goes through my head all the time. but it goes hand in hand with the whole "what if you're faking it" thing. i've felt that way since i was thirteen. i knew something was wrong, but i quickly grew to feel like it didn't matter because it was all because of me. if i could have some self-control, i'd be normal. if i wasn't so toxic, or abusive, or manipulative, or self-absorbed, or narcissistic, etc. it's all the same but it never stops hurting. and it's so hard trying to have people who don't live like this understand that this is what a normal day is like for me.

that on a normal day, i want to kill myself the entire time. i want to rip my arms apart and take everyone down with me. that i don't hate someone one moment and the next i wish them immediate suffering and that i never have to speak to them again (but then i take it back twenty minutes later because i'm no longer feeling that way). i actually learned of a new term that i didn't know of. around the time when i got diagnosed with bpd, i learned of the term NSSI. non-suicidal self injury. and it made a big part of me make sense for the first time in my entire life. hurting yourself because you need the thoughts to stop, not because you're trying to commit. i guess i can mention this here but i don't really hurt myself. at least not in the expected sense. i have before but usually only when things get so bad and i actually have access to it. most of the time though, i actually can just not do it. it's not that i don't feel like it's something i should be doing or i deserve it or whatever, but just because i can't move. like i'm hearing in my head: "do it. hurt yourself. who gives a shit about you anyways," and meanwhile i'm just sitting here to which someone on a first glance could say "oh, you seem okay." but i'm not. in that moment, i barely feel there.

i don't know. it's so hard to explain. sorry. this post probably doesn't make any sense. i don't have much left to write because what i have put down already was so hard to get out there. and i hope my posts don't just come off as only complaining or whatever. i don't want to take my life most days in a serious sense. i've learned i definitely have passive suicidal ideation, but yeah. i wanted to at one point which then stretched for a long time. but not anymore. i worry a lot about being too negative.

always wanna say, dms on here are open if anyone needs someone to talk to /gen.

[daz4i]

ok one last suicide post for today and i swear i'll try to be more chill after that. emphasis on try

(fair warning this is very whiny and negative) (also tw for somewhat graphic death stuff)

i am sooooo done with everything. it's nothing new, i just. can't stand being alive for even one more day. getting out of bed was so hard today bc what's even the point. and tomorrow i actually have some shit to do and i'm already exhausted. already have been exhausted for a few days. i hate routines i hate that every week is the same i hate that the only shit that can spice it up is like, medical appointments. i look at my calendar and i see i have nothing to look forward to and nothing going on besides usual shit + medical shit. and i'm tired of those too. and i'm back to being in pain every day so it feels like all the food changes i made were for nothing and I've just been extra suffering for nothing bc i'm still. in fucking. pain.

and like beyond the personal shit i'm also done with bigger stuff too! i'm tired of the war i'm tired of seeing so much suffering in the world i'm tired of seeing loved ones going to funerals of ppl in their 20s. i'm tired of people dismissing this pain bc there are other bigger issues, or because our lives don't matter bc the number of losses is lower (or bc they just fucking hate us and can't see us as individual humans rather than some homogeneous group). i'm tired of seeing ppl i love care less about other lives bc of this, too. i don't want to live here. i hate this country so much. i can't leave, i can't even manage to leave my parents' house. i'm scared to live here. i'm scared to live anywhere else bc everywhere in the world is unsafe for ppl like me. everywhere sucks. everything in the world sucks so much. anything that can be beautiful gets taken away or destroyed. the world is becoming worse every day in every conceivable way.

and there's no point to any of this! there's no point in trying to get better or to make things better!!! BECAUSE the world is going to shit!!! what's the point in me making my mental health better (an already very unlikely task to fulfill) if there's nowhere for me to live. what's the point in working in the only field i can handle if i won't be able to make a living off it. what's the point in trying to build a life of my own if it'll never really be mine anyway, bc i can't fucking do anything, i can't even do basic shit like eating or sleeping like a normal person, i can't walk or stand for too long, i can't be outside for so many reasons, i can't talk to people and i can't handle being alone, i'm always in pain and constantly nauseous no matter what i do or how i try to fix it, nothing about my body works right and especially not my brain that can't fucking do anything right and only keeps working to make everything about me worse. i wish i was brave enough to just stab myself or smth. preferably in the head so i can shut that brain up for once. i wish i was brave enough to jump off the 9th floor. i wish i could drown myself or cut myself till i bleed to death or. i don't know. i just want to die. i can't stand being alive. there is too much bad and the specks of good are so fleeting that they're not worth it, not to mention come with their own bad stuff usually. and all this. all this bad is just too much for me to handle. but it's a natural part of life that i can't avoid (tbf, most people don't staight up suffer to the point of wanting to die from like, eating or going to the bathroom, so it's probably easier for them). i was not meant to be alive i was not built to be alive i wish i died in the who knows how many times i almost did i wish i drowned as a kid i wish i bled to death when i split my head open i wish my heart actually stopped pumping blood when it almost did i wish that truck ran into me and killed me on the spot i wish the fucking terrorists shot me or stabbed me and made sure i was dead i wish those 30 pills would've actually done something. i'm so tired. i hate this. i hate being alive. i hate life itself. i'm done with everything i can't handle it anymore. i wish i wasn't a coward so i could at least try to die again. or someone was willing to kill me. or anything. i just. i can't.

[becaexists]

Gonna vent for just a second because I literally have no one to talk to about this so y'know turning to the internet as one does

All over my social medias like Twitter and tiktok (I know they're bad but sometimes they're designed to trap you) everyone is talking about Brianna Ghey, the 16 year old trans girl that was murdered on Saturday. She was a year younger than me, I have friends that are the same age, and all I have seen all day because I've been travelling thus had nothing better to do than to stare at my phone, is so much of the same thing, the same kind of posts, just talking about how this sweet young girl was murdered, potentially out of hate for our community but they're "not sure", and it is really fucking getting to me.

I know it sounds selfish as hell to because it sounds like "oh there was a trans girl murdered and I have to complain about seeing it everywhere" but it's not that, it's the things people put in and under the posts about it. So many of the people trying to spread awareness are trying to be reassuring by saying shit like "to trans youths, we stand by you, this should not be happening" but that doesn't help, because I'm terrified out my fucking mind that if I start trying to be myself, I might get fucking murdered too. What's worse is all of the horrible things transphobic people are saying, like "she's a boy", and "she deserves it" and "example of what should happen to all those trans freaks" because those are actual things I've read today.

And it's not just her case specifically, it's the constant despair I feel as a trans person where my right to exist are constantly being questioned by the only government I've ever known. I open twitter and see stories of how trans rights are being stripped back all over the western world, how people were abandoned by family after coming out as trans, about how being trans is so incredibly awful with little silver linings of "at least you're yourself". So I open tiktok to distract myself, where I see more people talking about the same things, about how the people in government hate us so fucking much. This whole corecore thing is important to highlight the awful shit but when that's the only thing you're seeing with maybe a few cat videos and stupid family guy or movie scenes while someone plays with slime makes to split them up it really makes you feel nothing but despair.

I just wanna get away from it all. I want people to stop talking about it but that's not exactly what I want? I want it to have never happened. I want to live in a world where these things don't happen. I want to live in a world where I can leave the house without being terrified of being hatecrimed or murdered for being who I am. I didn't come out as a trans guy until this year even though I knew for ages I wanted to be a guy, I didn't come out because if I came out in high school, my "all girls" high school where I was already severely bullied for being autistic and queer, I would be fucking dead right now, either from being murdered like she was or from suicide, which I was so so so fucking close to doing after some girl publicly berated me for asking one of my teachers to not call me my deadname (I was going for a fem NB approach to my transness at the time and thought that Bee was the start of something much more fitting for me) because she was right, no one would ever see me as anything other than some pretty but unpopular girl trying to somehow both escape the torture of womanhood and make myself more intriguing

If I could choose anything else, I would. I would not be trans. I would be a regular teenage girl who likes parties and stupid roadmen and skipping lesson to smoke and vape. But I'm not. And my mum, my own mother, has said "if you would choose not to be this, why don't you? Why don't you just go back to being my girl?" And I want to. But I need to be a boy to live. If I don't transition, I might just die from all the self hatred of what I have to pretend to be. I just can't do it.

Sorry this was long, I just have many many emotions and if I said this anywhere else I might just be on the receiving end of some of the same stupid shit people are saying about Brianna. I hope she finds peace somewhere where there isn't so much hatred.

[taestefully-in-luv]

Always You | JJK (Seven)

Summary: you and Jungkook have been best friends since freshmen year of college, there’s a lot of unsaid feelings and tension but neither make a move. what happens when his friend Taehyung (also your crush) needs a fake girlfriend?

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slight slow burn, roommate au, college au, SMUT (starting ch2), fluff, angst (in later chapters) slight crack, lots of drama

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual tension (!!!), mention of erection, heated make out, marking, grinding, mentions of suicide:( (If this makes you uncomfortable pls skip), mentions of cheating, quick blowjob, swallowing,

Notes: sorry this chapter is shorter than the last! But we only have 2 chapters left guys! And they are long!!! Sorry in advance lol. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter:) Anyway feel free to send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist or just want to chat about the story:)

Taglist: @mooniyooni @thisartemisnevermisses @giadalin @kookiebunny097 @cosmosjk @moonchild1 @just-jeon @anpanman-sonyeondan @starlight-night0 @yessii-i @apollukee @mikasaredscarf1 @kaye-rosales @bunnyjeonjk @dyriddle @seagulljk @hass-mich-los @peachy-skz0325 @wonusbitch @not-your-lion @flowersgirl02 @justinetingball @fiantomartell

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook runs his finger through your hair, his mouth hot on your neck as he leaves behind what feels like a million, slow kisses. You taste sweet and he’s reminded of the first time he got to do this with you and his heart swells at the memory. He feels you grind against him, making him impossibly harder as he grinds back. Your moans fill his ears and it sounds like a chorus of sweet, sweet music to him, he can’t help but grin into his kisses. Suddenly, the image of him kissing down your throat becomes blurry and the sound of your whines echo in the distance. He must be waking up.

Jungkook feels you hovering over him with shocked eyes and he can’t help but wonder what’s gotten into you. He can feel his head beginning to throb from the inevitable hang over that wishes to visit and he raises a hand over it. You continue to look down at him and that’s when he notices it. Them. The hickeys that spread across your skin and he goes absolutely pale.

He looks back at you with wide eyes but he can’t help but feel pride bloom all throughout his body as he looks at how he has marked you but those petals quickly shrivel up when he realizes how badly he must have messed up.

��Oh fuck.” He says under his breath.

“Yeah. ‘Oh fuck’” you repeat back.

Jungkook lifts himself up, leaning on his arms as he takes another look at the bruises that cover your skin. He releases a shaky breath contemplating what to say.

“Drunk.” His eyes slide to the side, “We were really…drunk.”

You narrow your eyes for a split second then look at him with ease,

“Yeah…right…drunk.” You quickly agree.

Jungkook and you share a moment of a silence, admiring one another’s work on the other. You hesitantly reach out, your fingers coming in contact with the side of his neck, brushing against his soft skin.

“This ones huge…I’m sorry.” You say, not sounding entirely sorry. A slight smirk graces your features.

“Ha, you don’t look very sorry.” Jungkook grabs a hold of your hand, “Plus, you don’t even want to see what I did to you.”

You retreat your hand back to touch your own skin, you shuffle out of the sheets and stand from the bed. You walk towards the little mirror over by Jungkook’s closet and take a look.

You audibly gasp, the purple marks that spread across your neck and collarbone are ones for the books.

“What the hell Jeon! How am I supposed to walk out of here today! Everyone’s going to see this!” you gesture towards yourself. “Oh my god.” You turn back to look in the mirror. “This is horrible.”

Jungkook leaves the bed to join you at the mirror,

“Holy shit.” He looks at himself, “I’m not any better!” he throws his hands up but he’s laughing. He’s fucking laughing! You watch in disbelief as he chuckles the fucking day away.

You watch him and you can’t help but start to laugh too. This is just so ridiculous.

“Wait wait…” Jungkook calms down, suddenly becoming serious. “We didn’t do anything else…right?”

“Why are you looking at me like that? Shouldn’t you also remember?”

“You’re the girl! Can’t you like tell…if we…” He motions his hands between your bodies.

“Oh my god. No, we didn’t do anything else. Do you really not remember everything?” you ask with a frown.

“I feel like I do…but I was just being you know, sure.”

Jungkook wishes he could remember everything in great detail but the reality is he was really drunk and some moments are hazier than others. Which is a fucking shame because he wants to remember the first moment you caressed his skin to his lips on yours.

“Do you remember everything?”

“I remember enough.” You admit.

You were drunk, yes. But the memory of you and Jungkook is almost crystal clear and fresh in your mind.

“Bottom line is…we were really drunk and drunk people do stuff like that all the time.” Your hands go to your hips, “I mean, I’ve literally made out with Trina before. Don’t feel special.” You wink, your tone is light and teasing and Jungkook finds you amusing.

“Just two drunk idiots.” Jungkook grins. “So no acting weird.”

“I won’t be weird, will you?”

“I’ll try my best.” He chuckles.

“I’m serious Jungkook, we can be cool about this…” you give him a smile, “It’s not like we haven’t—”

“Stop…” Jungkook lifts his hand up, “I get it.” He chuckles awkwardly.

Your small smile fades, your heart pinches. He never wants to talk about it, did he hate it that much?

“Right…” You begin walking closer towards him and he steps back, your heart pinching once again. “Well, lend me a fucking turtle neck or something so I can get outta here.”

Jungkook smirks down at you as he walks to his closet.

“Fine. Hopefully I have two…I have a black and a white one right?” he asks you from inside his closet.

“Shit, I think I have your white one at my place…”

“I don’t think Nick owns any…”

“Why do you need one? Just stay home today.”

“I’m supposed to meet Vanessa later…”

Your heart doesn’t just pinch this time, it sinks. Deep down into your lower belly until its falling to the ground.

“Oh.”

“I’ll find a scarf or some shit.”

“I’ll bring you your white one, don’t worry.”

“Really? Thanks y/n.” Jungkook walks out of his closet smiling at you, his black turtle neck draped over his arm. “Here.” He hands it over to you.

“Turn around.”

Jungkook raises a brow at you until realization hits him.

“Okay.” He whispers out.

You quickly change into the long sleeve shirt and let Jungkook know he can turn back around.

“I feel like I should make you breakfast or something…” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, standing here awkwardly.

“Really Jungkook?” you laugh out, “And what would you make me?”

“I think Nick has some toaster waffles.” Jungkook offers with a grin.

“I’m good. I’m gonna head out but I will be back with your shirt!”

“Sounds good, I’ll walk you out.”

You two nod at one another, exiting the bedroom and walking towards the front door. You stop to say goodbye and Jungkook steps into your space, wrapping his arms around you.

“See you in a bit.” He whispers.

“Yeah.” You pull back and smile at him. “See you in a bit.”

~~~~~

“Why the fuck are you wearing a black turtle neck in the middle of August?”

It’s Trina, if you haven’t guessed. It’s the first thing you hear when you step into your apartment, she is over to hang with Holly you’re assuming.

“I was a bit chilly.” You lie through your teeth, giving her a strained smile.

“Take it off.” Trina commands.

“Trina…” Holly warns softly, she’s got her hand on Trina’s shoulder and you can’t help but giggle.

“Wait, your date was last night, right? With this ‘Min Yoongi’? Ooooh, did things go well?” Trina whistles out.

“It wasn’t a date, I already told you…” you whine as you walk into the living room, sitting on the sofa.

“But it did go well! I had a really nice time.” You admit softly, smiling at the memory of your ‘thank you outing’. “He’s so cool and so sweet.” Your eyes light up, “He owns the record shop a few shops away from the bakery!”

“Owns it? Like it’s his?” Holly asks, she shares a pleased smile with Trina.

“Yes, like it’s his.”

“He sounds like a man. Marry him.” Trina gives you an aggresive thumbs up.

“Chill dude.” You laugh. “I think he and I could become really good friends…and…”

“And?”

“Well, you never know.” Your eyes shift to the side as you smirk. “The world is full of mystery.”

Trina smiles brightly, “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

“I’m saying that there’s not not a chance…”

“I’LL TAKE IT!” Trina lifts up Holly’s hand and high fives herself with it. “Whatever isn’t Jungkook.” She finishes with a grin and you feel your whole body go stiff.

“Trina…” you frown, “I really don’t like when you say stuff like that. Jungkook is a good person. He just…he messed up, yes. But he’s trying.”

“He hurt you.” Trina’s tone goes serious. “How could you forgive him for that?”

“I’m trying too. But I am able to try because I know him…he wouldn’t just hurt me without him having his own reasons…and I love him, T. Like as friends, of course but also…”

“I know.” Trina goes soft, “I know.”

Holly clasps her hands together, “And that’s that! How about we make some food and chit chat some more over some mimosas!”

“I love that idea.” You say.

“But seriously girl, please go change out of that turtle neck…you’re making me sweat just looking at you.” Trina says.

Right, the turtle neck. You told Jungkook you would drop off his white one…well, you gotta find it first.

“Okay, but I have to run an errand first then we can hang.”

“An errand?” Both girls look at you quizzically.

“Don’t worry about it.” Great, now you sound like Jungkook.

~~~~~

Within the hour you are quickly dropping off Jungkook’s shirt off at his place and going back to yours. He answered the door in nothing but his towel again and you tried so hard not to drool. You recall the night before when your fingers were dragging down his chest and his toned stomach. You felt every ab beneath your fingertips. Fuck, that felt good. You’re home now, you shake your head trying to rid yourself of thoughts of Jungkook’s body. But with a body like that? It’s so so hard. Just like how he was…STOP. You shake off these thoughts and try to pay attention to what Holly is saying.

“—And then I turned it in anyway and still got an A!”

“That’s amazing Holly.” You say, trying to act like you weren’t just having impure thoughts.

“Yeah, you totally kick ass.” Trina says.

You girls are a few mimosas in, you feel the champagne starting to work its wonderful magic on you but unfortunately it is making you start to sweat. You want to take off this damn turtleneck.

“I’ll be right back.” You say quickly before retreating to your bedroom. You find a baggy t-shirt and slip it on. This feels much better! But god damn. These marks on your skin are something else. You rush to the bathroom and try to cover some with makeup but it’s hardly helping. Fuck.

“Welp, maybe they won’t notice.” You whisper to yourself.

You walk back out into the living room and you notice both Holly and Trina’s eyes go comically wide.

“Wow, that date did go better than you thought!” Trina starts whooping and hollering.

“Wow y/n.” Holly really does look shocked.

Okay, so maybe they did notice. You feel so self conscious all of the sudden, your hands flying up to your neck to cover yourself.

“It’s—It’s not what it looks like.” You stammer out.

“It looks like this Yoongi guy is really into marking!” Trina yells out with a grin.

“Yoongi is really into marking…” Holly eyes you with horror in her eyes.

“Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!” Trina begins chanting, she looks over at Holly and lightly taps her thigh to get her to start chanting the name as well.

“Guys…” You whine into your hands, “It wasn’t Yoongi.” You must be admitting that because you’ve had a few mimosas.

Silence. The room falls undeniably quiet.

“Wait what?” Trina asks, her wide grin beginning to fade.

“Did you meet with someone else last night?” Holly begins to pry.

“Did you go to a bar or something and meet a rando?”

“Did you bump into someone on the street?”

“Did you call up and old boyfriend? An old hookup?”

“Guys!” You yell out, “I met up with Jungkook last night!”

Once again, the room goes silent.

“You what?” Trina asks plainly, “What does that have to do with the hickeys on your neck?”

“Really Trina?” your head falls into your hands, “We kind of…”

“You guys fucked? Really?” Trina’s serious tone is back.

“No! We just got really drunk and made out! That’s it!”

“But is that really it for you?” To your surprise, it’s Holly who asks this.

“It’s fine. We were just drunk. We decided not to be weird about it. And we won’t.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Trina asks, her voice gone soft.

“Because I will text him in a few days, he’s going to text back. Or I’ll call and he will answer like normal. I’ll ask to hang out or something and we will just be two friends who hang. It will go just like that!”

Except it doesn’t go like that at all. A few days pass and you decided to text Jungkook in the morning after you woke up. You don’t expect to hear back from him for a couple of hours since he will probably sleep in. But hours and hours go by and it’s the afternoon now and you still haven’t heard from him.

“You have reached the voicemail box of…” You click the end button on your phone again for like, the 6thtime. Why isn’t Jungkook answering? It’s a Wednesday afternoon, you know you remember him saying he had today off for some reason so what is he up to? Even if he was with Vanessa, would he really ignore you like this? 6 calls in a row?

You decide to try Jimin, maybe they’re together. You look him up in your ‘Favorites’ and click clack away to calling him. After several rings the boy finally answers,

“Hey.” He says somewhat out of breath, “I’m working, what’s up?”

“Hey it’s nothing really…” you begin, “But have you heard from Jungkook…? I can’t get a hold of him…”

“Huh? No? Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, busy babe.” You can hear Jimin directing some poor child of his wrong moves on the other side of the phone.

“Look, I gotta go. But just try again in a little while, okay?”

“Can you try calling him for me?”

“Huh? Uh, sure. I’ll let you know later. Love you, bye.” Jimin hangs up and you’re left with your phone to your ear, talking to no one.

It’s Wednesday evening now, you and Holly are sharing a pie while watching some weird show on Netflix that Holly insists is good. You’re three episodes in and you’re starting to wonder when the ‘good’ part happens. It’s mostly just been weird but Holly seems invested in it. You’re trying to keep your mind busy, the thought of Jungkook making you feel antsy. You just wanted to call and see if he wanted to chill together…to prove things aren’t going to be weird between you two. Is he really going to be so fucking immature? Big deal, you made out. But to go this far to ignore you? You can’t help but feel so fucking anxious. He won’t ghost you again right?

You mindlessly stick your fork in the pie repeatedly when you feel your phone buzz. Thank God, some sort of reason to look away from this show, you think.

Jimin 6:22pm

Hey, I got a hold of Jungkook…

What the hell? So he answered to Jimin?!

Jimin 6:22pm

It’s probably best to let him be today babe, today is…not a good day

You click off your phone and throw it on the cushion to your side because what the hell does that mean? Not a good day? If he’s not having a good day then shouldn’t he like, lean on you? Wait, you’re asking for too much right? You mean, you’re the one who set boundaries. But if he’s having a bad day why ignore you? You throw the fork in the pie and set it next to Holly, she looks at you mortified that you would just throw your fucking fork. You stand to your feet and start heading to your room.

“Uh, where are you going? Things are just getting good.” Holly whines.

“I’ll be back in a little while Hol, just gotta do something real quick.” You call out from behind you, entering your room to change into some clean clothes.

Once you’re ready you grab your purse and your keys and head towards the front door, and out to your car.

It’s a really quick drive to Jungkook’s apartment, he lives so close to you it’s ridiculous. He couldn’t find an apartment that was further away from his old one? Well, still…you’re grateful it’s a short drive. You wonder how you’ll confront Jungkook. He isn’t the best at opening up so you have to go about this strategically. But knowing you, you’ll be anything but strategic. It’s just with Jungkook you really have to force it out of him—whatever it is. Even then you may get nothing.

You find a parking spot a little a ways from the building, it’s a nice refreshing two minute walk to get inside to find and ride the elevator. You remember riding this elevator with nick and oh god, cringe. You cringe so fucking hard. Speak of the devil, he’s who answers the front door after your insistent knocking.

“Oh hey y/n. What’s up?” Nick’s eyes dart from you to the rest of the hallway. “Is it just you?” he asks, “Jungkook isn’t here…”

“Can I wait inside until he gets home?” you blurt out.

“Uh, sure…” Nick opens the door wider for you to enter. You breeze past him, taking off your shoes at the entrance and make your way to the couch. Damn, you are a woman on a mission.

“Can I get you some water?” Nick offers as he closes the door.

“Sure.”

Nick comes into the living room with a glass full of water and you couldn’t be more grateful. You didn’t even realize how dry your mouth has gotten, the anticipation of Jungkook’s arrival making you nervous.

“Do you know where he went?” you take the glass from Nick and gulp down like half the glass. “He hasn’t answered me all day.”

“Wait, he doesn’t know you’re here?” Nick asks in panicked surprise. “Should you really be here? He might be with Vanessa or like, coming back with her…”

“It’s fine. I’m waiting, is that okay?” you nibble on your lips, waiting for his response.

“Yeah, I guess.” Nick shrugs, “I’ll be in my room if that’s okay? You can watch whatever on TV or like, whatever.” He smiles at you, gesturing towards the TV.

“I’ll be fine Nick.” You smile back.

More than an hour passes, a god damn miserable hour of you sitting on Jungkook and Nicks couch when you finally hear the front door being unlocked. Jungkook.

You straighten up when you hear the door beginning to open, the soft creak sounding a million times louder in your ears.

Jungkook walks through and you notice he is alone, and you sigh in relief. His shoulders are slumped and his head hangs low as he takes his shoes off and you immediately sink in your spot. What’s with him? So, you stand to your feet and clear your throat and he doesn’t even flinch. He just continues walking inside, finding his way into the kitchen. You watch as he opens up a cabinet and reaches for a glass, next he’s fishing the fridge for some fresh water and filling up his cup. He takes a few sips of his water before his dark eyes find you.

“What are you doing here?” his low voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“You went ghost on me today…I was worried.” You leave the living room to walk into the kitchen as well.

“I…” he begins as he sets the glass on the counter. “I didn’t ghost you.”

“How could I be so sure?” you step closer to him, “How come you answered Jimin but not me?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your words, like a deer caught in headlights. He blinks at you repeatedly until he tries forming words.

“It’s nothing personal.” He settles for. “Can we talk tomorrow, y/n?”

“Where did you go today?” God, why do you sound like some weird, possessive girlfriend? You cringe at your own words.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jungkook’s eyes darken again, his voice low.

“It matters to me.”

Jungkook looks down at the floor and you notice him take a few deep breaths, like he is struggling to find a steady one.

“Talk to me, Jungkook.” You reach out to him, your fingers finding his and he flinches at your touch. “What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

“I….” Jungkook’s voice cracks and you wish you could bring him in to hug you but you don’t. You just let him continue.

“I…have nothing to say.”

Oh. Of course. Of fucking course. Of course Jungkook chooses to stay silent. Of course he chooses not to talk to you.

“Is it Vanessa?” you finally find the courage to ask, “Did you two break—”

“No, we’re fine.” He cuts in. Jungkook frees himself from your hand and looks up at you with a strained smile, “I’m fine, y/n.”

Now, you shouldn’t feel upset. Or angry. But you do, you fucking do. It’s been almost 4 years of this same bullshit where he cannot open up to you and its starting to feel insulting.

“You’re…” you step closer to him again but he takes a step back until he’s backed into the counter. “You aren’t fine. Please talk to me, Jungkook.” You try to say calmly but you think the rage is a little evident in your voice.

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Is it because I’m a girl?”

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, not knowing what you mean by that. Yeah, that was a stupid thing to assume but you aren’t smart right now.

“You can’t confide in girls because you have trust issues? You know, because of your mom…how she left you…”

“Stop.”

“That’s it right?” You volume increases as your anger shows, “Are you fucking serious? When have I ever made you feel like you couldn’t trust me? When have I ever fucking left you?”

“Shut up.”

“No! And yeah your mom left you so you like, don’t trust girls I guess but god damn, Jungkook maybe it’s time to get over—”

“I said shut up!” Jungkook’s voice rises to a volume you have never experienced with him before.

“Have you tried looking for her?” you continue to speak, not realizing you are making everything worse.

“I know where she is.” He states, his nostrils flaring.

You flail your arms around, “Then go fucking talk to her.”

Jungkook looks at you with an unreadable expression, his shoulders to his ears and his fists balled up at his sides. He’s quiet. Too quiet. His breaths are beyond shaky and you finally notice it.

Jungkook’s eyes are glossed over and you think you may have gone too far. His lip begins trembling and he tries to speak but no words come out. He struggles to speak to you and it makes you blink at him like an idiot. Why can’t he speak?

“Jung—”

Jungkook lifts a hand up to stop you from talking any further. He inhales sharp breaths and releases shaky ones. His eyes are full of tears but none fall. He stares down at the ground just trying to do something as easy as breathing, but he falls short.

“Jung—”

“Please.” He croaks out. Jungkook walks to the couch and sits down, his head falling into his hands and you aren’t entirely sure at first but after a few moments you really realize…he is softly and quietly crying. Your Jungkook who never cries in front of anyone is sitting on his living room couch crying. You’re speechless. You also don’t know what to do. Do you try to comfort him? Do you leave him alone? But how could you leave him alone when he sits on his fucking living room couch sniffling away?

You hesitantly walk towards the sofa and take a seat next to him. He doesn’t lift his head to look at you, just continues crying into his hands. You don’t have to think about it, you reach your hand to rub soothing circles on his back and start whispering words of comfort in his ear.

Several moments pass when Jungkook finally lifts his head from his hands, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Mom…” he clears his throat. “Mom didn’t just leave us. She left everything. She left me.”

“I know Jungkook…I’m sorry… I just lashed out on you, you can heal at your own pace and if she wants to see you again, she will.” You continue to rub his back.

“No, you don’t get it.” Jungkook murmurs. “Mom was hurting a lot. You know?” he begins to get choked up, his throat burning.

“Dad cheated, yes. But he was also neglectful of her and she was in a lot of pain,” he sniffs repeatedly, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“She felt like she had no one, not even me.” Jungkook face scrunches up as he resists more tears.

“She couldn’t even rely on me.”

Fuck. You know where this is going. It is all starting to make sense.

“Mom killed herself when I was 16.” Jungkook finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was too afraid to say it out loud. Like it made it more real.

“Dad didn’t take it well…he started drinking and I rarely saw him around…I had to take care of myself.” Jungkook finally lets the tears fall.

“I hated him. I still do.” Jungkook clenches his jaw.

You sit on the couch unable to comprehend what Jungkook has gone through. You feel like the biggest bitch alive. You forced your best friend to reopen his wounds in front of you and you had the audacity to pour salt in them.

“Jungkook I’m so—”

“Forget it.” He’s quick to cut you off. You stare at him with wide eyes, your own tears staining your cheeks.

“Please leave me alone for a while.” He whispers and immediately you stop him from rising from the couch.

“No!” you pull him back down. He doesn’t even resist, he falls back to your side and you lead his head to rest on your beating chest.

“I’m here for you, Jungkook.”

And that’s it. That’s what it took for Jungkook to scrunch and twist his face until more tears begin flowing out of his swollen eyes. He cries into your shirt, wetting the material.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You pat his head, your fingers weaving through his dark locks.

Jungkook cries like this for several minutes, until he’s wiping away his tears and snot with his shirt sleeve. He rises from your chest and looks at you with a painful expression.

“Today is mom’s birthday.” He admits.

Fuck.

“I went to her grave today…” he sniffles, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. It’s just…” he starts crying again, “Saying it out loud. Makes it real, don’t you think?” His face is swollen and puffy from his tears and you can’t stop your own tears from sliding down your cheeks.

“Jungkook, I’m so, so sorry.” You feel awful. You can’t even fathom what he has gone through…

“It’s okay, this was bound to happen eventually right?” he laughs awkwardly, snot still dripping from his nose.

“I shouldn’t have forced it out of you…God, I am so sorry.”

“I…” Jungkook’s eyes refill with tears as he tries to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I really am. I tried so many times but I just couldn’t say it out loud. I just couldn’t.” The tears fall down his face once again, “I tried.” He begins to cry harder. “I really tried y/n.”

You heart breaks. This is a sight you never want to see again but if anyone has to see it you want it to be you.

“Baby…” you whisper. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“You’d never leave me…right?” Jungkook chokes on his words as he speaks. “I couldn’t handle it.”

You shut your eyes as you think about what Jungkook has gone through. You think about why he’s been so closed off and why he has troubles with people sometimes—especially girls.

“I wouldn’t ever leave you.” You say in promise. “You’re too important to me.”

Jungkook’s face falls back into your chest, he cries into your shirt for several more minutes as you rub his back and play with his hair.

“Wasn’t I important to mom too?” You hear him whisper.

Your heart breaks even more.

“Of course you were, Jungkook.” You try to save, “I know she must have loved you a lot.”

“Then why?”

“She must of thought you were going to be strong enough without her…” Your fingers thread through his hair again, “And you are. But you know, you aren’t completely without her…” Your hand goes to his chest, over his beating heart.

“She’s here too, with you.”

And with that, Jungkook sobs harder. Like, it’s the first time he’s cried over this. And you wonder if it is. He’s gripping on to your shirt so tightly as he releases intense sob after the other. Your heart continues to fucking break.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

It’s been quiet the last 30 minutes, neither you nor Jungkook have spoken. He’s not even crying anymore, just lightly sniffling every now and then. You wonder if he has fallen asleep. You wouldn’t be surprised, all that crying will take out all the energy out of a person…

You lean your head down to get a look at Jungkook’s peaceful face…he is sleeping. You feel yourself relax as you continue to play with his hair. He needs the rest, you think.

You feel your own eye lids getting heavy and you let yourself fall asleep as well. Jungkook snuggles deeper into your side, his face nuzzling in your chest and you hold him tighter. You two sleep like this for many hours until you’re being woken up at the sound of the blender going.

The living room is lit up with sunlight and your eyes blink lazily. You realize Jungkook isn’t sleeping with you anymore and you start to panic. Where did he go? Then the blender goes off again and you decide to stand from the couch, even though your body feels so heavy.

Jungkook is in the kitchen when you walk over, he’s got his back turned to you and you creep up behind him.

“Boo.” You say, wrapping your arms around him.

“When will you realize that will never work on me?” Jungkook lightly chuckles, “Sorry to wake you up. I figure I could make us some fruit smoothies.” He turns around in your hold. You eye him up and notice how puffy his eyes are and you feel your heart drop.

“Fruit smoothie sounds delicious.” You squeeze him tighter and Jungkook laughs a wonderful laugh. It’s loud and full and filled with joy.

“Hug me back.”

Jungkook smiles down at you and circles his arms around your waist, “Sorry, sorry.”

You smile back up at him and lean your head on his body, he feels so warm it could melt you.

“About last night…” Jungkook begins pulling away from you, “I’m sorry I kind of…”

“You don’t have to apologize.” You cut in. “It’s my fault.”

“No y/n…I’m glad things happened the way they did. I actually feel so much better.” He admits, “Lighter, even.”

“Oh? Well, good. But I am still so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay baby.” He goes back in to hug you tighter. You feel his strong arms hold on to you and you want to stay like this forever. You would if you could. But—

“Shit. What time is it?” You step back from him, digging in your pocket for your phone. “Holy hell, I’m going to be late for work.”

“Then get going. I’ll text you later?” Jungkook asks with hope filling his eyes.

“Yeah.” You smile.

~~~~~~

Work was lame as usual, nothing eventful happened. Yoongi must have been too busy at the shop today since he didn’t come in for cookies. You decide you will go see him at the record shop tomorrow but for now…you’re dealing with something else—someone else.

“Oh? You thought Trina wouldn’t tell me?” It’s Jimin. He’s sitting on the edge of your bed with a popsicle between his lips. “Huh Miss Hickeys?”

“Jimin.” You drag his name out, “It’s not a big deal!” you throw your hands up in exasperation. “We were just really drunk and it didn’t mean anything. Just two drunk idiots.”

“Idiots, for sure.” Jimin sucks on the tip of the popsicle while he speaks.

“Seriously, it isn’t a big deal. We’re both over it.”

“Are you? You like him and he…fuck, this is getting so ridiculous. Promise me, just promise me…you will tell him the truth? You might be sur—”

“Jimin, stop.”

Jimin huffs out a deep, long breath and rolls his eyes at you.

“No.” he says matter of fact. “I won’t stop until you two talk.”

“Anyway there’s something more important we need to talk about…” you begin, “He told me about his mom.”

Jimin’s expression goes from shocked to guilty. He takes a few moments to finish the popsicle, biting the last inch or two and throwing the stick in the trashcan.

“I know. He told me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been wanting to tell you for a long time y/n…but he just—”

“I know. It must have been really hard for him…all this time…”

“Yeah.” Jimin bows his head, “Me and Tae are the only ones who know because we were friends with him when it happened. That’s the only reason why or else I’m not sure anyone would know.”

“Is that…is that Jungkook’s secret? That you three…”

Jimin’s eyes expand as he realizes what you are talking about.

“N-No.” He admits softly, “That’s something else. That’s something Jungkook will definitely have to tell you on his own and trust me if you guys just talked…”

You tilt your head in confusion. What’s the correlation?

“Anyway, Jimin has Jungkook ever cried to you? About it all?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“He didn’t even cry at the funeral y/n.”

Fuck. You had a feeling. But knowing for sure is a whole other thing. The way Jungkook broke down in front of you felt like it was his first time and maybe it was and that makes your heart ache.

“Did he…cry? In front of you?” Jimin asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah…”

“Oh… he must really trust you.”

You only nod your head in response.

“If you guys just learned to communicate better…I’m really rooting for you two.”

Your heart swells at Jimin’s little confession and you nod your head again, this time with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“Thanks Jimin.” Finally, you feel supported. And it makes you breathe just a little easier.

“I know things haven’t always been easy with you two ever since the Tae thing…but honestly this goes back even further. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. We…I don’t know what’s with us.” You chuckle bitterly.

“I do. And I am going to force you two to talk one of these days. I swear on it. I will give you guys some time but damn babe, this is just…” Jimin releases a long breath. “Just don’t give up, okay?”

“Can’t you just tell me?” you don’t mean to sound like you are begging but you kind of do.

“No. It’s truly truly not my place.”

“I can’t just assume what you are talking about, you know? I can’t hope for the best then get crushed. That’s too scary, Jimin.”

“I understand babe.” Jimin scoots closer to you until he’s within arms-reach and caresses your calve. “Just talk to him, please.”

“Too scary.”

“One of these days one of you will have the courage.”

~~~~~~

“And what could be in this little baggy of yours?” Yoongi grins, showing his wonderful gummy smile.

“I brought you 2 cookies Mister Oatmeal Raisin!” You shake the little bag in front of his face in a teasing manner and he chuckles.

“What did I do to deserve your kindness?” He takes the baggy from you and inspects both cookies. “You decided not to be bratty today?” he questions with a smile. “These cookies are perfect.”

You decided to visit the record shop today, on this fine afternoon. It’s one of those days where it’s cloudy and looks like it could rain but it never does. You love days like that.

“This place looks so nice!” you say, bobbing your head around to get a proper look.

“There’s a section where you can sit and drink coffee…it’s not much but its cozy. Wanna check it out?” Yoongi offers, gesturing towards the other side of the shop.

“Yeah.” You say, “Lead the way.”

He guides you to the other side of the shop next to a window. There’s a table for two and he’s right—it is cozy looking.

You sit down and wait for Yoongi as he fetches two coffees, which you are so excited about since you have a fucking addiction.

He sets a cup down in front of you and takes his seat.

“So any new happy moments in life? Anything new to be grateful for?”

“I—”

“That’s a trick question,” Yoongi’s eyes go small as he smiles widely, “There’s always new moments to be grateful for.”

You can’t help but laugh, you bring the steaming hot coffee to your mouth and you blow on the liquid multiple times before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip.

“Yes I guess so.” You smile.

“And what are they?”

“I’m grateful the sun is hiding today, I like the clouds a lot.”

“I love that.” Yoongi takes a sip of his own coffee. “What else?”

“I’m happy you brought me coffee.”

“I’m glad I somehow made it on your list of things.”

“What about you?” you ask.

“I’m grateful my A.C is working again!” he laughs, “It was actually broken for a couple days and I had like 5 fans plugged in around the place. I don’t think anyone wanted to come in here.”

“Oh no! Well, I’m glad it’s working!”

“How are things with your friend Jungkook? You guys were complicated last time I checked.”

You raise your brows in surprise that Yoongi would bring up Jungkook. But somehow you also aren’t surprised, it seems Yoongi takes a genuine interest in your life.

“We’re actually doing okay…” You bring the coffee back to your lips, taking another sip when—

“Have you told him your feelings yet?” Yoongi casually takes a gulp of coffee as you choke on yours.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry…was that too forward?” Yoongi sets his cup down. “To be fair, you both are very obvious.

“What do you means us ‘both’?” You grab a napkin and wipe your chin where coffee dribbled.

“He clearly likes you too.” Yoongi stares at you as you stare back with a blank expression, and he laughs. “You two remind me of myself and someone I used to know.”

“Used to?”

“We were never on the same page…too many missed opportunities that it ruined anything we could have had.” Yoongi frowns for a split second before breaking out into a soft, gummy smile. “I’d hate to see that happen to you.”

“Yoongi—”

“But if it does then better for me?” he whispers with a smile in his voice.

“What do you mean by—”

“Oh. But he has a girlfriend, right?” Yoongi cuts you off with his question.

“Not exactly but basically…”

Vanessa. Your stomach drops at the mention of her and you hate it. Why does she have to have such a strong affect on you? Why does she even have to exist? You mean, she can exist but maybe not in your life—or Jungkook’s life.

Suddenly, the doors bell goes off with a ding and Yoongi is smiling brightly at whoever just walked in. You continue to sip your coffee not giving it much mind.

“Taehyung!” Yoongi shouts out, standing from his chair to wave over his friend.

Wait, Taehyung? He can’t mean the same Taehyung—

“y/n?”

Oh shit. You turn around in your seat and your face falls when you see him. Even on this cloudy day his skin is so golden like the sun is shining down on him, he looks bright and beautiful. As usual.

“Hi Taehyung.” You wave awkwardly. He can immediately tell how uncomfortable you are, his face deepening into a frown.

“I can come by later…” he offers to you.

“No, no. Don’t be ridiculous.” You try smiling but it’s quite tense.

Yoongi looks between you two and he points between your bodies.

“You two know each other?”

“We went to school together, had mutual friends blah blah blah.” You say.

Taehyung only agrees with the nod of his head. Yoongi blinks at your two and opens his mouth to say ‘Ah.’ And heads to the back for another cup of coffee.

“How have you been y/n?” Taehyung asks awkwardly, he shifts from one foot to the other as he stands here.

“Pretty good, I think.”

“You think?” he chuckles. “Hey, sorry if my texts bother you…”

“They don’t.” you say honestly. “Sorry I don’t always reply.”

“It’s okay, I understand. How’s…Jungkook?” Taehyung eyes shoot down to the floor. “He doesn’t answer my texts either. It really hurts to see years of friendship go down the drain…”

“He’s mad at you Tae,” You begin, “But I think one of these days he will chill out.” You laugh and this makes Taehyung ease up.

“He really fucking loves you.”

“Well we are best friends… sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“We kind of stopped talking for a little while but we’re back to being friends.” You try explaining but Yoongi is walking back in with a cup of coffee in hand. He hands it to Taehyung, which he accepts gratefully.

“You’re here for that new Jazz mix record, right? I have it behind the counter for you.” Yoongi says to Taehyung and Taehyung only gives him a thumbs up. He eyes you curiously, wondering what the hell happened between you and Jungkook.

“I have to get back to work boys!” You stand from the table, “Thanks for the coffee Yoongs”

Yoongi smiles at the new nickname.

“And maybe I’ll see you around, Tae?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung gives you his signature boxy grins and you feel like maybe things all around are getting better. Just maybe.

~~~~~

Jungkook has his hands knotted in Vanessa’s hair as she chokes on his cock, her lips wrapped around it fully.

“Fuck.” Jungkook whines out, “I’m so close.”

Vanessa only moans in response, she continues to bob her head up and down on his dick making his orgasm approach quickly.

“Gonna come, gonna come.”

And he does, he comes down her throat and she swallows it all perfectly. Only a drop or two left behind on her lips which she quickly wipes away with her fingers.

Vanessa stands to her feet and Jungkook pulls her in for a quick kiss.

“That was good…” he says, somewhat out of breath.

“Glad.” She says smoothly, going in for another kiss. This time she lingers, her lips lasting for a moment longer on his.

Vanessa’s fingers brush against his neck, she traces the outline of one last bruise left on the side below his ear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” she smiles coyly. “You two sure are weird.” She says flatly.

“Vanessa…”

“It’s fine. I know you know I still see him. It’s not like we agreed to be exclusive.” She taps her skinny fingers on his chest.

“But we are trying aren’t we? To make this work?”

“You aren’t trying very hard, are you?” the amusement in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook.

“He cheated on you, Vanessa. Why are you still seeing him? I thought you said he has a girlfriend now?”

Vanessa pauses her tapping on his chest, her eyes go wide for a second. Like, for a second she wasn’t void of emotion.

“He does.” She says smoothly before she begins tapping her fingers against his chest again.

“He cheated on me with this girl.” She admits, “Little does this bitch know—”

“Is that healthy? Getting revenge?” Jungkook asks, concern lacing his voice.

Vanessa continues to tap her fingers as she narrows her eyes at Jungkook.

“You want to talk to me about what’s healthy?” her empty laugh fills the room.

“I want you to stop.” Jungkook’s hands go to her hips, “Let’s be exclusive, Vanessa.”

“I can’t stop…” she whispers softly, “I can’t let go.”

Jungkook observes Vanessa for a few moments, she looks as vulnerable as she did the first time she talked about her ex with him. He feels sorry for her. He really does want her to move on, for her own sake.

“You can move forward, Vanessa. You have me.”

Vanessa looks into his eyes, studying his serious expression. She can tell he means well but…she doesn’t have him. She never will.

“Please Vanessa, we can make this work.” He begs, yes begs.

Vanessa tilts her head to the side. Oh? This must be his desperation talking, she thinks. His desperation to get over you. She knows this. And she doesn’t hold it against him and instead she decides to help him.

“Okay, let’s make this work.”

~~~~~~~

y/n 8:09pm

On a scale of 1-10 how bad do you wanna watch spirited away right now?

Jungkook 8:15pm

11 girl don’t play

y/n 8:16pm

I thought so, I think this means you need to come over and watch it w meeee

Jungkook 8:20pm

Lemme shower and I’ll be over:)

y/n 8:22pm

Bring beer pllllssss

Jungkook 8:42pm

On my way

y/n 8:45pm

Drive safe bb

It’s around 9pm exactly when you hear soft knocking on the front door. You scurry towards the door and open it, finding Jungkook on the other side. He is wearing your favorite gray puma sweat suit and his hair is wavy and damp. He smiles at you when he sees you eyeing him up and down.

“Like what you see?” he teases.

“Wow, what a classic line Jungkook. Real original.” You scoff, letting the boy through.

Jungkook walks in, setting down a case of beer on the breakfast table.

“I brought our favorite.” He gestures towards the beer on the table. “Let’s drink it while it’s nice and chilly.”

“Agreed. I already have the movie set up.” You point towards the T.V “Ready for our viewing pleasure.”

“Where’s Holly?” Jungkook takes two beers from the case, handing one over to you.

“Her and Trina went out to some bar, I didn’t feel like going.” You take the beer and twist off the cap, Jungkook does the same. You two clank the bottles together in cheers and take a few sips.

“Ah.” You say, the refreshing beer making you feel well, refreshed.

“Because you don’t feel like going to a bar? Or because you would rather hang out with me?” Jungkook smirks, taking another sip of his beer.

“Because I didn’t feel like getting pretty.” You bring the beer to your lips, but you don’t drink from the bottle, just waiting for a response instead.

“You’re always pretty.”

You take a sip of the beer, feeling satisfied with his response. “I know.” You half joke.

“Let’s go to a bar.” Jungkook blurts out.

“W-What?”

“Let’s go in our lounge clothes.” He smiles, “Let’s just do it.”

“No!” you laugh out, “We look like slobs. Well, I do. You look…” your hand motions towards his body, “You know, you look…”

“Are you trying to say I’m hot, y/n?” Jungkook’s sly smile grows as he drinks his beer.

“You know what I mean.” You huff out.

“Well, I think the same of you. So let’s go.”

You can’t help but laugh, you continue to drink your beer back, the liquid settling nicely.

“Okay. Fuck it, let’s do it.” You can’t help but grin, the idea of going to a bar in yoga pants and a t shirt with your sort of best friend sounds so great to you.

“But maybe a little makeup…” Jungkook starts chuckling as you hit his arm with your fist.

“Shut up.”

The bar is mostly pretty casual, maybe not as casual as you and Jungkook but still casual.

Only a small handful of people are actually dressed nicely, but mostly are in jeans and nice shirts. Somehow Jungkook is still the hottest guy here. Even in his sweat suit. You’re surprised you two even got let in, does this place not have some sort of dress code? Guess not.

It’s pretty loud inside, the place has a live band and a decent dance floor. You and Jungkook head towards the bar and take your seats.

The bartender takes a few minutes to reach you two and when she does she automatically nods at Jungkook for his order.

“Two long islands please.” He says, he smirks towards you and you smile back. Long islands? Oh you’re getting drunk drunk tonight.

“You got it.” She smiles at him with all her teeth, and turns around to start mixing the drinks.

“Long islands, huh?” you rest your head in your hand on the bar top.

“I figure neither of us are driving tonight, we might as well go hard.” Jungkook smiles at you. “I’ll buy this first round?”

“Sounds good to me.” You bump fists with Jungkook with a wide smile. “Wanna make a bet?”

“What’s that?” Jungkook quirks a brow at you.

“I bet you $5 that by the end of the night the bartender will hit on you.”

“But I also bet $5 that the bartender will hit on me.” Jungkook pouts.

You stare at him in disbelief at his cockiness and you burst out into giggles.

“Fair enough.” You say between laughs.

The bartender slides two drinks to you and Jungkook, she twists and twirls her hair in her fingers as she asks Jungkook how it tastes. He takes a sip and gives her a thumbs up, you can’t help but snicker.

“Can we also get two tequila shots?” you wave at the bartender. She turns to face you and frowns.

“Sure.” She puts on a fake smile and turns to fill up two shot glasses with tequila. She sets them in front of you a Jungkook and tells you the amount due.

“Tequila shots? Are we trying to fucking die tonight?” Jungkook chuckles from beside you. He grabs two limes and hands you one.

“To us.” You say, lifting your shot in the air.

“To you.” Jungkook whispers as you clank glasses and throw back the shots.

Holy shit, you are fucking wasted. After several tequila shots and a few long islands you and Jungkook are barely holding on. Okay, fine. It’s not that bad. But you guys are really drunk!

His hand hasn’t left your waist for hours, and it feels so fucking nice. It feels perfect. It feels right.

“y/n?” a voice calls out to you. You know this voice, really well in fact.

“Taehyung!” you cheer. You stumble forward and go in for a high five and his drunk ass high fives you back.

“Fancy seeing you again.” You giggle.

Jungkook’s hand grips your waist tighter as he narrows his eyes at Taehyung.

“What do you mean again?” Jungkook asks, his voice low.

“We ran into each other at my friend Yoongi’s” you slur out.

“Hi Jungkookie.” Taehyung awkwardly sways back and forth, his words also slurred. It’s obvious he’s on the same level as drunk as you.

“…Hey.” Jungkook hesitates to respond, he looks between you two. “y/n…is this okay? Talking to him?”

“Hm? Oh? Yeah.” You stare at Jungkook blankly. Why wouldn’t it be, you think.

“Jungkook, maybe we could talk just the two of us?”

You look between the boys and somehow you feel yourself sobering up just a bit.

“Uh. I’ll go to the bathroom.” You say, already walking away.

“You know how sorry I feel.” Taehyung begins, “About everything.”

“What’s everything?” Jungkook mumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry for what I did to y/n. But I am also sorry for holding your secret over you like that to keep mine.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook slurs out, “That was fucked up.”

“I miss you guys…” Taehyung takes a sip of his drink, “Even Jimin barely talks to me.”

“Shouldn’t have messed with our girl.”

“You mean, your girl.” Taehyung drunkenly corrects Jungkook.

“Whatever.”

“Seriously man, when are you just going to grow the fucking balls?” Taehyung raises his voice just a bit, “It’s clear how you both feel—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about man, plus I have a girlfriend now—”

“You guys are official now?” You walk up to the boys, cutting in. You feel like maybe he’s just saying that.

“y/n…yeah, we just made it official.” Jungkook admits, running a hand through his hair, sighing out in frustration.

Oh. You feel your heart begin to crumble. They’re dating for real now?

“Do you have feelings for her?” You blurt out.

Jungkook shifts from one foot to another, he breathes in and out in and out. He bites on his bottom lip, thinking of how to respond.

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“Well, I’m going to head back to my friends…” Taehyung butts in awkwardly. “It was nice seeing you two.” And with that he’s slipping away in the crowd.

“Wanna dance?” you say, trying your best to change the subject. You decide you don’t want to know his answer.

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles at you, he reaches for your hand and you squeeze his tightly. You guide him to the dance floor, the song is a slow one. You two look at one another but there’s nothing awkward about this. He guides your arms to wrap around his neck and his hands circle around your waist, he pulls you in close as you two sway to the music.

“Never go 3 months without me again.” You whisper into his neck.

“W-Why are you bringing that up now?”

“I have to keep my eyes on you, Jungkook. Without my supervision you go off and get yourself a girlfriend.” Your drunken words pierce his heart.

“Is that a problem?” He whispers back. “Yes, a big problem.” You lean back to get a look at his face, he’s already staring down at you, he somehow brings you in even closer.

“Whys that?” He breathes out.

“Want you all for myself.” You admit, drunk words are sober thoughts right?

“You want me baby?” Jungkook leans down until he’s so close, like he cannot control it.

“Yes.” You blink up at him, your lips parted.

The song changes but you two continue to dance like it’s a slow song.

“I bet you $5 that some guy will hit on you in the next couple of minutes.”

You tilt your head and drunkenly giggle, “I highly doubt that.”

Jungkook reaches in his back pocket and hands you a five dollar bill.

“What’s this f—”

“You’re so fucking beautiful” and then his lips are just a mere inch away from yours before he’s pulling back with a look of horror and guilt plastered on his face.

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m with Vanessa now. I’m just drunk. I’m really drunk. You’re really drunk. We don’t know what we’re doing.” He drunkenly rambles.

You feel your heart sink down into your lower belly, you feel it crack and break into a million pieces. That’s right. Vanessa. He’s making it work with that girl.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“You’re my best friend y/n.” Jungkook slurs out, “I’m trying so hard not to ruin that.”

You only nod your head.

“Let’s go home.” You say.

~~~~~~

Your bed is comfy as ever, especially this drunk. Jungkook takes his shirt off and slips into the sheets, settling next to you.

“Wanna cuddle?” he offers.

“I don’t know if Vanessa would like that.” You slur.

“Right.” Jungkook lays on his back, his arms folding beneath his head. “Should I sleep in the living room?”

“No. I want you here.” You admit between soft breaths. “I always want you here.” You yawn out.

“Good.” Jungkook reaches out to hold you, “I don’t think Vanessa will mind if I cuddle my best friend for just five minutes.”

“Five minutes only” you tease. You shuffle closer to him, his warmth escaping his body and clinging to yours.

You two fall asleep like this. Morning comes slowly, like the world is giving you a chance to really appreciate one another’s company. Like the world knows that moments like this are so hard to come by. Like the world knows that you two need this.

When you wake up the next day, its half past noon. You’re still in Jungkook’s arms while he is dead asleep. You nuzzle into his chest and thank the world for giving you this moment. This moment to embrace him like he is yours, a moment to kiss his cheek like he is yours, a moment to whisper you love him like he is yours.

But he isn’t. He isn’t yours and that’s the reality. But you thank the world nonetheless. Because you need these moments to stay sane. But how do you two always end up like this? Can you keep blaming the alcohol? He tried to kiss you last night and that’s also the reality.

Jungkook wanted to kiss you. Can he keep saying it’s just because he’s drunk?

But he’s with Vanessa now and you have to respect that. And you will respect that.

You thank the world though, that right now he’s in your arms, breathing your air, and sharing this moment. Just you and him.

Finally, after another half hour Jungkook begins to stir in his sleep.

You stare at him as he wakes up and his sleepy eyes find yours.

“G’morning.” His voice is low and raspy and you want to swoon.

“Hi.”

“We…” he looks between your bodies. “Didn’t do anything, right?”

You feel your chest tighten, “No, Jungkook.” You answer calmly.

“Okay…” Jungkook frowns, “We can’t keep doing this, can we?”

Somehow you know exactly what he’s talking about, you can’t keep building this tension between you two. It goes nowhere.

“No” You admit softly, “We can’t.”

You think about Jimin’s words…could Jungkook…? But you don’t want to jump to happy conclusions, put yourself out there and then be wrong. But he tried to fucking kiss you. The girls were right, is this really all for you? You can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for you. “We really can’t.” you say again.

Jungkook smiles, but its soft and sad and makes you want to kiss his pouting lips until he shows you a real smile but you can’t.

“I’m sorry about last night.” Jungkook moves to his back, he stares up at the ceiling.

“I was just really drunk.” He continues, “Drunk me is wild.” He chuckles awkwardly.

“Is that really an excuse anymore?” you feel brave enough to say.

“y/n…”

“Forget it. We’re okay.”

“Are we?” Jungkook moves back to his side, facing you. He gives you a troubled look and you melt. Why are you always melting because of this man?

“Yeah. What’s more important is that your birthday is next week…”

“Oh yeah.”

“Can I be in charge of your party?”

“I don’t want a party, just a couple of friends.”

“Let me host it!”

“Okay, fine.” Jungkook smiles, “I can’t wait.”

“Do I have to invite Vanessa?”

“y/n.” Jungkook groans.

“Kidding!” you sing. Although, you aren’t entirely sure that you’re just kidding.

“It would be nice if you could plan this with Vanessa actually…she mentioned wanting to do something nice for my birthday too.” He sort of whispers out, like he didn’t want you to actually hear.

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what to say. You obviously don’t want co-host a get together with Vanessa but she is his girlfriend after all.

“Fine.”

You and Vanessa? Let’s see how this goes.

[kanotototori]

Chapter 97-1 Thoughts (Part 2)

(Continued from Part 1.)

A quick Nora aside: it was validating, in a way, to see Hiyori acknowledge that Nora and Father have a bond - and even she is confused about whether it is a master/servant bond or a parent/child bond. I'd say it's not completely one way or the other - Father's bond with Nora and Yato both crosses between the lines of "tool" and "family" in a lot of confusing and complex ways, and I think Father and Nora's bonding moments in this chapter showed that perfectly: Nora is both a child and a means to an end.

(Now I must bring up this extremely niche meme I made a while ago because yeah that pretty much sums up my entire thoughts on the debate of "what does Father really feel for Mizuchi and Yato?"

The answer: it's complicated.)

Next: finally, we got follow-up on Father saying that he did kill gods in the past, way back from Chapter 87 - which means this puts us pre-Yato timeline wise, Father's first foray into fucking shit up post-Pockmarks death (at least, I'm assuming).

I already said this on Twitter when the leaks dropped but Father's tattered outfit - the sleeveless koromo with the white kosode with the torn sleeves - puts this scene together with Yomi flashback and the below scene from 96-1 outfit-wise.

Also, I was looking at Father laughing here and kept getting the feeling it looked familiar. Well, I think I figured out the reason why: 

The "I'm so glad I took him to that fridge!" scene.

(Put down your pitchforks, I know.)

Though we can't see his face in 97, here he looks similarly ecstatic.

This page came immediately after Father talking about how Mizuchi doesn't hate Heaven but Hagusa split the Heavens, and how maybe now Father can go farther with him than he could with Yato and Mizuchi; if Father's recollection of his first time destroying a god with Chiki was the first time he realized he does have a fighting chance against gods (thus his delight), then the above page must have been a similar moment - less about laughing about Yukine's fate, but more about the fact that, for the first time in centuries after countless years of fruitless destruction, he has a fighting chance against Heaven.

Full circle. 

A really interesting remark that I'm not quite sure what to make of. The word for salvation that Father uses (救 sukui) is part of the word "savior" in the chapter title  (救主 sukuinushi) - is this the sort of liberation that Chiki's Liberation offers? Father has already stated that the beings resulting from the revealing of GGS are a person's karma, giving this power overt Buddhist overtones. 

@nyappytown​ and I talk about this quite a lot: the idea that souls have been trapped in the Far Shore and are prevented from moving on by the shinki system, an artificial roadblock in the natural cycle of reincarnation - in Chapter 81, Father even says that shinkis' disinterest in themselves stems from the way that they are "made".

Is "Liberation" the way in which a soul's karma is processed? Is "salvation" being released from an unnatural state of servitude, back into the cycle? Lots to think about. 

"Even though disaster and conflict are things Heaven can inflict on people."

I have a feeling this quote directly correlates to the scene we saw last chapter (96-1). We've got the disaster (fire) and we've got conflict (corpses, one of them looks like it's been tied to a post or a tree.)

The fact that we still haven't seen Pockmarks's lower half even though we've seen the exact same scene twice already is making me nervous. I am not ready for Adachitoka to drop that bomb on us. 

The fact that Hiyori and Nora had like, the exact same face to Yato/Father putting their neck on the line and going on a suicide mission is killing me. 

Here’s a few more.

"I'll protect you, so come hide with me!" / "Just forget about your father and come home! Don't you go anywhere!"

These two, man, I swear to god.

"Father has grown tired of life outside of the spotlight."

This feels like it's a direct follow up to the end page of Chapter 63: Ecstasy (above), in which Father prompts Bishamon to make herself a target to draw attention away from Yato and "create a shadow in which [they] will lurk."

And who exactly will burn bright until their body evaporates so that all of Heaven will look away from Yato (and his failure to kill Father)?!

GAHHHH. Adachitoka kills me. They are too good!!!!!

Father feels like quite the static character - which he has been, for the most part, because his journey prior to the start of the series has already taken place! - but this...

This.

I believe we are seeing a character progression moment right now.

Because, like Father himself implied, he has been in the shadows the entire time. His line to Bishamon in 63 (above), his line to Mizuchi in Ch 50 about "what makes the man behind the curtain so cool is the fact that he works in the shadows."

Well, not anymore.

And finally, the panel I have been avoiding up until now: 

I admit that I've been following discussion about this panel quite closely and... ehhh. I don't know! Yesterday I was all up in the Discord server like, "am I going crazy? Am I supposed to be thinking Father is worse than Heaven because gods actually care about the Near Shore? Am I seeing a narrative setting up a discussion on systemic violence that's just not there???? Is my entire analysis of Father wrong??? What the hell is going on right now??"

So I guess this is more of a thought coming out of the chapter - and the takes I’ve been seeing floating around - rather than a chapter thought, per se:

What lens are people reading this story through? The answer to this for a lot of people seems to be "Child Abuse: The Manga" which is entirely FAIR because a lot of the manga concerns this, the main protagonist is so deeply affected by it that we, as readers cannot help but examine the manga through that lens of analysis. 

But it feels like that view also puts a weird binary on the narrative - "you are either a victim or you are a the perpetrator of violence, and the latter is the absolute evil" - when Noragami's power dynamics very often blur and cross the line between those two categories, between victim and perpetrator. 

If Noragami in its entirety was "(Child) Abuse: the Manga", where does that put major characters that haven't experienced abuse but are still incredibly important to the plot? Bishamon, Kazuma, Takemikazuchi, Ebisu...? Noragami is more of a "Cycle of Violence: the Manga" or "Trauma Fucks You Up: the Manga", in which the characters' relationship to "victim" vs. "perpetrator" is... complicated. 

Gods hold power over humans, yet humans are the reason why they can exist in the first place; a master holds power over a shinki, yet their shinki shape their existence and teach them right from wrong. I think we are absolutely supposed to feel sympathy for the plight of individuals gods (Kofuku, Bishamon, and now the Execution Squad gods) as victims but also acknowledge that they hold power over humans as well, and the harm that comes from their hand is not something that can be dismissed, ESPECIALLY when it comes about as a result of Heaven's ideology - considering that is the MAIN perpetrator of cycles violence in this series, directly or indirectly being the main catalyst for pretty much every event in the series, starting with whatever happened to Father.

My point is, I think Father should be understood in a similar way when it comes to the broader context of the story.

It was Father, after all, who made the comparison of humanity being like abused children, clinging to their parents (gods) - right on top of the page where Father sets the wolves on Yato, right after a page where we see a skeleton in the grass and Father holding Pockmarks's body. In a story that features abuse so heavily, I don't think Adachitoka would write these two pages for Father so lightly - the constant monologuing about abandonment/the concept of being saved/salvation, Father being human yet comparing gods to abusive parents...

Father (humanity) as the powerless victim, gods as the perpetrators; in the same breath, Yato (gods) as the powerless victim, Father (humanity) as the perpetrator. Father's role as the perpetrator of violence should absolutely not be forgotten, but neither should his role as a victim of Heaven's cycle of violence. What Father does out of anger absolutely makes the cycle go round, but the anger itself is a testament to pain that shouldn't be ignored, because it comes out something much bigger - and it's not as simple as "someone he loved died."

And with that, I will wrap things up! Until next time, folks.

[spencessmile]

Page 143

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary - Spencer finds your journal.

Warnings - Depression, thoughts of suicide, self-harm, mentions of death, & angst.

Please know that you are NEVER alone. There are people who love you. Don't be afraid to ask for help. YOU. ARE. WORTH. IT. I LOVE YOU.

Word Count - 1.3 K

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don't steal my work and/or post it without my consent. Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading!

{Part 1 of 2}

Requests are CLOSED!

**

When you didn’t answer the door Spencer slid his spare key into the lock, turning the knob, closing the door, and setting the bag of food down on the table, as he switched on the lights.

“Y/n, you home? It’s Spencer,” Nothing. It was quiet.

Spencer knew you were having a rough couple of days so he decided to drop by bringing some rental movies and food; he knew you loved your cheesy rom coms and Thai takeout.

Spencer walked to your bedroom door, pushing it open as he noticed case files were spread across the floor. Your desk night lamp was on, with a half cup of black coffee sitting beside it.

In all the years that Spencer had known you, he definitely realized one thing about you quickly; you were messy. You were not an organized or neat person. You kept things all over the place and it was beyond Spencer’s comprehension, on how you ever found anything.

Spencer maneuvers his way through your mess, as he grasps your blinds, pushing them apart letting in the morning sun as it illuminates the dark colour scheme in the bedroom. He cracks open the window for a breeze.

Spencer sighs, looking around your room. Your go-to bag was stationed beside your bed, where it always is. Your work phone was sitting on your nightstand beside a glass, Spencer raised the glass and a strong dose of whiskey filled his nose. He noticed a pile of clothes besides your closet, which was most likely weeks of unwashed and dirty clothing.

Spencer dug his hand into his jacket pockets, as he stood amongst your disaster, he felt as if your room was staring back at him, yelling ‘clean me’.

Spencer knew you’d be super pissed at him for touching anything of yours. You liked your stuff messy; whether that be your desk space at work, your apartment, your room, or even your life. You didn’t like it when people picked at it.

Spencer couldn’t help it as he shuffled through your room, wrapping your case files and organizing them alphabetically. He grabbed your laundry basket, dropped all your clothes in as he dumped them into the washer, and added a little extra soap. He made his way to your kitchen, putting all your dishes in the dishwasher. Next, Spencer went to turn off your night light but accidentally knocked over a pile of books sitting next to your open laptop.

As he reached down to pick the books up, his eyes glanced over to a small leather book. He slowly reached for it, his hands meet a soft velvet texture. Spencer turned it over to read the words ‘This Is Who I Am’ written in cursive. His eyes moved to the right-hand side where your initials were carved.

This wasn’t a book.

It was your journal.

Spencer didn’t think much of it, he placed it on the side of the desk, reaching for the other books. Once Spencer collected your books, he placed them back on your desk, he quickly turned around but halted his steps as something fell making a loud thud noise. He noticed your journal on the floor again but this time it was opened.

Spencer reached down to pick it up, but he couldn’t help notice it was dated two days ago along with the time.

No, he shouldn’t.

He can’t possibly read what you’ve written in your journal. Those are your thoughts. Thoughts that belonged solely to you. That wasn’t anyone else’s business. Not even his; definitely not his.

He can’t do this.

He couldn’t do this to you.

But the longer Spencer stared at the journal, the urge to read it spread through his body. His eyes already read the first sentence.

The damage was done.

He looked over towards the door and then back down at the journal. He pulled out your chair, turned your nightline on, and began reading.

December 15, 2019 | 4:18 AM |

I can’t walk without wanting to fall apart. Im breaking. I can feel myself falling to pieces; all over again. Nothing is working. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t do this all over again. I barely made it out alive the first time around. I didn’t fight the last time; I was pulled out.

My mind is dark, cloudy and it’s always raining down on me. It’s a shitstorm up in there. I can feel myself slipping away from my own hands. I can’t grasp onto anything. I'm starting to feel blank, nothing. I can’t feel the hot water from the hour-long showers that burn at my skin. The boiling hot coffee when I over pour my cup. The rain when I stand outside as I let it drown me in my darkness. The warmth of some random strangers smiling as they pass me on the street. The morning sun that used to light up my insides, only makes me want to hideaway. Or even my own laughter when I pretend everything is okay for a split second.

I can’t breathe.

When I stand I can’t feel my own legs, I spend days on the floor. I lay there feeling lifeless, worthless, a burden to this world. I hate the person I see in the mirror.

I hate her. The problem is; no one hates me more than I hate myself.

She is a twisted dark person.

I have no control.

I’ve spent days and nights gripping the bottle tightly, sometimes it’s the only thing I look at. I opened it once, I dropped one into my palm and stared at it for what felt like years. I hate myself but I can never get myself to take it down. Why not? What twisted part of me still wants to live? To still be here? What is there to live for? Who is there to live for?

I’m drowning in the emptiness of nothing.

My job. My job. My job.

What the hell am I supposed to say when someone tells me I saved their life but I can barely keep mine intact. Do I say your welcome? Should I have wrapped my arm around them and held them tightly enough to make myself feel whole again? Instead, I smiled at them and said ‘you keep fighting, alright?’

I go out there and I do my job so damn well that no one knows what happens when I'm alone. But how much longer? How much longer before I crash and burn in front of them? Until they figure it out? Once they do, they'll try to help; no one can help me now. Who will they be trying to save? One of them is already on to me. I already get broken looks from them. I get sidelined and benched. They have no idea who’s dying behind that smiling face. But I love them, my God, do I love them. They are the only family I’ve ever had but I can’t tell them. I can’t drag them down with me. I love them so for my sake and theirs, im letting them go.

I stand in the line of fire without a fear. I don’t shake. I don’t tremble. I don’t blink.

Stand tall, without fear, without hate. Maybe next time I’ll do …

One less soul makes the earth a little bit lighter, right?

Spencer felt his eyes burn, the tears rolled down his cheeks.

No.

No.

[impossible-rat-babies]

morning after (junebug)

fallen hero | 3.6k words | chargestep (nb!step + m!ortega) | cw: brief suicidal ideation mentions + blood/gore mentions + mild suggestive mentions

most below the cut!

--

Pollux grumbles and grunts, hiking his pants up and over slim hips in a smooth motion, adjusting them around his waist once they’re buttoned and zipped up. His hip smarts a touch and he shift his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his ankle. It clicks like always does, his knee bowing and he straightens his foot to correct.

He smooths his hair back and off his neck into a meager bun, poking around at the mess of a bedroom they left the night before. Clothes tossed aside, socks rumpled on the floor next to one of Ortega’s expensive button downs in a rumpled heap. Pollux kicks it towards the overflowing laundry basket.

The sunrise from the open blinds washes the room in oranges and reds made more brilliant and saturated through the layers of industrial grime hanging over the city like a thick fog. It leaves a promise of a hot day to come, what with the heat haze already rippling out on the distant horizon; the sharp shine off the skyscrapers will wobble and wane by the time noon hits. It’s getting hotter with each summer, the AC straining and ceiling fans spinning.

Pollux reaches out and half closes the blinds and shut the curtains, turning the bedroom from orange and red to filtered blues and whites. He grabs his tank top from off the floor, mumbling to himself as he pulls it on. His sweater somehow ended up on the dresser and—

No wait, he remembers that one.

Dresser digging into his lower back, hands scrambling past the nice buttons on Ortega’s fancy shirt to feel his skin under his hands, heart pounding under his palm. Lips bruised from the dozens of kisses they had shared already from the front door to the hallway (oh the things that happened in that hallway). Ortega tasting like a thunderhead of ozone before a storm and sip of expensive whiskey.

He’d tried his best to not knock over any of the photographs--couldn’t say the same of Ortega of course--so he corrects one of them and straightens another. He tries not to look too hard at the seven year old faces staring back at him with wide toothy careless smiles. Ranger blue and sidestep teal as they started calling that particular brand of eye burning blue green.

A watch sits discarded next to his own rings; he slips those back on, flexing his crackling joints. A half empty bottle of cologne sits still knocked over. Pollux fixes that too and his fingers come away with the rich scent that will stay wash after wash—stuck in the splits of his nails and his fingerprints. Pollux rolls his shoulders, unconsciously rubbing the scar that’s there; the joint clicks and he grimaces.

There’s a creak as the bed shifts and Pollux yanks his sweater on over his head and glances back. He still remembers who this house belongs to, who is stirring in the bed.

Ortega’s legs move, fine white sheets sliding with him and his bare leg—ankle to calf to knee to the line of his thigh and oh is that a little hickey on the inside of his thigh?—slips out from under the sheet.

He wipes his wrinkling face, scratching his beard, his chest heaving with a deep breath and an even heavier sigh. Ortega’s hand drops, and his brown eyes blink open, blurry and bleary until the spot him. He turns his head, a sleepy smile turning his lips.

Pollux’s breath catches and stalls in his chest and oh Ortega knows what all those little motions do to him. How the sheets are dipping down his stomach, past his hips and—

It’s downright nasty what the sight is doing to Pollux’s stomach. It’s worse as he stretches, back arching and Pollux swallows hard.

Asshole.

“Morning...” Ortega’s voice is low, thick with gravely warmth.

“Hey lover boy.” Pollux replies smoothly, his voice surprisingly even as he adjusts his sweater.

“You’re leaving?” Ortega asks quietly, blinking more life into his expression.

“Can’t be languid in bed all day like you can.”

Pollux sits down on the bed beside him, sinking in close. Ortega reaches out like he’s an anchor, a weighty hand settling on his hip, thumb testing the hem of his shirt. Can never keep his hands to himself, huh?

“It’s only for a few more hours. It’s not even nine am yet, you know.”

Pollux rolls his eyes, leaning over top of him, trapping him in with a hand pressing into the bed beside his hip. His bare hip and Pollux rests his hand against him instead.

“And…?”

“That’s when reasonable people get up?”

Ortega is fishing, his hand creeping further up under Pollux’s shirt. Does he know the difference between skin, scar and tattoo just by the touch of his fingertips? His middle finger finds a gap between scars, trailing along sensitive skin. He’s kissed him there, that spot where hip meets thigh—left behind a welt and an aching reminder that not all kisses taste sweet.

It’s just like any other temptation. Pollux isn’t opposed to laying in bed for a few more hours (plans can be canceled easily when he’s his own boss), but there’s still the nagging little corner of his mind that tells him no. Don’t give into the temptation.

But, Ortega is so easy to want, especially with the grin he’s giving him, so familiar to the old parts of his brain. Pollux is relearning not to hate that face, to not thinks it’s a good place to punch him. He used to think about that a lot: punching him in that pleasing picture perfect toothy smile Ortega boasts.

Pollux is so used to his hands inflicting pain, knuckles tight (make sure to keep your thumb outside a clenched fist was what they first taught him) fingers taut. But Ortega keeps catching his viciously thrown fists, slipping his fingers into his white knuckle hold to spread his trembling hand apart. To lace their fingers together with hopelessly honest words like he won’t let him leave again—not without a fight.

He’s pulling his teeth, but Pollux handed him the tools to do that long ago. The ‘please tell me it’s okay to stop doing this, please tell me that you’ll stop me and that you’ll forgive me. You’ll be the only one who will forgive me and I can die happy if you’re the only goddamn one who will forgive him.’

He’s giving him a closed hand and Ortega’s taken more than that—tip toe up a scar to his elbow and around to touch his shoulder; he’s given so much more than just his hand and its infectious--terminal just under the skin.

Like the bruises be-speckling just above the barcode, or the naughtier line across the curve of his breast he spotted when he woke up. Or the ache in his thighs and more importantly the memories he’ll keep when the marks fade. Brown eyes in the dark, sharing the same air.

There’s marks on Ortega’s neck too, little dark purple oblong shapes Pollux left behind; he can’t count the number of times he’s kissed that one spot on the side of his neck. The dip next to his Adam’s apple, where he feels his pulse skip beneath his tongue and lips and the breathy exhale that always follows. A pleased hum and his voice asking him to keep going.

“You say that now...” Pollux tells him softly, curtains of red and peppered grey curls falling down the side of his neck, brushing against Ortega’s chest.

“Okay what if I promised that it was only going to be a few hours?” Ortega curls a little ringlet around his pinky finger.

Doubt fills Pollux’s face.

“Oh come on now, Lux...we can get up after a few hours and I’ll make us both some breakfast--whatever you want. And then, if you like, you can leave and I’ll only ask for one kiss.” He offers as a compromise, the look he’s giving far too earnest for it to be anywhere close to the truth.

“Only one kiss?” Pollux raises a brow. He traces Ortega’s cheek and he’s so warm it’s like the sun gathered beneath his skin.

“Well...if it’s just one long kiss, that counts right?”

“That’s called making out.”

“Not like you’ve had issues in the past making out in the front door where all my neighbors could see.”

Pollux groans.

“Last time I agree to something like that--”

“It’s not like that time you agreed to make out with me in the backseat of a taxi cab…”

“That was *one* time. And we were both drunk.”

He remembers how they both almost fell off the roof of the Ranger’s headquarters that night, juggling warm beers and half a bottle of fancy tequila they kept passing back and forth.

Ortega grins and oh no…

“We should try that again—get a cab to nowhere, or something fancier than that, and make out in the back. Or you know we could--”

Words silenced by a sudden kiss and a sharp inhale. Ortega exhales through his nose smooshed against his cheek, mumbling something else and Pollux pulls him in sharper to silence him. He tastes like sunlight, his teeth and tongue tingling. A broad palm against his spine, coaxing him in closer, lips pulling him in deeper.

Pollux’s hand cups his cheek, brushing hair away from his ear and along to the back of his neck. The first port of his magnificent spine against his palm and he grabs a handful of his hair. Ortega isn’t the only one who can pull and push and the little pleased sound he catches between his lips tastes delightful—potent. Honeyed lips and curses breathed against wet lips.

Pollux wants to keep holding him like this, have just a little taste of tender heat, the threat of a hand hovering over a lit stove, or letting a match burn down to the tips of his nicotine stained fingertips. Run his fingers over Ortega—touch, feel, taste, map—until he’s reminded that he can’t have this forever. He can’t keep dangling off the edge of a precipice, not when he craves how the wind feels rushing up to meet him during the blessed free fall.

“I guess I should talk like that more if you’ll kiss me like that again...” Ortega mumbles when Pollux pulls away and he snorts, shaking his head.

“Next time I’ll just tell you go shove it.” Pollux huffs against his lips, closing an eye as Ortega brushes a stray curl from out of his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah--I know.”

Arms easily wrap around him and pull him back down into the bed and Pollux grumbles, letting it happen and he buries his face into the side of Ortega’s neck. His own scratchy stubbly cheek presses against his rough skin. He smells like day old cologne. He’s warm—secure.

“You’ll still kiss me though?” Ortega mumbles against the side of his head and Pollux groans, tilting his head to look him in the eye. Brown eyes so deep he could drown.

“Your beard is scratchy...”

Ortega snorts.

“Your face is the one that’s scratchy--I take good care of my beard. When was the last time you shaved?” He rubs his chin against his forehead to tease and Pollux curses.

“God, fuck--shut up, quit rubbing your face on me and go back to sleep pretty boy.” He insists and Ortega laughs, pulling him back in.

--

They tumble out of bed a few hours later, Pollux righting his sweater and redoing his belt as he meanders down the short hallway and out into the living room. It’s brighter out and he squints, lazily tucking his hands up and underneath of his sweater to hide them.

He follows Ortega, eyes skimming over the leftover plates and a glass mug left on the coffee table. His battered cigarette box and matchbook sits beside a weeks old newspaper and an old Time magazine. He still gets them biweekly?

He pauses at one of the large glass windows, curtains only half closed. He brushes it open. The sun pounds against the glass and Pollux squints his eyes against the shimmering heat rolling off the high rise buildings towards the west. The shoot high into the sky, more following further until the cracked spine of the coast turns to failed developments and old chain link fence guarded ruins.

A few palm trees needing a good grooming, their fronds dipping low with the heat, the tops sun bleached beige. Just about the only plant that grows well here, save for the scrubby evergreen like trees and whatever people are willing to waste water on keeping alive. 

At least it’s a clear-ish day, the sky more blue than sickly yellow or congested grey today. It’ll only last a few more weeks before the winds die down and the city is left to cook alive in its industrial smog.

Further out towards the west, Pollux can almost see the shimmer of the ocean, a line of white hugging the horizon. Beneath that are all new beach homes—folks willing to capitalize on the new growing beaches or what remains of the old. The sand comes back softer each year, the ocean carving away her shoals, eddys and tide pools. She’s had four decades to heal--but people remember forever.

Down below (don’t look too hard now Pollux) cars slip on by, the nosy honking of buses, taxis and surely the occasional motorist weaving through the lunch rush traffic.

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard.”

Pollux starts, taking a half step back from the window, eyes darting to Ortega. His brow scrunches, shyly holding the coffee cup out to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you--”

“No, it’s fine...” Pollux waves his hand. So what if he was thinking of how nice it would be to just lay on the hot asphalt road and wait for rush hour traffic to turn him into a wet smear? Which he wasn’t thinking about at all, no not at all.

Ortega looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, but gratefully he keeps his mouth shut.

“Coffee?” He offers and Pollux takes it with a quiet word of thanks. Ortega reaches up and pulls the curtains shut, removing the temptation.

“Are you okay?”

Pollux takes a sip and it burns his tongue, but he only shrugs. It’s as much of an answer as he’s willing to say; he isn’t up to the verbal chess match that staring longingly at a window would earn, the what he thinks he saw, or what he thinks he’s thinking about.

Ortega puts a hand on his shoulder before wrapping his arm around his shoulders instead. He places a kiss at the top of his head and mumbles something sweet and soft, guiding him away from the window and towards the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast, then?” He changes the subject so easily, giving Pollux the grace to pretend it doesn’t matter. “Or it is closer to lunch at this point. Whoops.” Ortega cringes, looking at the stove clock.

“You wanted to sleep in.” Pollux finds an unused countertop and he pulls himself up onto it. Ortega briefly gives him a look and Pollux responds in kind, Ortega giving up with a shake of the head, but the faintest of smiles. 

“What’s on the menu, lover boy? Lunch or breakfast?”

Ortega grabs a pan, twirling it around. “How about this: I’ll just make something and if you really hate it, we can get something ordered in.”

“A mystery brunch then?”

“More like lunch, but you’ve never complained.”

“At least food wise. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to complain otherwise.”

“Are you admitting you like my food?” Ortega looks over his shoulder at him from the fridge and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“Never said that I dislike your food, Ricky boy.” Pollux teases, hiding a smile behind his coffee. “Unless you count that one monstrosity you made.”

“Hey, that was partially your fault, Lux. I refuse to take the full blame for what happened to that poor casserole dish.”

“Wasn’t my recipe that you got wrong. And you let me play with your knives.”

“Mierda, I thought you were going to lose a finger.”

“Better than practically ruining your stove.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to explode like that?”

Pollux snickers, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling, his head hitting the upper cabinent.

“Is that a speck of food still stuck up there...?”

He doesn’t quite catch the dish towel that hits up in the side of his head, Ortega swearing at him and Pollux snorts. He chuckles the longer Ortega keeps making that face until he dissolves into laughter.

And he keeps laughing. Lips wide and bright, rarely seen smile lines breathing back to life.

Ortega is looking at him, he knows, but he can’t fit the placid frown back onto his face just yet--letting the smile linger on his cheeks and the crinkles of his crows feet. It feels good and Ortega is smiling at him.

“Hey, Lux...” Ortega’s voice is so tender. “I love you. I love you a lot.” 

He says quietly once Pollux’s laughter has faded, leaving behind the tingle of it in the air. How it used to be so easy for Pollux to start laughing--how it’s only just now that he’s laughed again. He’s been so quiet, so still.

“You know that, right?”

The smile falters and Pollux takes a long drink of his coffee, the cup a disguise for what he hasn’t whispered back--not when he can hear. 

“I know…” He mumbles like it’s a substitution all his own and he swallows down the bitter bite of coffee.

He’s murmured it, barely spoken it in the dark when he’s sure Ortega is asleep. He isn���t ready for that admission, not in the light like this. The sunshine from the kitchen window warms the back of his neck.

Ortega looks like he wants to say more. To keep reminding him of how much he cares, how much it matters that he’s back in his life, how he wants to make up for seven years of not saying ‘i love you’--it’s all just synonyms. 

How many times has Pollux said it without saying it, too? He knows a hundred different ways to say it without anyone but him knowing it.

(Asshole, or I care about you too, or will you let me take care of you for once in your life, or please give me an excuse so I don’t have to keep remembering how much I hate walking down these perpendicular paths, inches away from intersection. Or the simple way his name tastes on his tongue, or a nickname held so dearly between his lips, inches before a kiss.)

“I missed your laugh…” He does say those words and Pollux looks. He doesn’t know that for sure, especially when he looks at him as tender as freshly bruised knuckles.

Did he almost forget the sound of it? Had Ortega almost forgotten the sound of his voice, just like he almost forgot what he sounded like? Would it have been so tragic if he never heard his voice again, stuck with only the preserved opalescent amber of memory of a better time and a better place?

Surrendered to memory where his voice would waver into stilled silence, a cheap copy of the voice in Ortega’s head. Or stuck in old photographs and newspaper clippings, or old news reels and private videos. He thought that stupid handheld clunky camcorder Ortega carried around was the worst thing ever. How many did he break? He can’t remember.

“I know.” Pollux replies just as gently, like trying not to press too hard against the bruises of memory, but he’s heavy handed--clunky and broken. What else can he say?

“Thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Someone should. You put up with me.”

Ortega pauses, turning to look at Pollux. Trying his hardest to see him.

“Because I want to Pollux--because I want this to work. Us to work.”

It’s so easy to say he can’t always be here—it’s the truth after all, nothing complicated about it. It won’t end up working out. But all that starts is arguments and he’s tired of them. 

(He’s just so tired all the damn time. tired of everything and maybe he’ll steal a motorcycle and weave through traffic until the inevitable happens.)

Pollux doesn’t dispute the point, he just nods when he feels Ortega looking at him. He doesn’t shy away when Ortega puts a hand on his waist and kisses the side of his head, his eyelid, the bridge of his nose. Mumbles another ‘i love you’ and Pollux hums when he steps away.

He sets the half empty cup aside, absentmindedly reaching under his sweater, thumbing the edge of a tattoo along his waist.

Last night Ortega brushed his thumb along the thick slick tapering edge. Pollux excused the strange face he’d made at the weird texture of it, but he didn’t excuse the kiss he placed when his lips followed his hands. 

Maybe later he’ll hold him like that again; when he comes over again in a few days and crawls into bed beside him and lets him touch him in the darkness. He’s not brave enough for the light yet, not when he’s still angry--still so hurt--over lost time.

Seven years--he doesn’t have seven more in him.

Pollux watches his back instead as he gets to cooking, half smiling as Ortega starts to hum, bobbing from foot to foot as the smell of lunch crowds the kitchen.

He murmurs, mostly to himself and it tastes like a shout at the back of his throat.

“I want it to work too. I really do.”

��

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 1

Thank you to the client for commissioning me! This is gonna be a long one! I love Joker and Persona 5 is my second favorite fandom after Danganronpa! Exctied to be working on this.

Around 2.6k words, SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader! - Admin Myah

Shujin Academy could be silent as the grave in the earliest hours of the morning, and yet seem so deafening. It was almost guaranteed that at least thirty new rumors were spreading throughout the student body at any given time, and the overwhelmingly hostile environment that created made the air heavy. With all the teenage angst, hormones, hatred, circles of venomous malice, it was no wonder so many loners could be spotted on academy grounds. That’s just how it was at Shujin: you either had a clique, or you had no one. It was no surprise, then, that you simply kept your head down, minded your business, and got to know no one. Miraculously, though, gossip abound about you still, at least two or three preposterous examples of hearsay and stories. But hey, what could you do? That was in all actuality, pretty low for a single Shujin student. God help the students who actually did make their opinions known, express themselves through clothing and cosmetics, and dared to swim against the current.

You shuffled through the first floor, the absolute blandness of that April morning perpetuating your usual routine: arrive at Shujin, check your locker, scribble down any notes and ideas that came to you in your dreams last night to put into your next short story, and of course check for new posts in the group chat, where your only friends resided. You wouldn’t be caught dead associating with anyone here at the school, it would simply be mental and social suicide, and quite frankly, you didn’t have the constitution for that.

Peeking up for a split second to avoid any collisions, you quickly slid to the left and ducked into a nearby alcove, successfully escaping the gaze of the oncoming wall of muscle and testosterone that was Coach Kamoshida, the plague of Shujin Academy. It was the best case scenario that Kamoshida remained ignorant to one’s very existence, for even those on his good side suffered the consequences. He strode by, shoulders wide and chest puffed out, scanning the halls for girls to harass or boys to intimidate, and once the coast was clear and he was a safe distance away, his back facing you, you dipped back out of the rather dusty corridor and back into the light, immediately slipping back into an almost mechanical daily ritual. It took mere seconds: phone screen unlocked, group chat opened, notebook slipped snuggly back under armpit.

“C’mon, man!” An obnoxiously loud voice rang out above the typical tinnitus-like buzz of the hallway, and suddenly your shoulder was thrust forward, body flying to the ground with a forceful shove on the shoulder.

“Aaagh!” Your voice cracked as your knees buckled and you collided roughly with the wooden panels below, your smartphone soaring out of your grip and clinking against the floor. Thank goodness your notebook was safe, at the very least. People gasped and turned to look at the spectacle, including Kamoshida himself, who’d just reached the end of the hall.

“Sakamoto! I see you running in the halls again, I’ll write you up!” He just always had to say something, let the general student body know he was in charge. He cared far more about sounding rough and tough than making sure the student who was just steam-rolled was uninjured. He pointed directly at you and the student that had just dashed by, effectively pummeling you to the ground with a shoulder check. You looked up and just ahead of you, Ryuji Sakamoto was pivoting on one foot, ignoring Kamoshida’s threat entirely to catch his breath and look down at his victim, splayed across the floor.

Ryuji Sakamoto, now that was one of those students mentioned earlier, the kind that dyed his hair, customized his uniform, and didn’t take shit from anyone. He was a pariah, pretty much the opposite of the teacher’s pet… teacher’s pest more like. Sakamoto was the subject of many falsehoods and conjectures, and he was sure to be trouble for anyone associated…

You looked him up and down, halting your unflattering and socially-altered thoughts in their tracks. Didn’t wanna become the very thing you hated. There was no reason to judge Ryuji without first-hand proof.

“Woah! My bad, sorry dude!” He held up one hand submissively, but unfortunately, just as with Kamoshida,  it seemed that you were not his main concern either. Huffing and puffing from the sprint, he looked past you to another male student who was hot on his trail, but this one looked… different.

You’d gone to Shujin Academy for all of your high-school career. It was your third and final year before graduation, and you knew of Sakamoto well enough, but this kid was a mystery… was he new here? He must’ve been. You knew at least the face of every student here in some way or another just through Shujin’s own little eternal game of telephone, and not by any choice of your own. You actively removed yourself from the local goings-on. Was it his first day here, you wondered. Why hadn’t you heard gossip about him yet, especially looking the way he did?

Beauty was a curse - much like any other feature that stood out - at Shujin Academy. If you were too pretty or handsome, you must be sexually promiscuous. On the other hand, if you were too ugly, too nerdy, too quiet, you probably picked your nose and read hentai on the train. There was no winning in this soul-crushing wasteland. Unfortunately for this new-comer, he was outrageously gorgeous.

“Gah, sorry about that…” he sighed, slowing his pace as he passed you by, plucking your phone up from the ground and offering you his hand. You took it and stood with his help. A quick tug and you were to your feet, dusting off your uniform and thanking him for his assistance. “Yeah, no problem… Ryuji’s just… a bit eager I suppose” he chuckled. “Luckily, no cracks!” He turned your phone around in his hand before placing it back into yours.

“Isn’t that the transfer student??? I heard he nearly killed a man!” One random NPC-esque shithead whispered from behind.

“Oh God, figures that freak would gravitate to the new freak…” another responded.

Ah…  and there it was. Why did fate hate you so much that it chose you as Sakamoto’s door mat on this day? You truly must have been fortune’s fool.

“Yeah, good thing…” You eyed the boy before you, taking in what you could of the new student before the short exchange was over, from his face to the delicate yet thick veins protruding from his lithe hands.

He was tall and thin, and would even be considered lanky if not for the lean muscle that lined his frame. He seemed to be better off than the average teen, sporting almost no blemishes or imperfections on his smooth skin. A black, messy mop of hair that looked soft to the touch sat upon his head, falling into his eyes and over the dark frames of his distinct spectacles. These spectacles did nothing to hide the true elegance that gleamed in the eyes behind them. They were a muted, soft grey that was beautifully simple and clean. His uniform was neat and tidy - as opposed to his blonde and brash acquaintance’s - with his pristine white turtleneck gently blanketing a quite prominent Adam’s apple and his school jacket buttoned and ironed perfectly. Lower down, his plaid slacks concealed thighs that strained against the fabric and long legs that ran down into some very - yet again - flawless dress shoes. Yep, that was a brand new uniform, sure enough.

And a brand new student… he just might make a good subject, a new inspiration for your writing, an aura unmarred by the stain this place put on one’s soul. Your opinion of him was fresh, it was new, unaltered, unbiased, and he really was quite beautiful… your mind played with the thought.

“Ah… sorry about this,” he spoke, taking in the whispers all around you, “I probably just ruined your reputation, what with being seen with me an’ all,” he sighed and laughed breathily, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He must’ve been keen to the ways of Shujin already, which was super sad in its own right. “I’m Akira by the way,” he held out a hand, and you shook it hesitantly.

“Eh, doesn’t really bother me. It’s (Y/N), nice to meet you. Sorry you’re feeling the Shujin warm welcome.” That first part was only partly true, but the last half was genuine.

“Anyway…” his voice shook you back out of your contemplative reverie, and you came back to reality to find him also looking you over. Oh right… you were new to him as well… “I gotta go, Ryuji is kind of impatient, I’ve found.”

“Hey! Am not!” Ryuji retorted, brows furrowing before he ran off. Akira’s eyes rolled playfully, before he smiled, waved, and sped off.

You nodded, and quickly pulled out your phone, rushing to the glass doors leading to the courtyard. Anything to get out of the spotlight and harsh crowd of stares, plus, you had a sparkling new idea filling up your cranium, and artistic inspiration could not be wasted. Finding one of the benches placed for student recreation, you set down your school bag and impatiently scrambled for your favorite pen, throwing open your notebook.

“Oh, shoot!” You’d gotten ahead of yourself in all the excitement. Placing the moleskin down, you picked up your phone, hands trembling just a bit, and messaged you friends before anything else. They just had to hear about this.

 ＊

 (Y/N) 9:55 am: Guys guys guys!!!

 Itsuki 9:56 am: What do you want?

 Rin 9:56 am: ???

 Megumi 9:57 am: Shouldn’t you be in class?

 (Y/N) 9:57 am: Shut up I have a free period just listen

You know how I’ve been having writer’s block?

 Rin 9:58 am: Ya

 (Y/N) 9:58 am: Well I just met this new kid, and ideas just started FLOWING.

 Itsuki 9:59 am: Yeah

 Megumi 9:59 am: Yeah we remember nerd

Oh that’s great!

Wait what do you mean?

New kid?

Only we can have you 😭 Don’ go switching up on us. Shujin is

toxic anyway.

 (Y/N) 10:01 am: No no no It’s not like we’re friends, I just met him is all

You know you’re my one and only bby 😘

 Itsuki 10:01 am: New kid???

 Megumi 10:01 am: 😎

 Itsuki 10:02 am: Gross

Also what about me!!!!

 Rin 10:02 am: Me too 😡😡😡

 (Y/N) 10:03 am: You two know you’re included in that???? 🤔🙄

Anyway just listen

I think he may be good inspo for my main character!!!

I was stuck looking for a unique look or face claim or something

But he seems nice enough and he’s good looking!

 Itsuki 10:05 am: You got a crush? Awww I’m telling 😏😏😏😏

 (Y/N) 10:05 am: I swear it’s like we haven’t been friends for years…

You know me, PLEASE don’t be gross

Writing purposes ONLY

 Megumi 10:06 am: I thought you were stuck on the CONTENT, not characters and shit

 (Y/N) 10:06 am: Both!!!! But he’s perfect for the look of my protag

 Itsuki 10:06 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

 Megumi 10:07 am: Well I’m happy for you

STOP

 Itsuki 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

 Rin 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

 (Y/N) 10:08 am: I can see this conversation isn’t going to be productive 

LMAO you’re assholes

＊

 You tucked your phone into your pocket and once again picked up your notebook. Scrawling down some of the details you knew about Akria: his looks, the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, you quickly became aware that you knew far too little… or rather

 You wanted to know more.

 Standing, you packed your things and set out to find him again…

 Not in the creepy way! You thought to yourself, trying to justify this uncharacteristic choice of yours to actually reach out to someone in real life, to maybe… try to make… friends? You stood there, brows furrowed and a small frown on your face, pondering your options.

“Oh well, all artists must suffer for their work!” You resolved a little too promptly to try to force another encounter with the new kid. He seemed to be special, unique. He seemed to be well aware of the social hierarchy of Shujin, and have a distaste of it at least. Maybe he wouldn’t be… so bad?

Making up your mind, you spent your free period not writing of romance and rebellious characters, but searching for that fluffy-headed newfound hero to your story, however ghoulish and greasy that made you appear. You truly were becoming that “reads-hentai-on-the-train” and stalks cute boys freak your peers thought people like you were, weren’t you?

To your surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising with the volume of Sakamoto’s voice) you soon found the gaggle of second-years, model-status beauty Ann Takamaki now added to their number, standing next to the stairs on the third floor, looking quite conspicuous to boot. Noting the suspicious air around the three, you pulled back, hiding behind the corner leading down the next hall. They seemed on edge... maybe now wasn’t the best time to make friends…?

You felt something thump in your chest. Your shoulders sank subconsciously. It felt a little disappointing, disheartening in a way you couldn’t explain. It was a bit intimidating: Ryuji the loudmouth with a temper, the hottest girl in the school, and the cute new kid. You sighed, this was why you never tried to make friends in the first place. Why had you even gotten your hopes up?

These irrational feelings of self-doubt clouded your heart, your head knowing better of course. It was hard to fight thoughts like these, especially for someone like you. On the precipice of making up your mind, deciding to give up and scrap the new novel idea altogether, you were jolted to attention by the sound of shoes scuffling and scrambling up the stairs.

Students aren’t really allowed on the rooftop during school hours unless accompanied by a teacher or given express permission, your thoughts swarmed. Maybe they didn’t know? No, there’s no way. There’s a possibility Akira didn’t know, but Ann and Ryuji had been here for two years... What were they up to?

Your nosiness was regrettably getting the better of you, and you slithered over, careful to pad your steps and tread softly. You didn’t even know what you’d do once you’d cornered the trio on the roof, didn’t know what you’d say. What was there to say? You were never too good with words, that is those not written on paper. Your heart beating out of your chest, you climbed the narrow stairwell and threw open the doors to the roof.

“Huh?” You looked around, dumbfounded. “Hello?” The rooftop area was not that large, all parts of it visible from the door.

There was no one to be found.

“What the hell?” You step forward, thinking you must have been the subject of some prank, but no, upon looking around, all three students were gone without a trace. No school bags, no lunch boxes, no uniform pieces, nothing. Akira, Ryuji, and Ann, all vanished into thin air. There were no hiding spots, none big enough for three people at least. It was dead silent, and only the door you currently guarded provided an exit off of the roof. Your mind wanted to wander to darker places, but if they’d have jumped, there surely would’ve been a commotion either during or shortly after. Frantically, you looked around, feeling like you were going crazy.

“What the fuck?” You pressed the palm of one hand to your forehead, sitting on the ground and crossing your legs.

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

can you give me drowsy headcanons, ramble, or anything please, i am so deprived. do not be afraid to make it super long, the more the better, i just love drowsy chaperone and love to hear other people (plus you’re one of the only people i’ve seen who knows a lot abt it)

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

I’ll divide this into a few different parts, going from least to most excruciatingly sad :)

1. general headcanons

2. in canon things i noticed and think about daily

3. a full analysis of man in chair’s connections with the drowsy chaperone as an in universe show (trigger warning for abuse ment, alcoholism ment, suicide ment)

SECTION ONE: HEADCANONS

- okay the chaperone is trans I don’t make the rules

- also her name is ambrosia :) she forsook her last name :)

- she’s about 12 years older than janet and kinda hung with janet’s family after leaving her own for a while . essentially she’s a big sister to janet

- aldolpho has some lines where he asks if the bride is big and/or burly and while in canon this is supposed to show he’s kind of a womanizer I like to believe it’s because he was fully prepared to fight her if needed

- speaking of which Of Course janet is ripped she does gymnastics

- my batshit crazy headcanon for this show is that dee dee allen from the prom is a descendant of roman bartelli no I will not elaborate

- is aldolpho one of those bitches with pets that definitely shouldn’t be legal? yessir

- post show kitty becomes a star okay I just want her to be happy

- the “pastry chefs” do discover a love of baking post show and now run a shop along with performing in feldzeig’s follies which might maybe be a front for some crime too

- TRIX DROWSY AND ALDOLPHO WORLD TRAVELING POLYCULE CAUSING PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

- underling’s name is james I will not elaborate on this either

- show never says what trix does so I’ve decided she’s an explorer. she charts maps and punches colonialists and drags her stupid friends along with her, the only bitch in the show with a braincell

- drowsy was a former vaudeville child star pre transition - she left the business but was a mentor to janet

- I do have a headcanon for mic’s name but in the spirit of every actor who’s ever played him I won’t fucking tell

SECTION TWO: SHIT I NOTICED

- robert refers to himself by full name a lot of the time which is v interesting given he’s named after the writer, bob martin (whose wife is also named janet van de graaf). the real bob martin is like five feet away at all times playing mic

- idk how to describe it but the dynamic kitty and feldzeig (VICTOR felgzeig. we have a name from one (1) line) have when talking to each other is so snappy and funny and good

- aldolpho’s lines in spanish are mostly romantic bullshit but his first one hints that he has/had a wife who, if we’re taking the translation literally, refused to touch him. yeah I’ll bring this up in analysis

- the “pastry chefs” provide liquor for the wedding even though it has absolutely no relevance to their mission of stopping it :)

- drowsy is like. SUPER endearing towards janet and despite her bad social skills it’s super clear she cares a lot about her

- robert speaks fluent french apparently

- everyone says “ew” after aldolpho reveals his affair with drowsy despite her being a certified milf

- the body language of drowsy in the end of the show where she takes mic’s hands and breaks the barrier between reality and fiction is just so good. she was iconic the whole show but I honestly think this final bit is what won beth leavel the Tony in the end

SECTION THREE: OH NO

before diving into the way the drowsy chaperone affects his character, we need to understand what exactly it’s playing off of. to fully understand mic’s attachment to the drowsy chaperone, we need to outline what led him to isolating himself and living in fiction to the extent that he does.

mic’s father left his family at an early age and his semi estranged alcoholic mother was the one who began his love for theatre. mic grew up in a broken household and eventually moved on to land in a one sided marriage, which lasted a few months until he slipped up and expressed his discomfort with the situation, after which he and his wife split. nowadays, he lives alone in his apartment surrounded by records he uses to escape to a better life - his favorite of which being the one his mother gave him, the drowsy chaperone.

symbolism in the drowsy chaperone regarding mic’s life can be split into two main categories - mommy issues and internalized homophobia. there isn’t nearly as much mom symbolism as there is the latter, so I’ll cover that first.

drowsy covers both bases, but she definitely has some undeniable mom symbolism going on. drowsy marries aldolpho and mom dreams of being swept off her feet by a latin lover, both feel they’ve wasted their chances at love, both drink to forget, etc. this is where the idea of the drowsy chaperone being mic’s ideal way for things to work out, a positive parallel, comes into play. given that we don’t hear too much about mic’s mom other than her connections to major life events and the record itself, we can assume they grew apart in one way or another. the key difference is that drowsy finds a happy relationship for herself and retains her bond with janet, unlike what we’re led to assume mom was like.

further elaborating on the drowsy chaperone representing mic’s ideal fantasy version of events is the wedding the drowsy chaperone’s plot centers around. here’s a list of the things that didn’t stop that damn wedding:

- a minister not showing up

- the groom cheating on the bride with the bride

- the bride having a complete mental breakdown

- indirect mafia interference

- direct mafia interference

on the flip side, what little mic says about his wedding indicates it sucked absolute ass. he spent the entire ceremony in internal distress as he went through with a life changing event he, at that point, knew at least a bit that he didn’t want. I think he also implies he had severe diarrhea on the wedding day? it gets worse when you realize mic’s relationship before the wedding wasn’t any good for him either - he was playing along the whole time because it would be cruel not to, right?

throughout the show, mic is pretty clearly shown as an extremely repressed gay man. there are five specific instances that point at romantic and/or sexual attraction to men directly and another moment outside of his commentary that pretty much confirms it if you look a little bit deeper. thus, here is what I propose - to mic, the drowsy chaperone’s wedding plot represents a world where he was able to ignore that part of himself and have a happy marriage with his wife despite all the overwhelming obstacles thrown at him. however, bits and pieces of that internalized homophobia manage to show themselves throughout the drowsy chaperone anyway despite its happy ending. here’s a rundown on a few significant instances:

- by the end of the show, the “pastry chefs”, who had literally been planning to kill feldzeig, have left their life of crime to perform with him. this symbolizes how in mic’s ideal world he would have been able to turn away from what he perceived at the time as living wrongly - his homosexuality

- at the same time, the “pastry chefs” have this line, spoken in regards to janet: “if she gets married and leaves the show... there ain’t no show.” this is a take on mic’s subconscious concern that he might lose himself if he goes on with his marriage pretending everything is alright - of course, as we already know, he doesn’t listen

- “cold feets” is a pretty obvious instance of mic’s hesitation

- aldolpho’s line in spanish regarding the wife who won’t touch him flips to reflect on mic’s treatment of his own ex wife - she was alien to him as a lover, just as aldolpho was to this woman

- janet recalls her meeting robert at a point in the show and states “we spooned, briefly, then he proposed.” though mic’s relationship pre marriage was much longer than that, it must have felt that way to him - just as quick and nonsensical as janet describes

- just as janet is caught in showbiz but has a toxic love for it, so does mic with his own repressed life

- janet has a line in “show off” that alludes to her experiencing harassment/assault: “I don’t wanna be cheered no more/ praised no more/ grabbed no more/ touched no more/ loved no more” , which I believe represents the way mic perceived his intimacy with his wife - labeled as love yet unenjoyable for him

- “I look into his eyes... I get all woozy. and that’s... love, isn’t it?” is another very clear nod to mic’s misconception of love based off the only thing he’s ever experienced, relationships with women he’s had to fake

- this is the part where I tell you the lyrics to toledo surprise are a metaphor for actively suppressing gay thoughts. I’ll just leave you with “if it tries to rise; don’t let it”. these lyrics are not comprehensive enough to make a dish - trust me, I have tried. it’s also notable that they serve a double entendre as instructions on how to beat the shit out of someone, but several lyrics are also directed towards the singer/audience. for example: “it’s a snap/ try it folks/ whip your whites/ split your yolks” is an easy metaphor for the unhealthy mental gymnastics required to repress oneself so wholeheartedly

it’s also worth noting the obvious just for the sake of it - mic copes with all this by isolating himself in a safe spot where he can use musicals to escape and live his ideal fantasy, even if it’s only for a short time. there are plenty of nods to this throughout the drowsy chaperone as well. in “as we stumble along” drowsy notes that “the best that we can do is hope a bluebird/ will sing a song/ as we stumble along” - to mic, musicals are his bluebird. while mic mostly indulges in these fantasies, he knows to a certain extent the sheer amount of time he’s spending in them is unhealthy. the first line of the show is “I hate theatre” and I think that to an extent? he does. obviously mic loves theatre as a concept, that can’t be denied. what he hates is the way he’s allowed it to confine him.

with all that out of the way, let’s move on to the most important moment of the show. if you’ve ever seen the show, you’ll know exactly which scene I’m talking about immediately. I’m referring to, of course, the infamous “l-ve while you can” scene. as janet stands at the alter she asks drowsy for one final word of advice, which is partially obscured by aldolpho dropping his cane. “l-ve while you can.” it’s a simple moment, but mic reveals to us that he’s been agonizing over it for years - did drowsy say “live” or “leave”? it occurs to everyone eventually, whether a couple days after the show like with me, or years after like with bob martin’s replacement on broadway that the most likely answer is that she had said “love while you can”. it’s this moment, when you realize why mic had never seen that as an option, that the drowsy chaperone’s status as a musical within a comedy within a tragedy is solidified. mic had no love in his life - his parents hated each other and he was forcing himself into relationships in which he felt nothing. to him, living and leaving were options, but loving never was. so he locked himself away.

as the final note on the record is playing, all power in mic’s apartment shuts down and the fantasy is ruined. the superintendent arrives and further invades his space, breaking the private sanctity he had built up for so long. she fixes the power and before mic can stop it from happening, the final note of the record plays. and the super recognizes it as a musical. she makes a remark about how much her wife loves musicals and leaves, completely unaware of what she’s just done.

mic sits in silence for a while. and then he begins to sing. gradually, the cast members begin to echo their songs, dancing around him but never touching him. then drowsy appears and sings harmony to mic. and she takes his hands. the show ends with the entire cast, including mic, taking off on trix’s airplane as the curtain falls, drowsy handing mic his record as the plane takes off.

some people interpret the ending as mic committing suicide, finally deciding between live and leave. I don’t personally believe that and neither does writer and original mic bob martin, but it’s still a valid interpretation. the drowsy chaperone’s ending is ambiguous, yes, but not to that extent. no matter what you believe the ending means, it was brought on not by the interruption of the fantasy, but by whatever realization the super’s remark about her wife triggered. as I see it, there are two main options here.

option one - mic realizes he still has time to live and to love. when he was younger the prospect of living as himself was unthinkable to him, yet now he sees that while he was spending countless years alone the world grew. drowsy offers mic her hand, an invitation to finally become what he had admired in her - someone who isn’t anywhere near perfect, but is damn well trying and living life without regret. he accepts.

option two - mic realizes that while he spent years alone the world moved on without him and he’s isolated himself so much from social interaction that he’d no longer be able to make a meaningful connection with anyone outside. so he stays inside instead, never trying, always trapped between live and leave. drowsy offers mic her hand - at least he’ll have a tune to carry with him.

I really want to believe we got option one. I think option one is the intended, really, given mic ends the show with a joyful goodbye to the audience. but the way that the ending is still left open for interpretation makes it so that we can never really know - we as the audience only get to be privy to a small part of mic’s life, and we don’t get the answers we want because at the end of the day they’re irrelevant to us - all we can do is make our own choice.

[writefinch]

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears,  pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

[feckin-zicons]

that's why i hate larries, i hate them with all my heart. besides being boring they are hypocrites 🙄

Hey nonnie, sorry its taken me so long to reply but if you’re following me you know I’ve been travelling lately and have been more scatterbrained than usual. Not that I’m ever not scatterbrained, but its been just a little crazier than usual!

Now I wouldn’t go as far to say I hate Larries. After all their delusions can be pretty funny sometimes!

Joking aside, I don’t hate Larries, I love Larries, I’m a Larry, so I really hesitate to tarry the whole group with the same brush. However I do strongly agree with you that there are those who are complete hypocrites. Nothing annoys more more than when Larries ™ treat the other boys, other celebrities, their friends and even family as one more side character to the Larry Show.

In particular when Larries ™ flood comment sections asking or in some cases, ordering people to confirm rumors/the couple being together. The absolute fucking disrespect. Not just because they’re flooding comment sections in videos streams, tweets, what have you, that sometimes have nothing to do with the couple in question, but because its presumptuous and rude as fuck to think they’re owed a coming out- just because they’re fans of the boys.

Stop it. Thats fucking ugly as hell.

While I have no doubt all the boys will one day be out (as referenced by their continued efforts in fighting the closet. I don’t get the sense the boys will just stop at being freed from their contractual obligations). It should and will be on their own terms. Provided they’re not forcibly outed some other way.

Coming out is a deeply personal experience and no one, no one ever, has the right to out someone else. I’ll never not be absolutely furious at the Larries ™ who posted about having ‘receipts’ that would out the boys. Which… tbh weren’t receipts at all but thats a whole other story. I’m also still angry at the reactions after Liams Attitude spread that wouldn’t have been as bad if not for the entitled fandom that peddled ridiculous claims beforehand about Liam confirming Larry to be real.

I mean… What the actual fuck. Setting aside the fandom experience of the time, and boy was it an experience. What right would Liam have confirming Louis and Harry’s relationship? I mean, get some perspective? It doesn’t help that a lot of fandom adults were the ones coming up with, and reblogging those theories and the younger fans ate it up. It would have made more sense for Louis and Harry to do it but idk maybe I’m still out of touch for thinking so. I mean, it felt like every other week someone was talking about Larry coming out. It was such a shit storm oh my god.

Biggest issue I still have with them is that the entitled behaviour hasn’t stopped. For some it seems like, Larry coming out is it for them. Like pack it up, goodbye, shows over, Louis and Harry are gay and in a relationship and everything is rainbows, we get to see cute pictures of them and everyone lives happily ever after.

Yeah, no. Coming out, for anyone, is just the beginning, can’t even begin to imagine what its like for them. They’re still going to need everyones support, and it irritates me that for some fans it seems so fucking conditional.

Time and time again, I’ve seen tweets, and posts, and videos, whatever, going on about Larry coming out and it reads like a fucking wattpad story. Not just that but its always on the assumption by the poster, on the off chance they consider the other 3/5ths of the band and Ziam being a possibility, that Larry will come out first?

What?

I’m sorry but, what?

Everything I’ve seen from the boys tells me they’re all in this together, they support each other and are working through the bullshit as a team. We have all seen the No Judgement music video yes? The merch, posts, double speak etc referencing each other, yes?

I mean, I suppose if you only look at Louis and Harry, like so many do, sure. Only Larry matters, everyone else is a side character in their life.

(Lemme just, scream for a second).

However, that kind of thinking leads them to the wrong conclusions. Like… assuming the SBB/RBB countdown was attributed to nothing, when it counted down to Liam finally being free of Sophia. In the years since, I’ve seen Larries ™ backtrack on claiming the bears had anything to do with the boys, that they weren’t behind it at all, or that they were just trolling the fandom.

You know, despite all the proof otherwise, and some really, really good posts breaking down clues about what the boys were trying to tell us. The moment something might not actually be about Louis and Harry its like all their thinking shuts off. Its frustrating. Really fucking frustrating.

Seriously, fans of the other boys as individulas, not just Ziams, have been talking about the stunts too and how they fit together. Its why we tend to be right, because we’re considering the entire group. They’re still a group. They’re not free until all of them are free.

Just for that Nialls coming out first. Lmao. I’ll call it now. Lets go Niall, whens the baby coming. We all wanna know. Its been years.

Imagine, imagine! Acting like coming out is some race to be won. The fucking audacity.

Go outside and touch fucking grass you absoulte ninny.

I get it, you want to be vindicated, you want to be rewarded for putting your faith in two celebrities being together.

Newsflash you dandelionfluff, its not a race, Louis and Harry coming out isn’t a fucking prize. Thats not what supporting a relationship looks like.

Its worse when someone admits they don’t know much about Ziam or the possibility of Niall being LGBT+, and claim they’re open to it, but then immediately tweet or reblog or sub tweet or tag comment a post or answer an ask from another Larry ™ talking about how Larries ™ are the most marginalized and persecuted group.

???

In what fucking world?

IN WHAT FUCKING WORLD?

If we wanna play that game, boohoo, the media claims Louis and Harry aren’t friends anymore because of crazy shippers. Meanwhile Zayn publicly isn’t friend with anyone and “left” the band… despite the Ziam fandom calling the stunt about either Louis or Zayn “leaving” and getting it down to the exact week (the second article coming out a week before about the Ziam kiss pretty much cemented it for Zayn leaving. Which did a lot to fan the flames of the already rabid fanbase when Ziam got two articles confirming a Ziam kiss over the years and Larry got nada. Like that actually means anything).

Not to mention Larries ™ using the hetties and management tactics against the other parts of the fandom to silence them.

Who cares what the media says anyway!  TPTB, 1DHQ, The Sun, The Mirror, Simon and his minions and their unpaid interns have used the media to split the fandom apart and it worked.

Who the fuck cares if the media calls the 1D stans delusional, you know the truth! The truth it out there and you’ve seen it! The truth is coming! Who gives a damn about what some two bit “journo” who failed out of their creative writing course writes? They get worse by the year. If it wasn’t so pathetic and hilarious I might actually feel embarrassed for them. They can’t even come up with new stories and have just taken to copying old articles, but you’re upset with them??? Give it a rest. Honestly.

The sense of disconnect, entitlement and victimhood of some Larries ™ is absolutely ridiculous.

Oh my god they’re Karens. I’m not trying to be insulting, but thats exactly who they remind me of.

I’m not going to say its a surprise to me that so many in the Ziam fandom are POC, LGBT+, and Neurodivergent and any combination of those, but I am going to say I’ve read a lot of Larry fics that just have Het sex made gay. Those in the Ziam fandom just tend to look at facts in a different way than Larries do due to their life experiences. A interfaith, interracial, relationship where one or both partners fall under the Bi umbrella (not saying Louis or Harry can’t be or aren’t Bi+ but rumors, and the way the fandom markets them, puts them firmly in the gay category) looks very, very different than gay or straight relationship. Both looking from outside and being in one. There’s just different dynamics at play that aren’t often realized or understood by the gays and hets.

Its not a bad thing. All relationships are different. The issue is that theres a lot of biphobia/racism/religious prejudice etc that arises from people being unwilling to understand the inherent differences.

Taking myself for example, I’m bi, like, bi as hell, and I don’t understand how gays and hets only like one gender. I just don’t. Can’t wrap my head around it. If someone asks me to choose one gender over the others to prefer I can’t. Its so stressful. My brain goes into panic mode and it feels like I’m being torn apart. My sense of identity is shaken- its a shit feeling. I just can’t lie to myself like that. If other people feel the same well, its no wonder bi+ have such high rates of depression and suicide. Its not about choosing who to like, there is no choice, I just feel attraction to everyone. Aces, I get. Its similar to being the opposite of what I feel, or not feeling an attraction to someone I’m not interested in. Easy. Gays and hets? I’m completely lost on.

Completely, and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try and understand where they’re coming from. Its alien to me, personally, but I’m not going to shut down the fact, that theres a fuck ton of people who only like one gender or try and make up reasons as to why they’re actually bi+

I digress, none of the boys fall neatly into the gay stereotypes, its just that parts of the Larry fandom have boxed Louis and Harry into certain roles to fit preconceived notions (likely do to them initially fitting in better with the white, sassy, somewhat effeminate twink thats been plastered all over Hollywood as their “LGBT+ representation” for years. Gag), they can understand better, and only look for proof to back up their theories but don’t look at things objectively.

They really need to get out more and make some LGBT+ friends that aren’t on the internet and talk to some gay elders. They need educating that’s not the often sanitized and insulting Hollywood version, that’s all I’m saying.

They made Louis and Harry more palatable for themselves and its… really gross.

I don’t know, I don’t get it.

Some Larries ™ turned the boys into their fandom and fanfiction stereotypes when they’re so much more than that. The Sony leaks should have been enough to dissuade the fandom, and prove that the brand sold to the broader audience is just that- a brand, and yet… Niall only talks about food and golf and Ireland and is only allowed to be straight or ace. If he exists at all its just to be Capt Niall. Liams slow and dumb and depending on the day he’s either Capt Liam or a horrific abusive homophobe. Zayns just The Worst, a unstable drug addict, and the boys hate each other, and they should have kicked him out of the band sooner because he never wanted to be part of them anyway, etc.

It drives me absolutely around the bend some days. They’re real people who don’t owe anyone anything, especially not coming out.

Yes, I think they will. But they’re not obligated to. They can change their minds, I’ll support them regardless of an “official” coming out or not.

Look, a part of me gets it. They wanna be right, they wanna prove the haters wrong, they want to be able to say I called it all along! The vindication will be sweet.

But like, it takes a quick look at someone other than Louis and Harry to realize theres something hinky going on with Liam, Zayn and Niall. Please listen to their fans who have spent just as much time as you have looking into Louis and Harry compiling together evidence.

It might take a weekend to watch the ILYSM and pterodactyl bros videos and a few more hours looking into some Niall blogs, which isn’t much compared to the hours I know they’ve spent looking into Larry. At least then they’ll have enough information to form an opinion on things.

I wonder, for some, what would happen if Larry didn’t come out, or didn’t come out first, or one of the other boys was outed against their will. Because… I don’t know. It seems like some would rather just be proven right at this point.

I get it. We’re tired. Its been eleven long years. But this isn’t a television show were everything can come to a head with a s3 or s4 cliff hanger and fixed in the series finale. Its real life, and they started off as boys trusting industry veterans who never had their best interests at heart.

Iduno. I just want some Larries ™ to take a step out of the echo chamber, realize life isn’t The Larry Show & co. And especially. ESPECIALLY, that every instance were someone, friends, family, co-works, industry peeps etc support the boys they are SUPPORTING THE BOYS, NOT THE FANDOM. They are not “confirming Larry for the fans” they’re doing it to support the couple, not to cater to the fandom. Please stop confusing the two. There’s a huge fucking difference. Learn it.

[supernatural-jackles]

The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 9

Title: The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 9

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4,650

Warnings: Bit of Angst, Lots of Fluff, Mentions of Suicide and Suicidal Thoughts, Self Hate, Depression, Nudity, Flufffffff

Summary: Driving down the road, going well over the speed limit. You come across a man walking in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His head cast down as he walked. Your gut instinct is telling you to check on this man, no matter what your parents told you growing up. Little did you know just how much this would change your life.

The Man on the Side of the Road - Masterlist

Square Filled: Skinny Dipping for @spnkinkbingo​

A/N: This is one of my favourite parts! I really hope y’all enjoy it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Happy reading! 

 “Hiya Sammy.”

 “W-what are you doing here, Dean?” he questioned, a half smile creeping up on his cheeks. He was happy to see his older brother. Sam took a step forward, pulling his older brother into a hug. It was a little awkward, but the feeling was there and that was all that mattered. The whole thing alone made you happy. All you wanted was for Sam to be happy to see his older brother. You wanted that for Dean.

 “Wanted to come see you,” he said softly. “It’s been awhile.”

 “Y-yeah,” he nodded. “Come on in.”

 Dean motioned for you to enter first, and he followed closely behind you. Sam’s apartment was much like the regular college students were. Books all over, homework open. There was a couch and a tv. It was small, but it felt warm. Homey.

 “I don’t exactly have a whole lot of room as you can see,” Sam pointed out. “The couch is too small for two and lumpy as hell.”

 “It’s okay. We’re going to stay in town,” Dean informed him. “Sam, this is my best friend, Y/N. Y/N, this is my little brother Sammy.”

 “It’s Sam,” he corrected him. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m sure you've heard stories about me.”

 “That I have,” you nodded. “It’s really nice to meet you too. Put a face to all the stories.”

 “Hey Sam, what’s going - oh,” a female voice called from the hall. A beautiful blonde peaked through the doorway. She was a little taller than you. Small figure, wearing a smurfs shirt with the front cut out a little. She was definitely his girlfriend. There was no doubt about it.

 “Jess, this is Dean, my older brother, and his friend Y/N. They came from Lawrence,” he told her. “This is my girlfriend Jess.”

 “It’s really nice to meet you guys. Sam’s told me about you, Dean,” she smiled.

 “Look, we’re actually in the middle of midterms right now. We’ve got a big one tomorrow that we’ve got to study for. Why don’t you guys come back tomorrow around five and we can catch up. We’ll show you around and grab some dinner.”

 “That sounds like a good idea,” you nodded. “We’ve been driving all day and I think we could use some rest, huh Dean?”

 “Yeah, that sounds good,” he smiled.

 “If you’re looking for a nice hotel, there is one about ten minutes from here. It’s four stars. Beds are comfortable. If the lady at the front desk is Cindy, tell her you know me and she’ll give you a discount. She’s my mom,” Jess told the two of you.

 “Perfect,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

 “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam half smiled.

 You slipped your arm around Dean’s waist as you headed down the stairs and out to the car. You knew this wasn’t the night he was expecting, but he had a chance tomorrow to spend some time with his brother. He could mend the broken pieces and start fresh. In the meantime, you were going to spend the night relaxing and enjoying the little vacation you were on.

 You hopped in the car, and drove to the hotel she was talking about. Ten minutes from Stanford, a four star hotel with everything you needed. Thank god you had money saved. It was going to be pricey staying here for a few days. It was all going to be worth it in the end. Quality time with your best friend.

 Much to your luck, Cindy was working the front desk and gave you a helpful discount for your stay. You practically got a whole night free which made the entire stay not bad at all. You and Dean were splitting the cost.  Dean carried your bag up for you, along with his own, and all the snack food that you packed. By the time you opened the door to the room, it was after ten.

 “Looks like we’re sharing again,” Dean chuckled. “At least this bed is bigger and probably a million times more comfortable than that motel.”

 “Don’t even complain that you’re sharing,” you pointed at him with a smirk. “Honestly, anything is more comfortable than the motel bed.”

 “Including me,” he grinned.

 “Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. You kneeled down, opening up the fridge. There was some water in there and of course, a couple of sandwiches at a cost.

 “We’re going to enjoy this time off.”

 “You bet we are” you nodded. “What time does the pool close?”

 “According to the little pamphlet, ten. And it is now ten thirty six,” he stated as he took a seat at the end of the bed. His eyes still dancing over the hotel details.

 “You wanna go for a swim?” You cocked your eyebrow.

 “But I just said it was closed. And we never brought any bathing suits,” he argued, furrowing his brows.

 “Exactly why we are going when it’s closed,” you winked.

 “Naked? We’re swimming naked? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” He joked, laughing as he looked up at you.

 “Hey, we’re out here to do more than visit your brother aren’t we? We gotta live a little,” you shrugged, heading into the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. “Are you with me or am I swimming naked by myself?”

 “Oh I’m in,” he chuckled. “Just kind of shocked that you want to. You don’t strike me as the skinny dipping type.”

 “Gotta keep things interesting,” you winked. “You got the room key?”

 “In my wallet,” he nodded, getting up off the bed. You headed straight for the door, two towels in hand.

 The pool was on the eighth floor. One floor down from yours and Dean’s hotel room. The hallways were close to empty as you moved quickly through them. You didn’t want anyone walking in on either of you. It was risky enough sneaking in. It was really exciting at the same time and there was no one you would rather do this with than Dean. There was no one you trusted more than you did him. This was something you never thought you’d do. You liked this version of yourself.

 “It’s locked,” Dean pointed out as he tried to open the door.

 “There’s another way,” you wiggled your eyebrows. “There’s always another way. They have to for safety reasons.”

 You went around the corner, finding the entrance to the hotel’s gym and pool. Your easy way in. You slipped inside, turning to the right, the direction of the pool. It was all open. Shared change rooms for the gym and the pool. It was easy to cover up if you were to get caught.    

 “How did you know that you could get in this way?” he asked as you walked out to the pool. The pool was huge. Tons of room to swim around. No windows so you were safe from people seeing you. This was much different from the last time you swam together. This was going to be a lot more fun.

 “My aunt Kelly,” you chuckled. “She was a bit out there. One of my mom’s friends had a wedding at a hotel, and she snuck me and her son Jack into the pool late at night. She also knew how to pick locks and hustle pool. I think she grew up somewhere that she needed to know that.”

 “So do you know how to pick locks?” he questioned with a smile.

 “Uh- I can’t tell you that,” you let out a laugh.

 “So you do,” he said in almost shock.

 “Depends on the lock,” you confirmed.

 You walked over to the edge of the pool, looking in. The pool was deep at this end, and had a hot tub at the other end. Something you and Dean were looking forward to. You could easily climb over the wall and hop in. Truth was, you were a little nervous to swim naked with him. You could just stay in your bra and panties. You knew it was just him and you trusted him more than any one in the world. He thought you were beautiful and he told you regularly that you were. You had always wanted to go skinny dipping. This was you taking a risk. This was you getting out of your comfort zone. This was the start of you moving forward.

 “You’re sure about this?” Dean questioned, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He looked a little nervous himself.

 “I am,” you nodded. “I don’t really care if you see me naked, or if you look. Not that much anyway.”

 “Same goes for you,” he half smiled.

 You grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, dropping it to the floor. You then worked on the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs. Dean had removed his shirt, and was working on his jeans. You tried your hardest not to stare at him, no matter how tempted you were.

 Your socks joined the pile, leaving you in your bra and panties. You took a deep breath, reaching behind your back, unhooking your bra, allowing the straps to slide down your shoulders. The material fell to the ground, and your nerves began to spike a little. Your eyes cast downwards as you gripped the waistband of your panties, shoving the last remaining article of clothing down your legs. You were naked in front of him. It was terrifying but at the same time, exhilarating.

 You stood tall, trying to gain some confidence. Dean shoved his boxers down his legs. Your eyes cast up, not wanting to look at him naked. Not without permission anyways. It wasn’t going to help your feelings for him if you saw ‘little Dean’. If anything, it was going to make it harder to hide your feelings for him.

 “So umm, should we just look at each other and get the most awkward part of this over with?” he chuckled nervously.

 “Uh yeah,” you breathed out. “That’s probably the best way to do it. On the count of three?”

 “Yeah,” he replied.  “One.”

 “Two,” you sighed.

 “Three,” you said in unison. You glanced over in his direction, seeing every inch of skin on the front of his body. God, he was a fucking sight. He was gorgeous. You had already seen him shirtless, but seeing it all? He was perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and it wasn’t good for your feelings for him at all.

 “Crossing the friendship line here,” he swallowed hard. “You’re fucking beautiful.” You felt your cheeks grow warm at his words. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It meant a lot to you to know that he thought that. It was the first time someone had ever said those words to you when looking at you. For the first time in your entire life, you believed them.

 “Crossing the friendship line,” you smiled. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

 “I’m nothing compared to you, sweetheart,” he winked with a genuine smile playing in his lips. “Ready?”

 “Let’s skinny dip,” you called out.

 You were the first one in the pool, jumping in with enthusiasm. The water was much warmer than you expected. It was actually really nice to feel after a long day in the car. This was what you were looking for.  Dean was in right after you, jumping not far from you, creating a big splash as he did. For a second, you were reminded of the day you swam in your backyard together. You both had come so far from that day. More so, you were so much happier than you were then. You were finally content with the way your life was going now that you were here with Dean.

  You swam around for a little while. Just enjoying having the entire pool to yourselves. It was nice to have the room to swim, not that your pool at home was small. It was just different here. There was more risk here. You and Dean talked about how this trip was a fresh start for the two of you and this was definitely a good start for the both of you.

 Eventually you gravitated from the pool to the hot tub. There was a lot of room for you to sit, like it was made to fit a big family. Dean joined you not long after you climbed in.  The jets did wonders for your sore muscles from sitting in the car the entire day. You needed to invest in a hot tub for your place. He sat across from you, relaxing in the heat of the tub. You smiled, seeing just how content he was. He was actually allowing himself to relax and that was exactly what you wanted for him.

 “I’m glad we did this,” you breathed out, leaning against the back on the hot tub, a jet hitting one of your sore spots.

 “Me too,” he nodded. “Certainly a first for me.”

 “You and me both. Can cross this off my bucket list,” you grinned widely. “How are you doing, Dean?”

 “You mean with Sam?” he cocked his eyebrow. “Honestly, I can’t expect him to drop everything for me. I’m just happy he didn’t slam the door in my face. I’m looking forward to having the chance to catch up with him. He looks happier than he did the last time I saw him. He’s doing really good for himself and that’s all I can ask for. For the first time, it feels like my life is moving forward at a steady pace since that day.”

 “I know we don’t really talk about that day in gruesome detail. I guess there’s a part of me that avoids talking about it because I don’t want to bring it all back, you know? I don’t want to bring you back to that day before I came into it. But can I ask you about it?” you glanced at him, looking to see if there was an uncomfortable reaction from him.

 “Yeah,” he nodded.

 “What happened?” you whispered.

 “It wasn’t the same as yours. I’ll tell you that right now. I was planning it for awhile if I’m being honest with you. I had been planning it for about a month. I uh, I woke up with a pounding headache that morning. I was out late the night before, trying to clear my head. All I could think about was how my Dad died five years ago the next day and about how it was my fault. I was the one that was supposed to pick up the package for my Uncle. It was supposed to be me in that accident. Not him, and I’ve never been able to let that go. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go completely. I mean, I saw it happen. I wished it was me.  My landlord knocked at my door, and he told me that I had to leave. I was late on my rent for the month. My last job in construction didn’t need me anymore, so I was laid off. I had no money, and I had to pack my bags. I headed to the closest motel and paid with a credit card. I remember sitting on the bed, thinking that it can’t get any better from here. I had absolutely no one to go to. All my friends weren’t my friends. I called Sam and he never answered my call. I remember thinking that there was no one out there that would care if I was here or not. No one was going to miss me, or even notice that I was gone. My Uncle would have said that he predicted it with the way I spiraled. I just felt completely hopeless. I knew that it was time. I had nothing left to live for. I didn’t want to.” he shared. “So I decided right then that I was going to get some flowers, visit their grave and by the end of the night, I’d be gone.”

 “Were you scared?” you asked him.

 “No,” he shook his head. “The way I saw it, I was going somewhere that I had people that loved me. People that would be happy to see me for the first time. I didn’t get scared until I saw you. Until you pulled over, and came after me. You were the first person to talk to me in three weeks, besides my landlord to kick me out and the lady at the front desk of the motel. I had never felt so alone and that was one of the reasons why I wanted to. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to stop it all. Then you made me pinky promise not to. I figured you didn’t want a dead body in your house. But you told me that I could stay. You told me about Ketch. You told me you weren’t giving up on me. It was you that I fought for.”

 “Who would have thought that we’d be best friends,” you half smiled. “For the record, I’m never giving up on you. I’m never going to let a day go by that I don’t talk to you. I’m never going to let you feel like the world would be a better place without you.”

 “I know,” he nodded. “And I hope you know it’s the same the other way around. I’d take a bullet for you any day.”

 You were cut off by the sounds of someone trying to unlock the main doors to the pool. You swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You had to make a run for it before you got caught.

 Dean was out quicker than you were. His longer legs giving him the advantage. He held his hand out for you to take, helping you out quicker so you could grab all of your stuff. The person was banging loudly, trying to get it unlocked quickly, as if he thought someone was in there. You wrapped your towel around yourself first, then grabbed all of your clothes along with your shoes. Thankfully the change room wasn’t far from where you left them. Dean was hot on your tail as you made your way in. Whoever it was had just opened the door, and gotten into the pool area. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You knew you were safer if you were in the change rooms, but that wouldn’t stop whoever it was from coming in.

 Dean moved the two of you towards the individual change room stalls. You managed to get the biggest one, both of you getting in, shutting the curtain  behind you. Dean inched you back to the wall, away from the curtain just in case.

 “Who’s in here?” the gruff voice called out. You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to get kicked out of the hotel. Dean looked at you with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. You had to be quiet. He gave you a look that damn near made you laugh. How could he be so chill about this?

 Dean slipped his hands down to your hips. You licked your lips as you positioned yourself more comfortably against the wall. You prayed to god that whoever it was left soon. There was no way you could stand in the corner with a very naked Dean in front of you. It was hard enough not to stare at him now. You just wanted to get your clothes back on and head back to the room for the night. You heard the footsteps growing farther and farther away. It didn’t ease your heart rate in the slightest.

 The door shut with a click, meaning he was definitely gone. There was no way he stuck around after he found nothing. After all, this was open for people going to the gym. Maybe he realized that?

 “I think he’s gone,” he whispered, looking at you sheepishly. His body never moved from in front of yours. You swallowed hard, glancing up at him. His grip in your hip tightened for a moment.

 “Yeah, I think so,” you nodded. Dean’s body pressed closer against yours. You had no idea what was going on, but you certainly weren’t against it. Not in the slightest. Your hands reached for his waist, almost inviting him closer to you. He ducked down, pausing for a minute. You swore your heart was going to pound out of your chest. “Dean.”

 His lips grazed over yours in a hesitant kiss that had you melting into him. God, his lips were so soft and sweet. He was holding back, that was for sure. Your heart was fluttering in your chest. Nothing had felt more perfect. You damn near forgot to kiss him back you were so intoxicated. Your hands tugged him against you as your lips moved with his.

 Everything felt like it had fallen into place at that moment. You never wanted it to end. Unfortunately for you, the need for air became too much. Your lungs were burning, and as much as you wanted to keep going, you had to stop.

 “We should probably get out of here,” you muttered, opening your eyes to look up at him. “It’s the girls change room.”

 “You never told me that!” he said in shock.

 “You never asked,” you shrugged.

 “You know, I had a dream like this once,” he smirked. “Two people, little clothing-”

 “Dean, I swear to god,” you giggled. “Get your ass dressed.”

 “Fine,” he growled playfully.

 It took you a little bit to get dressed. Trying to put clothes on after swimming was one of the hardest things to do, especially in a small space. You were still a little wet, and the towels absorbed close to nothing. You swore, you could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you got dressed and that thought made you smile a little more than it should have. You didn’t want to overthink it as something more than what it was. You were a naked girl a few feet away from him. You couldn’t blame him for looking at you a little longer.

 You arrived back at the room ten minutes later. Your heart was still going a mile a minute. Between seeing him naked and kissing him, you were a puddle. He never said anything, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to talk about it right now and ruin the moment that it was.

  Dean gave you first shower, and offered to get some clothes out for you to wear while you were in there. It was sweet of him to offer, and it wasn’t like you didn’t trust him with your stuff. Going skinny dipping with him certainly changed something between the two of you. A good change, you thought to yourself.

 You rinsed out your hair, getting all the chlorine out of it from the pool. The shower in the hotel room was to die for. The water pressure was amazing and you actually had room to move. It got the job done much quicker than any other hotel shower ever had.

 The suds swirled around the drain as you rinsed yourself off. You cut the water off, reaching for the towel on the toilet. That’s when you saw it. The hotel robe. The robe that was supposed to dry you. You were tempted to use it, but then there was the thought of how many people had used it before, and you got creeped out. You knew everything was washed but you couldn’t. You wrapped the towel tightly around yourself, slipping out of the bathroom so Dean could shower.

 “Showers yours,” you smiled.

 “Thanks,” he smirked, looking at you. “Your pyjamas are on the bed.”

 “Thank you.”

 Dean headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You dried yourself off once more, making sure everywhere was dried before you pulled on your favourite pyjama pants. They had little coffee cups on them. They were your favourite because they were the most comfortable. The perfect amount of stretch and bagginess that you needed for bedtime.

 After you were dressed, you walked over to the window, taking in the view from above. Cars were moving below, and the city was still alive at close to midnight. You expected to feel far from home and everything you knew, but you didn’t. Not in the slightest. Here, you didn’t feel like you had to hide. You weren’t going to run into Ketch or Jo at any given second. It was a freeing feeling.

 “Okay, that is the best shower I’ve ever had at a hotel,” he admitted, walking out of the bathroom with his towel around his shoulders. He had his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Not that you noticed of course. Or could you stare openly at him now?

 “It is pretty good,” you nodded. “You about ready to head to bed?”

 “Yeah,” he said with a nod.

 You headed over to the bed, taking the usual side you slept on at home. Usually it was the middle, but you were going to give Dean a bit of space tonight. After all, you had just seen each other naked. Things were a little different. There was a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. Then there was the kiss that neither of you seemed to want to talk about. You didn’t want to be weird, but you didn’t want to read it wrong either.

 Dean climbed into the bed next to you, adjusting the covers over himself before shutting off the light. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his arms over his abdomen. You smiled softly at him, shifting to face him, and to make yourself comfortable. He turned and gave you a half smile, one that made your heart flutter just enough to be noticeable.

 “Thanks for skinny dipping with me,” you whispered.

 “Thanks for encouraging this trip, Y/N,” he muttered back. “You cuddling tonight?”

 “Is that an invitation?” You gasped playfully.

 “Get over here,” he let out a chuckle, opening his arms up for you to crawl in. You threw your arm around his waist, tugging in close to him. You rested your head on his chest, right above his heart. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

 “You too, De. Sweet dreams,” you yawned. You felt a pair of lips press against the crown of your head. They lingered for a few seconds longer than you anticipated.

 “Sweet dreams.”

 That was what changed. The way he was with you. You were closer than ever, and you knew that there was no turning back to the friendship path. You were far too deep in the more than friends trail that your feelings were growing stronger. It wasn’t even that you saw his entire body, and not to mention, his impressive package, shall you say. It was the conversations you could have with him, and the way you could make each other laugh. It was the trust you had in one another. You didn’t find that with everyone. It really made you wonder if Dean felt the same way towards you. If his lips lingering on the top of your head meant something more than a kiss goodnight. If him kissing you earlier tonight meant that you were the one he had feelings for.  Either way, it was something you’d never forget. The whole night was something you’d never forget.

 You shifted a little, leaning up, brushing your lips against his stubbly cheek. He melted against your touch this time, almost happy that you showed him the same amount of affection back.

 Maybe after this trip, you’d grow enough courage to tell Dean Winchester how you felt about him.

 Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply, or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me writing!

[i-lionheart]

IT'S NOT A WIP ANYMORE BITCHES!!!!!

Ok so i wrote a fic that's basically this post by the-modern-typewriter but i took the concept and some main elements and rewrote it as a kylo ren self insert because of course i did i wanted a comfort fic and i refuse to apologize its not plagiarism i cited my sources k thx

anyways this is a Kylo ren x fem!reader (but the only time reader's gender is referenced as when they're referred to as "good girl" so make of that what you will). Angst, torture mention, self harm tw, suicide tw, depression tw, safe for work but implicit nudity. Also there's none of that "y/n" or (name) shit because I just personally hate it. I made this for me not you but it totally fukin slaps so read on at your own risk lmao

Tell Me Why

“You’ve been astonishingly resilient,” Ren said softly. “What a shame it has to come to this.”

His gaze roamed over you lazily, possessively, drinking in the sight of you. You were bound, gagged, and strapped down to an interrogation table. In his personal quarters, of all places.

You would trade every star in the galaxy to be anywhere but here.

Ren picked up a syringe full of clear, thick liquid off the tray of wicked-looking instruments that lay beside you and held it in front of your eyes. “I’m expect you’re quite familiar with this," he said, voice deceptively casual. "The resistance undoubtedly trained you to resist truth serum as insurance against the unthinkable. Obviously,” he said, indicating your current predicament, “They are fools.”

So it would be truth serum. You could handle this easily enough. All you had to do was tell him the truth, but not the one he was looking for. Simple.

Some miniscule change in your expression must have given your hubris away. Ren chuckled. “You poor thing.” he said. “Do you really think that we haven’t made… improvements on this since my grandfather held your precious General captive so long ago?”

You swallowed thickly, blood pounding through your temples as your breath caught in your throat. What could he possibly be talking about? Truth serum had been perfected in the days of Old Republic and hadn’t changed for centuries.

What advantage could he possibly hope to have?

Ren lowered his face until his eyes were level with yours. Though every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, you met his gaze, trembling.

“You know as well as I do that the Old Republic, the Jedi, were weak. Fools,” he spat. “They were afraid to do what was truly necessary to meet their goals. The First Order has no such weaknesses.”

He lowered his mouth and whispered rapidly in your ear, his breath ghosting along your skin. “Unfortunately for you, I am not a Jedi, and this will hurt quite a bit. I only wish that I could remove that gag and hear every shriek that comes out of that pretty little mouth without risking you biting off your own tongue.” He clucked his tongue softly as he stood up. “What a shame.”

He replaced the syringe on the tray and selected a small pair of medical scissors, then began to methodically cut through the fabric of your sleeve. "I would apologize for the outfit," he said sardonically, "but I rather suspect that you have much bigger things to be worrying about at the moment."

Once your sleeve was split all the way to your elbow, Ren set the scissors down and set his leather-clad fingers to the task of spreading the halved fabric of your sleeve to fully reveal your bare skin. He was agonizingly gentle, as though trying to spread the petals of a struggling flower and help it bloom.

His work complete, his eyes and his fingers roved over your exposed arm, relishing your vulnerability. If you weren't paralyzed with fear, you would have squirmed, thrashed, done anything to flee his scrutiny.

Force, please, you thought desperately, don't let him see them. Please, anything but that. I'll give anything. Let him do what he wishes to me as long as they go unnoticed. Please.

As though sensing your frantic pleas, Ren's eyes locked onto your wrist, onto the unnaturally straight cuts and scars criss crossing your skin.

"What is this?" he said softly.

Shit.

It was the last straw. The spell of fear holding you in place broke. You twisted your arm as far as you could in the restraints, trying to hide what it was far too late to conceal. Instantly his hand shot out and pinned your wrist to the table as you writhed in his grasp.

"You know as well as I do that you cannot take back what has been revealed. The mynock is out of the bag, little one. Are you going to lie still, and let me finish what your own foolish actions have started? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Realizing it was of no use, that you were absolutely, utterly powerless, you stopped thrashing. Tears glistened on your cheeks. Your breath hitched as choked sobs pushed their way past your gag. You fought for every inhale and exhale, lungs crushed under the weight of your own rising panic.

But bewilderingly, inexorably, you were still.

"Good girl," he breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand from your wrist. When you remained motionless, even without his grip holding you to the table, his hands moved to your elbow and, abandoning those damn scissors, he began to finish what he had started.

He tore first one sleeve, then the other, and made short work of everything else until you were laid bare before him. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Kylo Ren's eyes roved over you, taking in every mark, every scar, every bruise on your bare skin. You wanted to fight it so badly, wanted twist yourself away from his agonizing scrutiny, but all you could do was shut your eyes and pray for it to be over. His burning gaze held you immobile like the galaxy's most powerful vice.

"I know what marks I've left on this body, little one," he said, voice unbearably tender. "I know what scars one gets from doing what we do. But this-" his fingers brushed your wrists, your thighs, your torso, tracing the bar code that you had marked yourself with in so many places- "this is not that." His voice, though still intolerably gentle, was taut, hinting at the tightly leashed rage that you could feel bubbling just below his deceptively calm exterior.

For so long, you had been terrified that someone would find out, would ask an unavoidable question, would see something they shouldn't have because you slipped up.

You hadn't expected it to be him.

What the hell was he going to do to you?

After another excruciating moment of consideration, he reached up and unbuckled the gag, carefully sliding it out from between your teeth and setting it on the tray beside the scissors and abandoned syringe. You worked your jaw, gratefully bringing a bit of relief to your sore muscles and parched mouth. You were so tired. So, so tired, too physically and psychologically exhausted to care what happened to you anymore. You had already been on this table for an eternity too long. Let him get what he wanted from you and finally, at long last, leave you for dead.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "Control? Punishment? Or something else?"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with fear and shock, only to find your gaze locked together with his.

"What?" The word came out of your mouth in a grating, dry rasp.

"You heard me," he said. "Why do you do it?"

How dare he. How dare he. The absolute nerve he had, to strap you to a table you and torture you endlessly, and then find out about this and pretend that he cared.

"Fuck off," you said.

"That's no answer."

"You don't even care." You glanced away, eyes flooded with silent tears that you were too embarrassed about to let him see. "No one does."

You flinched as you felt a leather glove hand touch you, then realized that he was caressing your face. Stroking your hair. Comforting you, exactly where you needed it. Holding you like your mother did, so long ago. Touching you the way you had been starving for for so long.

How could he possibly know what you needed so desperately, much less be doing it of his own accord? What happened to him?

You finally mustered up the courage to look back at him, despite the blinding tears and your fear of what you might see. When you finally wrenched your gaze up to meet his, you were shocked by what you saw.

Pity. Concern. Genuine worry. Anger, not at you, but at the people who watched you spiral so far down and did nothing.

All this he told you with his eyes alone.

How was this possible? Stars' sake, he was your enemy. He hated you. So why was he looking at you like he was trying to offer you a lifeline when he was supposed to want you dead?

"Why are you doing this to me?" you whispered.

"Answer me," he said quietly, "And I'll stop."

You took a rattling breath in, and shut your eyes.

You had no choice.

"It's everything," you said softly. "The control. The punishment. All of it." You opened your eyes again and looked back at him as a sob built in your throat. "It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

---

"It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

The words hit Kylo like a dagger to the heart.

So that was why you had never acted on the desires he sensed in you, why you wanted to join him so badly but rejected his offers at every turn. That was why, when he offered you his hand, his teaching, his service, a position by his side, you almost took it before you wrenched yourself away. The Resistance never understood you, saw you as nothing more than a tool for a job. And you didn't think you deserved the what he could provide.

The sobs he had watched you struggle against for so long finally spilled past your lips in a tidal wave. He shushed you as one would a frightened animal, brushed away your tears with his thumb, and quickly undid the restraints at your ankles and wrist. He slid his arms under you and lifted you as easily as though you were a child, one arm under your legs to support your weight, the other pressing your head to his chest as you sobbed, the Force supporting you where he couldn't.

"Easy now," he said, voice low and soothing. "Easy, easy, easy- there we go, come on, come on, there's a good girl. I've got you. I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe. Good girl, come with me. Come with me, now."

He kept up the constant stream of reassurances as he carried you to his bed, holding you with one arm and the Force as he pulled back the covers with the other before setting you in the bed. He kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, pulling you close to his chest, telling you what you had needed to hear for so long.

You were going to be okay, he told you. He promised. Vowed to keep you by his side and give you everything he had to offer, fulfill your every need.

He'd give you the galaxy, if you asked for it. But all you needed was him.

The two of you stayed there until your sobs subsided, his hand absently stroking your hair, your tears soaking his shirt. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew.

You were finally where you belonged. And you were here to stay.

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

The Yugioh Arcs Ranked

I’m going to rank all the main arcs of the original Yugioh anime with the exception of season zero and Capsule Monsters, because I haven’t seen those. This is just my own personal opinion, it’s not objective in any way. In fact, from looking at other people’s lists, I think I might piss a few people off with how I ranked these. Remember, this is just my opinion. Also, disclaimer, I did watch this show in dub. While from what I’ve seen of the sub is infinitely better, I did get into the show and I do still think it is a good show in dub. Still, some of the story details might be slightly different for that reason. (Going forward with the spin-offs, I am watching sub.)

7 Dungeon Dice Monsters

This arc served one purpose and one purpose alone: to introduce Duke Devlin/Ryuji Otogi and establish him as a friend of the main group before he comes back in Battle City to… do basically nothing? Personally, I barely saw the purpose in Tristan/Honda and Anzu/Tea so introducing yet another cheerleader for Yugi who doesn’t do much on his own confuses me. Ryuji admittedly has more character than Honda and Anzu and the stuff with the Dungeon Dice Monsters game itself is kind of cool but the other arcs had much more to them so this arc is at the bottom just by default.

6 Noah’s Saga (Or Virtual World)

Onto the first filler arc. There are three arcs of this show that don’t accomplish anything for the overall story and this is one of them. If you don’t know, these arcs aren’t even from the manga. In Japan, Yugioh was based on a then ongoing manga so the filler arcs were created to give the manga writer time to finish the manga so the anime could adapt it. So while I understand the reasoning behind this, I think placing Noah’s Saga in the middle of Battle City was a pretty bad idea in my opinion, as it's nothing but a distraction that destroys the flow of the story and goes on for way too long. It’s not bad though. The deck master gimmick is fun and adds an interesting twist to the duels. It was also interesting learning more about the Kaiba family and especially Seto’s backstory. Overall however, this arc drags in parts and while Noah is still a good villain objectively, he's a complete brat and I personally find that annoying. Still, it was nice seeing Mokuba turn Noah to the heroes’ side through sheer goodness alone.

5 Grand Tournament (Or KC Grand Prix)

Another filler arc. I’m putting this one over Noah’s arc because while that one had the better individual moments and did more for the characters, this arc didn’t overstay its welcome like that one did. It also genuinely shocked me by having Kaiba actually defeat the main villain rather than going the stereotypical way and having Yugi beat him. That’s worth a few points in my book. (It was also just a really good duel.) I also liked Joey’s/Jonouchi’s duel with Yugi’s grandfather, his former mentor. It was annoying how he didn’t recognize him but it was still a nice way to show how far Jonouchi has come since the start of the series. Overall, this arc is just fine. I’d probably skip it if I ever rewatched the series but it’s not without its merit.

4 Duelist Kingdom

Okay, this is the point where I’m probably gonna piss people off. Don’t get me wrong, I still like Duelist Kingdom. It’s a really good start to the show, gradually establishing the characters and the game of Duel Monsters in a really natural way. It also includes some of my favourite duels in the series: Kaiba and Yugi’s duel on the tower, and Kaiba and Yugi’s duels with Pegasus. Speaking of Pegasus, he’s a great villain. He is made out to be undefeatable and actually lives up to that reputation due to the powers of the Millenium Eye. Yugi and the Pharaoh have to repeatedly switch minds in order to beat him, which was really interesting to see. However… This is not the best arc of the show. A lot of the duels before the finals aren’t all that interesting and go on for way too long. They’re not bad duels per say, just uninteresting and padded. When I first started watching this show, I was mostly using it as background while I wrote. The filler duels just didn’t grab my attention and I have no interest in revisiting them. The parts that made me look up from my writing were anything with Kaiba (who I latched onto very early for personal, coping reasons), the times Bakura went into evil mode, and pretty much everything from Yugi and Kaiba’s duel on the tower and onward. I knew about Kaiba attempting suicide but what I didn’t know was that the Pharaoh nearly went through with killing him and had to be stopped by Yugi. That was the moment where I realized this show was more than just “a dumb kids’ show” and was willing to go dark places, despite how much the 4Kids dub wanted to hide that. It was the moment where I actually became interested in the show. So yes, this is a good arc, but later arcs in my opinion topped it.

3 Waking the Dragons

Yes, I put a filler arc over the classic season one. Honestly though, this season was so good I didn’t even know it was a filler arc until I did my research. Sure, it moved the focus away from the Millennium Items but the character development for Mai, Yugi, and the Pharaoh felt so genuine and was really interesting. This season basically forced me to see the differences between Yugi and the Pharaoh by separating them for quite a bit of the season, which was another thing that really surprised me. I was used to this show being darker at this point. However, I never expected them to actually kill the main character, even if it was obviously just temporary. That’s a pretty ballsy move. I grew to really like the Pharaoh and Yugi this season. And Mai’s fall to villainy and the exploration of her trauma from Battle City was very interesting and tragic. This show writes villains very well and this season is a great example of that. I really like stories where the villains’ motivation is to destroy the world due to their hatred of humanity/the world. Valon, Allister, and Raphael all have genuinely sad backstories that perfectly explain why they adopted this viewpoint. Dartz not so much. However, he is still a great villain. He has such a presence and the way he manipulated all these people and even twisted their minds with the Orichalcos was delightfully twisted. However, his ‘redemption’ at the end was really out of nowhere and unnecessary and Pegasus’s involvement in this season was… weird to say the least. Overall, however, I really like this arc. I understand the backlash, since this is a filler arc and a really long one at that, but I personally really enjoyed it.

2 Dawn of the Duel

Yeah, the final arc isn’t the best one. Time travel stories really don’t appeal to me personally. However, in situations where the thing in question was already bonkers as hell before introducing time travel I’m more willing to let it slide and get into the silliness of the time travel idea rather than picking it apart. A lot of its logic makes no sense if you think about it even a little but seeing the conclusion to all these long running arcs was really satisfying. Bakura is also a great villain. I was wondering what they were going to do with him all series so for him to finally have the spotlight as the main villain and to learn that he actually had a sympathetic backstory was really cool to see. This is the arc with the least actual dueling so I can see why people who watch this show for the duels would be disappointed. However, I watched the show for the lore and the characters, which were the focus of this arc and personally, I loved seeing the ancient real life version of Duel Monsters. The battles felt more intense due to them being real. Also, I will admit that the final scene where they all say goodbye to Atem got tears out of me, which I didn’t think this show would ever do.

1 Battle City (Both parts, splitting it was stupid)

Okay, this is the season that made me a fan. It’s the point where I started actively blogging about it and even analyzing it a bit. First of all, this arc had, in my opinion, the best villain in the series: Marik. His redemption arc was the only one in the show that was justified or made any goddamn sense for that matter (besides Kaiba but I don’t really count him as a villain). Marik’s backstory did a good job making him sympathetic without excusing his terrible actions. Even before his darker side took over, Marik was a really good villain, using his millennium item to mind control and kind of terrorize his minions all while hiding in the shadows so when the heroes actually see him, they don't even realize it's him. Granted the story didn't do much with that plot point but it was still cool. Also, I didn’t think this show would actually go as far as to have the villain mind control Yugi’s friends and even force Yugi to duel one of them to the death. That genuinely surprised me, as did the Yami Marik twist. This arc also added a lot to the lore, which was the aspect of Duelist Kingdom that I was most interested in and was barely touched on in that arc. In Battle City however, we got the Egpytian God Cards, two more Millenium Items, the history of the Tomb Keepers, all of which were really interesting. This arc also has a lot of the best duels in the series, which I can try and list:

-Kaiba vs Ishizu (I hate the way destiny is written in this series, but Kaiba changing his destiny was the most badass thing ever. Even I can’t deny that.)

-The best Yugi vs Kaiba battle (Tied with their Duelist Kingdom one honestly, those are both great but this one had two god cards clash. I can’t help but love it.)

-Jonouchi vs Marik (The sub gave me chills and even the dub made my heart skip a beat and think they were actually going to break anime rules and let Jonouchi win. Also, the dub gave us the amazing “according to my math, six is higher than two” line, which I unironically love.)

-Yugi vs Marik (I mean come on. It’s the final battle and seeing Marik regain control and overcome his dark side was great.)

Anyways, that was my personal ranking. I think I’m generally in agreement with the fandom consensus except I feel Duelist Kingdom is a little overrated and Waking the Dragons is underrated. I will do this with GX when I finish it though I admit I have been really on and off about watching that show due to real life reasons.

[brabe]

WHAT IF... MURATA UGETSU HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER?

“Murata Ugetsu was by no means detached from life- nor was he free of worries and grief, he had feelings too- the same as anyone else... But, unlike ordinary people, his heart and his emotions were overflowing.

While I listened to Ugetsu’s music that day—to the sudden flood of music-feeling that was amplified so many times more than usual, I found myself wondering — how... just how was this child prodigy able to live...?

Be it joy, or sorrow, or suffering, Ugetsu lived with feelings which were much more complex, and exponentially larger than those of ordinary people- just accumulating it all within himself.” (Chapter 17)

Murata Ugetsu’s introduction struck a chord with me right away because I recognized the feelings described all too well. So, I asked myself, what if?

 After finishing the anime, I read all the chapters of the manga mainly because I wanted to know more about this intriguing character, and I only kept finding clues that reinforced my initial assumption.

 I am hyperfixated on mental health issues, in part wanting to find characters to relate to, so here is my reading of Murata Ugetsu. I wonder if anyone came to the same conclusion as me.

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is an illness marked by an ongoing pattern of varying moods, self-image, and behaviour. These symptoms often result in impulsive actions and problems in relationships with other people. A person with borderline personality disorder may experience episodes of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last from a few hours to days. In general, someone with a personality disorder will differ significantly from an average person in terms of how they think, perceive, feel or relate to others.

“People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.” (Marsha Linehan, Professof of Psicology, who has BPD herself and developed the most effective therapy to date for this disorder).

There are many categories of symptoms for this disorder and I reckon Ugetsu manifests the following:

A pattern of unstable relationships swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation):

The most glaringly obvious one is, of course, the relationship with Akihiko. 

“Right after Ugetsu has been away from home for some time, there is a honeymoon phase which lasts a few days. It’s as if we have returned to the past... And then out of the blue, it happens—as if he’s saying, yes, this is a great chance—let's take this opportunity, quit being together and break for real this time. Like he is in a rush... Like I am not needed. Like—he is forcibly shutting me out from his world.” (Chapter 19)

“Him and I... We have been causing each other nothing but despair for almost two years now.” (Chapter 17)  

It’s also notable the lack of other relationships. When Mafuyu asks him, why Ugetsu was confiding in him, even though they were virtually strangers, Ugetsu replies: “Because I don’t have any friends! Perhaps, I really just wanted someone to understand... Just a little bit is enough.” (Chapter 17)

He is actually really kind towards Mafuyu, opening his home to him, freely helping him with music anytime Mafuyu wants even though he is a world-renowned musician and even letting him practice at his house while he is not there. We know he does that because he recognizes the genius in Mafuyu, but still, I think he actually would like to have friends; he probably just doesn’t know how to. We know that Akihiko was his first friend and evidently years later still the only one close to him.

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger, often followed by guilt and shame:

Ugetsu gets suddenly physically violent with Akihiko two times (and a third one is implied when Haruki first saw Akihiko and he had a bruised cheekbone). He throws a glass on the floor when Mafuyu visits him because Akihiko still hasn’t come back home. He seemingly inexplicably smashes the mug Akihiko gifted him: “Around the time we had just started to live together, when he brought me my first present, somehow... I hated that very much, and I refused it saying—’I don’t want it!’ Even though it was only a mug. Back then, I should’ve just said—’I’m happy. I want to be with him.’” (Chapter 17)

I believe the last one was a dissociative episode, another symptom of BPD, a trance-like state in which one is disconnected from their own mind, body and surroundings. Then the switch turns back on and Ugetsu suddenly starts crying, crouching on the floor, staring blankly at the broken pieces and picking them up, asking himself why, just why did I do this?

The guilt and shame aspect is also shown, when after having recounted his history with Akihiko to Mafuyu, Ugetsu leans his head on the steering wheel of his car remembering everything, clearly in grief, and thinking to himself: “Really... He is a good guy, isn’t he.” (Chapter 17). Here I want to indeed praise Akihiko and underline how well he dealt with Ugetsu’s dissociative episode. He didn’t freak out and lash out at Ugetsu, calling him crazy, but instead he tried to diffuse the situation, laughing and helping Ugetsu to pick up the pieces of the broken mug. As if to say, ‘it’s okay.’

Desperate efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment:  

One way of doing this is leaving the other person before they leave you, which is exactly what Ugetsu does or tries to do. He is terrified that Akihiko will leave him definitely one day, but at the same time he actively tries to make him leave: “I’m the lowest son of a bitch towards Akihiko and I guess he resents me, y’know... But I love him to death.” (Chapter 17)

“I’ve been pushing him away but he hasn’t given up on me at all. I’ve been trying to leave him every chance I get. But it seems like I’m still not good at doing that, so... I’ve always been waiting for him to let go of me.” (Chapter 17)

“What if he never came back, just like that? I’ve thought about it countless times. Yet, I’m still not able to imagine it. Tomorrow, he might come back all of a sudden? Or maybe he won’t? But, just the same, I want this suffering to end. But on second thought, I don’t really want that. All the stuff that’s in this room right now, the thought that everything might disappear... Will nothing... Not one thing remain?” (Chapter 27)

Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self:  

It’s fair to say the core obstacle in his relationship with Akihiko. Ugetsu’s whole existence is ingrained irrevocably in music. It is what gives his life purpose and the outlet with which he deals with his too intense emotions. Which leads me to wonder what would happen if for some reason he lost music. And I am not positive he would survive that.

“After we graduated from high school—at the time, when I was actively performing as a musician... one day all of a sudden I realized, the existence of the other—was the one thing we both chased after the most in this world. As long as Akihiko is with me, I’ll be unable to become free with my music.” (Chapter 17)

Ugetsu felt as if he was losing himself and his music in his love for Akihiko, which brings to the unstable sense of self. This terrified him. Love is messy for everyone and anyone but with BPD emotions are plugged into an amplifier and dialled up to the maximum (“But for my heart to be touched like that”). He can’t deal with all of this and the fight-or-flight response is triggered and “Let’s end this already.” (Chapter 17)

Black-or-white thinking:  

People with BPD often struggle to see the complexity in people and situations and are unable to recognize that things are often not either perfect or horrible, but are something in between. This can lead to "splitting," which refers to an inability to maintain a cohesive set of beliefs about oneself and others. Ugetsu seems to be obsessed with perfection and probably to be a world-renowned violinist you need to be to a certain degree. But for example, when asked by Akihiko to come to the band’s first live, he replies with: “Is it at a level that you can show me? Ah... it’s not at a level where you can reply to me right away... then, I won’t come. There’s no point watching a performance if the performer doesn’t have the confidence to do it well.” (Chapter 8)

Ugetsu doesn’t exist in the in-betweens. There is pefection or worthlessness, love or hate, music or Akihiko.

Depression:

Ugetsu manifests many symptoms of depression.

He is either practicing the violin or sleeping. 

He seems to undereat. Almost in every panel in which they are at home, Akihiko worries about whether Ugetsu has eaten or not, and always offers to cook for him, implying that Ugetsu wouldn’t bother if left to his own devices.  

He is untidy and careless to some degree. At the violin concerto where Ugetsu is the soloist, Akihiko exclaims: “Again? That idiot... His hair is a mess.” (Chapter 15) implying that it isn’t the first time that Ugetsu appears somewhat shabby at a formal event, in which furthermore he is the star. This fact in particular surprised me because I had the impression that Ugetsu was vain.

This neglectfulness also reflects in his living space. Once Akihiko leaves, the house is in complete disarray. When Akihiko comes back to say he will move out, the debris of the glass Ugetsu smashed when Mafuyu visited are still there.

Last but not least, Ugetsu lives in a soundproofed basement in semidarkness, a fortress of solitude of sorts from the outside world.

Suicidal thoughts or threats:  

“Well, when I was a kid, I used to go to some unknown old man’s plantation on my own, and I enjoyed killing bugs by squishing them with my right hand, y’know... Then, on one clear sunny day, I happened to listen to some music playing on that old man’s radio. It was ‘In the flow of time’ by Paul Simon... Yet even though I was only a kid, I thought, wow... I want to die... It’s a good day, isn’t it? Well, there were other things too, but somehow, I wonder If I’ve basically been chasing that feeling of dying from back then...” (Chapter 21.5)

Well, this passage speaks for itself. In some capacity Ugetsu has been pondering on death, has been chasing it, since he was a small child. I think this can be linked to the BPD symptom of chronic feelings of emptiness.

Impulsive, self-destructive and sensation-seeking behaviours:  

In this category I think we can include the sleeping around in which Ugetsu engages. While not a harmful behaviour in itself, I think the motive is. Ugetsu has been systematically sleeping around for two years not because he actually wants to and it makes him feel good, but he does it to spite Akihiko and as a coping mechanism to try and get over him. This wouldn’t do good to anyone’s mental health and self-worth.

“Ugetsu and I fought all the time, even after we broke up. That... was because of his timing when it came to finding a new man... It was as though he was doing to spite me.” (Chapter 19)

Intense and highly changeable moods:

Simply, all of the above.

This is all for now. I will edit this list if future chapters will shed more light on the mind and heart of this character that I have come to care so deeply about.