#I make myself available to anyone who calls me a friend because I actually care about how they feel but almost nobody gives that back

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ssinboo]

Couture Kisses

summary: You've been in love with your best friend, Kim Seungmin since forever!

or

in reply to this lovely ask!

pairing: Fashion student!Kim Seungmin x Fashion student!F!Reader

word count: 4k (25~ minute read)

warnings: weight insecurities and mentions of body image issues that aren't resolved, author has very limited knowledge of fashion, making out, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex

a/n: This ask has been marinating in my inbox since june ... OTL I apologise it takes me absolutely forever to write TT I couldn't bring myself to write him as exactly asked, so this is very vanilla!

An entire collection by the end of winter. 

That’s your final project for fashion school.

Needless to say, you were panicking, hard. 

Not that you didn’t have plenty of sketches to pick and choose from, but it being your final assignment it had to be special. Twelve pieces, all able to stand on their own and at least one that you would model on your own and steal the show. 

Even though you tried to shimmy your way from the spotlight and just stand backstage, your professor was very insistent on you modelling at least one of your pieces. 

You absolutely dreaded the stage and the attention. 

Shy by nature, is how you were described by those close to you. And growing up larger than everyone around you took a toll on your self-esteem. 

Your sister was more than up for the modelling, she loved you and of course, loved all your work. Always your number 2 supporter.

Who was number 1? Oh, well, none other than Mr. Kim Seungmin. 

Unfairly handsome, Seungmin stood at a gorgeous 178cm with jet black hair and flowy bangs dyed a platinum blond. He had the most gorgeous almond eyes, which would adorably cross anytime he was a bit too tired. His nose was button shaped and a deep bridge that only accentuated his gorgeous eyes and the faintest little bump along its length. And his lips, gosh, his lips, you could go on and on about his perfectly shaped cupid’s bow or his exquisitely plump lower lip. (which only made his lip ring phase harder on your mental sanity). 

Not that you had a crush on your best friend or anything, of course not!

On other news, Seungmin was a lot less worried about this final assignment, given that you actually agree to his maniacal request: model for his collection. All because you had asked him to model yours.

There were models available, of course, but you could also bring your own and being able to take multiple measures, and do as many fittings as you wished helped ease your anxiety. 

“Come on, don’t be such a meanie!” You whine as he once again insists on this deranged idea.

“It’s only fair, we model for each other. Also, I introduced you to my friends so you could use them as your guinea pigs, you owe me one.” 

“That’s… different,” You shrug. You were grateful for his friends’ willingness to help and the sheer quantity of them was a perk. But you would not get up on that runaway, no way!

“No, it’s not.” 

“You know it is! You’re gorgeous… And I–”

“You what?” He interrupts with a thorny rasp. 

You jump at his sudden jab, suddenly self-conscious about your self-consciousness. 

“You know… I’m gonna make your clothes look ugly.”

Seungmin runs his tongue along his metal-clad teeth and slaps his hand over the cafeteria table.

“You’re gonna walk for me or I won’t do it for you. Don’t think of contacting me until you’re ready to give me the ultimatum.”

Harsh, yes. But he cared about you, more than he cared about anyone or anything, ever. You were the most gorgeous, caring, funny, intelligent, charismatic and talented person and his eyes. And everytime you put yourself down, it took every inch of restraint in his body to not grab your shoulders and yell just how much he loved you. 

Although, he regretted his words as soon as they left his lips. As soon as the anger subsided, he was ready to call you and take it all back. But you came running to your shared apartment, ready to apologise and agree. 

He was your bestest friend in the whole universe, you would do anything for Kim Seungmin. And it was about time you started doing it.

And all was forgotten by the time sketchbooks were splattered across the dining table and you exchanged ideas back and forth over chinese takeout. 

You were crazy about holidays and especially valentine’s day. It was only fair for your final assignment to reflect that. You had plenty of lovely sketches that were fitting for your early february deadline. But you racked your brain over the clothes that would fit Seungmin. 

Just what could possibly do his indescribable beauty justice? Any of your designs felt unbecoming of him. 

It’s when you’re splayed out on your sofa during your weekly movie night, watching Pride & Prejudice for the thousandth time over, that you get an idea. 

An idea so great you’re jumping and throwing the blanket over your half-asleep best friend. 

Seungmin, the poor fella, thinks something might’ve happened. So he waddles into your bedroom, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

You’re scrambling around for paper and pencils. 

“What’s up?” He asks, voice drenched in sleep. Had you not been entranced by your sudden burst of imagination, you certainly would’ve melted at just how adorable he looked.

“I’ve got your outfit,” is all the context you give him. 

“What?” He leans against the doorframe, fighting against his sleepy eyelids. 

“Mr. Darcy! How could I have not thought of it before! It was right underneath my nose!” You’re gesturing and your thoughts run all over the place, but you’ve got the brightest smile across your lips. 

And he stands there, watching you try and bring your vision to life, mumbles and grumbles coming out every now and then. Though his love-stricken smile is invisible to you.

Fabric shopping was always fun, especially when your best-friend tagged along. Seungmin had been keeping his inspiration a secret so far, despite your attempts, he was good at being quiet when he wished so. 

You looked at different textures and colours all day, leaving behind a good chunk of your savings at the chain store. But all for a good cause. 

There was plenty of cheaper fabric for mockups at home, so that’s where you started out. Since you didn’t want to bother Seungmin, his fit should be the last one – also, part of you was terrified of his look and how intricate it would be. 

You were still in the warm-toned shades of autumn by the time you had your collection ready for next february. 

All you needed were his measurements to get started on your Mr Darcy modern valentine’s day sort of look. It sounded strange to say out-loud, but the sketches looked great. 

Seungmin comes out of his room in a tight tank-top and loose boxer shorts and you gulp, tightening your fingers around your measuring tape, this would be the longest day of your life. 

Here he stands, in the middle of your room, surrounded by the fabrics you insisted he picked, with his arms stretched out and his chest available to you. 

Starting off easy, you run the tape from his shoulder to his wrists, fingernails lightly grazing his bare skin. His eyes don’t leave yours for a single second, especially when you’re standing so absurdly close. 

And when you have to basically almost wrap your arms around his chest to reach behind for the tape, he feels the odd urge to hug you and not let go.

You hugged often, of course, you did. You were best friends. 

However, standing in your strawberry lotion scented bedroom in summer pjs, feeling weirdly warm for the current temperature outside, Seungmin feels his skin burn every time your fingers meet his body. 

Seungmin is so beautifully proportionate, you think. Studying his slender arms and long legs, his torso, just perfectly built. In every way, he was destined to be the main character of a timeless romance. 

This is way past your normal antics of going all obsessed with the bodies that would fit your designs. Thinking about making the outfit Seungmin would wear for all to see. 

It’s like he would carry a piece of you. 

You’re chewing at your lower lip, revising all numbers and doing the maths in your head to gauge out how much of each fabric you’ve got left and how much you’ll need. 

“You got it?” He asks, startling you away from your thoughts. 

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Great. Your turn now,” He smiles, stretching out his hand for your sparkly, strawberry-scented pen and notepad. 

So came the dreaded day he would take your measurements.

You haven’t done your own sizing in over a year now, an irrational fear of the tape finds you each time you think about it. 

And part of you is totally ready to call the whole thing off and just beg Seungmin to please find someone else. 

But he gives you no window of space to talk, pushing you to stand in the middle of the room and pulling your arms in the right position.

And you feel extremely exposed. 

You’re so entangled in your spiral of self-hatred, you completely miss the sweat that threatens to pool at his forehead, or how often he’s gulped in the past five minutes. 

Though he constantly craved close proximity to you, this time might be enough to kill him. 

Your chest has always been the bane of his existence. Squishy, soft skin always pressing up against body whenever you hugged him happily, practically pouring out of any piece of clothing with a tighter fit. Rubbing around his arm when you’re walking hand-in-hand at the shopping centre. 

And he feels horrid for being such a pervert, he does. 

You’re his loving, kind, best-friend and he’s always ogling your body with his dirty male mind. 

God, your waist. Abundant flesh folded over in adorable rolls, so perfectly shaped for his hands and his hands only. He imagined himself grabbing handfuls of your ass, running his hands all over your hips and waist.

Your thighs, so full and creamy; in particular when you wear the one summer dress your sister gave you on your last birthday. That dress drives him absolutely crazy. Floral linen with a wrap-around layered cut that leaves his mind running around thoughts of undoing those flimsy ties and finding that gorgeous body you’re so intent on hiding. 

“Minnie?” You ask, a bucket of hot water over his flames. 

Your voice is so soft, dripping in affection as always. 

“Have you got it?”

He gulps, immediately shying away from your body lest he be corrupted by any evil thoughts. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Are you alright?”

Seungmin nods. 

“It’s bad isn’t it?” You scratch at your nape, eyes avoiding his.

“Wha- What?”

“My measurements,” You shrug. 

“No– No. Absolutely not, you’re fine, you’re perfect. It’s just– I’ve been rethinking my collection lately– Nothing to do with you,” He loses track of his words, rambling on and on while your love-stricken heart hangs hopelessly onto the word ‘perfect’.

“Well,” You fidget with the hem of your pyjama shirt, eyes slowly prodding at his reaction, “Anything I can help with?”

Seungmin finally smiles and your heart blooms in warmth, “Not yet, but there will be.” 

And so on, your days are consumed with the mindless routine of class and working on your project. 

Work went great with Seungmin’s friends, they were all so friendly and outgoing, you felt right at home. And everything looked perfect. Just missing one final look. 

Though Seungmin was more than willing to do as many fittings as you’d like, you both scheduled a double try-on day. Which would also be the first time you’d see his design. 

You keep fidgeting with your fingers, anxiety gnawing at your brain with every passing second. He’d locked himself in his room for ‘last-minute corrections’ and you were almost going crazy.

An hour later, Seungmin finally emerges from his room, a plastic cover draped over his design, keeping you from peeking. 

“So?!” You inquire, he keeps avoiding your eyes, for some reason. 

“I’m ready,” He nods and so do you. 

“Rock, paper, scissors, loser goes first?” You ask.

“Please,” he nods fervently and you smile nervously. 

So you stand before him.

He calls it out. Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

You put out Scissors.

And he put out Rock.

You go first.

Shit. 

Seungmin seems all too relieved, still psyching himself up to show his design. 

You pull your creation from the plastic covering and hand it to him. A creamy white button-up with flowy sleeves, a velvet crimson coat with embroidered details following its length and black leather trousers in a high-waisted cut. 

“Good luck, I guess,” You joke and he laughs.

“No need for it. It’s gonna be the best,"he says. 

Though when he finds himself changing into the set in the privacy of his bedroom, Seungmin is astonished, admiring every single detail you’ve poured into it. His fingers caress the handmade lacy collar, feeling the hours spent in every thread and stitch. 

And it fits his body perfectly; white linen drapes across his chest, hugging his pecs but flowing down freely down his torso. 

“You ready?” He calls out and you gnaw at your fingers in anxiety. 

“Yeah.”

Seungmin pads through the hallway, eyes scanning the living room until they meet yours. You smile, eyes glistening in adoration, taking in this moment as if it would end too soon.

“Wow.”

He smiles, “I know, it’s amazing… You’re amazing.” 

“No– It’s– You look so… Handsome,” It wasn’t uncommon for you to compliment each other, but this once felt too intimate. 

Seungmin blushes, scratching at his neck. 

“So… My turn, I guess?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Oh, how you dreaded this moment, not that you doubted his abilities but with your luck, you’d ruin his hard work with your subpar looks.

Seungmin hands you an opaque plastic cover, he notices your hesitation, but gives up on saying anything lest you actually give up. 

He plops onto the sofa as you leave for your room, chewing on his own lips. He hoped this dress could convey everything he felt for you, even if a little bit. 

It takes you excruciating 5 minutes to finally come back into the living room. 

Seungmin stands up, letting the cushion he’d held fall to the ground and match his jaw.

His work, – an asymmetrical white dress with a poofy skirt and a translucent layer of tulle decorated with snowflake shaped beads over its length – hugs your body perfectly.

You look absolutely ethereal standing before him with a shy smile, wearing the clothes he made with his own hands, every stitch done with thoughts of you. 

“You’re breathtaking,” 

You laugh quietly, “The dress is doing most of the work. It’s beautiful, Minnie, I don’t have any words–”

“No– You’re… Gorgeous.”

He’s serious, dead serious. 

And you’re stuck in a staring contest, standing five feet apart in your living room, time comes to a standstill. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wouldn't– Not to you.” 

You study his expression, searching for any, absolutely any sign of jest, but he’s serious. He truly thinks you’re… pretty?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Yes,” Seungmin takes a step forward, “The prettiest.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever…” 

You want to believe his words, Gosh, you do. But it’s hard, it’s hard to believe anyone would look at you and think anything even remotely positive. 

“Minnie– Seungmin, please,” You breathe out, “Please, tell me you’re not joking about this– I won’t forgive you.”

“Every day and night I think of you and I can’t take my mind off how you manage to steal my breath away every damn time.”

Your heart skips a beat or ten; he steps forward and you wish to close the space between you for once but your body doesn’t move. 

You can’t take this, not if he isn’t serious, no. You would never recover from something like this. 

“Say something, please,” He pleads. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

Seungmin freezes.

And you curse at yourself, there, you’ve done it now. You’ve gone ahead and ruined everything.

But he lets out a sigh of relief and his hands find your jaw, pulling you toward his body at once. 

Your fingers run up the soft fabric, gripping at the freshly overlocked edges, his pale skin teasingly on display through a tiny heart-shaped window which would later be adorned with blood-red rhinestones, though some had already been placed. 

And your breath gets caught on your throat, threatened with the lull of proximity and his minty breath fanning on your lips. Nails digging into the velvet fabric of the overcoat, your eyes are stuck to his enticing chest. 

He smells of baby powder, chalk, and of the blueberry-scented shampoo you bought on sale last month. And you let his perfume lure your stupid heart into an erratic rhythm. Let the heat of his body find your own, setting your cheeks on fire. 

When your lips meet his, it’s as if a current runs through your bloodstream, awakening every cell and fibre in your body to the taste of the man you love. 

“I’ve waited for this for forever, it seems–” He whispers against your kiss-reddened lips. 

His fingers are tangled in your hair and his lips crash against yours once again. He’s forceful, desperate. All-consuming and ravenous. 

You can only melt into his touch and seep into his body, hoping to become one and never be apart ever again. Oh no, you couldn’t stand another day away from his gorgeous lips now you’ve had a taste. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him guide you, taking the smallest of steps back until your legs meet the sofa and you both fall down with a loud ‘poof’.

His hands cup your cheeks, tongue ravishing your mouth with relentless want, he drinks every moan and sigh before it even makes it past your lips. You’ve barely made out for five minutes and you can feel the volume of his hard-on poking at your hip bone. 

Oh, it’s an incomparable rush of dopamine to affect someone so much. 

Seungmin kisses at your lips, cheeks and jaw, nipping and sucking at your skin until he leaves behind his mark; his claim on you. His teeth graze along your skin, erupting goosebumps over its path.

“Don’t– Don’t want to ruin your dress–” You sigh, willing yourself to push him away. 

He smiles against your collarbones.

“Wanna take it off, then?”

An indescribable heat flushes your body.

“Seungmin!!!” You yell. 

“What? Take it off…” His hand reaches for the hem of the dress, toying with the soft tulle. 

“No-!” 

“Let me see your body, hm?” He hums, puppy-eyed and all.

“It’s–” You look away. You could barely fathom the idea of standing naked before anyone let alone the guy you’ve loved for ages. 

Seungmin licks his lips, “Look, I’ve– I’ve been dreaming of this– You, under me…” His fingers ghost against your bare thigh. “I– I… You have no idea what you do to me, now, do you?”

You shake your head.

He reaches for your hand and then places it above the leather-clad bulge that rages in his trousers. As soon as your hand barely grazes the fabric, Seungmin gulps. 

You’re overtaken with a desire to pleasure him.

You’re rid of the dress, – even with your pleas to treasure it, Seungmin throws it aside, eager to feel you bare. 

You attempt to cover your modesty, but he solves that issue by pinning your hands atop your head. As he truly sees your body for the first time, you watch his eyes glisten in true adoration, a dark hint of lust behind them. Your skin burns hot under his attention.

“You’ll be the death of me, y’know…” He jokes, but there’s a hint of truth, his heart pounds against his ribcage. 

He peppers kisses along your chest, tongue licking at your skin, watching you squirm and sigh at his every touch, how your nipples stand hardened and kiss-bitten. Trailing down your stomach, he makes sure to nip at the abundant flesh, to marvel at how plump and absolutely perfect you are. 

Oh, and he mumbles at every move just how ethereal you are.

His lips graze your inner thighs, licking at your skin but not where you need him the most. Every time he breathes against your aching pussy, you practically jump. 

Though he planned to tease you endlessly, Seungmin can barely hold back his wish to do nothing but lose himself between your gorgeous thighs. 

He licks a long, torturous strip along your core.

You squeal. 

But despite your squealing and squirming, Seungmin’s got a strong grip on your hips and he is making sure your pussy is all his for the tasting. And he finds it, he might be the one most affected, after all.

You taste absolutely divine, liquid euphoria flowing through his lips and eager tongue. He eats you out like the world is ending; as if this is all a dream and he will wake up alone and hot in his bedroom. 

And you moan his name with each syllable sounding more tempting than the last. 

Only once you come on his tongue, does he rest; but not for long, no. 

If it were up to him, he would get a couple orgasms out of you, lay in between your legs for hours. 

Seungmin leans back on his knees, admiring just how absolutely fucked-out you look with messy hair and heaving chest. And you look up at him with glossy, swollen lips and teary eyes. He can’t resist you, after all.

He kisses you again and again, fingers fidgeting with his trousers; Goddammit, why didn’t you put a zipper in this finger? Historical accuracy be damned when you want to fuck someone!

After his trousers are off, you urge him to lose the shirt as well and he complies. Seungmin is gorgeous; milky, unblemished skin with a slender build. 

“Look at you, so perfect– So eager– Just for me–” He breathes out, tip teasingly rubbing along your dripping core. 

You mewl, hands reaching out for him.

“Come on, baby, tell me– Tell me what you want.”

“I– I want you… I want you to fuck me.”

He curses a thousand bad words under his breath. 

When he finally slips it in, his fingers dig into your love handles, leaving behind tiny crescent moon shaped marks. You arch into him and he holds you firmly, arms wrapped around your body. 

He manoeuvres your legs over his thighs for a better angle and you feel him reach the deepest parts of your body. And you sigh, letting yourself feel full, stretched beyond bliss. 

It’s only when he notices with a devilish smirk how you’ve started to grind against his hips that he starts to move.

You are bathed in pleasure and lust.

His hands run up and down your leg, worshipping your thighs and your stomach that jiggles with every powerful thrust of his hips. Oh, and your tits, how hypnotic is it that they bounce up and down?

You moan his name over and over, mind hazy with pleasure and he lavishes in that feeling. Of rendering you cockdrunk, providing you with inconceivable bliss.

Seungmin pounds into you relentlessly, skin slapping sounds an obscene symphony that fills your ears, only accompanied by the breathy moans; Oh, the sweetest of sounds were the way he sang your name.

You clench around him, greedy and lovestruck. 

“Minnie– I’m gonna–”

“Shit– Come on, baby. Let go–” He groans out, hand reaching to rub your clit. 

Your second orgasm crashes into your body with an unstoppable explosion. You squirm and Seungmin leans forward to capture your lips in kiss, to drink your most euphoric moans. 

Hands wrapped around his back, you pull him flush to your heaving chest, letting the pleasure find your fuzzy brain. 

When he finally reaches his own climax, he pulls out, painting your skin with translucent ropes of white. Draping over your stomach pale strings of his seed, a claim. 

You’re smiling when his eyes meet yours and he is filled with immense relief; That’s you’re happy and well. 

He lays by your side, pulling you on top of him with a smile that mirrors yours. 

You lay on his chest, drawing figure eights along his soft skin to the stable sound of his heartbeat. Your own heart is draped in joy beyond comprehension. 

“I think the clothes look great,” Seungmin jokes.

You laugh. “Yeah, I think they do.”

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a "big name fan" (in a very minor way..? I don't like calling myself that, but I have made some sort of "impact", I guess) in a small fandom and I have produced like ~80% of all meta/fanfics/official media translations and archives, about some popular side characters who are related (and a lot of fanart, but I like writing more, so it's nowhere near to the amounts some other people made)...

But nobody knows that I actually ship them and that every single piece of content, from writing to art to meta, that I have posted, is shippy. Nobody except me and 2 friends has ever shipped those characters (I have checked every possible avenue in every language available out of desperation), so I guess I understand why nobody would think that I do, but still...

At this point I have drawn these characters literally 2 seconds away from kissing, but as long as I keep adding "(platonically, of course)" disclaimers, nobody seems to care..?

I feel bad because I'm tricking people into liking my art and writing, by not disclosing the truth, but the depressing feeling of "most of my friends would hate me if they knew" is giving way to me laughing at everything because... Seriously? That's Platonic familial love for them? Content that's all about eating each-other's flesh, cuddling, engaging in cooperative war crimes towards hundreds of people, hating mortals (AKA anyone outside their family unit), as well as sitting in each other's laps... all of that is Platonic and wholesome now? It's okay and normal as long as there's no smut? It's okay if these characters are horribly codependent, make each other worse, and are mentally unwell, as long as it doesn't go over that One Single Line - because one of them bottle-fed the other centuries ago???????

I don't mind keeping this a secret, because these characters mean a lot to me (I'm autistic & they're my special interest) and I really don't want others to stop talking to me about these characters or to harass me... but people in this community have been stalked irl over lesser "evils", while what I am doing is okay?? Why????

People have some serious double-standards about what is or isn't allowed, or what is or isn't shipping, and it's all rather odd.

--

[guesswhojusttt]

someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little? (love me a little?)

Ren Hana x suicidal!reader

Summary:

You work at a suicide hotline, and get a call from a boy who watches too much anime. It's all downhill from there.

Full story on AO3

Chapter 1: she's my mother, I tell him, but she has never been a mother

Summary:

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

(Note: the text messages are formatted weird on tumblr but are coded into looking like phone texts on AO3)

You sit at your desk- a quick turn in your black spinny chair- and push on a pressure point at the meat of your thumb in a little attempt to calm down. Pull on your headset, adjust the mic, and speak as kindly as you can. “Hey, I’m right here to support you- this is a judgment-free, safe space, and everything you share is entirely confidential and anonymous. You don’t even have to share your name unless you feel comfortable. What’s on your mind?”

“Are you busy right now?” The boy- young man?- is anxious, skittish.

“No, I’m available to talk as long as you need.” 

“Okay, but when you do get busy, you’ll tell me, right? If there’s- if there's someone else waiting on the line, and all the phones are occupied so no one picks up- I’d never forgive myself for taking help away from someone who actually deserves it. So if- if someone calls in, let me know and I’ll hang up, okay?”

“Okay.” You say. You will not, of course, hang up on a suicidal caller, but the guilt of using a resource they don’t ‘deserve’ wasn’t entirely uncommon. So many had started the call with I’m not suicidal so I don't even know why I’m calling, but… or I know I’m hogging something people actually need…

“Because, you know. There’s so many poor people and I’m- not. All these horrible stories about- about a spouse who hits you or having to work two jobs just to make ends meet- but I’m not- I’m privileged. Lucky. So I don’t… I really don’t know why I feel… I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” You imagine him pulling the hem of his sleeves over his hands, wringing them, white-knuckled.

“Well, you don’t need to compare yourself to others.” You speak slowly, calmly, doing your best to soothe him. “Death by one bullet or death by a dozen is still death, yeah? Your problem is just as important as anyone else’s.”

“But it’s… silly. There’s this guy I met and- he’s like the only one who listens to me, but I’m not sure- he’s older, you know, and I don’t- it’s not like I like him like that, but my family doesn’t care about- and it's not like I have any friends- he seems nice. I think. I’m not sure.” It's like he's typing up a message, erased the whole thing, wrote a new one, backspaced, scrapped it and started from scratch again.

“I can’t give you any advice-”

“But what would you do?”

“I’m not permitted to tell you what to do-”

“I just need a second opinion. An unbiased, third party. It’s… something feels off, but he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.” He huffs, sheepish. “Mostly because he’s the only person who’s bothered knowing me.”

You want to point out that it sounds codependent, that the other person is taking advantage of his desperation, that isn’t this grooming, but you inject as much understanding, as much sympathy, as you can into your voice. Judgment-free, as you’d promised. “And why does something feel off?”

“It just does. But, like… who cares about being safe, you know? Isn’t it better to be loved? Not that I love him, I hardly know him. But… he listens. No one ever listens. Um- no offense. You don’t count since it’s your job.”

“I understand,” you assure gently, “I know how important it is to have a friend. It’s normal to want to connect to anyone, even if that person doesn’t feel safe, or reliable.”

He babbles without breathing, as if scared he’ll be interrupted, or shut down, if he doesn’t let it all out at once. “Exactly- see, exactly, you get it. And it’s like- if I don't do this, I don’t know what else I’ll do. I was about to kill myself, you know? Because my date didn’t show, and this was like- this was my last shot, my one chance at having someone who loves and supports me, to have a relationship and- I've been waiting three hours here, how pathetic is that? But he came and saw I’d been stood up and let me whine about my problems and- part of me wants to just keep talking to him, go with him, but the other part… but if I don’t, that’s it. He’s my last chance, and I’ll just kill myself. So I’m in the bathroom of the restaurant now and he’s out there at my table and I’m huddled in a stall like a loser and I’m still- still not sure if he’s someone I’m- so I called here instead.”

“And I’m so proud of you for doing that.” You pour your sincerity in, and you mean it. You lean forward a little, fingers idly working at your palm’s pressure point to keep yourself, and your voice, calm. “It can be incredibly hard to reach out for help, to open up to a stranger, and you’ve done such a wonderful job for me so far. This man- he’s making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no- I mean, yes, I’m uncomfortable, but it’s not his fault. He’s really kind, actually, I mean I know it sounds weird but I swear he’s a nice guy. And like, if it’s a choice between going home alone, again-" and there's so much weight in that again, the heaviness of years of frustration and isolation and raw misery, "and how many nights and months and years can one person spend alone before they just- they just need someone? So if it’s a choice between a- a sweet guy and just- just offing myself-”

“May I ask if you still intend to end your life tonight?” You wince. You're generally not supposed to interrupt, supposed to give them the space to say everything they need to, but this guy is barreling on like his words are pus, are vomit, that he just needs to hurl up.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I… it depends. On the guy I mentioned. Some part of me thinks I should cut contact, but mostly want so badly to talk to him again. I don't know how to describe it. It's not like having a crush. It’s like… I just want him to make me feel important again.”

“Your importance is unchangeable regardless of who recognizes it or not, and no one can make you important, but naturally, all humans require external love and affection to feel it.” Your finger twitches over your mouse, considering flagging your supervisor that the caller was in danger, at-risk of some- what? Attack? Criminal? An ill-thought-out one-night stand? “Of course you want him to make you feel important- but do you feel like you’re risking your safety?”

“A little. Well. A lot. But what’s life without a little risk, right?" He chuckles self-deprecatingly, dry and bitter. "I’m just- a shut-in, watching stupid anime and reading manga all day and collecting dumb figurines and- the riskiest thing I’ve done is drinking too many energy drinks so I could stay up for a Kamisama Kiss marathon. I think… isn’t it about time I step out of my comfort zone?”

You're patient, you're kind, you're not enough. “Like I mentioned, I’m in no position to provide advice. However, we can come up with a safety plan, if you'd like? If you stay alive tonight, you can sleep on it and have a clear head to decide in the morning.”

Here’s what you should’ve done.

You should’ve flagged your supervisor. Should’ve messaged her: I think the caller might be in danger of harm from others. He has repeatedly mentioned an unsafe, unreliable man. While he hasn’t provided details, he has reported feelings of unease and uncertainty. The caller is young and has stated the man is older, and I want to ensure his safety and well-being. Your supervisor would have told you what to say- maybe to steer the caller away from the strange man- and he would’ve been okay. He would’ve been fine, and you would’ve been fine, and none of this would happen.

But all you’d done is established the next steps, a “what are your physical needs? Do you feel up for food, drinking something, or taking a shower?”

“I… don’t feel like getting water. I do have some ramune I ordered though, at my table.”

“That’s great!” You encourage. Little steps should always be rewarded, you think. “Being hydrated is good; doesn’t have to be water. Is there anything you usually do to soothe yourself?”

“Well, I… watching anime is great, but if I really wanna take my mind off things, I like to..." he trails off, a little shyly. Embarrassed, even.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me, but as long as your hobby is fun for you, that's what matters." From collecting and naming rocks to editing and monitoring all the Wikipedia pages about the Odyssey, every caller- every person- had their own way of self-soothing. 

"I know it's... a moronic waste of time, but I... sketch some self-insert OCs.”

“Drawing is very creative, and I know it can take a lot of time and effort, too. Give yourself some credit. Do you feel up for that tonight?”

“Yeah. I guess. Thanks. I think it’s best to go home, now, I’ve been at the restaurant an embarrassing amount of time anyway. Um- thanks for- being cool about all this. Bye.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He would end up talking to the man again after all, going home with him, and wreck his life- and yours- in the process.

You jam your index finger deeper into the pressure point at the base of your thumb:

Lonely since you were a child, you filled it with what many do: video games. A hopeless romantic, you filled the need for a relationship with otome games specifically. One of them, bad boys do it better, had this scene: the strong-but-silent love interest finds the main character, the only girl at an all-boys’ school, sleepy and yawning in the classroom. He takes her hand, presses a pressure point on her palm, and she feels all invigorated and awake.

Considering you, yourself, were constantly sleep-deprived, you decided to look it up for yourself: it wasn't a fluke. Give yourself an acupressure wake-up, one article reads, 6 pressure points for falling asleep, Medical News Today lists. It becomes a hyperfixation: pressure points for period cramps, for headaches, for high blood pressure. When you’re motion sick in a car, you massage a point in your inner arm to soothe it, when the Tylenol and Advil don’t make your migraines go away, you try a pressure point between your eyes, or at the side of your brow.

Honestly, it doesn’t always work- maybe half the time?- but it’s a cool party trick. Or, would be, if you got invited to parties.

As you type up the basic information of the call (reason for calling, next steps established, suicidal risk from 1-5), you think about how everyone is suicidal, actually. There’s so many YouTube playlists- for when you want to disappear, alone… again, one more night feeling like the loneliest person in the world, when loneliness no longer a pain but a comfort, suicide at 3AM, it’s getting worse again and it’s all your fault, slowly dying- where the comment section of vent playlists and lo-fi hours are flooded with paragraphs of people either pouring out their life’s trauma or comforting words to gently encourage the reader to live another day. There’s suicide hotlines and textlines and 7 cups of tea and a steep increase in people seeking therapy this past decade, because everyone is depressed, because there’s a housing crisis and all-time highs both for poverty rates and billionaire’s incomes and and and

There isn’t really a reason to live, anymore. No dream house to look forward to, no shiny career as a writer or actor or artist or teacher when they’re so severely underpaid, no true love soulmate when there’s no third place to meet people anymore, except a bar or a club which is really just a chance to be drugged and date-raped.

So, no. You don’t think you’re depressed, you don’t think most people are depressed; rather, you think the world itself is in a very depressing state, which naturally leads to its inhabitants mirroring its circumstances.  

Well. You might be a tiny bit suicidal, but not depressed. Not really. From fantasizing about running away from home since you were eight to constantly imagining grabbing a bag and getting out of here through every single middle and high school year to the crushing disappointment of not affording a dorm and having to live with her throughout university and then, in some twisted, cruel fate, having to stay even while you work because she has chronic pain and can't work, won't work, and wouldn't you be ableist for leaving someone on so many medications to fend for themselves? 

So you work and you pay the rent and the groceries and the bills and it all goes to her bank account. Oh, sure, the account is under your name (and somehow that's worse, it's your credit score it's affecting), but it's her email and her phone number and she won't tell you the password and she's taken out some loan and your account is 4000 in debt and there's some 15% APR platinum whatever and and and 

It's not your money. You don't get to spend it, and yet you wake up and drag yourself to work even when exhausted and sit through eight grueling hours and then there’s no reward, no payoff, nothing but heading home to the same arguments and abuse and fighting and yelling and you decide, realize, in an awful epiphany, that you're not getting out. You're never getting out. 

Because it’ll only get worse. She'll grow older, and even if there's no Alzheimer's or dementia, aging will hit her- maybe she'll need a walking stick (she already uses one sometimes), or a wheelchair, or you'll need to be the one feeding her, and you'll only have to do more, more, more-

You're never going to be free. You'll be shackled to your abuser from womb to tomb.

You’re never getting out. The only solution- the quickest, easiest solution- is to kill yourself. Except that’s a sin, so you can’t. It doesn’t stop you from wishing for it, romanticizing it- all of which is so deeply, wickedly ironic, as your job is to keep others from fulfilling your greatest desire. Callers blur together- my dad is an alcoholic and I’ve never heard a kind word from him, my little sister’s dead and I can’t get over it, I’ll never get over it- and every day, you soothe them, help them establish a safety plan, connect them to resources for mental health- peer support groups and affordable, sliding-scale therapists and a million other ways to help them, to keep them alive, even while you so deeply ache to die, yourself.

Some never call again, and you hope that means things are better, now. That they found a reason to live. Some are regular callers- maybe you don’t speak to them every time, but it shows up on your screen- that they’ve called four times this year, that the last time they were calling it was about academic stress and this time it’s about the loneliness of summer vacation, and it- kills you, that you can’t help everyone. Can’t save everyone. Once, halfway through a conversation where the caller had been pouring her heart out- about how she’d thrown away her life, how she’d studied and worked so hard to be a doctor but then got married to a man who insisted she stay home to raise their first kid, then their third, then their fifth, and now her degree is twenty years old and she’s got this huge gap in her resume and no one wants to hire her and there’s a new baby, again, and she wishes she could just- oh, what’s the point? (And you hear a pill bottle rattling). It’s never going to get better, and there’s nothing you can tell me that’ll change anything. Sorry for wasting your time.

And she hung up, and never called again, and you can only hope, but never know, that she hadn’t taken the pills.

And though you felt like a hypocrite, the truth is, you really do believe the things you say. When you assure a caller that he’s not too demented to deserve to live, when you encourage his love for plants and say "staying alive just because no one else will love and take care of your plants the way you do isn't ridiculous, Lawrence. Tending to and watering your plants is a perfectly valid reason to live", you mean it. You do.

Somehow, none of the words you tell others seem to apply to you.

You don’t how many months or years pass like this, this blurry awful misery. The call with the anxious boy at the restaurant blends with the thousands you’ve gotten since then. You fought about- something, this morning, with your mother. Some biting remarks about you being an idiot or ungrateful, some mumbled apologies on your end, but when she calls you spoiled you remind her “you’re not doing me a favor by driving me to work- it’s not like driving me to a sleepover where I’m doing it for fun. This is our only source of income, and you can’t just not drive me, because who else is going to pay for a roof and a meal?”

Her face contorts, as it always does, to that indignant snarl. “You think I have to drive you? I don’t have to do anything. I don’t owe you anything. I’m your mother, it's your job to look after me. You can’t neglect me: that’s abuse.”

You sigh. Not mad. Not even irritated. Just... just whatever. “You do have to drop me off here, or else I miss a whole day’s pay and how am I going to cover your medical bills?” 

“Are you threatening me? How dare you?” She hisses, slamming on the pedal- to prove a point, driving past your workplace. 

“Slow down. I'm getting out.” At this point, at this age, you get fed up quickly, skipping right from fear to anger to just being done. You click open the door, scan the grey sidewalk blurring, passing by- slipping through your fingers, you think vaguely, like your life.

“Close the door, you moron, I’m not paying for your surgery if you split your skull open.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to, but glad to know!” You gauge the ground, stick one leg out, the other one too, and-

Walk the distance left to work.

Sometimes, you can’t believe this is your life. You’d worked hard, damn it, and you’re a good person, so why isn’t the world good back to you? Why are you still stuck here, with her?

How immature, you think. How childish do you have to be to drive past your daughter's work- which you need, for money, for survial- just to spite her. And you know the moment she picks you up from work she'll be yelling through the car ride home, and then when you enter the apartment, and all through the night. Your coworkers often found working at a suicide hotline emotionally taxing, and looked forward to weekends and holidays as a break from the stress, but- for you, work was your safe haven.

As you talk down someone who's maybe ten minutes away from throwing themselves off a roof, your phone vibrates. Again. And again.

000-000-0000 Yesterday 10:15 PM if you go to sleep and die tonight, you're going to Hell Today 9:05 AM Why? Why are you doing this to me? Don't worry, I won't touch your money and I won't take anything from you. I won't even eat from the food we have anymore since it's all been bought with your money like you said Idk why you have been doing this You want me to stay miserable and under our control and do exactly what you want. Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?

You don't have her saved as a contact, so you only see her phone number. It feels wrong to title her 'mom', when that word carries all these connotations of unconditional love and gently braiding your hair and a warm bowl of soup on a sick school day. She has nothing to do all day, is the thing, just rewatching Friends for the 60th time or knitting- so she texts you, and can get all worked up and have a full fight and conversation all by herself, without you needing to lift a finger. Simply existing, you think, is enough to warrant the torrent of abuse.

You get a call and shut off your phone, slipping right into your sweet, soothing voice as you greet a young girl with a razor in hand. You reassure her, hear her out (no, there's nothing wrong with wanting to leave, I understand you want to help him but if he's abusing you, you need to help yourself first), and transfer her to the employment assistance department, where they can help her set up her resume and cover letter and get out of living with him. Your break is spent in the bathroom doing breathing exercises to calm down, your lunch is spent mindlessly scrolling through Dead Dove: Do Not Eat recommendations, and you almost know what you're about to read before you turn on your phone.

000-000-0000 Today 4:18 PM Don't act like you are this innocent, sweet, little wonderful person You always do horrible thing so don't play this victim role again I'm exhausted of those games you keep playing Like when you were a baby, you'd cry in your room just to manipulate me into picking you up. I didn't fall for it obviously but you're still playing the same mind games Acting so pure and innocent Stop being so cruel and get back to your senses Once you are ready to apologize, maybe I'll pick you up from work. Otherwise have fun sleeping there

It's as good a chance as any, you decide. You had a bag under your desk for precisely this chance, but always chickened out at the last minute. But this is an opportunity to not be at home without her questioning it...

So you'd done it. You'd finally done it. The good thing about not having control over your own money- not even knowing the credit card number or the password for your account- is that you don't have very many things. Oh, you have clothes and little knick-knacks, but they're easy to pack. To zip up, to stuff snacks and-

You need your IDs. Your passport, your social security. She had them just a few weeks ago, but eventually, when she was in a good mood, you'd mustered up the courage to ask for them. Why do you need them? Just need to take a picture for this one job I'm applying to. It'll pay more than this one.

You'd tucked them into your bag too, and while most people would find it safer to store their things at home than at work, the space under your desk was guaranteed to remain untouched, while your bedroom didn't have a lock.

You don't know how to drive- she never taught you, and driver's lessons cost money you don't get to control- and public transport is spotty at best. You've never been fit, getting winded after five minutes of walking and legs aching after 10, and you realize quickly that this is inefficient and you've gotta find a way to at least be out of the city so you don't risk her finding you, somehow.

Where do the homeless, the elderly, the disabled, the lost go to for resources, go to be pointed in the right direction?

Actually, it would be the masjid, but you know your mother would go there.

You go to the library, sit down in a big, drooping bean bag chair, and breathe.

It was exhilarating. Scary and risky and dumb, yes, but what a relief! Finally, what you've been dreaming every single day for two decades, finally, you're no longer collared and leashed, finally, you get to start some flimsy attempt at being an independent adult, finally-

You need to open your own bank account. You click on one of the library monitors, leaning in to the computer and Googling banks. Chase. Schwab. Wells Fargo. Credit unions. Everyone has bad experiences with every bank, based on Reddit, but then one comment points out that all banks are the same. Just a place to keep your money, as long as you don't rack up overdraft fees or debt.

You'd actually tried opening your own bank account before, back in February, because this isn't the first time you've been hard-hit with the need to run away. You'd tried to sign up for Chime, which, ironically, while supposed to be for people who need money when in a tight position, had rejected your application- possibly for not having a credit score (?). Someone online too had posted that it's ironic the very site for people in a bind still wouldn't accept those who were, you know, actually in a bind.

You'd researched on banks without interests, found someone on Reddit asking it, and someone who worked at Schwab had detailed how to call someone and ask for a certain tier and walk them through giving a no-interest account.

It had been great. You signed up. You never verified it (or did you? You don't think you did), and now, when calling, they said they had closed your account because your social security number didn't match the other information, that you would have to take a W9 to a physical location so they can confirm your social and go from there.

You try to sign up for Chase, except it needs a driver's license or state ID, and you have neither. You try to sign up for Wells Fargo, but it needs a valid phone number, and you don't have a phone plan, only e-numbers, so it doesn't accept it.

You're almost tempted to ask a librarian. You'd seen posts about librarians helping someone who's drunk or unstable or homeless, but- they're not social workers. This isn't their job, you don't want to inconvenience them and it's- embarrassing. This is all so embarrassing. You're a grown adult, why don't you have everything together by now?

Ok. No bank account. Maybe you can use PayPal? Just for now? You'll need to afford public transportation, and a deposit for a new apartment- better to be with roommate, so you don't have to pay the $300 non-refundable application fee, to have to provide a reference from your previous landlord, so a roommate is necessary, non-negotiable, because your previous apartment...

It had been under your name, of course, since it's your income. But your mother was furious at them for charging one (or five?) thousand dollars, either for moving out before the lease was over or for the security deposit or whatever, but she insisted you stop taking out the trash. When she saw you trying to take a bag, she- well, she yelled as she always does. The bathroom and kitchen and everything were trashed, and you did your best to sweep up your room, your bathroom to hallway, to clean up-

But the kitchen was a mess, and the dining area (which was just the cats' area), had an overflowing litter box and a giant pile of dozens for overflowing, near-bursting trash bags. The smell was awful, fruit flies and all sorts hovering and buzzing and oozing everywhere, but your mother in her spite insisted to leave it untouched. That they should clean it up themselves.

So. No recommendation from that landlord, which means find a roommate who already has a lease, and then that new landlord can give you a recommendation when you get your own apartment.

How to find a roommate who'd take someone with not a single dollar- unemployed, now, since you were leaving the city with your job in it- nothing to offer, except maybe cooking and cleaning, which you hated as you find chores menial and redundant- why bother making your bed or folding your clothes when they'd be unfolded, your bed unmade, just some hours later? It doesn't make sense. It's a waste of time.

Cooking, too, feels tedious and unrewarding. An hour of cooking for ten minutes of eating? No thank you.

Your best bet is to get a job, and use that to get a roof over your head. Till then, all sorts of food banks and shelter can give you enough food in your stomach to keep your back upright enough, mind alive enough, to start the job-hunting agony.

But this job requires a driver's license and a personal vehicle, and this job requires you to be physically there in person, you'd apply to jobs all over so couldn't possibly be in all places at once. You sit in the library till your leg falls asleep, foot staticky, neck hunched over, finger cramping, mindlessly applying for 100 jobs, 200 jobs. Something has to give. Just statistically speaking, one of them has to respond.

Right? Right?

But the library closes too early, and cafes and restaurants close down too, and you can't exactly take refuge in a 24-7 convenience or grocery store.

You could try a fast food place, then? A bar?

Not a bar. Never a bar. Way too many stories about what happens to dumb, defenseless girls in a bar too late at night.

It's your first night out alone and you need a place to sleep, but the nearest shelter is an hour and a half of walking and you're just- you need to rest your eyes and wrists from hours of staring at the computer screen, need to sit down and eat and you're entering the first fast food restaurant you find. Electric blue and neon orange lights dazzle the windows and invite you in, a cracked black leather bench in the corner your beloved refuge. It's a little maddening, a little torturous, to sit and smell the grease and that fat and hear the sizzles and hisses but be unable to do a thing about the saliva pooling your mouth, coating your tongue. Your stomach grumbles, a dying whale, the aroma of cheap burgers and oily fries flooding your nostrils.

You're this close to burying your head in your hands and sobbing. Yes, you have snacks in your bag, but you'd grazed on them absently while running your job application marathon.

You've never been very good with hunger. While others around you can have just breakfast, lunch, and dinner- while they can sit at their 8-and-a-half-hour shift at work and eat only during the 30 minute lunch break, you were always eating at your desk. Answering emails, in between phone calls, you're always, constantly hungry. Nothing you eat ever seems to be enough- maybe because you don't actually eat sufficiently, don't eat enough in a day adequate enough to fulfill your needs- so your stomach always feels empty.

But now, it actually is empty, and the void makes it impossible to focus on anything but the hunger. To think rationally. To consider maybe shoplifting, and at least if they arrest you there'll be food in prison, right?

Right?

Your stomach groans again, as frustrated with your situation as you are, and you think you really will cry. The smell of the cheese, the meat, the cheap beer-

You didn't know this place sold beer.

It doesn't. You've seen the menu a million times. You lift your hand, eyes darting to catch the culprit-

The only other customer this late at night is a man seated at the bench before yours. You see him hunched over a gloriously loaded double-burger- the colors of pale green lettuce and bright red tomatoes enchant you, and a dollop of thick mayo dribbles down the flaky sesame-seed bun, splatting onto the crinkly paper wrapper on the shiny black table.

A slash of envy sears through you. You need that burger more than he does, need that large Styrofoam cup of soda with the cold condensation along its sides infinitely more than him, and you're hit with a desire to snatch it. You know, logically, you can't take him in a fight, but like. What do you have to lose?

He catches you staring.

If you weren't so hungry, you'd be embarrassed, even apologize, but as it is your eyes linger on the grease shining on his thick fingers, on the smear of too-orange cheese dashed along the corner of his lip.

He raises a slightly bushy, brown eyebrow. It's the same cheap beer brown of his eyes, which are a little wide, a little giddy. 

You squirm, uncomfortable, pinned by his gaze like a butterfly- a moth- to a corkboard. "You wan' some?" His mouth is a little full, but even so you catch the lilt of a German accent just beneath his voice.

"Oh, no, I-" heat smarts your face, but he interrupts you, jovial and inviting,

"Your stomach, I'm sure, begs to differ. Come on, I can order you whatever you like, bud."

Bud was... less harassing, less off-putting, than sweetheart or baby or the assorted nicknames drunken men hollered at anything with a rack and two legs. if you ignore his too-cheerful grin, the little manic glint and gleam of his eyes, the use of bud would put you at ease.

But you can't ignore it, and it doesn't, and you get to your feet to leave. "Thanks, but I'm okay. I'll just make some dinner at home."

"No need to be shy! It's okay to rely on the kindness of strangers," he stands up too, already ambling to the counter to order for you, "large fries, a vanilla shake, and a hearty double bacon cheeseburger for my new friend."

"Oh, um, I prefer chocolate, actually." You felt half-guilty for being picky, and half-incensed that he ordered for you without consulting. You don't even eat bacon. 

The cashier- her dreads tied back in a loose ponytail, her red shirt uniform with a crooked name tag- clicks her tongue. "So is it vanilla or chocolate?"

"Vanilla. Right, buddy?'' His grin is big and cheerful and encouraging, nudging, nagging. Almost instinctively, you find your shoulders rounding tighter, find your body curling to make yourself smaller. 

"Right."

He's- satisfied? Almost proud with the way he pats your shoulder, like you passed some unspoken test by deferring to his choice, rather than holding your ground. 

(Maybe it would've been better to fail it).

She rings up your (his, really) order, nails click-clacking as she types, Strade ripping the small slip of receipt and- it really is tiny, in his large palm, all thick fingers and brown hair curling over the back of his hand. When he crumples the paper, his veins sort of- do a kind of pulsing thing you think you like.

But you still don't like how he ordered for you, how he insisted on a flavor you don't prefer. You know it was intentional.

You just can't figure out why.

He picks up the navy tray for you, and that irks you, too: why don't you get to carry your own food? What, is he going to hand-feed you too?

You sit across from him, and when you unwrap the yellow-and-white checkered paper, scrunching it up- the combined scent of the fat and oil and meat is enough to haze over any apprehension, any irritation you might have had, quelled by knowing this sandwich- large enough you pick it up with both hands- is for you. 

You pluck out a strip of crispy bacon and offer it to him, a sort of olive branch. He takes it- thumb and forefinger pinching it, and smiles lazily.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah." You bite into the sandwich, not elaborating. No need to. If you could, you'd maybe nick his credit card- it wouldn't be nice considering he just fed you for the night, but you could stick it in an ATM, get the cash out before he calls the bank to close the card, and- he'd be fine. He'll be fine. You need the money more than he does. But how to pickpocket without him noticing-?

"Something bothering you?" He asks, dipping a long, limp fry into a shallow well of thick ranch. "It's easier to talk about it to a stranger, you know? That way you don't have to worry about it changing your relationship with them, or their judgment, because you won't see them again."

"Hm." It was a good point. But if you've never told anyone else about it, were you really about to trauma dump to some eccentric stranger? 

"I don't mind, really, and I can tell you need it."

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Something about it in the eyes."

"You really wanna know?"

"Of course, buddy, I'm all ears. I love helping people!"

"Fine." You smack your hands flat on the table, get up, and sit next to him. Up close, the musk of cheap beer mixes with sweat and grease in the world's strangest cologne.

You glare at your phone, click it on, and let him read over your shoulder.

000-000-0000 Today 2:04 AM It's all about you and if something doesn't go like how your majesty wants or likes then it's all bad I'm not a fan of drama and I can't tolerate entitled brats like you who thinks the world owes them something just for breathing Guess what? You are the abusive one and always have been. From this point on I will not take orders from you You have no idea how hard it is to be your mother. I sacrificed my LIFE for you. Do you know how painful it is to give birth? Every day I was pregnant with you was torture, and it as even worse when you were born. I had to stay up all day feeding you and all night putting you to sleep. You were a NIGHTMARE. I thought you'd grow out of it but I guess you're still a baby I have done so much for you and I have been through so much and you have no idea

He reads quietly- thinking, analyzing- and breaks into a positively delighted smile. You can't tell if it's the grin a groom dons on his wedding day or the grin a dog bares before cornering its prey. "Oh, mein schätzelein. You're perfect."

You eat in amicable company, and it's- nice. It is lovely, actually, to have dinner with someone you're not scared of, someone you don't have to worry about setting off or angering or harming you. Strade is- a little weird, sure, but a nice guy. You give him your bacon, he gives you a ketchup packet to squeeze onto your fries, and you let him scroll through days and weeks of your mother's texts and felt a twinge of validation every time he said something like "can't blame you for running away", a rush of satisfaction, of vindication, of it's not just me, I'm not crazy, she really is abusive, it wasn't just me being entitled after all. You find yourself inching a little closer to him every time he makes a remark like, "isn't she aware it's her job to take care of you, not the other way around?"

Something incredible blooms between your rib cage and behind it, making your cheeks flush and your fingertips tingle and your eyes sting just a bit. No one had ever bothered to hear you out, to just sit there and make biting, almost cruel comments about your mother with every text he read, to make you feel so important. You half-wish you could work up the courage, could be bold enough to tell him that you didn't have a place to put your head down tonight, just so he could offer, just so you could have an excuse to spend more time with him.

You sweep up the trash and crumpled straw wrappers while he returns his tray and yours and it's wonderful. Even if you can't go home with him, you almost want to make this a routine, make it so you can meet up every week, on a melancholy evening like this, and exchange bad food while he listens and provides a (strong, broad) shoulder.

He's just such a good listener.

~~~~

Author's notes:

Mein Schätzelein = My little treasure The parallel of the chapter starting with Ren thinking and feeling the exact same way MC does at the end of the chapter,,, buckle in folks Look, basically I want 1) to torture strade and 2) to save ren. However there's pretty much zero (0) fics about it so that means rolling up my sleeves, learning how to do the work skin that lets me insert phone-texting into the chapter, and doing it myself. Comment whatever thoughts you have and thanks for reading <33 ~~~ Also, while we're all little freaks that might enjoy a bit of horror, a quick reminder that in real life there's actual horrors going in the world- specifically, the genocide Palestine. Please take a moment to email and/or call your representatives , click-to-donate (free, donation revenue via ads), check out the boycott list, do what little things you can to help.

[suzukiblu]

Hello all, I am honestly not even sure how long it's been since I've really talked to anyone online and I'm very sorry for just straight-up ghosting so many of you, but I'm trying to work on resuming my life and reconnecting with people a bit and especially trying to start picking up all of the commitments I've let myself drop in the past year or two.

Full disclosure, I've been having a bad time mentally for quite a while and just haven't been available to anyone in my life, online or off. I'm really sorry to have stressed people out with that because I know I did worry a few of you. I'm just not all here, to be honest, and I haven't handled it well. I'm having some personal struggles and just not doing my best taking care of the resulting issues--it's not anything trauma-based/triggered, it's more along the lines of problems with in-built psychological issues stemming from chemical imbalances that I just don't always manage as effectively as I could. But I'm not physically ill and haven't been in an accident or anything like that, and I'm trying to re-engage with life now. Catching up with people I owe communication/commissions/explanations to is on my list, but I just haven't managed to make it very far into said list yet. I am, however, physically healthy and in stable housing, and if anything emergency-adjacent happens I do have local friends and non-local family members I could get help from, so I'm not in an "immediate crisis" situation.

I'm just also unemployed, out of money, and scraping by on food stamps and state-issued healthcare that doesn't cover my previous psychiatrist, and I haven't been able to find a new one in-network who's taking patients and actually, like . . . calls me back when I leave a message or email them in interest of making an appointment. I'm signed up with a program that can help me get a job, hopefully, but the process is taking a little while and I'm not sure how long it'll take in the end, so the future is very nebulous at the moment.

And like . . . VERY full disclosure, I'm just very depressed and stuck being off my meds for the forseeable future. My room is a mess I can't bring myself to clean up, I feel like I can't engage meaningfully with a lot of things, I don't feel hopeful or optimistic at all, my emotional responses are all heavily muted, my coping mechanisms are avoiding breakdowns but are not long-term helpful or productive, and I'm neglecting a lot of people and things in my life and my own best interests because I just . . . don't care.

I know my situation and my feelings are largely just because I'm going through a major depressive phase unmedicated and with limited personal resources, it's not an end of the world scenario or anything. It's just been difficult and upsetting trying to find ways and motivation to fix my life and get out of that phase when I'm already feeling sunk in a quagmire and like I did all this to myself with my own mistakes, and I'm just trying to take things one step at a time and build back up from where I'm at.

So long story short: I'm not doing great right now but I'm stable, and I greatly appreciate the concern and grace I've been given while being just entirely off radar and am going to be doing my best to make right or make up for the neglect. If anyone wants or needs to check in on anything I owe them, please feel free to message me and ask; I'll be trying to contact everyone I owe anything to but given the brain-fog I've been dealing with I don't trust myself not to miss anybody in there, so believe me, if you feel the need I will in no way be offended and you'd probably be doing me a favor anyway.

Thank you all, you've all been so good to me over the years. I'll hopefully be in touch soon. ❤

[podracerbarrelroll]

Thinking of that post about parents who relentlessly track their kids' cell phone location and internet history and every move in the name of keeping them 'safe' without their knowledge or consent. Also about the article I read awhile back about the developing social expectation that parents not let children go anywhere alone (which I couldn't find, but this one is more recent and similar).

For one thing. In the United States, violent crime has decreased since the 1990s and drug use among teenagers has gone down overall since the 1970s (skip to the charts on page 161 if you want to click through them). The world is not actually more dangerous today than it was when Gen Xers or older Millennials were kids.

But I'm sure there are parents out there who think that any chance of bad things happening means they must keep as close an eye on their kids as possible or they're bad parents. Not using every tool at their disposal makes them irresponsible, and tracking phones is just what you do today because the technology is available.

To these people, I would like to say:

How would you have felt about your parents listening in on all your conversations on the house phone and routinely going through your room and reading any diary or journal you kept? My parents did that, and I can guarantee you that it did not feel good, and I am still (in my early 30s) extremely protective and possessive of my things and hate anyone touching my phone or computer without my permission for any reason.

Yes, your kid might do drugs, and they might be a victim of violent crime. Tracking their every move does not necessarily prevent that. However, it does make it more likely they will leave their phone at their friends' house when they're sneaking out to go to a party they didn't tell you about and then they don't have that phone to call you for help. It also makes it more likely that if something does happen, they will not go to you for help or tell you about it for fear of getting into trouble.

Parental monitoring works best when parents have good, open, and caring relationships with their teens. Teens are more willing to talk to their parents if they think their parents can be trusted, have useful advice to offer, and are open and available to listen and talk. Teens who are satisfied with their relationships with their parents tend to be more willing to follow the rules. Not by, y'know, subjecting them to your own personal surveillance state.

Children are not perpetual children. They are future adults and need to develop the very necessary skills of learning how to make their own decisions. Not allowing this is how you end up calling your adult children's college professors because they've fallen behind in classes, because you've created a risk-averse, conflict-averse adult with no idea how to manage their own schedule. (This is also how you get accidental conservatives obsessed with following the 'rules', but the other post describes that better.)

On that note, you cannot control your children their whole lives. They will eventually grow up and move out when they're eighteen or twenty or twenty-five if you insist on them living with you through college. If you've never let them go to a party or have a single alcoholic drink, how the fuck do you expect them to know moderation when they're older and the consequences for fucking up are worse?

Conversely, you may get a kid that grows up, leaves, and doesn't talk to you at all. My parents literally told me that I didn't have a right to privacy because I was their child and living with them. While I do still talk to my parents, I purposely put physical and emotional distance between them and myself when I left for college, and I do not and have never gone to them for life advice or for comfort when I'm having a hard time.

And finally. Consider finding out, ten or fifteen years from now, that your child is dating someone who tracks their cell phone location at all times, goes through their phone and computer at random, and restricts where they go and who they spend time with, perhaps because this person pays more of the bills. If you've shown your child that surveillance and isolation is love, how the fuck are they gonna recognize the hallmark signs of an abusive relationship?

Even my parents expected me to get to school and back by myself, either by walking or taking the bus, from the time I was in kindergarten. I spent a lot of non-school weekdays at the public library from the time I was in middle school. So, when I left for college and moved to a new town, I knew how to take the bus by myself and how to navigate an urban area without the advantage of a car and how to deal with being around other people in public. The idea of gen Z kids lacking even that experience is a fucking shame.

[nevis-the-skeleton]

Black Bird Fazbear Fright : Why it's a bad representation of school harassment

Hello everyone, today we are going to talk about one of the Fnaf Fazbear Fright stories: Black Bird. Well, I would like to warn you, I didn't read the story, because it is not available in my country, but I saw Dawko's summary, and I documented myself as best I could to have the best vision as clear as possible. And, from what I've seen, this story is frankly… Not bad, but it has a very bad moral! Not about apologizing and forgiving, but about the representation that is made of school bullying.

For the summary, a boy named Noel, who has harassed a girl in the past is pursued by a demon bird who haunts him and plunges him into the guilt of his actions, and the only way he has to escape release it and apologize to those to whom he has harmed. Well, that's a very rough summary, but it's so that those who haven't read the story can follow, because I think it's important that as many people as possible know what's wrong with this story.

Bullying is bad, yes I know I'm not learning you something, but apparently the author doesn't think so, or presented it in a very bad way! First, when Noel tells his friend Sam that he bullied a girl, he laughs about it, and it's only because Sam tells him that it's not funny that he questions himself a little. Come on, I can understand that, if he wasn't aware that what he did was wrong, why not. But, I think that from the moment you put a dead mole in someone's locker, it's not to make them laugh! It’s clearly meant to do harm!

Already, this point prevents me from becoming attached to Noel, but even then it is not that problematic, as long as the character questions himself, which he seems to do. The problem is how he questions himself, why he does it. Basically, he's being chased by Black Bird and his girlfriend is telling him that he should apologize to the girl he bullied. He says he's going to do it, but the second Black Bird is absent, he withdraws, like: "oh come on, I'll check that he's really there, because frankly I don't want to apologize." He didn't say it like that, but that's really how I felt it.

And it’s only because Black Bird comes back that he decides to apologize to Christine! Man, you can't be more selfish! He only apologizes for his own well-being, because he is afraid for his life! If my bully came back to me, with someone holding a knife to his throat, and forced him to apologize, I would not consider his apology valid. Since he's fucking threatening imminent death! So that’s already a very big negative point, but it’s not the worst!

When Noel goes to Christine, who seems to be doing very well (she is in good health, she has lots of friends and everything), she does not recognize him. Like, bruh, no actually! That's not how it works! A bullied person generally doesn't forget their bully, and certainly not the one who called her fat and shoved dead f*cking moles into her locker! This is basically not possible! But it's not just that, and honestly that's what triggers me the most, she thanks him for bullying her, because it made her stronger, opened her eyes, and allowed her to get better.

…

Really, I don't have the words… What kind of bullshit is this? What kind of morality is that?! What it teaches the reader, indirectly, is: “Bullying is good, it allows people to improve!”, “Come on, tell this shy kid that he’s fat and ugly, so he’ll start playing sports and take care of his health!” NO! NO! and NO! Sorry, but I'm angry right now! There is nothing more destructive than school bullying! This shit kills people every year, it doesn't help anyone, and it certainly doesn't make you better! It's not a funny thing, it's not a joke! This is truly the worst moral I have ever seen in a story!

Remember one thing: apologizing is good, forgiving is liberating, but bullying is the worst creation of humanity. That's all I have to say about this story, I'm sure some will disagree with my opinion, but I really needed to get this out of my mind.

[audio-luddite]

I did a browse of Tumblr "Audiophile".

OK weird.

Much of the stuff is photos of old stuff from brochures and magazines (like paper OMG). I guess some people kept all that stuff. Grandpa was a hoarder of audio mags? I see lovely ads for crap product. It was crap 60 years ago and still is today (like the BOSE 901). There are some bits showing good stuff but not much. And there are the confused people who don't understand obsession with vacuum tubes and LP records.

There are links to very artistic audio themed soft-core porn. Some are adds for console stereos draped with girls in lingerie. A good stereo will bring the girls in for sure. At least that was thought in the 60s? And there are people posing as golden ears. Some experts might be expert, but you gotta pay the bills no matter the crap information they put out. Number ten in this guy's top ten turntable list is pure crap now and forever.

I have even seen totally phony photo-shopped systems that I know could never exist. You know a turntable has to be at least a bit more than 12" across to fit an LP which is 12 inches in diameter. So that picture just don't scale right.

I guess in summary it is not much fun to look at that tag as there is so much dross.

If you are an audiophile then you probably know good from bad or want to. If you are just interested or new to this then there is a problem. There is a hell of a lot of misinformation conspiracy and noise.

First problem is the term audiophile. It means literally you love sound. The presumption is you appreciate the quality of sound. That is different than liking music in general, or some specific type of music. That would be a musicophile. All it takes is adding -phile to the end of a word.

So if you like music as opposed to just the sound of steam locomotives passing by and care for good clean sound then you are bumping up against this other -phile thing. Do not be intimidated. I assure you that listening to a favorite artist with all the sounds fully resolved and blasting away in your home is a good thing.

It is strange to me that people will spend a small fortune on a sound system for their car and far less in their home. Though I suppose if you live in an apartment loud music will make no friends, but being a big bass thumper in traffic is OK and even expected. Hey if you love that sound well sorry to tell you... yup audiophile.

Now to cost. There can be a lot of money spent. Some people will spend six figures restoring a car from when they were young. It is a hobby where it is possible to spend gobs of money. And there are many people, and companies who will help you spend your money.

You can spend much less and get good results. My equipment has only two relatively new things in it. One Phono Cartridge, and one vacuum tube. All the rest of the electronics are decades old. My speakers are a few years old but I built those as I know best. The cost has been interesting. By selling off older even collectable stuff I have spent effectively no money over the past 7 or 8 years. Yes I bought that stuff once long ago, but economically it was sunk money.

I have the advantage of experience and know the good stuff from the less good. I know what brands to look for. I also know which products have cults around them that blur the flaws. I call myself a "cheap audiophile" as I will not spend more than low four figures on anything. The most expensive thing I ever bought was under 2k bucks. Most was far less than that.

One of the links the tag search brought up was guy who did not understand why anyone would buy Vinyl Records. The equipment is expensive and the media is less available than digital streams. There was one reply about the tangible nature of an album and actually owning a thing rather than just being allowed to access it. I will go further.

I have avoided high end streaming because of cost and complexity. To get good sound out of numbers you need several lumps and most are expensive. You need a computer or a server that is logged into a provider like "tidal" or "qobuz" or "apple music". Then you need a device that can store the bits on a drive either an SSD or even a spinning magnetic disc to avoid drop outs that can be the music server, but not the computer. Then you need a DAC to convert the particular stream to analog sound which is finally fed into your audio system proper. Aside from the subscription (I have apple music) you need three lumps that each cost more than a good turntable if you want audiophile sound.

In order to add a high end streaming line to my system would cost more than the replacement cost of my system as it is right now. So I have a low end solution. I plug my Iphone into my CD player with a nice-ish DAC in it. It is OK sound. But I swear if I play an LP of the same music after hearing it off my iphone to CD quality there is no comparison the LP is better.

And yes when it comes to vacuum tubes I vacillate. They are expensive and wear out. They sound nice. They have more distortion and artifacts than solid state, but it is nice sounding distortion. A big part of this hobby skews preferences to nice sounding distortion. Vacuum tubes and moving coil phono cartridges are prime examples.

My most recent experience was going from a full vacuum tube preamplifer to a hybrid with only one tube. The sound was rich and deep and involving before. Yummy like a good sticky baklava dripping with honey. Now it is detailed and frankly palpable. I can hear a singer part their lips before a phrase. You have to hear that to appreciate it.

I have been recently been tempted with two vacuum tube unicorn amplifiers for a very good price for that type of device. That price is double what a competitive solid state amplifier would be. And like I say at the local pub after my fourth beer, I want another but I don't need another. I am seriously tempted. I have a nascent love for the sound I know is in them. They have a voice and it is good. Actually this is a key aspect of the hobby. It is an emotional response to something. It is irrational.

Welcome to the irrational!

[koa-z]

Yes, friends should be able to vent to each other. Friends should also ask permission to dump an extremely heavy load of information onto another human being who can think and feel. The person that you're talking to also has emotions, and might also be in an extremely bad place. It isn't right to just push their life aside and make yourself the main character in their stories because your coping mechanism is just vomiting trauma onto the people that care about you while they're injured.

Boundaries are not inherently toxic. Every human being has only so much that they can take. You do not have the right to demand that somebody changes their boundaries for you, unless, say, you're paying them to because they're your therapist. As friendship isn't a golden ticket for you to slap me across the face, it also isn't a ticket for you to emotionally devastate me without warning or consent.

"You shouldn't even speak to them" I mean come on. This is so clearly blown out of proportion for the purpose of winning an argument. One of my abusive exes used to love to do stuff like this- where I set a boundary such as "please ask me before exposing me to this subject, since it is an extremely difficult subject for me and I need time to prepare" and say that I'd said "never talk to me about how you feel". Those are not the same.

"You don't owe your friends love or kindness" I owe them as much love and kindness as I owe myself. No more, no less. We are equals. Equating the ability to dump extremely heavy information on me whenever you want regardless of how I'm feeling or how my day has been with "love and kindness" is a dramatic oversimplification that's been done for the purpose of manipulating people into agreeing with you.

tldr; If you can't set and respect boundaries, then your relationship will always have an unbalanced power dynamic.

If you would like my "credentials" - if you really think that I need a reason for my feelings to be "valid" in order for them to be respected - then let me tell you about my experience as the therapy friend below the cut. It is a vent, fyi.

I was the therapy friend in high school. I was suicidal, and constantly had a group of friends that I had to talk down from suicide. I couldn't talk to anyone because I was constantly spending all of my energy keeping those people alive. They would punch walls at me and touch me against my will, and if I asked them not to then I was a bad friend. They all assumed that I was the only untraumatized one because they never gave me an opening between all of their venting to actually beg for any kind of support. Because they were constantly using me as their emotional dumpster, I couldn't vent to them; they were never available because they were constantly venting and on the edge. Once I had to leave an otherwise mundane but boring situation because my stalker showed up, and one of them angrily called me "lucky" because I got to leave, because my stalker showed up. There was nobody with me either time that I attempted suicide because they were all so focused on themselves, and on using me.

? where am i

[handsomethrowrug]

4, 10, 12

Questions for the Mun! ( @musemelodies )

-

10. what genre do you most enjoy, whether in roleplay, or fiction as a whole? (fantasy, period, superhero, etc.)

In RP, I've mainly written in a somewhat ordinary slice-of-life with a hint of fantasty/sci-fi in recent times. The main fandom I've been in aside from here isn't overly active, so there wasn't huge potential for me personally to work on stuff (also being busy never helped). I do enjoy fantasy settings, like royal AUs... But in a slightly ironic sense, I'm not actually interested in things like D.nD.

I think I like it because it opens up the possibility of virtually anything. Truthfully, I have tried making AU verses to interact with others, especially on other blogs... Let's just say that I put a lot of thinking effort in for writing partners who actually didn't care because they got their "aw yeah I got someone into this" boost before jumping to something else entirely and never actually... doing anything? I used to know some very impulsive people. (thankfully, I stopped writing with those people a long time ago and cut ties with them completely for other reasons)

-

12. what roleplay trends do you remember from the year you started tumblr rp? how did you feel about those trends?

Yeesh, that's going pretty far back. When I started, private group rps on t.umblr were on the go, and they ran pretty well. The main one I was in stuck together for a good four or five years, and even though none of us write together anymore nowadays, we've still got our little d.iscord group where we sometimes chat. It's really nice. But the big difference was that even though there were still ads and the "we want these characters!" posts... People in the groups were reblogging the ads to try and promote it too. It wasn't just a constant onslaught in certain tags.

On a less nostalgic note.... Finding art/ a gif set of your character and either responding IC or roleplaying in the reblogs. That used to be more common and I'm mortified that I took part once (that I remember).

-

4. which muse of yours is your all time favorite? if you stopped writing them: why?

Okay. Anyone who has known me for a long time knows I'm a notoriously picky mun. If I take on a muse, I'm taking them on for a long time. They're getting overthought headcanons! They're getting a whole-ass backstory. I spent a YEAR writing out a backstory for one of my muses in two parts. I swear I am not exaggerating when I say it was over 30 pages on g.oogle d.ocs.

This is because I'm personally not a fan of "I watched/played this thing, therefore I must take on this character that I liked". It doesn't work for me when it comes to writing inspiration. I prefer to go with what I call a 'three day rule'. If the urge to write the character lasts for at least three days (up to a week), I take the plunge. The last fully brand new character I took on was... End of April, 2023. Once they're on my roster, they're usually there for good Even if my inspiration moves, the potential is nearly always there. I mean, look at this blog! It was set up in 2017 and I disappeared for a few years!

However, I will be honest and say that Scar isn't my favourite character to write. Don't get me wrong, I love him and I'm hoping to push myself more with him, but there are others that are more in my 'comfort zone', so to speak, and that I've written longer/more consistently. Scar is still a challenge for me, at times.

-

I'm flip-flopping between a few, but I think the honour has to goes to Y.ancy.

He's from 'A H.eist with M.arkiplier', and one of the only characters I broke my own golden rule for. I wanted to take him on as a muse the day the production came out back in 2019 (all available for free on Y.outube :D ), and I would have if I hadn't been out of town to visit a friend that same day.

... oh my god I'm writing him five years at the end of the month.

For those who don't know, I suppose the easiest comparison of his personality is sorta, but not really, along a similar track of a certain C.entipede, even down to the accent (except my guy isn't actually from the area). Y.ancy is a tough greaser, and a convicted murderer (oh yeah, he's an incarcerated person), but he's also a loyal friend. He's got a small group of trusted friends, and he's absolutely no longer the man he was when he committed his crimes. He's hesitant to apply for parole because he's been chewed up and spat out by the real world. He needs to see the changes that have happened out there. (Though I do have a post-parole setting where he's adjusting to the normal world)

Oh. And you are literally introduced to him by a musical number. That's not a joke.

Admittedly, I've wanted to do some sort of crossover setting with him, but it's a fandom that was slightly taboo for the longest time (he's a fictional character but it's juuuust to the side of Y.outube R.PF). I did find an animated FC for him but... I wasn't sure, you know?

I'm already going on a ramble so I'll cut it off here. Y.ancy's a lot of fun because he's the ideal target for being the normal guy in a weird scenario.

Honourable mentions go to W.ilford W.arfstache (cartoonish at times, yet can do a 180 and hit with feels) and J.ack S.kellington (my actual longest muse, tbh. I took a break for other reasons and never really got back into the swing of things over there.) I'm literally restricting myself here because I will list off every muse that is either active or dormant.

[drakinq]

073123

This is going to be a list of thing I’m either trying to let go use as fuel to remind myself that I can’t really trust anyone. This year I felt like I really tried and was faced with a bunch of people that wanted to use me.

Spent all year working on REVEAL with Sylvia and Levi. Never actually getting to dance because Monyett had high expectations that I was the only one trying to fulfill. Sylvia would try to take credit for my hard work by taking things out of my hands and presenting them as if from her. —- Also with her its weird because when I’m sharing with her she’ll literally star a whole new conversation with someone in the middle of my talking. She calls me her friend but I feel y car p eh RED ike she’d drop me to hangout with NIKI, Marlyn and them. And even if she was my friend she never invited me to do anything but of course invited Niki. Just someone that wanted to know my business and pretended to care.

Ramen Incident with Monyett, Annie and Jimmy after helping them all day and not even being able to take class

Had to deal with Marlyn being weird to be around mutual friends and when I reached out to clear air again, switched around on me again, judging me for being upset at the way she hurt me which she never apologized for or wondered what I was going through. Also prevented me from making more dance connections because of her uncomfortable.

Had to deal with Monyett and Niki inviting her to help with Reveal and be apart of project even after I stated I was uncomfortable with that.

Wasn’t invited to any merch shoots even though I had been running around doing the grunt work for the sessions and making myself available.

Had to deal with Monyett not reaching out about anything but REVEAL. Knew nothing of what was going on in my life just knew I was unfulfilled with dance and made no suggestions of how to really help me move foreword to the goal until I quit REVEAL.

Had to deal with realizing Monyett isn’t a real friend to me unless I can do something for him but if I’m not offering anything he’s not interested

Had to deal with him not even giving me a shot to be Red Bull performance when that would have done wonders for my confidence but instead triggered my insecurities and lead to sleeping in my car.

Jimmy and I end friendship due to his mistreatment to me

Mom is marrying Keithy and it breaks my heart because I don’t feel like I can be close with her with him around and she doesn’t care

Family I work for tells me I’m unreliable lately right after I get my wisdom teeth removed and am going through a really hard time all while they are underpaying me.

Mom has a stroke before going to LA/

Jonboy gets charged with double homicide

family goes into shock. Jas heart hurts

Mom leaves Keithy due to mistreatment and moves in with Keithy

This happens while I’m at a dance camp and I go into a state of shock and depression. Not to mention the program is filled with Niki, Marlyn and Jaylyn who getting all the attention just like in Chicago which is a good reason why I decided to leave so that I could focus on me without them triggering all my insecurities and I can get them under control

Roommates being weird to me about using their charger, people expecting rides and being inconsiderate of my time. Alisha asking for 7$ back after all I’ve done for her this entire trip. It also seemed like KO didn’t really fuck with me especially since had the attention of all the other Chicago girls.

All while being overlooked in dance and no one giving me actual feedback except generilization

Now I stay in my car away from everyone because the only person. I can count on is me. This shows me everyone’s true colors and I gotta start doing what I gotta do to protect my peace.

[canirove]

Bluebell | Chapter 8

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Masterlist

“That’s crooked.”

“Holy mother of God” I say, almost falling from the chair where I was standing. “Who are you?”

“Lindsey, Angela’s daughter. I think she told you I was coming?”

“Yes, yes. She did. But you could have knocked on the door or something. I could have fallen, you know?”

“But you didn’t” she shrugs.

“Does the curtain look good now?” I say, putting it back in place.

“Yep, perfect.”

“Great” I say, getting down from the chair. “So, Mrs. Smart told me that you used to help my father during the summer, right?”

“Yes, mainly making breakfast. People loved my eggs benedict.”

“I’m not a big fan of eggs myself, but I’ll believe you. I found some old menus, so maybe we can check them?”

“Alright” she says, following me into the office.

“Hello, there.”

“Oh my God, Mason” I say, jumping again. Can people in this town please stop scaring me? “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you of course” he says with a big smile, his dimple showing in all its glory. He is sitting at my desk, resting his legs on top of it.

“I’m busy right now, so if you don’t mind” I say, moving them from the table.

“I do mind” he says, grabbing me by the waist and making me sit on this lap.

“Hello, Mason” Lindsey says from the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me that we had company?”

“Because you didn’t let me” I say, trying to get free of his grip.

“Hello, Lindsey. Still trying to become a chef?”

“Yep. And you are still trying to get between the legs of every woman on this town, aren’t you?” she says.

“Actually…”

“Ok, that’s enough” I say, finally free. “We have work to do, so get out of here.”

“So rude” he says, getting up from the chair. “Will you come over tonight? It’s the semi-finals, the pub is gonna be packed with people, and I’ll probably need a hand.”

“Around your dick?” Lindsey says with a wicked smile.

“That comes later” Mason replies.

“Shut up! Both of you!” I say, my face burning.

“I’ll see you tonight” he whispers in my ear before leaving.

“Didn’t my mum warn you about him and his heart breaker’s fame?”

“She did” I say, looking for the menus.

“And you are still getting yourself involved with him? Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I disagree. It actually is very easy. He is hot, knows what he does, and you fell for it. It will get complicated when he leaves you for the next girl he sees and that he hasn’t slept with yet.”

“There is nothing serious, we are just friends.”

“With benefits.”

“Exactly. Now can we please focus on the menus?”

“Yeah, sure” Lindsey says. “But you know, he probably is seeing other girls, so you should do the same. See other guys.”

“Yeah” I say, feeling my face burning. Again.

“Wait, are you seeing someone else? Who?” Lindsey asks. She definitely is her mother’s daughter.

“No one.”

“Oh, c´mon. He isn’t one of his friends, is he? They are hot, but if Mason looks like trouble, they are worse. Unless you are seeing a girl…”

“He isn’t one of his friends.”

“Then who is he? I can’t think of anyone else who is young, hot, and available. Though my mother mentioned that your cousin and the Mayor aren’t together anymore… Wait, is he the Mayor? Please tell me it isn’t him, that would be so fucked up. He and Mason hate each other!”

“He isn’t Rúben. Now can we go back to the menus, please?”

“You call him Rúben and not Mayor?” Lindsey asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He asked me to call him like that” I shrug.

“Before or after you slept with him?”

“Lindsey!”

“Wow… Just… Wow. You better be careful and pick one, because if they find out, World War III will start.”

“No one will find out because there is nothing going on between me and Rúben. Now, menus.”

“Sure, boss… Sure” Lindsey says, definitely not believing me. Though she is right. I must find out what the hell happened between them, and pick one. Or stop seeing them both and actually do what I told myself I would do after coming here. Stay away from men.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

“Should we go upstairs?” Mason asks while hugging me from behind and kissing my neck.

“I haven’t finished with Moppy.”

“Urgh.”

“It’s just that bit of floor over there. Why don’t you go get us some of those fancy beers you have while I finish? We can go outside and drink them, I heard Tom say that it wasn’t that cold.”

“Alright then” he says, giving my butt a little squeeze before he leaves.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

“You are coming to Daisy’s reopening, right?” I ask Mason once we are outside.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

“Rúben will also be there. You know he’s been helping me with all the paperwork.”

“I think I’ll survive” he says, taking a sip from his bottle.

“Why do you dislike each other so much?”

“He is a dick.”

“Oh, c´mon. Tell me! You didn’t go to school together, did you? He is a few years older than you.”

“We didn’t. But we used to play football together. Not on the same team, but on the same league.”

“And what happened?”

“This” Mason says, lifting his jogger’s leg and showing me his knee.

“Dear God” I say, looking at the huge scar, one that I hadn’t noticed until now for for whatever the reason. “Did he do that to you?”

“Yep. Well, not the scar. That was the doctor that did my surgery. But I needed it because he broke my knee after tackling me.”

“On purpose?”

“He says he didn’t do it on purpose, but I know it wasn’t like that. He had always been jealous because when they talked about the best players in town, I always was above him. That day, there was a Chelsea scout watching us play, and he knew he was there for me, so he spent the whole game hitting me until I couldn’t take it anymore because my knee was shattered. Just like my future as a football player.”

“That doesn’t sound like Rúben…”

“Oh, he may look like a saint right now with his perfect suits and his perfect smile and all those stupid muscles. But he is a bully. People don’t change.”

“Does that mean that you are also gonna break my heart like you’ve done with all those other girls?”

“You? Never” Mason says with that smile that shows his dimple.

“Then people can change.”

“I guess some can” he shrugs. “Should we go inside? It is starting to get cold.”

“Yeah, but… Is that it? Nothing else happened between you and Rúben to dislike each other so much?”

“We both liked the same girl in high school.”

“You did?” I ask, almost choking with my beer.

“Yep. He, of course, was the one who ended up dating her. But she wasn’t Victoria, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good. She doesn’t seem your type” I say with a nervous laugh.

“You, on the other hand, definitely are my type. Do you want me to show you?” he asks, offering me a hand.

“Ok” I say, taking it while trying to ignore that history may be repeating itself.

[missbaphomet]

Hey like I'm sorry bad things happened to you but these aren't all universal experiences. Girlhood is absolutely not about molestation and abuse. Girlhood isn't about anything other than growing from an infant into an adult, and I don't feel there needs to be any special significance attached. If you were hurt during that time, it's not because "that's what Girlhood is", it's because unfortunately you crossed paths with people willing to do you harm.

Many women, myself included, have never had an issue with being cat called. Even then, this isn't violence.

This is called puberty. I would go as far as saying bleeding through your pants is something every woman on the planet has experienced at least once. This is not violence— it's growing up.

Breast pain during development comes from the fact your breasts are developing. Are you really not familiar with the colloqialism "growing pains"? I promise a teenage boy who is also going through puberty and experiencing all the discomfort and pain that comes with it.is not sending brainwaves that make your boobs hurt.

Girls can and do assault boys in the hallway. A lot of my male friends have stories of being groped or touched inappropriately, as do many of my female friends. I also have friends that have been assaulted by their same sex. This is not a 'women's only' issue.

Also not a universal experience. I have never had a 'rape talk', nor has anyone I've known, even friends of mine that have actually been raped.

What does 'girlhood is invasive' even mean? Are you doing the encroaching, or are you being encroached upon? Is it the mere concept of being a child?

You are not obligated to use tampons, alternate methods exist (pads, period underwear, diva cups, etc). I'm assuming by 'fingers' you are leaning into being sexually assaulted (which again is not an inherent part of being a young girl)? People are going to make comments that make you uncomfortable or upset you, and not all of them are going to be sexual. Self advocate, enforce boundaries, and avoid people that make you uncomfortable.

This isn't part of 'girlhood', this is a symptom of trauma.

There really isn't an easy way to tackle this, because a situation like this has so many moving parts and missing context and there are a million and one different ways this could turn out with one or both parties being in the wrong. However proper sexual education and classes on things like birth control, consent, and self advocacy would solve so many of these cases.

Again, men can and have been also touched and groped inappropriately without their consent. Speculums and doctor's offices are part of being a healthy person. Your obgyn using a speculum during any number of procedures isn't for their own sick sense of pleasure, it's because it is a tool designed to make treatment easier.

This feels like demonizing medical care. I had extremely heavy cycles. It was almost guaranteed I was going to have an iron deficiency each month. I got cysts. Birth control was an option presented to me (that I originally denied, mind you) that I was allowed to choose or not choose. Ultimately birth control has been one of the best decisions I have ever made for my health. If it's not something you want, you don't have to take it. If it doesn't work for you, you don't have to keep taking it. You are not obligated to take any medicine or treatment you don't want to.

Girlhood is a period of time during which you grow up, nothing more.

Girlhood is a period of time during which you grow up, nothing more.

If trans women feel joy in expressing femininity and find happiness in feminine things, then by God I hope they find the spinniest skirt available and spin until they can't stand anymore. I hope they feel comfortable and safe as their most authentic selves.

Stop demonizing growing up. Stop pretending that being a little girl is inherently traumatic. Stop dramatizing being young. This is real life, not a season of Degrassi or Pretty Little Liars or whatever other youth drama.

[anna-scribbles]

an announcement

hey everyone! I just wanted to let you all know that my tumblr and instagram accounts will be inactive until further notice. more information under the cut, but long story short: I have had an incredibly fun and positive time sharing my art with you all over the last year or so. however, I’ve noticed myself making my internet presence way too much of a priority in my life, and it’s become unhealthy for my relationships and my faith. I’ve decided to take a step back. if I ever feel like it’s a healthy choice for me to come back to these accounts, then I’d love to--but right now it’s not. thank you for understanding.

if anyone needs to contact me, I’ll still be available on discord or through my email itsannascribbles@gmail.com. my accounts will not be deactivated, all my content will stay up, I just will not be active here anymore.

(head’s up: I’ll be talking about my Christian faith in the explanation)

About six months ago, I was facing a really big life decision and one of the big questions I had was what my art was supposed to be for. Before I began posting my art online a little over a year ago, I never thought much of it; I drew characters that I liked because it made me feel happy. But after the pandemic hit and quarantine began, I felt bored and sad and I decided to finally make a tumblr account and post some pictures on it. About a week after I made the account, I drew a comic that was a crossover between steven universe and gravity falls, and it blew up. I started getting thousands of followers every day, and I’d never had followers on anything before in my life, and it was exciting, and I didn’t want it to stop. I did feel God impressing on my heart back then that I needed to ask Him for permission to do this, but I was so worried of losing the momentum of my rapid following that I ignored Him.

Since that week, my follower base has grown to 17k on tumblr and 20k on instagram. To be honest, I think about it all the time. All my free time is spent creating content, or consuming content, or obsessively looking through the reactions to the content I produce. All this to say, the events of the last year have caused me to see my art differently, to believe that it was good. Not because of what God says about me, but because of what strangers on the internet did. And this newfound belief in my artistic skill caused me a newfound source of pain and confusion: I became worried that I was wasting it. I was worried that I should’ve gone to a better school, should be practicing more, should be more focused on how to get a career in the industry. And six months ago, when I was faced with a big life decision, I asked God what my art was for. I wanted Him to give me a career path, a degree. But that’s not what He told me.

I was reading in the book of Lamentations that day, and it struck me that it was a book of poetry. It was gorgeously intricate and structured and beautiful, and it was art. It was art that wasn’t for anyone but God, not intended for anything but the act of offering up a prayer and a praise to Him. And God revealed to me in that moment that He didn’t give me art so that I could pursue a certain career path or degree; He gave me art so that I could give it back to Him. So that I could worship. This revelation filled me with a joy I haven’t often felt--one that brought my heart back to life and filled my mouth with praise. God spoke to me in that moment, asked me to give my art back to Him in worship, and then... I let the moment pass. I chose to ignore Him, again. I was still too afraid of losing it all, this little kingdom on earth I’d built.

A few weeks ago I was at church and the Lord impressed upon me, again, that it was time to give it up. I knew that God told me to give my art back to Him in worship, and I knew I had ignored Him, and I felt His Spirit imploring me strongly again to give it up. And still, I was afraid to walk away. I liked how it felt, receiving dozens of nice comments every day. I liked watching the numbers go up, watching my skills as an artist improve and gain recognition. I liked feeling like I made people laugh or smile or have a better day. I told myself that it was harmless, good even. (But, as it turns out, God has a reason for the things that He asks of us. As it turns out, God sees the whole picture while we live our lives grasping at a single piece of the puzzle. As it turns out, it is often the most mundane of things that can separate us from God.)

Recently, someone very close to me told me she’s been feeling distant from me for the past year, that I’ve shown so little interest in her life that it’s gotten to the point where she’s been anxious to even talk to me. This is something I admit with the heaviest heart. I’ve been so focused on building myself up that I’ve been neglecting the people God’s put in my life. I’ve been centering my life on something that’s not Him, and when I do that--no matter what it is that I’m centering my life on-- it hurts me and it hurts those who are around me. God has sent me a wake-up call and He is asking me to obey, and this time I am saying yes.

If you have ever enjoyed my account or anything I’ve had to say, this is the only thing I can tell you that has any real significance: God knows you and loves you and wants to have a relationship with you. I say this not because it’s what I’ve been taught, but because it’s my actual lived experience. I wouldn't be doing this if He hadn't asked me to, and if He hadn't proven to me that I can trust Him to take care of me through it.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been so kind to me. I’ve made so many friends through this experience and felt so inspired and happy and loved here. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so thankful for your endless kind and encouraging words. The last year and a half have by far been the hardest of my life but this community has brought me happiness through that. I know, though, that it’s time for me to give it up for now and focus on what God has for me. Thank you for reading and understanding.

So much love,

Anna

[florencwrites]

ignoring is bliss 〚technoblade〛

in which [reader] struggles with her lover's inconsequent affection, and a good talk is unfortunately inevitable; the silent treatment has never worked well with techno.

"I don't know what you want me to say." His back had still been turned towards me at this point, the rake heavy in my hands as I tried using it to steady myself in the muddy stable. He kept loading dirty plucks of hay onto his pitchfork, the thinly lined buttoned shirt he was wearing easily letting his back muscles shine through.

I stood silently behind him, deliberating my words thoroughly. I hated when he acted like this, I absolutely despised him. He was one of the smartest men I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, however, the second things went sideways conversation-wise he always played it painfully personally. He would start correcting my grammar or suggest synonyms for otherwise satisfactory sentences. "I don't either."

"I guess that marks the end of this conversation." He turned around to dump his gathered muck in the makeshift wheelbarrow Phil had built us. His face was hard, his brows furrowed and his features lax. He seemed indifferent, his attitude scaring me to pieces.

"Tech, please." I tried, putting one of my hands up to gesture for him to stop walking. He was now barely lifting the barrow from the ground, ready to head off to the dump. He huffed, his eyes meeting the floor as he put the wagon down. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I'm sorry," I muttered softly.

He ducked to grip his hands around the handles again, lifting it from the ground. His knuckles were white where they held onto the leather-covered grips. "Speak up."

"I want to have a conversation with you, okay? Stop acting so fucking stuck up and talk to me." His shoulder brushed past mine as he exited the stables, my voice was high in emotions, definitely on the verge of breaking with desperation.

He snorted. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say when you've calmed down."

-

"He won't talk to me, Phil." I groaned almost obnoxiously loud, taking a sip of water to wash down both my dinner and my agitation. "You know how he gets."

"All pissy? Tell me about it." He chuckled softly, his forearm shielding his bowl from my sight. He shoveled another spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. Phil and I had never been extraordinarily close, he reckoned Techno and me to be undeserving of each other. A terrible pair. And perhaps we were, at times like this I couldn't help but doubt whether or not we truly were the destined lovers we often thought ourselves to be. "I'll bring him some food later."

I laughed at him, a father at heart. A father to anyone but his actual sons, really. A playful grin on my lips, "You're an enabler, Phil."

-

That night I crawled into an empty bed. One I hadn't even doubted would be just that; empty. He was weak like that, he'd do anything to avoid conflict. Whether that was because he was afraid of what his blinding rage fits would conjure, or whether he was just an impotent coward. Someone who didn't know how to act around uncertainty and immorality and thus resorted to blaming everything on his treacherous temper.

The sheets still smelled of him, I held them to my nose.

There was no reason for us to fight, I hadn't meant to start one. I simply wanted him to realize how different he acted towards me when surrounded by any crowd. He acted so distant it made me doubt not only us, but myself. My heart ached anytime he pulled his hand away from where I tried leaving him a subtle touch. My skin crawled when he no longer referred to me by the mild, but unmissably warm names he had for me.

However, nothing would ever hurt me as much as meeting his eyes in a room of our friends and seeing the love seep from his irises. Physically witnessing his affection turn into nothing short of mere acquaintance.

Everyone knew us. There was no reason for him to act so cold, so distant. Though, I also recognized that perhaps there was an underlying reason. One I simply hadn't thought of, or perhaps one that I couldn't ever imagine. One that he had retained from his troublesome past.

The thing is, it hurt me to think he didn't trust me enough with his reasoning. That he didn't want to tell me about his thoughts. I'd been extremely careful and meticulous with any information he'd granted me, I was sure to never let what he told me change my opinion of him. I vowed to never look at him any different.

So, why could he not promise me the same?

-

There was no point in pushing myself from my sheets the next morning. I knew how long his episodes usually lasted, I wouldn't even have to try talking to him for at least two more days. Normally, I'd try, though. I'd sit in the grass right next to where he was working outside, just talking to him about anything and everything I could think of. Back then I thought for his silence to mean confusion, I thought his swirling mind simply needed a break. That a distraction would do him good.

I sat in the barely-molten grass for hours, never getting a reply.

His smell was constricting my airways slowly, every inhale making it harder and harder to breathe. What if Phil was right, what if he truly didn't love me, or not anymore at least? What if it was all an act to have a warm body to fall asleep next to, to have an extra set of hands around the cottage.

I kicked at the sheets, desperate to get them away from me, to get them from clinging to my sweaty body. I only tangled my legs further into the mess. The bed creaked loudly against the wooden floor of the attic, a gust of wind running through a small gap in the roof.

I shot up, finally being able to rid my body of the sheets. I huffed a few times, the annoyance getting the better of me. I slung my legs over the side of the bed, now just sitting on the wooden frame, letting my eyes wander over the walls. The pictures of us that were tightly tacked to the planks, photos of our favorite pets and our best of friends. Photos of us with Phil and Tommy, and even a stray photo of me and Wilbur, back when we were kids.

My gaze found its way towards the singular window behind our bed, the only one of two walls that weren't entirely slanted. His red robe stood out like a sore thumb in the feeble blanket of slushy snow that had been slowly accumulating over the course of the night. Summer was officially over once again, and the cold would soon make it so we could no longer afford to sleep alone.

He rarely wore his robe outside of special occasions, he usually would simply opt for one of his brown ones. One was trimmed with a thick deer fur, the leather on it sure to keep all frost out. The other one was his summer one, the more dirty one of the two. It was always stained with blood, since it would also be the one he went hunting with. He disliked hunting in the winter, the harsh winds and easily discernible prints made it no fun, according to him. He stacked up during the summer, drying his meats to allow them to be kept safe for months, if not years.

But now he was wearing his red robe, lined with the finest of polar bear fur. The one that had the special compartments for his potions, and the one I had sown a totem into. For good luck. He rarely wore it for any occasion but war.

He pushed himself from the ground, turning around swiftly; the velocity making his cape whisk dramatically up in the wind. His eyes seemed fixated on the ground until they unwarrantedly shot up to the window I was sitting at. Any other day, I would've averted my gaze. Not now. He knew I was staring, and he was allowed to know so. I held my eyes on him until his feet carried him out of sight, into the house. I sighed softly, I felt entirely forlorn without him, without his caring hands and loving eyes. I let myself fall back into the bed, cuddling the sheets once again as I curled away from the entrance. I reckoned he would have to change out of his robe soon, and I didn't want to face him when he did.

-

I heard the front door slam, and as predicted the rungs of the many ladders soon creaked in his hold. The worn, practically ancient, trapdoor was pushed ajar behind me. I couldn't be bothered to turn to meet his eyes. However, instead of quietly changing out of his clothes, I felt the bed dip. He sat on the side of it, much alike to how I had found myself just minutes before.

"I don't like feeling weak." His voice was rougher than usual, it kept its usual monotone aura, but for some reason, it felt more emotional than ever before. He cleared his throat as if to try and mask it, to no avail, "I don't love you any less."

I shifted in the bed, though, he quickly stopped me, "Don't look at me, that just makes it harder."

I obliged. He let out a trembling sigh, taking his sweet time to deliberate his next words, "Sometimes we are outside together and I'm afraid that when they see how much I care about you, they will realize that you make me weak." I stared at the wall, still curled into the blankets. I wanted nothing more than to hold his face, look at him as he spoke. Instead, I had to make do with the pictures of his face plastered on the wood. His pointy, flappy ears and peaked nose. The two sharp-looking fangs set in the corners of his lips, ones that seemed to disappear when he smiled. He didn't like smiling for pictures, I didn't have a single one of the two of us together where he smiled. The only ones that showed his beautiful pearly whites were the ones that had me behind the camera, something I only then realized might've not been a coincidence.

"It scares me to think they could hurt you for loving me, that's why I don't like holding your hand in town." I shot a quick look over my shoulder, his back was slouched over, his head in his hands with his elbows propped on his knees. He wasn't crying, he simply seemed lost."I never realized that what scares me even more is the idea of you not loving me at all."

I slowly crept from under the sheets as his words fell silent. I crawled over towards where he was sat, near the foot-end of the bed. I took one of his hands from where he had rested his face on it and pulled it out of the way.

I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling my body into his. I draped my legs over his lap as I held him. His built arms felt tender against my exposed back, however, he held me tight. He squeezed softly as another quivering breath escaped his lips. We sat in embrace for a while.

"That's all I asked for, Tech." I smiled into his neck. "I just wanted to talk, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Shut up." He playfully tried pushing me away from his torso, underestimating the power of my cling. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

[bibbykins]

Cookies and Fingertips (M)

Some Jimin loving! We love to see it! I hope you all enjoy this installation as I try to figure out how to properly flesh out characters in a drabble series. Am not sure how I’m doing there but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. As always, tips are not required but greatly appreciated, just like your thoughts! Pls share your thoughts though, they brighten my day!

Note: This is part of a drabble series The Household’s Bunny

Summary: You and Jimin met long before you moved in, and yet, you’re not sure if he even likes you. So what else is there to do but take every opportunity to talk to him until you figure it out? 

Jimin has had a debilitating crush on you long before you moved in and he is almost positive there is no way you’d feel the same. And yet, he doesn’t have the strength to properly avoid you.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+, soft yandere-ish, obsessive thoughts, possessive thoughts, fingering, handjob, subspace, cum eating (sorta?), discussion of hospitalization, mentions of a stalker, mentions of passing out, the word “fat” is used, a moment of thigh riding, surprise kiss, insecurity

Jimin looked across the courtyard as his eyes remained fixated on your form. You were a simple second year in college and he was just a breath away from graduating. He first laid eyes on you a mere year ago and he can't remember what life was truly like before you smiled at him. You both had only ever exchanged pleasantries, so he opted to wait for the right time to make his move.

“That’s not true.” Your voice snapped Jimin from his staring contest with the PowerPoint slides, “That’s an antiquated idea, not a proven theory.” He looked to you, a couple rows down. You were plump and cute to say the least. He recognized you from a few of his courses. He had heard you were a double major in Art and… damn, what was the other?

The man you had rebutted had his face turning red, “It is proven, it was studied in 1973 with significant results yielded.” Jimin had no idea what you both were debating but he watched a sea of student nod in agreeance with you, some with the guy. What class was he even in? He looked at the PowerPoint slides, reading them for the first time today. Ah, he was in his psych of gender class. Maybe you were a psych major.

“In 1973, with no women in the participant pool, are you not seeing the issue in making a multi-gendered generalization whilst utilizing one genders perspective, a perspective that is also quite dated, mind you?” You cocked a brow and Jimin found himself a bit amused at the man who scoffed.

“You learn those words in high school two months ago?” He snapped back and Jimin grimaced along with most of the lecture hall. 

“What? You need me to define them?” You quipped, eliciting some laughter as the professor regrouped.

“Ah, educational discourse.” The professor joked lightly as Jimin’s eyes remained fixed on you as you noticed a few lingering gazes on you, shrinking in your seat.

He saw you in the lunch hall, sitting alone, not uncommon for anyone in college, except your eyes were a bit puffy. Before he could even question the urge, he acted. Within a few steps, he was at your table and you looked up in confusion, “Uh, hi?” You meekly spoke and Jimin realized he had no plan.

“U-Uh, you… uh… do you like the cookies?” He forced out and immediately wished he could disappear.

You looked down at the cookie on your plate, “Uh, yes? Is-Is this a fat joke or do you actually want to know?” You asked cautiously.

Jimin’s eyes widened, “No, I mean yes, I mean no, I would never make fun of your weight.” He squeezed his eyes and sighed, not able to see your growing smile at his mental turmoil, “I have psych of gender with you and people rarely talk in that class so I thought you were pretty cool.” He smiled and he noticed you relax.

You nodded, smiling slightly, “Ah, I see. Thank you.” You beamed and it was like he felt the warmth from you, “I don’t do super well with attention but I also have poor impulse control.” You chuckled and he finally understood why you had cried and his heart strings were tugged a bit, “And yes, the cookies are good.” You split one in half and offered it to him.

Life goes by a lot quicker when one waits for the perfect opportunity. This much he found out quickly when he found himself a year later, looking across the courtyard at you, this time as your TA. He tried dating to get the daunting idea of talking to you after that singular interaction in which he forgot to give you his name from his mind to no avail. No matter, surely this would be the year.

”Jiminie is so hot!” Jimin continued to pretend not to hear his ex, Yoora, whine in your ear as he observed the intro to modern dance class.

You looked to her thoughtfully as you stretched, “You mean the TA, that is not that far away?” Your voice was lowered, but he could still hear you. He found himself listening closer, wondering if you remembered the singular interaction you both had. Yoora nodded in the corner of his eye.

“Yep.” She affirmed, “We dated, it was magical, and he’s still hot.” She mused and Jimin grimaced a bit, feeling bad he dated a girl that seemed to be a decent friend of yours, “Do you know him?”

Jimin perked up a bit, “We talked once, seems nice, is obviously hot.” You shrugged, “I doubt he remembers me, though.” You leaned down to reach past your left foot as Yoora urged you on with her eyes, “I had gotten into a weird debate with this one dude in a class we had and he saw me after, and I had just cried because I hate arguing and stares.” You and Yoora laughed a bit, “Then, he just came up to me and asked if I liked the cookies I were eating, and I wasn’t sure if he was calling me fat at first.” Yoora gasped and Jimin felt pain just thinking about the awkwardness, “He wasn’t, and he got cutely flustered when I asked and then I gave him half of my cookie and that’s all.” You moved to your other leg, “And then he never talked to me again.” You laughed and Jimin wanted the floor to swallow him.

Another year goes by. The day before he was going to try and ask you out, you were hospitalized. He didn't know how to even approach the topic with you, but he did try to be there for you throughout that year. The professor he was TA for insisted Jimin also utilize his emails, so all throughout your brief stay in medical care, it was him who received your bubbly emails. The emails full of little emoticons and exclamation points that made him giddy and took him hours to conceptualize a response to. Although you didn't know it was him giving you extensions and safe regards, he still meant it. 

He was practicing when he got the email, 

“Attention students, 

We have received knowledge of an incident that has resulted in the hospitalization of a student that occurred within an apartment close to campus. Proper authorities have been notified and the student is recovering well. Please remain safe and vigilant.” 

His face twisted in confusion when he got a text from the professor he was TA for that you were the student in question.

Throughout the semester, Jimin watched you with careful eyes as you slowly acclimated back to yourself. He wondered how he could have been so blinded by your smile that he couldn't properly see your eye bags or the way you looked over your shoulder when you thought no one was looking at you, or how he couldn't see he wasn't the only one looking at you. 

When you returned, he watched your eyes relax and your guard go down again. He just wished he could've been there to help you get there. He trudged home one day and found you, and then his whole world was flipped by you again.

Since moving in, he found himself way more advanced with you than he ever imagined. You would plop next to him on the couch and give him a smile, "How was your day, Jiminie?" You beamed at him each time and he nearly choked on his spit each time.

He would mumble an answer and you would hum before watching TV with him, a show he deliberately put on each time he heard you come home. Eventually, you began watching competition shows together, theorizing who would win what. It was comfortable and close, and he found himself falling for you even harder.

"Do you wanna have lunch together?" Your voice pulled him from his thoughts in the practice room he had on his floor in the building. He had agreed to help with your final. The only time he could talk to you without it being a mental nightmare was when it was about dancing. The only time he could initiate contact was in this studio. 

The studio gave him a certain air of confidence that even you could see. He wasn't a different person, more so multi-faceted. There was the shy and bumbling part of Jimin just as much as there was the sharp-eyed and focused Jimin. Not to mention the way his fingers would dance on your form as he gave you pointers made you unreasonably aroused.

Even so, determined to challenge himself, he nodded, "Lead the way." His voice was smooth even after two straight hours of practice and you wondered how he could look so hot work out clothes.

You both decided to pick up food and eat it at the studio. You sat across from each other as you ate in polite conversation. It was after you both picked up the food and sat on the floor you spoke up again, "You know, Jiminie." You started, eyes shyly fixated on the floor, "I wanted to thank you for not telling the guys about my, uh, incident a year ago." You finally looked him in the eyes, a soft smile on your face, "Not that it's a huge secret, especially on campus, but I just prefer to tell people myself." You mused.

He blinked, surprised you would thank him for something like that, "O-Of course, I mean, a lot of rumors were going around anyways, so even if I did want to tell them, I doubt I have only the facts." He shrugged, "It's not anyone else's business regardless."

You stifled a little giggle, "Yeah, some of the stories got a bit crazy." You sighed a bit, "From a stalker attacking me to me passing out in the middle of the street." Jimin looked up at you. You didn’t meet his gaze, most likely reliving the aftermath of the whole campus finding out you were hospitalized and are a cam girl in the same week. Not that you were ever hiding you job, but you just wished you could tell people on your own terms.

"Yeah, some crazy things get told in the Arts department." He murmured, "I only knew most of the facts because your TA for Professor Lee's class."

It was your turn to look up, but instead of confusion he saw a polite smile, "I know, silly." You chuckled and when you saw his confused face you looked at him incredulously, "Come on, you're Park Jimin! Of course I'm gonna know the 'hottest dance major'" You fake gushed and he finally broke a laugh, making you giddy. 

"Of all things to know me by." He shook his head, smile still present.

You studied his face as his eyes scrunched and cheeks lifted, making you smile as well, "I've never made you smile before and your smile is so pretty." You mused, "I need to step up my comedy game."

"You've never seen me smile?" He looked surprised at this, considering he always smiled like an idiot when he stared longingly at you.

"I mean, sort of, but not to this degree." You shook your head, "I was starting to think you didn't like me for a while." 

His eyes widened at this and he panicked, "No, no! I do like you, a lot!" He exclaimed, much to your amusement and to his dismay. You watched him get red with a grin.

He stammered, staring at his fork before he heard your melodious laugh. He looked up and his face softened at the sight of your smile, "You're too cute, Jiminie." You reached forward and pinched his cheek, making his breath hitch. Your cooing tone made something click inside him. He didn't want to be just cute to you, he wanted to be more than any adjective, he wanted to be yours.

He reached up, hand going to wrap around your wrist loosely, "I was the hottest a second ago and now I'm just cute?" A glint of confidence shown in his eye as he made you gulp, "Is that all you think of me, y/n?" Your own name coming from his mouth sent a shiver down your spine and a beat to your core.

You were in a trance while being eyed by the man with a vastly different energy than he had just moments ago. You shook your head lightly, "I think you're beautiful." He cocked a brow and you scrambled for more words, "I had a huge crush on you from the moment I gave you half of my cookie." You breathed before even thinking, snapping you back to reality as you watched his eyes widen, "Ah, me and my mouth!" You admonished yourself, "I didn't mean to make you uncomf-" You frantically moved to take your hand back only for his grip to tighten, pulling you forward, placing your hand at the nape of his neck while his arm wrapped around your waist.

You gulped at the newfound closeness, bodies nearly pressing against each other as he eyed you sharply, "Do you mean it?" He breathed, "You had a crush on me?" You made a move to slink away, but you he gracefully laid himself down with you on top of him, his thigh mere centimeters from your core and he gave you a mischievous smile, "Don't leave me hanging." He teased.

"I-I mean… yes, but can-"

He cut you off with a sigh and a laugh. You braced yourself for him to laugh at you, and say how weird it would be had you confessed and how weird the idea of you two together would be.

It's a song and dance you've seen many times as a hopeless romantic chubby girl. Of course, now you know you were just too much woman for such little men, emotionally little at the very least, but you would be a liar if you didn't still feel the hurt of humiliation. The last thing you wanted was to look into Jimin's eyes and find the same pitying glint, but you were nothing if not a bit brave, at least sometimes.

You forced your eyes from his chest to his gaze and found… an emotion you've only every seen in the eyes of your housemates, an emotion you don't quite know yet, even if you felt it too. At your curiosity, Jimin beamed at you further, "I'd be really frustrated right now if you weren’t on top of me." He chuckled a bit and explained further before you could ask why, "I have had such a huge crush on you for years now." You balk at this, shaking you head.

"That's not a funny joke, Jiminie." You huffed, "If I were even a bit more gullible, I would seriously believe you and then my feelings would be hurt-" He pulled you flush against him as he captured your mouth in a soft and sweet kiss. He was slow, but focused, in the way his mouth moved against yours.

Inside, though, Jimin was freaking out. What if you didn't actually want to kiss him? Why didn't he ask beforehand? Should he pull away? But your mouth feels so good. Are you kissing him back or is he just that enthusiastic?

You laid his worries to rest when you used the hand at his nape to pull him closer, mouth opening to nibble on his bottom lip. He groaned lightly, pulling you closer as his tongue mingled with your own and he pressed his thigh into the thin material of your leggings. You gasped at this and it was like a fire lit within him as he sat up and shifted you for your legs to be on both sides of him as he pressed his mouth onto yours further.

His fingertips danced along your form in a much different context than you were used to, but fuck, did it feel nice. Where one arm was securely holding your waist, his hand reached beneath your shirt, getting accustomed to the soft skin as he waited for you to nod. You wanted him to touch you further. You didn't understand what all these hot men wanted with you, but right now, it didn't matter one bit. 

Jimin's eyes rolled back when he reached in your sports bra to run his fingers over your hardened nipples. You twitched against him as you gasped, fingers intertwining with his hair roughly, "Shit." He groaned at the sensation.

You both sloppily kissed as he explored your chest with his hands, moaning into each other's mouths at the euphoria of unresolved feelings coming to fruition and the sexual tension finally snapping as you gave him unrestricted access to feel you beneath his fingertips, "Wanted this for so long." He murmurs into your mouth, "So beautiful, fuck." The praises don't stop, and only further spur you wandering hand on as you feel his sculpted stomach.

"Wanna touch you." You whine as your fingers play with the waistband of his sweats and he nods, his own hand travelling down to cup your core, making you squeak, "Fuck, I'm so wet." You realized, half embarrassed and half aroused.

You could feel his amusement as he slipped his hand beneath your tights and panties to make skin to skin contact with your soaked core, and he didn't know how he made it this far, but he just wants to keep going as he feels you soak his hand, "Yeah, baby, you are, just for me." He moans when you follow his lead, hand wrapping around his hardened erection and giving a small squeeze, "Shit!" He gasps as you wiggled your hips against his hand, grinding yourself little by little. 

Your hand massaged the head, smearing the precum as you begin stroking him. You both continue moaning into each other's mouths as his hips jerked and you twitched against his hands, "So fucking wet, baby, so sexy." He growled and he slipped a finger inside of you, him groaning at your pulsating warmth wrapped around his finger, "Slid right in, angel." He praises and you let out a choked gasp and he presses his thumb against your clit.

He drank your moans into his mouth like they were an oasis in the desert, and he’s not sure how he’s lived this long without them. Without you by his side and in his arms. He held you close, refusing to even consider loosening his grip because your body against his was bliss in the highest form. You were his, even if just in this moment, and you would be nobody else’s. Nobody could make him feel the way you do, and he, along with the other men that resided in the building, were determined to hold the same monopoly over your emotions. He refused to entertain the idea of anyone beyond this building making you feel anything close to what he was now as he pushed a second finger in, relishing in the strangled moan you gave as you babbled about feeling full.

With the excitement of his dream girl dripping against his hand and your own hand working expertly on his dick, Jimin could feel himself getting close and you could tell from the breathy whines he gave you as he began thrusting his hips in time with his fingers inside you, "Cum for me, Jiminie." You purred before licking at his tongue and he came beautifully with his eyes screwed shut and mouth open as you swiveled your hips agains his, now two, fingers.

"Baby, so good." He whined as his high settled down. He shifted all focus to you and your impending orgasm as he watched you fuck yourself onto his hand, "Feeling good, darling?" He asked teasingly and you nodded dumbly, lips pressed together as you felt your high approach, "I can feel you clenching around my fingers, fuck, you gonna cum in my hand all pretty?" He cooed and you nodded as he met your thrusts, making you clutch onto him harder.

"Can I cum?" You whimpered and Jimin could almost feel himself get hard again at how willing you were to give him the reigns.

"Because you asked so sweetly, of course my love." He let the name slip before you both could even acknowledge it consciously. However, the closeness and the intimacy of it all sent you over the edge and you bit down on his shoulder in attempt to hide how loud you were. He held you close, not minding one bit at the mark you were surely leaving as he fucked you through your orgasm, "Felt good, angel?" He mused and you tucked your face into his neck as you nodded, holding him close as his finger stilled but kept you full until he felt you relax. 

You both giggled as you met eyes, licking the other person's cum off of your hands, "Thank you Jiminie." You hummed cheerily.

"Thank you, bunny." He chided before giving you a kiss, "We all really, really, like you, you know that right?" He asked and noticed your hesitation.

"Sure, but people can be sexually attracted to me and not want to… be with me." You spoke wistfully, "People can like me and not want to be with me." You let out a humorless laugh, "And few things make me feel as dumb as getting my hopes up for no reason." Although you had a tendency to do it time and time again.

"Don't be scared to assume we want you as much as you, hopefully, want us." He spoke quickly before he planted another kiss on you and the affection made you smile.

"You realize the irony of the statement coming from you, right?" You chuckled as he helped you stand on shaky legs before just carrying you, "I cum once for you and all of sudden you know everything and are all confident." You chided, unsure how to process his words yet, mind hazy from your orgasm.

"What can I say? You opened my third eye." He joked and you rolled your eyes before leaning your head on his shoulder, enjoying his embrace, the idea of your housemates loving you back seeming just slightly less like an outlandish fantasy, "Although, it will wear off and then we'll have to do it all over again." He sighed dramatically and you giggled.

"What a shame." You fake gasped, "I hate engaging in sexual relations with hot guys." You complained sarcastically.

"So you do think I'm hot!" Jimin cheered triumphantly.

You laughed against him and realized the only times you felt so free were with your beloved housemates. You wondered if they felt the same. You also found a more insecure part wondering for how long they would feel that way. How long would it be until a girl, or several, much prettier than you or less needy catches their attention. You wondered if you could take the pain of watching the sincerity drain from their eyes just as you've seen in your mom, your dad, your uncle, your first relationship to your last. You wondered what it was about you that made it so easy to be left behind.

Jimin's phone pinged, ripping you from your melancholic thoughts. He sighed, pulling it out and you fought the urge to see if it was another person vying for his romantic attention. He didn't belong to you, even if you wanted him to, "Ah, Namjoon wants to know if you want the demo for the new zombie game he's working on and Jin wants to know if you'd like your first pick of the new stickers he got, and Hoseok wants to try a new hairstyle on you and ah, they all sent me something to ask you…. Gosh, they all think I'm your secretary when we're together." He whined and you held onto him tighter with a light laugh as he went through everyone's inquiries for you.

You also found yourself how you went on this long without them and how you could even consider hesitating if they asked you to stay with them for much longer.

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