#I'm hoping for the best but bracing myself for the worst

[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 4*

Keep me awake, buy me a coffee

Summary: “You go on a horrible date, and there’s only one address that pops in your mind when you think about blowing off some steam…”

Wc: 4.3k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warnings: SMUT, degradation kink (kinda), use of sex toy(🤭), bit of bondage, tiny bit of jealousy/possessiveness

A/N: I passed my exam and in celebration I have written for you this new part of Nemesis with Benefits chapter! Hope y’all like it😋

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"And so, he said he couldn't get it, so I had to get my brother's car and drive an hour to get the keg!"

You fake a laugh, noticing that the sentence is supposed to be some sort of a punchline. Oscar's eyes twinkle with amusement at the sound of your fake giggles, and you have to do your best not to shiver at his prideful nod.

It has been three weeks since Tyler's party, and since... the events that occurred in Tyler's bedroom. Afterwards, you had picked up your life as usual, convinced that the itch was scratched and you could go back to more important things.

However, the memories of that night resurfaced your mind every single fucking day, like clockwork. Some nights you'd give in, bringing yourself to an orgasm with the help of your vibrator, but most nights you pushed the sinful thoughts down as far as possible. It made you less fun to be around, though. A bit snappy, huffing and puffing about every little thing that didn't work like you wanted it to.

So, when Benjamin suggested to set you up with this guy he knew, you couldn't agree quicker. You didn't quite care if you would get a love match out of it, you were mainly hoping for a good fuck.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be on the program tonight. The guy, Oscar, was the biggest fucking bore you had ever met.

Okay, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration. He has his interests... or better said interest: drinking beer. Every story he has told so far this evening is about drinking in some kind of way. He doesn't tell any jokes, he just says the ends of his sentences a bit louder and waits for you to laugh on cue. After about three stories, you caught on.

So far, you're on story number six, and he has not yet asked one thing about you. This date is a bust, you're going to have to admit defeat.

"Excuse me for just a minute, I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You say with a polite smile, sneakily grabbing your phone as you stand up and walk away to the toilets.

Once you're out of Oscar's sight, you hurry to the bathroom and quickly get into a stall. Unlocking your phone, your fingers work fast to get to Rebecca's name and click on 'call'. You put the phone to your ear, waiting for her to answer. She is quite quick, answering you in just a few seconds.

"'Sup girl, how's the date?" She asks casually.

"Unfortunately, he's got the personality of a wet sock. I'm gonna need you to fake an emergency, please?"

"Oh my god, is it that bad?"

"I can't listen to one more second of this guy's stories. All he talks about is beer! I mean, I like myself a beer, but you can't possibly fill up an hour and a half of stories about beer!" You exclaim, making Rebecca giggle.

"I'll call you in five minutes."

With a bit more hope, you walk back to the table, and brace yourself to be bored with another beer story. You almost laugh to yourself when Oscar, like you predicted, brings up another story of the time where he drank almost half of the keg and puked in the bushes. With your jaw clenched, you lay down your fork, having lost your appetite entirely. This is the worst fucking date ever.

You count down the seconds until the phone rings, and your heartbeat rises in excitement when it does. You fake a frown, telling Oscar that you need to pick up really quick. The second you answer the call, a string of screaming and crying sounds from the other side of the line.

You should have known that Rebecca would go all out, she's a theatre major after all, but it still throws you off a bit. Holding in your laugh, you put a bit of your own acting skills to use.

"Rebecca?! What— what's up?" You hold the phone closer to your ear again. She cries out something along the lines of 'He cheated on me!'. You glance at Oscar, who is positively terrified. Mission accomplished, you think.

"Stay where you are, okay? I'm on my way!" You say as you get up from your seat, grabbing your purse. Rebecca says something else about wanting to die, and after that you hang up.

"I'm so sorry, I've got to go. This was fun, text me." You spit out before speed walking towards the exit. You hear Oscar shout out how he doesn't have your number, but you act like you don't hear him.

The second you are outside, you dial Rebecca again. Like before, she immediately picks up.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, you're a genius, thank you!" You smile, looking around to see if maybe there's a taxi near. "Now I just need to get out of here before he catches up with me or something."

"I already called an Uber for you."

You let out a dreamy sigh. "Are you an angel sent from heaven?"

"Actually, yes, I am." Rebecca jokes, and the two of you chuckle. "No but seriously, it's not big deal. It should be there now I think. It's a black Volvo."

And as if on cue, a car matching the description pulls up in front of you. You put your hand up, signaling that the driver is here for you, and walk towards the door.

"Thank you so much babe."

"No problem. Debrief tomorrow?" She asks as you slide into the car and silently greet the driver.

"Yes, over lunch?"

"Sounds good, I'll text you tomorrow. Love you."

"Okay, love you, bye." You say before hanging up the phone. The driver turns around, asking where you want to go. You give him your address, and he begins driving. It is quite a drive from your place and from campus, this restaurant.

You look out the window, reeling the ridiculously bad date. You're a bit disappointed; you were really hoping to have a fun night tonight. Sighing, you look at your phone screen, allowing a forbidden thought to crawl to the front of your mind.

After fiddling with you hands for about five minutes, going back and forth with your stance on your own idea, you make a decision. Swallowing, you unlock your phone and go to your message app.

You

Where r u?

The realization kicks in your mind the second you send the message. What the fuck are you doing? You go back to the chat, holding your finger on the message to delete it, but then you see three dots.

+1-334-555-0383

Home, why?

You

Text me ur address

+1-334-555-0383

Why?

You stare at the word he sent you for a couple of seconds. You scoff. As if he doesn't know why you are texting him right now. You think for a bit, deciding on what to send him.

You

I want my panties back

*****************************************

It doesn't take long after you've banged on Harry's door that he opens it. He wears a smirk on his face, his signature look it seems. He likes this, the fact that you're going to give in. Technically, you already have, but you aren't going to admit that.

He doesn't say anything, merely stepping aside to let you in. You stride into his apartment, letting your eyes fly over the apartment. It is not what you expected at all. The boring beige and grey colors you had imagined would dominate the color palette of his living room is instead a navy blue. There is nothing grey about this place at all.

Nevertheless, you ignore all the things you want to say about his apartment, and turn around, hands on your hips.

"So?" You shrug, insinuating for him to give you your panties back. You both know it's not what you're here for, and Harry raises his eyebrows, as if having accepted the challenge to see whoever can hold up this act the longest.

"It's probably somewhere in the panty drawer."

"You have a panty drawer?" You frown, disgusted with him even having such a concept.

"Women always seem to leave them here." He says, casually strolling towards his bedroom. You follow him with a sigh. Entering his bedroom, you try your best not to look so surprised over how beautiful it is. The deeper shade of dark blue that coats the walls looks very pretty in comparison to the light bedding, curtains and other furniture.

When you turn around, you see your panties in Harry's hand. He holds it out for you to grab, but pulls away just when you try to do so. You give him a pointed look, but he doesn't seem to care. The second attempt to snatch the panties from his grip fails as well, and you find yourself groaning in frustration.

"Stop being a fucking dick." You bark at him.

"Fine." He shrugs. You reach for the panties again, but Harry catches your worst with his free hand. His eyes search yours. "Tell me why you really came here, and I'll give you your panties back."

"I came here to get my panties." You say through gritted teeth, blood rising to your cheeks. The touch of Harry's fingers on your wrist heats your skin up even more than his infuriating actions do.

"Try again." He grins, dimples showing and everything.

"I came here to get my panties." You repeat, glaring at him with nothing but fury behind your eyes. He throws the panties behind him, and they land back on his drawer.

"See, I think you're lying." Harry says, stepping a bit closer to you. You lose your breath at the proximity, and you feel like you might start sweating. Harry notices, and smirks, pressing his thumb into your wrist. "I can feel your heartbeat, you know."

You huff, not sure you're able to keep this up any longer. Harry lets go of your wrist and sneaks his hand around your neck instead. You feel the blood pumping through your veins as he leads you backwards towards his bed.

"I think you're a little bit frustrated. You couldn't get me out of your system, so now you're here to beg for my cock." His low voice vibrates through the room before he pushes you onto the bed, standing over you. "Did I guess that right?"

When you don't answer, Harry scoffs.

"Fine, you won't mind if I find out for myself, will you?" He asks, pushing your legs apart. You obey him silently, shaking your head. You refuse to admit defeat, but you're afraid that the second his fingers touch your pussy, it'll be game over.

Harry's fingers slowly trail up your leg, taking his time with his victory. You hold your breath, the pounding of your heart making it feel like it might jump out of your chest, as you stubbornly hold his stare. His fingers wrap around your panties and gently pull them down, the smirk on his face only growing the further the panties are pulled down your legs.

The cool air that hits your cunt nearly makes you shiver, but you resist the urge, and focus on maintaining the last shred of dignity you have by holding up that poker face of yours.

You watch Harry observe your pussy, as if it is the first time he's ever seen it. Despite knowing that he is dragging this out to tease you, you can't help but ball your fists in anticipation of what he's going to do or say. When Harry's eyes flick up to yours again, you let out a hint of a sigh.

"Well, well, look who's turning out to be a liar." He says cockily, tongue running against his cheek. Your face remains stoic, and you refuse to say anything. "What am I going to do with this, hmm?"

He looks at you for a few seconds, a thought running through his mind. Then, he suddenly walks away from you and to his closet. You lean on your elbow to sit up a bit, trying to see what the hell he is doing. When he turns around, he is holding a small box. Your eyes widen when you see the picture on the box.

"Are you open to trying out this toy?" He asks, nearing you again.

"I'm not going to put a vibrating egg inside of me that has already been inside of like seventeen other people." You argue, shaking your head in disagreement. Harry quirk up an eyebrow, the right corner of his mouth tugging up.

"Seventeen is an oddly specific number." He notes, and you roll your eyes. Of course that is what he pays attention to.

"It's the first number that came to mind." You reply, unimpressed by his attempt to seem funny. He laughs softly, putting the box down beside you.

"It's new, I just bought it. It's not even out of the plastic wrapping yet." He tells you as you scan the box. The shiny plastic coat around the box makes you believe he is indeed telling the truth. You think it over for a second, still not entirely sure.

"Why'd you buy it?"

Harry shrugs. "Well, technically I didn't buy it. The website had this deal about getting an extra secret toy, or something. I honestly don't really remember, truth be told I was kind of high when I ordered it."

You sigh, your lips cracking into an unavoidable smile. Of course he orders sex toys while he's high, the bloody idiot.

"Okay, yes. I've always wanted to try it."

Harry looks pleased with your answer, and he is quick to return to business. "Alright then, get further onto the bed and lean your head against the headboard."

Your stomach bubbling with excitement, you crawl towards the headboard and wait until Harry comes walking over with a belt. When he signals for you to give him your wrists, you don't hesitate to do so, biting your lip impatiently as he ties your wrists above your head.

You wait for him to put the batteries in the toy and test it out on his hands—which seems like it takes forever—before he finally saunters back to you. He sits down on the side of the bed, and brings his hand down to your cunt, inspecting it with his own digits.

You gasped out at the sudden contact, not having expected it to be so much and out of practically nowhere. Without a word, he pushes a finger inside of you. You try to catch up with your breathing but it is hard with Harry pumping his finger in and out of you, especially when he decides to add another one.

The frown that paints your face and expresses the emotion that your shut eyes can't portray, have Harry picking up his pace a bit. The squelching sound of your wetness only increases with every time he sticks his fingers inside your hole, but you manage to keep quiet despite the immense pleasure that makes you want to scream out.

It is only when Harry removes his finger that a slight whimper falls from your lips, and Harry feels the immediate results of it: tighter pants. Figuring you are wet enough now, he grabs the toy from his lap and brings it to your pussy.

"'M gonna put it in now, okay?" He announces. You squeak out an 'okay' and watch as Harry lets the toy disappear inside of you, filling you up ever so slightly. He softly restrains your legs from closing, watching in awe at how your chest rises and falls at the hand of your breathing.

"You okay?" He asks when he's put the toy all the way in. Your heavy eyes fight to stay open as you answer him with a soft 'yes'. He nods, looks down at the remote in his hands, and gets up from the bed. Your eyes trace his every movement, heart pounding at the thought of what his next step could possibly be.

He walks over to his dresser, and grabs the panties which you came to retreat in the first place. He turns around and stalks back to you, standing in front of you now on the end of the bed. One hand in his pocket, the other one holding your panties.

"You wanted these, right?" He asks. You nod, and open your mouth to respond, but the feel sudden vibrations cause you to let out nothing but a string of moans.

"I asked you a question." Harry taunts you, walking over to you. "Did you want these?"

The chance at an answer is interrupted once again by the increasing speed of the toy, and you shriek out at the intense feeling of it. Your body squirms, and you feel yourself getting fed up by these stupid games Harry is playing.

"Alright then, let me ask you a different question. Why did you come here? Honest answers this time." He warns, sitting down next to you again. He strokes your shaking leg. You take a deep breath.

"I was on a date." You confess. As soon as the sentence has left your mouth, the rhythm changes. Your hips buck at the sudden switch. Harry, with his jaw clenched, nods at your honest answer.

"Doesn't explain why you're here." He replies nonchalantly. You sigh in frustration.

"I— I needed... I was frustrated, and I thought he could help me, but he couldn't." You say, hoping he's catching onto what you're saying. From the look on Harry's face, it seems that he does.

"So you came to me to relieve that frustration? How sweet..." He concludes arrogantly. You can't put him in his place, though, because that's exactly why you came here.

You don't expect him to add his thumb to your clit for extra stimulation, but he does. You cry out his name along with a few profanities at the increased pleasure, especially now that he's changed the speed to its maximum.

"Hmm, just this once, that's what you said, right?" He taunts, pressing his thumb down a bit harder, leaving you nothing but a whimpering mess under him. You lower your arms unconsciously, but Harry pushes them back.

"Wish you could see yourself, tied up and crying for me like the desperate slut you truly are. Knew you'd come running back, begging for my cock. Knew one time wouldn't be enough for you." The filthy words fall from his lips so easily, as if second nature to him. It sounds so good with the combination of his voice and accent. The degrading words bring you to the edge, and his fingers push you right over it.

"Ah, shit! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" You whimper, eyes shut as your entire body moving along with the aftershocks of your orgasm. While still coming down from your orgasm, you hear the faint sound a belt unbuckling, but you only open your eyes when you feel the bed dip.

You watch in awe as Harry leans over you, and hiss when he takes out the egg. He puts it on the nightstand along with the remote before aligning his hard, bare cock with your wet hole. And just like that, he pushes himself into you.

You wince at the change of size, breathing deeply as he enters himself entirely. It is easy to slide in considering how drenched you are, but you still have to get used to his girth again. Harry sighs at how tight your pussy feels around his cock, uttering out some curse words as he lets you adjust to him. And then, he begins to move.

"Shit, you’re so big… it feels so good." You pant, your eyes fluttering shut. Your senses are entirely focused on the way Harry is building up his pace inside of you and his lingering touch on the rest of your body. He is everywhere; he massages your tits, grazes his fingers over your thigh, and grips at your waist.

"I know baby, just the way you needed, hmm? Worth breaking the one-time rule, isn't it?"

"F-fuck... yes Harry."

"Glad you came to your senses and called me, sweetheart. Not like that guy could've satisfied you the way you needed." He cockily remarks, and it almost feels like the comment is more for himself than to you.

"Maybe he can." You decide to stir the pot. Your core flutters at the low chuckle that leaves Harry's mouth. He pulls himself almost all the way out of you, before he thrusts into you with way more force. You moan loudly at the feeling of him reaching your g-spot.

"No he can't, sweetheart. Otherwise you wouldn't have texted me after your shitty little date, begging to be fucked dumb by me." He says, resuming to deeply thrust into you. You have lost nearly any ability to truly form coherent sentences, only borderline pornographic moans managing to escape you. Your face is curled up, and you clench your fists together.

"Fuck you—" is all you manage to croak out.

"I am fucking you, baby. And you love it so much, I can tell you’re close. Are you gonna do it, baby? You gonna soak the cock of the guy you hate most?" Harry teases you with his words, but his fingers are back on your clit. It doesn't take long after his touch reaches your most sensitive nub before you begin to spasm under him. A long string of high pitched whines accompany to euphoric orgasm that overcomes you.

Instead of slowing down, Harry begins to chase his own orgasm, driven by the way you are clenching around him, and picks up his pace. The sound of your bodies clashing against each other and your panted moans are like music forming a symphony and you can't quite fathom how good the two of you sound together. During sex, that is, not in any other situation.

"You fuck me so good, Harry. I hate it." You confess, still woozy from your orgasm and how deeply Harry is driving into you right now. Not even a few seconds later, Harry's hips still, and he lets out the sexiest groan you have ever heard in your life. He falls over you, catching himself with his hands. He keeps himself and his seed buried inside of you as he tries to steady his breathing and looks at you, curls hanging in front of your face. A smile creeps on both your lips.

"So... can I have my panties back?" You joke, and Harry laughs accordingly. A silence follows soon after, one in which Harry pulls himself out of you, unties your wrists, and carries you to the bathroom to clean you up.

Afterwards, you walk back to the bedroom together, where Harry puts you back on the bed and tells you to wait there while he grabs you some water. You obey, but your eyes fall shut by accident.

When Harry returns, he sees you, lying on your side with your eyes closed, breathing deeply. For a second he thinks about walking you up, but it quickly dawns on him that he doesn't really feel the need to do that. He has tired you out quite a bit, and he's already seen you naked, so what does a few hours of sleeping next to each other really matter?

*****************************************

*The next morning*

It was quite the shock to open your eyes and realize you weren't lying in your own bed. It had come back to you swiftly, the events of last night, and you were quite disturbed with the fact that a smile was the first bodily reaction you had to the memory.

You didn't want any unnecessary drama or awkward conversations, so you decided to sneak out.

Now, on your way home with the bus, that same smile paints your face again, that is until you are interrupted by the ringing of your phone. You immediately pick up when you see Rebecca's name.

"Hey, how are you?" She asks once you've greeted her.

"Good. Better, knowing that I am never ever going to date again." You exaggerate, mainly for fun.

"Don't say that! You'll be fine." She urges, her voice letting her gentleness shine through like it always does. "Anyways, I wanted to ask, where are we having lunch?"

"Uhm, how about that new place across your street?" You suggest, and Rebecca contests in an agreeing hum.

"Sounds good!”

You smile. “Okay, then I’ll meet you there at… twelve?”

“Perfect, and then you can tell me why you didn’t go home last night.” She says, and you can tell she’s holding back her laugh, but your face pales entirely. When you don’t respond, she’s quick to continue. “I saw that the Uber ride ended on some street near campus, so you definitely didn’t spend the night home right?”

You take a deep breath, a thousand possible lies running through your brain as you think of a response.

“I’ll tell you over lunch.” You finally say, and distance your ear from the microphone at the sound of a high pitched squeal coming from the other line. You giggle at your friends’ enthusiasm, but your stomach is heavy with the weight of this blown up lie.

After that night at the party, you thought, that would be that. You’d never hook up with Harry Styles ever again, and the event would be erased from your memory. Although, it didn’t exactly, as you thought about it every night, but you didn’t expect yourself to do this kind of shit. And the worst thing is, it feels too good to stop. You don’t want this to be the last time.

So, you better think of some elaborate lie to tell Rebecca.

Your head shoots back to your phone screen when it lights up and the familiar ping of a text sounds through the bus. You lower your volume and unlock your phone to see who texted you this early in the morning.

+1-334-555-0383

You forgot your panties again

[softlights-citylights]

just coworkers

timeskip!akaashi x coworker!reader.

content warning nothing, just akaashi being a gentleman. gender neutral pronouns.

word count [567]

m.list

They had been car-pooling with Akaashi for a few months now. The arrangement worked great for the two of them. It was convenient for when they had to work overtime. With their workload, and the number of panels they still had to work through, they spent several late nights in the office together.

"Is it wrong to like and/or date a coworker?" they asked, leaning on their knuckles and staring out the window. It had been another late night, with a deadline looming over the two of them.

"Depends." Was his one word answer. The manuscript in the back seat jostled around as he drove over a speed bump on the way out of the parking lot. Akaashi gripped the wheel a bit tighter, the tension in his forearms was visible as his sleeves were rolled up.

They turned to look at his side profile, catching a glimpse of him loosening his tie. The shadows from the dim streetlamps only made the muscles in his arms look more pronounced. They asked, "On what?"

"Who you are asking for, department, and seniority," he answered. He had always been a no bullshit, straightforward person. Akaashi tried to keep that masquerade up despite his heart racing. The possibility that it could be himself made him giddy. And the possibility that it could be another, made his heart sink.

"I'm asking for myself, we are in the same department—sorta, and seniority is a bit complicated." They started to sound a little nervous now, and Akaashi picked up on it.

He decided to press further. This was really going to suck—or be the best day of his life, depending on their answer. "Who is it that you like?"

"Will you stop car-pooling with me based on my answer?"

"No."

They didn't want to make things awkward between them. He was the best editor a mangaka could ask for. And changing editors halfway through a series like this wouldn't be the best for publicity. Nor would it do the story any favors.

"It's you," they finally said. There was nothing but the sound of the road and blood rushing through their ears. "I like you."

Akaashi was silent for a moment and the haunting feeling of having made a huge mistake washed over them. The car grew dim as they left the warm light of a streetlamp behind. Then their faces were lit once more as they approached the next. Several moments passed with nothing but the sound of their heart racing in their ears. They took a deep breath, bracing themself for the worst. "It's fine if you don't like me back, I'll get over it."

Whether those words were the truth or a lie was unclear. Perhaps they really did feel that way, or they were just putting up a brave front for Akaashi. He couldn't tell. But it didn't matter. He was happy.

"I'll be courting you from tomorrow on, then." He decided. "I want to do things properly."

Their eyes snapped up to his face to find a slight smile. He met their gaze, only taking his eyes off the road for a brief second.

The next morning, Akaashi showed up outside their apartment. Nothing seemed to have changed between the two of them. They still followed the same routine. That was up until Akaashi opened the passenger door to reveal a massive bouquet of flowers.

m.list

a/n this is my first oneshot fic, hope its not too bad. i am still working on that tsukkiyama fic tho

[manicpixiedreamguy]

The trans man's guide to singing (on T and other things)

Introduction:

First things first: I am a trans man on HRT who's studying to become a professional singer (not opera lmao, I'm studying modern singing) and all the information I'm providing comes from my personal experience and what my current teacher, who's been teaching me since I started T, taught and told me during my voice change. This is directed towards people who want to go professional because, again, that's my personal experience, but if you're reading this because you like singing as just a hobby, most of what I'll be talking about applies to you too. I might overexplain things because I want this whole thing to be understandable to everyone, including people who barely know what vocal cords and the diaphragm are; on the same note, I hope I don't end up sounding condescending and if I do, just know that's not my intention at all. I won't be saying anything about pre-T voice training because I never did that and giving the wrong advice when it comes to these things can lead to serious damage to people's vocal cords and throats, so this is strictly a singing through and after a voice change post.

The Basics:

The first thing you have to do is talk to your teacher and explicitly tell them everything about your situation (this applies to anyone, cis or trans: you've worn a back brace during your whole childhood? Tell them. You've had any kind of surgery on your nose? Tell them, and so on; they'll probably ask anyway). I know it can be hard and even scary when you're trans, but if you don't do it you won't achieve your goals; I remember going to another teacher when I was a semi-closeted teenager without disclosing I wanted to work more on my lower register and it made my dysphoria so much worse that I just quit after a few months and didn't try taking singing lessons again for years. And being straightforward helps with both finding a good teacher and finding a safe and positive environment by avoiding bigots (sad, but true). Being honest with your teacher is also crucial because when it comes to singing, it's very important to find positions that feel comfortable and don't physically hurt your throat and vocal cords (or any other body part that's involved in singing) in order to not train your muscle memory on movements that are detrimental for your body, and while no one can find them for you, you need to tell your teacher when something your muscles are doing hurts or feels uncomfortable. Singing is almost like doing sports as the vocal cords are muscles that can and do get hurt, and adopting the wrong positions can result in a less than ideal performance at best and in injury at worst. I can't really help with this though, because I can't tell someone else how to move their own body and how to flex their own muscles and I am not a teacher, I can just tell you to take it slow and that when something's right you'll feel it and when something's wrong you'll also feel it. And remember that something not working for you doesn't make you a failed singer or anything like that, it just means you haven't found what works for you yet.

Singing while wearing a binder:

I wanted to start with this first because I think it's very important. Back in the day I've read posts on the Internet saying you should not sing while wearing a binder and while I do get where those posts are coming from, not everyone can afford to not wear one, myself included (before getting my top surgery last year). At first I tried going to my singing lessons with a sports bra under a loose flannel shirt (that kind of pattern, along with checkered patterns, helps hiding curves) but honestly it sucked as I felt too dysphoric, so I had to come up with a solution. At the time I happened to have an older, more stretched out looser binder that I decided to relegate to the role of singing binder because it didn't do its job properly anymore as an every day binder, but if worn with looser shirts in warm weather and layers in cold weather, it was perfect for singing. It still hid my chest fairly well and wasn't as constrictive as a newer and tighter binder would have been. One important thing to keep in mind is that while wearing a binder your ribcage doesn't have as much freedom as it would have without one and while that does suck, don't beat yourself up if you notice that it's difficult to do some things. I've sung while wearing a binder for most of my life and you can make it work, it just takes time and patience. If you can/want to, you can just not wear anything underneath your shirt to sing, but personally I tried doing that like once and felt awful. And if you wear tape, I guess that would be the best option; I never figured out how to wear it so I have no experience with it, I watched video tutorials and stuff but for me it never worked and I still don't know what I did wrong, but if you do wear it, try going with that.

Singing after top surgery:

I'm sorry for what I'm about to say, but after top surgery you'll have to forget how you sang while wearing a binder and start learning (almost) all over again because it's a whole 'nother story: your posture will be better and your ribcage will be more free, making you able to hold notes for longer and breathe in more air, which means you'll have to do some adjustments. First things first, you'll have to wait at least a month after your surgery to sing again (that's what my surgeon told me but you should still talk to yours, even though I'd say that as long as you'll have to wear the post surgery tight thing I forgot the name of you should avoid singing) and you'll have to take things slow. I got my surgery in August 2023 and I'm still (re)learning stuff, so be patient because it's worth it, my ribcage feels so much better now and my posture has improved, making singing overall better and easier. The most important rule when it comes to singing is listen to your body. If something feels weird or wrong, stop, figure out (with your teacher if you're taking lessons) why it feels like that and try to fix it (again, with your teacher); don't push yourself too far/too hard, otherwise you could get hurt. This applies to singing with a binder, singing after surgery, and just singing in general. Trans, cis, doesn't matter: listen to your body. I can't say anything more about this because everyone's different so I don't think I should be giving tips as what works for me might not work for you, you have to figure it out yourself. Having a teacher helps and there are some things that are pretty much universal, but their body is not your body and there are multiple ways to do the same thing based on each individual's preferences, needs, and bodies.

Can I/should I take singing lessons while my voice is still changing?

Yes, it's actually recommended! I've already said it here, but a couple months before going on HRT I found out through another trans man singer's website that taking singing lesson during your voice change helps a lot, both with your technique and with your voice is general. For your technique, it's beneficial because otherwise you'd end up with a completely different and untrained voice all of a sudden, making it harder to get back into singing and harder to find new positions that work for you, and for your voice in general, it just make the change easier. I have recordings of me singing and talking that I made each month as my voice change progressed and while my singing voice was a mess, some months literally changing every week (not necessarily going lower and lower each time, one week I'd be a baritone and the week later I'd be a tenor for some reason, then back to baritone and so on), my speaking voice rarely cracked. No idea if it's related to me taking singing lessons since the beginning but I'm saying this regardless just in case. For reference, I started T on August 4, 2021 (on this exact same day three years ago!) and started taking singing lessons the following month, so I've basically trained my voice during its entire journey.

Oh no, my voice change is a mess!

Worry not! It's totally normal and there will be lots of adjusting to do and what works for one week or one month or any other period of time probably won't work anymore as your voice keeps changing (especially when trying to switch from your regular voice to your falsetto, as your muscle memory was trained to switch at/on a different range), that's frustrating but, again, normal so don't panic if a position you adopted for a few weeks suddenly doesn't work anymore and you'll end up sounding like a hairdryer with no sound coming out of your mouth. Actually, sometimes what my teacher and I call the hairdryer effect isn't even a matter of positions, sometimes during your voice change you just won't have some specific notes and your voice will break instead but again don't panic, the notes will come eventually. While my voice did drop pretty fast, it took me around two years to finally get a full range (in my case the missing notes were exactly in between my regular register and my falsetto register, making switching between the two a pain; I think it's actually how it is for everyone in general but I'm not sure as I am just me y'know). Also my teacher told me most guys' voices will drop very low for a while and then stabilize themselves on a higher speaking range and while it kinda didn't happen to me according to her due to me being a bass-baritone and my voice stabilizing itself on a much lower speaking range, that's the average experience. Anyway don't worry, your lower notes aren't gone, you still have them but you'll have to work a little more than you used to to hit them.

Figuring out your range and type:

I'll have to tell you about voice types, ranges and classifications first. There are many different voice type classification systems, none of which universally applied (music is messy), so I'll go with the basic operatic six types one that I grew up with and that most people use. From highest to lowest: soprano, mezzosoprano (also known as just mezzo), contralto, tenor, baritone, bass. Those are the main groups, but there are subcategories as well, such as countertenor (sometimes considered a main group for some reason, no shade though) and bass-baritone (my voice type! 👋). If your voice's done changing or if you are pre-T, figuring out your range and type will be quite easy but if your voice is still changing, don't worry about it, you'll just have to check what it's up to from time to time until it'll be done and it'll settle on its final range and type (me and my deep ass voice had to go through almost the entire male range spectrum in like a year and a half so I'm speaking from experience here). An important thing to know is that pitch isn't everything as there are many other characteristics that together define and categorize a person's voice, and that voice range and voice type are two separate things as well; your vocal range doesn't define your voice type on its own because voice types are more about where you feel more comfortable singing rather than what notes you can hit (which is what defines the range of one's voice). To have an idea of what you'll probably sound like after your voice's done changing, you have to see what you sound like pre-T. The length of the vocal cords plays a huge role in this: the longer the vocal cords are, deeper the voice is; testosterone puberty results in elongated vocal cords, so if you've always had longer vocal cords like in my case, your voice will be on the lower end of the spectrum. As I just said, I had a pretty low voice pre-T, as I was a contralto as a preteen (I sang in a choir from age nine to twelve, started as a mezzo but then my voice started dropping around eleven years old), and therefore have a pretty low voice now, as I am a bass-baritone (a subtype of both the baritone and the bass types; the term refers to a lower baritone or a higher bass that can sing both and I am a lower baritone but usually sing bass because it's more physically comfortable for me), because I have long vocal cords and that's it; and while there aren't many studies about the exact role of genetics in the developing of the human voice, I sound eerily similar to my father so here's that.

Don't think that starting T sooner would have given you a deeper voice because I started it at twenty and while I acknowledge that's still fairly young, my first puberty was (sadly) already done and yet my voice is deeper than most cis men's (both statistically and anecdotally speaking). You can start whenever and it won't impact how your voice turns out. And if you're thinking about starting to smoke to make your voice lower: don't. I'm a former smoker myself and while I don't make a fuss about people smoking because I'm European, it's just counterproductive from a logical standpoint. Though one thing about singers is that, just like doctors, we smoke; when you meet a singer there's a high chance they're a smoker and if they aren't there's a high chance they used to be, no idea why. Anyway, don't smoke because it's not worth ruining your voice and lung capacity over and it's also not recommended at all while on testosterone (I smoked very little, like a few cigarettes every two weeks or sometimes even once a month, and my endocrinologist still told me to quit because my blood tests were a little messed up because of that). While it's best to go to a professional, there are YouTube videos that illustrate how to find your vocal range if you want to do that on your own or only plan to sing as a hobby, so I won't say anything about that. What I will say though, is that you should warm up first (always warm up first at least a little no matter what you do, especially if you plan to sing in the morning; even just talking out loud for a while can count as warming your voice up) and if you want to find out your range on your own please use the aforementioned YouTube videos, I've watched and even used a few back in the day and they'll tell you exactly how to do things right, don't just start belting out note after note until your voice is straining and uncomfortable because you'll get hurt (I want to make clear, as I've mentioned the possibility of getting hurt in the previous paragraphs, that getting hurt when it comes to singing ranges from having a bit of a sore throat for a while because you didn't drink water before performing to permanently ruining your voice and losing parts of your range because you tried metal screaming with no training so yeah, be careful).

Useful exercises:

In my experience the most useful exercises to do during a voice change are interval slides with the classic, iconic brrr (that I had to look up the name of because I swear no one, not even one singer, in human history has ever called it by its proper name: lip roll; I'm leaving the brrr thing instead of editing it out because it's funny) and some basic hear it and sing it. Also my teacher and I found out, during a phoniatrician check-up I did while my voice was still changing, that singing big jumps between notes helps a lot, even though I have no idea why. Basically, get a piano or keyboard (here's a link for a virtual piano if you need it), play random notes, and sing; it's important for you to switch between your modal (what I've been referring to as "regular" in this post) register and your falsetto register. I suck at explaining things, but this is what you have to do: play one note, sing it, then play the next, and so on. Additionally, I went through my text conversations with my teacher back when my voice was at the beginning of its journey and found the links to three videos we used a lot at the time, so here they are: this 10 minute vocal warm up, some beginner bass vocal warm ups, and some other bass-baritone vocal warm ups. If you go through these channels you'll find other exercises for other voice types and ranges as well. I recommend using jazz singer Judy Niemack's recordings (playlist linked in the above paragraph) because those are the one I used and still use. Your range and voice type don't really matter, you can either harmonize with her or sing in your comfortable range (in tune!) (or not in tune if you're doing this as a hobby I guess, I'm a singer not a cop) (but ear training is fundamental if you want to go professional, so: in tune!).

Alright I think I explained pretty much everything, but if you have questions don't hesitate to ask! I'll be more than happy to answer.

[maratherat]

Wildflowers, a RDR story - 0.2 - Cheat

Series Masterlist

-Blackwater, West Elizabeth, October 1898-

It's been a couple of weeks since my meeting with Mrs. LeClerk and Horley. Since then, I've met some new people and completed various jobs for them, earning a decent amount of money in return. Right now, I'm on my way to meet another newcomer—a stranger—up in Tall Trees.

I step out of the bustling general store after stocking up on ammunition, always ensuring I have enough before heading out on any jobs. The small town is alive with activity today; merchants are calling out to customers, children are playing, and the smell of food wafts through the air. Navigating this lively scene proves a bit challenging as I make my way back to my horse. I've opted to keep that scrawny nag Horley gave me; surprisingly, I've grown quite fond of the animal despite its appearance. After packing the ammo into my saddlebag, I climb onto my horse and set off toward Tall Trees, where I hope to make a good impression.

The air is crisper this time of year—not cold, but refreshing. After the sweltering humidity of West Elizabeth's summers, the autumn breeze feels just right against my skin. As I ride into the woods, I light a cigarette, sensing my energy running low. I nudge my horse's sides to urge him into a lope, taking note of the sun beginning to dip behind the treetops—it's late afternoon, and I need to stay alert.

Upon arriving at the small cabin nestled deep in the woods, I dismount and grab my bolt action rifle, prepared for whatever may come next. Cautiously, I approach the cabin, scanning the surroundings for any signs that I might be followed. I knock softly on the door, awaiting an answer that never comes. Curiosity piqued, I decide to step inside, finding the place deserted. I begin to look around for anything of value I might be able to take, the eerie silence weighing on me.

Suddenly, a distant whistling breaks the stillness, growing steadily closer. Through the window, I glimpse a man passing by too quickly to discern his features. He circles around the cabin, heading toward the very door I just entered. I freeze, holding my breath, bracing myself for the worst.

When the man opens the door with his back, hands weighed down by a crate filled with liquor, a moment of chaos ensues. The second he sees me, his face drains of color. "What the fuck, buddy?" he exclaims, dropping the crate. Bottles shatter on the floor, and he quickly unholsters his gun, leveling it at me. I instinctively draw my Navy revolver, both of us locked in an intense stare, fully aware of the precarious situation.

"What the fuck do you want, eh?" he shouts, pulling back the hammer of his gun, ready to fire. "Settle down," I reply, echoing his action. "What is it? You want to get yourself killed or something, huh?" he continues, his voice a mix of fear and bravado. I do my best to take him seriously; he certainly doesn't seem afraid to shoot. Yet, his thick Irish accent makes it hard not to chuckle. "No," I answer, suppressing a smile in response to the absurdity of it all. "I don't like getting surprised. Shit," he sighs, his tension somewhat easing. I keep my gaze fixed on him, determined to mask my impatience—it could cost me my life. "I understand," I reply.

"You looking for work, is that it?" I nod and decide to holster my gun, hoping this will defuse the tension effectively. The man chuckles, mirroring my actions, a slight smile creeping onto his face. "I know the type—strong, silent, real frightening. Still waters run deep. That type of shite, is it?" he muses, bending down to retrieve the crate he dropped and sweeping away the broken bottles, marking the start of an unanticipated partnership. "You could say that..." I chuckle under my breath.

"Names' Sean MacGuire," he introduces himself, his thick Irish accent punctuating his words. His stature relaxed yet confident. "I've temporarily lost me friends. It's a fucking disaster." He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, clearly agitated. "I had them, then went away for a couple of days to take care of a bastard I owed a killing to—good man, eh? Then I lost the folk I ride with. Big bunch, not like you lot. Nah, we lived like sultans in our fucking tents," he explains, his gaze looking at the distance, as if picturing his past. I hand him a couple of discarded bottles I took from the ground, remnants of his waste. "What makes you think I don't live like a 'fucking sultan'? Do not assume things about me, Mr. MacGuire," I tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Apologies," he replies, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. "I'm sure I'll find them again, you know? I've lost 'em before. Once for three months, it was. That's how it goes, I guess." He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the loss were a mere inconvenience rather than a significant setback. "Anyway, where was I?" He strolls over to the rocking chair in the far corner of the cabin, its creaky wood reminding me of the age of the place, and takes a seat, settling in comfortably.

"Ah, yeah, yeah—murder and mayhem," he chuckles, his mood lightening. "Now, I don't like to kill innocent folk myself; it gives me a real nasty feel inside." He grimaces slightly. "But these bastards? Well, I don't know how innocent they are. There's a stage that runs out of Aurora Basin. Now, I heard a fella say it's laden with silver. I can't rob it...and I can't guarantee someone else won't try...but it'd be a rotten shame to let it pass by."

I pause to think, the gears turning in my mind. I've done this kind of job multiple times before. Robbing people comes easily to me; it's almost like second nature. I usually just play the part of the damsel in distress, watching as they underestimate me and then shoot them all in the head. Quick and painless, so I can get the hell out of there. "Alright, I'll do it," I finally say, a sense of resolve settling within me.

"Good, now on with ya's," Sean says, shooing me away with a wave of his hand, which brings a smile to my face. He's a funny feller, and his humor is a nice change of pace.

I mount my horse, feeling the familiar weight of the saddle shift beneath me as I set off to get the job done before nightfall.

---

The robbery of the stagecoach was effortless. There were four guards plus the driver, but I moved swiftly and silently, ensuring that I left no evidence behind and looted everyone clean. Among the treasures, I discovered a pocket watch with intricate engravings on its surface, which I decided to keep for myself; it felt like a tangible reward for my efforts. After stashing the loot, I returned to the cabin to give Sean his share of the deal.

Now, here I am, making my way to the bar in Blackwater's saloon to celebrate yet another successful job. It seems like I'm 'celebrating' every little achievement since I got back from Sisika. I keep telling myself that I'm not an alcoholic—I'm just going through some tough times, trying to drown out the memories that haunt me.

I order a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I take a seat at the poker table. Three men are already deep into a game, their faces serious, the tension visible in their clenched jaws. When they spot me, one of them snarls, "This game is for men." He tosses down his cards in an exaggerated show of disdain, and the guy to his right follows suit, clearly eager to join the mocking.

"Women are brainless; they can't play poker!" he laughs obnoxiously, his voice echoing off the wooden walls of the saloon. Both I and the man on his left exchange grimaces, caught in the small bubble of awkwardness he's created.

"Excuse me?" I reply, taking a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me as I hold his gaze.

"You're excused," he retorts dismissively. "Ya ain't got the money anyway. So get!" He gestures for me to leave, a smug grin plastered across his face, clearly pleased with himself.

I let out a brief laugh, feeling a rush of defiance. I pull out one of the coin bags I snagged during my previous heist, letting it hit the table with a solid thud. The sound draws the attention of the playing men, their expressions shifting from mockery to surprise as the weight of the bag settles into the reality of the moment. The two disgusting men snarl some unimportant remarks while the third one gives me a slight smile.

When they finish their game, it's my turn to deal the cards. The old wooden table, worn from countless games, feels steady beneath my hands as I shuffle the deck. I hand each player two cards, their faces flickering with anticipation, then place five cards face down in front of me, forming the communal pot. That's when I start scanning the faces around the table.

The man directly in front of me—the same one who had the nerve to shoo me away—has a classic poker face, maintaining an air of stoic indifference enveloping him like a cloak. He sits with his elbows on the table, hands relaxed, but I catch a slight twitch in his eye. He's out of aces—an important detail that gives me an edge. The next guy over, the second jerk, appears more nonchalant, his posture slumping slightly as if he's unsure about his cards. He might be bluffing, something worth keeping an eye on. The last man, who seems genuinely decent, is staring intently at his cards, his brow furrowing as if trying to will the hand into something better.

I briefly glance at my own cards—a king and a ten—solid but not unbeatable. I tighten my grip, feeling the familiar adrenaline course through me as the stakes begin to rise. The nice guy eventually folds, as does the second jerk, leaving it a tense showdown between the dumbass and me. Three of the five community cards are face up—two aces and a king. My heart races; there's no way I'm losing this game with two pairs.

"All in," the man declares, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. Damn it. "Call," I respond, feeling sweat trickle down my brow as I push every gold coin I have into the middle of the table. The coins clink together as they land, a clear testament to my resolve. With a shudder, I flip over the two remaining community cards—two tens. That's it; I've got a full house. The man chuckles lightly, a mirthless sound. "Two pairs," he says dismissively, gesturing to his own cards and the ones on the table. That fucking asshole. I knew I wasn't losing this. "Full house," I respond, revealing my three tens and two kings, a smile breaking on my face. The shock registers on the faces of the other players, and the second jerk storms off in a huff, throwing a fit as he leaves.

But the first one, furious and defeated, rises from his chair and points his gun at me. "You fucking cheat!" he screams, the anger boiling over. I decide to stay still; any movement could turn this into a deadly situation. While I want to tell him to get out of here, the words die on my lips. Suddenly, I hear the decent man echo my unspoken thoughts, now aiming his own gun at the bastard's temple. "Leave the lady alone," he adds, standing resolute, a defender against the bully. He's risking his life for little old me? What a brave soul.

The asshole, noticing the seriousness of the threat, grumbles and holsters his gun before stomping out of the saloon, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang. The young man turns back to me, concern etched across his face. "Are you alright? That damned bastard—I wanted to put a bullet through his head since early evening." He strides over to another table, clearing the poker area for new players, his movements purposeful and efficient.

"Yes, I'm alright, thank you. Uhm..." I stall, my silence prompting him to share his name.

"I'm Sam," he says, extending a hand for me to shake, his grip firm yet warm.

"Elizabeth, thank you," I reply, accepting his hand and feeling a sense of camaraderie beginning to bloom between us.

We engage in small talk for a while, discussing everything from the saloon's atmosphere to the various characters we've encountered. After three glasses of whiskey, my mouth starts running before my brain can catch up. "Did you actually cheat earlier? I thought poker was a game of luck," Sam asks, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

I chuckle softly—while poker does involve luck, I've learned a few tricks to turn the odds in my favor. Every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser. "I did, with a bit of fake shuffling. I watched the game you all played before I joined, picked out the cards I wanted, and tried my luck," I say with pride, knowing it's a gamble that has served me well.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaims, his eyes widening in surprise.

In many ways, we seem quite alike—though not in appearance. His blonde hair contrasts sharply with my dark locks, the vibrant hue drawing attention in the dim, smoky light of the saloon. He carries a softness about him—his features are rounded, with a gentle jawline that stands in stark comparison to my sharper, more angular ones. Despite our differing appearances, I quickly learn that we share a commonality in our lifestyles. He reveals himself to be a lonely soul, much like me, traveling around the country and taking various jobs just to scrape by.

When I mention my occasional killings, he doesn't flinch or recoil, an unexpected reaction that adds a layer of depth to the conversation. There's no judgment reflected in his eyes, just an understanding that takes root between us. I'm not ashamed of my job; it's simply a part of the harsh reality we live in. Yet, I feel a simmering resentment toward those who disown me for it. We exist in an era where stealing and killing often blur the lines of morality, becoming necessary for survival. The weight of survival hangs heavy on both of us, uniting us in a world that seems increasingly unforgiving.

Lonely souls or not, I feel like Sam and I are going to become good friends.

-

Sam belongs to @sam-vdl , all RDR characters belong to rockstar games.

[lesbidog]

ty for your post about mobility aids, that hit home. I use a cane occasionally, always carry it with me (folds up) but use it when I need to for the same reasons you use your crutches. my problem is that I am incredibly self-conscious and feel guilty if I take it out to use it in public. moreso when I take the train home from work - if I get a seat, I don't need it but if I have to stand, I take it out to use it. I feel like I get dirty looks from people who think I'm just trying to make someone give up their seat (important to note that no one ever does anyway.) I'm not expecting them to, I just now need it to stand and reduce my pain. I'm not trying to trick or scam anyone.

I guess I'm just curious if this is something you've dealt with, and if so, how you got to a place where you're confident in using your mobility aids. I'm just not there yet :(

i've also felt self conscious about mobility aid use, and for me that was something i just had to get through in therapy/do some self work, but i do have tips for possibly reducing the dirty looks you get if it continues to be a problem:

(keep in mind these are the things i do and they might not be helpful for everyone/some people might consider them 'attention seeking' but that's not why i do them, i do them to avoid confusion and be proud of myself)

when the weather permits it and if it'll help you, wear knee braces when you wear short bottoms, (or just all the time) so that it's less likely for people to think you're able bodied (again, if they'll help you, if not maybe don't cuz they might make it worse LOL)

this may seem too flashy, but wear disability merchandise. i have cripplepunk patches on my patch vest and other stuff related to disability pride on my jackets. You can probably get some cute/funny shirts or buttons or stickers relating to your disability to wear out and about.

For me this isn't just to reduce people assuming the worst, but it also helps me allow myself to be proud of being disabled, and it helps me get out of the denial that comes w being medically gaslit by doctors and people in my life.

also, in these cases, it might be best to use your cane as you walk into a place that you'd need a seat, not pull it out later. There's no public transport where i live currently but often in germany people would stand to offer me a seat when they saw me using crutches as i got onto the public transportation, if you're in the US or the UK that probably would happen less but you never know, shrug emoji

sorry if this is ramble-y i'm pretty low spoons on the ADHD front today, but i hope this helps you. My biggest tip overall is to try to gain confidence in every aspect of your life, because being disabled requires being stronger than most of us would like to be. I know it's a lot harder than it sounds especially if you have anxiety or any other thing like that, but i believe in you and im proud of you

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Tremors

CW: withdrawal, emetophobia, Carewhumper

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"I get the feeling that vomiting is like a hobby of yours."

Even thought Chris had to fight for this privilege, he manged to bring them into the bathroom again. Elliot perched between the wall and toilet, his tormentor sitting right across on the tub's edge and keeping a watchful eye out for him.

To Chris, it felt like they had been here before, in fact, more than once. He was certain it also would be the last time.

"I hate you," Elliot wheezed through chattering teeth and spat limpid bile into the bowl.

"Then you are in the best of company, I hate myself too. Look how much we have in common!" 

A sob, so defeated and frantic it hurt to listen, made Chris back off with a sigh: "It was just a joke. But you're not in the mood, huh?"

Sniffling and rubbing his nose against a sleeve of his sweater, too dried out for any tears, the trembling form was practically begging to be consoled. It had been a massacre when Chris handed out Elliot's old clothes. Sure, maybe it was a bit weird that he kept these old rags for months, but there was no need to shout himself croaky over a bit of memorabilia.

His mother told him that she gave them away - short and simple. Elliot had thought in terms of Goodwill or her coworkers' children, not right into the hands of the man he wanted her to stay miles away from. They had met, he knew that much now, and it made him dizzy with disgust again.

But Morris just stared, with these hungry eyes Elliot was caught in day in and day out.

He wanted to hold him, softly kiss his pain away or try a certain something else that could brighten Elliot's mood but Chris knew how a person in his condition was likely to act. Usually, he left this kind of behavior on the streets.

Speaking of which, Morris was still plagued by the hours spent in the dark. He had to figure out the truth, sooner rather than later.

"Nothing happened while I was gone."

The sallow face adorned with blood-shot eyes looked back in annoyance. Drenched in hot-cold shivers emerging from the inside, he just swallowed thickly. 

"Dutch, he...he didn't do anything, right?"

To his relief, Elliot quickly shook his head. Apart from the emasculation, they both got off cheaply, an untypical graciousness Dutch would surely love to dangle in front of Chris' face for the next few years.

Another retching came over Elliot's lips, just as sour tasting as the words he continued to repeat after each wave of nausea: "I'm not a junkie, nor your boyfriend."

Both was false, both were fallacies. Yet today was not the day to argue about labels, maybe it was the word itself that upset him so dearly - partner sounded too distanced in comparison. A lover one day, but well, for that Elliot needed to loosen up a bit more.

"Do you know the surefire way to figure out if someone's dope sick?"

"Enlighten me," Elliot gave a dirty hiss.

"You simply wait." 

He went cold turkey for what now, forty-eight hours? The worst was about to hit them both like a sledgehammer made from vegetative dysfunctions and paranoia.

Chris needed to brace himself for the collateral damage that waited for them during the mandatory week of isolation. After the storm, he could take Ell out for the first time to have a proper date, surrounded by the safe darkness of the docks and cheap gas-station wine. Or beer, or liqueur - whatever he preferred.

Elliot had other visions. As soon as the virus he probably caught on that goddamn bench eased up, he would be up and running out of Morris' grasp. And if he had to dig himself a hole into the floor below, nothing could keep him here for a minute longer!

Amber or what unlucky soul came before him knew too well what an unbelievable catch Chris was. With every minute spent in the same room, Elliot understood less and less how someone wanted to get involved with that man. He hoped Amber suffered twice as much under him. 

Not an ounce of sleep was granted to him, just fainting and dozing off for minutes at a time was possible, and even then he had to fear a curious hand hovering close above his nervous flesh. 

All he was given for dinner was a plastic cup full of soup. The ramen and broth were carefully separated in front of him, as if to show that it hadn't been tampered with and out of fear that the noodles would be spat out anyway, Chris seized them for himself. The now chilled instant terrine was not what Elliot had hoped for.

"Can I please have my meds?" he tried again, not consciously aware of why he made his voice soften and shoulders drop, "I'll do anything you want."

Chris' mesmerized gaze was entirely focused on the man who looked like death incarnate. If only he was allowed to kiss life back into his chapped lips. Anything, huh?

"Please!"

Morris shook his head sternly. Though it was nothing more than a temptation to withstand, he decided to let his deeds speak for themselves. New chances didn't wait around every corner, so he surely wouldn't waste this one: "Do you believe in fate?"

"Shut the fuck up," his lovely guest mumbled instead and twitched weakly away from Chris' foot, playfully searching for any sliver of contact.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[zephfair]

Hello? Anyone still here?

Hey, who disappeared for months and has desperately missed all her little friends who live on this hell-site but has been too exhausted and overwhelmed to actually login ... and who lost track of where this sentence was going ... Yeah, this girl.🤗

But, wow, have I missed you all and all the beauty that is Tumblr, and I hope you'll forgive me for secreting myself away since--holy cow--January.

Quick life update behind the cut.

So, I knew going back to work full-time at my age after quite a long unintended break AND now having health disabilities, well, I knew it would be hard. I knew I would have to adjust my whole, entire life. I expected it to be incredibly difficult, and I fully planned to give myself some grace and time in having to change my every routine.

But somehow, I still underestimated it.

I am so thankful to have a job now, with a steady (if small) income and benefits that frankly make me want to weep with thanks. I mean, I don't have time to go to the doctor, but at least now I could afford to go, if I could get there.

But wow, work is tough. Not just the literal work but, as I said, changing my entire life around it. I'm not complaining, but I am doing my best to learn all new skills (job is not in my old field), relearn how to work and reschedule my own needs and just upend everything.

The absolute worst thing has been trying to take care of my aunt. I was to leave town on Jan. 7 to start my training on Jan. 8.

My 90-year-old aunt fell and broke her pelvis (and a finger and needed some stitches) Jan. 2. I spent every waking hour with her over the rest of that week. While I'd planned to spend that week cleaning my house, getting my business in order and just resting, I was freaking out and traveling through the snow and literally worried sick about her.

It was bad.

And I couldn't stay with her like I did when she broke her hip because I had to attend training full-time. At least they let us come home super-early from that first on-site week of training, but that led to a literal nightmare of a drive home one night through snow, ice, rain, flooding and fog that I'm not joking I've had nightmares about before and now since. Long story.

So, I spent January and February training and working 9 hours a day then spending all day Saturday at her place cleaning and doing laundry and making sure she had everything she needed for a week, and then I had Sunday to do my own laundry and clean the house and take care of my own things...which just keep getting pushed back because I'm too worn out.

Thank God, Aunt made a miraculous recovery and now is doing her own house and laundry etc. but I still go out one day a weekend and do anything else she needs and make sure she has all her groceries and supplies and stuff.

We're all each other has.

Needless to say, I haven't been taking care of myself. I don't sleep well anyway, but add the stress of the new job and my dear aunt and my own health issues, and I'm exhausted. Weary. Overwhelmed and just so very tired. My body is so heavy, I can barely move anymore. It's bad.

And when I finally got to my doctor two weeks ago for my long-delayed check-up, found out I was right about my blood pressure being sky-high again. It went high for the first time several years ago when my Mom was dying, but it eventually settled and was fine. But yeah, it's bad again now. No shock there. And all my lovely chronic health conditions have flared which was no surprise--again, I had braced myself to expect it and power through it, and that's what I'm doing. But it sucks. And it's hard. And there's so much pain.

I don't want to say much about my job, but the over-arching Praise the Lord wonderful thing about it is working from home. There have been so many days already that I never would've been able to get to an office to work, but I can push through it here because I don't have to use any spoons to get myself "ready" (sweatshirts and leggings, no personal grooming necessary, yay), and I don't have any anxiety about driving because zero commute. It has its challenges too because Teams is a weird office communication alternative to get used to, but on the good side, I don't have to deal with interpersonal drama from co-workers.

The work itself is challenging, but I have some days where I finally feel quietly competent and think, Oh, I can actually do this. And then there are some days that leave me in tears and praying for help because it's just too hard. But there's no way I'm quitting; they're going to have to fire me because did I mention the benefits are incredible? I mean, I live in the US and if you knew how much I had to pay last year for my own health insurance, and then the scope and biopsies and then the skin cancer and surgery and then the other skin pre-cancer biopsy and treatment. Yeah, I'm still in big debt from all of that.

So I keep praying that they keep me and that I'll do a good job. And my immediate supervisor has started piling extra work on me over the past 3 weeks so suddenly I'm doing my own stuff AND cleaning up the work from co-workers who aren't keeping up. And all of them have been working since October while just a handful of us began in January?

I have been complaining about this to my aunt, and I thought it meant that my supervisor thinks I'm incapable or is punishing me for trying to get through own my entire workload every single day. But she believes he's giving me all their shit work because I'll actually do it, and I admit, I have gotten some of it completed successfully after they'd given up on it. So, I don't know.

I know that I'm a perfectionist and I've always pushed myself as hard as possible to do my best at work (not at housework and other things in my life lols) but I really hope that it gets me a good reputation at this job and they keep me.

So yeah, that's what's going on here. I've completely abandoned the fandom things in life that I actually enjoy. I almost feel, like, guilty when I'd think about trying to make some time to browse Tumblr or wasting time on social media or even trying to write fic. I get done with work at 6:30 pm, and until I get something to eat and then clean up, it's 8 or 8:30. I have to spend about an hour on the phone with Aunt (and I call her every morning, break, and lunch time too). By then, I can barely walk or move so I just try to make it upstairs to bed. Even though I can't sleep, it just feels nice to lie down.

But I miss all of you. And I miss fandom fun. And I want to be around more because maybe it would recharge me rather than me feeling so freaking overwhelmed every minute of the day.

And I promise not to complain and bitch all the time, now that I've gotten it out of my system. But thanks for listening.

I do miss you, and I love you all.

PLEASE let me know if I've missed anything important in your lives and goings on here! I've got A LOT of catching up to do!

[sheryl-lee]

sameera, miss you and your great gifs here </3 how are you? health and in general, you okay? big hug <3

oh hi!!! seriously so kind of you to check in, thank you 🫶

i had my first surgery last month + just got braces back on to prep for the Big Jaw Surgery™ and i still have to get a few teeth pulled out. also have on-off pain, can barely breathe eat speak sleep etc. so all of this is about as fun as it sounds (aka the Worst). still another ~8-12 months until i can even get the damn surgery done and then another 3-6+ months of recovery. 😵‍💫

i'm on leave from uni so i'm basically oscillating between sitting around in miserable pain/discomfort and traveling 2 states over to meet with my surgeon while i wait for surgery... kinda feel like i'm throwing my life away and wasting my 20s even though this is so out of my hands and i shouldn't blame myself for it. but i'm just angry at the situation for being what it is soooo i definitely needed a bit of a break from doomscrolling online lmao

i miss being here though! miss giffing and just being more active in general. hopefully i'll be posting more regularly sometime soon but i needed these past few weeks to destress a bit. i'm trying my best to be kind to myself and stay positive but it can be tough sometimes, especially at this stage where it's just a lot of waiting and trusting the process.

thank you so much again for even bothering to ask after me, i truly appreciate it. hope you're doing well, and sending you a big hug right back ❤️

[celticcrossanon]

I don't know... the anon and you bring a good point about Charles listening to Camilla... but I'm not so sure he would listen to Camilla when it comes to the subject of Harry. Charles seems so dug into his obsessive desire to have Harry back that it doesn't seem like Charles at this point will listen to anyone who disagrees with him in bringing Harry (and Meghan) back from California. I hope I'm wrong on this, though.

Hi Nonny,

I think King Charles would listen to Queen Camilla on this subject, in the sense that he would hear her out. Whether he would let her opinions influence him is another issue, and I don't know. As you said, he does seem to be fixated on having Harry back in the BRF, but on the other hand Queen Camilla does have a lot of influence over him. The question is whether her influence is enough to moderate his desire to have Harry back with him, assuming that she is trying to moderate it in the first place (for all we know she is cheering him on). I think that without a direct witness to their conversations, it is impossible to tell at this point. I am going to hope for the best and brace myself for the worst, which is all anyone can do, really.

[queenofbaws]

aw snap, here we go again!

just another quick organizational update from ya gurl: my goals for the immediate future are (1) finish CREEPS: MM&BS, (2) get out a chapter or two of like wringing blood before my brainworms eat their way through my skull, (3) work on finishing the tale(s) of the champion. so if you're someone who's been waiting on any of those projects, i promise...they're comin'. hehehe.

i'm really, truly set on tying up the wips i've left gathering dust this year, so i'm trying my haaaaaaaardest to rein my ever-fleeting attention span in to do just that. i'm tossing a snippet of each of those three above-mentioned projects below the cut for anyone who's interested, and, as always, thanks so much for reading and hangin' out with me, y'all :) you guys are the best, and i hope 2024 is treating you kindly so far <3

of mummy men & bathtub soup

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Brotherly antagonism, maybe, or his pathological need to run his mouth at the worst possible time. Both felt like strong contenders. Whatever it was that spurred him on, the result was the same: As Julia sputtered, trying and failing to remember the story that had pissed her off so intensely in the first place, Conrad opened his mouth and finished the sentence for her.

“…bathtub soup guy?”

BANG!

The basement door slammed shut.

Before any of them had time enough to flinch, to jump, to yell at the sudden noise, the lights went out completely, sending the basement into perfect darkness.

Then there was yelling.

“Is…is everyone okay?” Alex asked a moment later, his voice missing the cool and confident mark by a couple notches.

“I, y…yeah,” Julia answered, and wouldn’t you know it, her fury had gone out like a candle in the wind.

“I’m good,” he said, nodding before realizing, whoops, right, no one could see. It was then, in the nervous stillness of the dark, that he noticed someone had grabbed his hand in theirs, no doubt grasping for him in fear and surprise. He couldn’t say it healed it battered ego, not after he’d been treated like a punching bag all night, but it certainly helped. “What about you, Fliss?”

From somewhere behind him, not beside him, she snorted. “I think I’ll live.”

“I…wait, if you’re there, whose hand am I holding?!”

“Uh, sorry, man. I got scared.” “Brad, for the love of—”

like wringing blood from a stone

“JEEED!”

Jack stopped an arm’s length away from her.

“TRAAAVIS!”

He opened the fridge.

“BOBBYYY!”

After a moment of deep contemplation, he pulled a beer out and shut the door again, using his thumb to pop the cap off. He looked her way once more, but instead of attacking her or grabbing her or plain old saying anything to her, he simply brought the bottle to his mouth and drank.

He watched her as he drained the damn thing, his throat bobbing. Just swallowed, swallowed, swallowed…not stopping until the bottle was empty. Not breathing until he’d finished.

“TRAAAVIS!” Constance yelled a second time, willing him to appear with his gun drawn and lather high.

“Give it another go, why don’t you,” drawled Jack. He set the bottle down in the sink, then braced his hands on the countertop behind him. His eyes kept moving across her face in a way she didn’t appreciate. “Third time’s the charm.”

She drew another breath, but didn’t dignify his taunt by shouting. Instead, she brandished the knife. Dared him with her eyes.

The ghoul just kept leaning back against her counter, though; his fingers left brackish smears wherever they touched. “Go on,” he mocked her, “keep hollering. See who comes running. I’d like to see for myself. Awful curious about it.”

the tale(s) of the champion

Josephine’s attention (and eyebrows) shot up from the desk. Her face had taken on the pallid cast of someone who’d had the bad luck to spot an especially large and hairy spider shriveled at the bottom their morning breakfast bowl much too late for anything to be done about it. Had she been speaking to anyone else, the Inquisitor might’ve thought that was the expression of someone staring their own death in the face, and yet all she’d done was present Josephine with the very probable reality that Hawke had simply bunked in Varric’s room for a single night of her stay.

“…I just figured,” she continued carefully, her words made slow as they crept forward on delicate tip-toes, terrified of tripping another unseen trap, “They were probably catching up after all that time apart, and since they were essentially always sharing space in Kirkwall…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

It was logic, wasn’t it? Nothing more, nothing less? If one of her own friends from her life before (before all of this madness, before the Anchor, before Haven, before being pushed out of the Fade) had shown up on her doorstep out of the blue, she would’ve insisted on keeping them close. It only made sense!

Not to Josephine, it seemed. “But Varric’s quarters are so small,” she said in a voice more suited to, perhaps, finding out the crown Prince of Starkhaven had been assassinated. “Oh I certainly hope you’re wrong about that, Inquisitor, I hope she found other lodgings if she did in fact stay the night…I can’t imagine there’d even be room for two people in his quarters…Andraste, they would’ve been right on top of each other the whole time!”

[idolsgf]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by both @greypetrel and @shivunin for this week's wip wednesday! thanks so much <3

tagging: @fenharel-apologist94 @gvnseylike @transprincecaspian @ell-vellan and anyone else who wants to share. again, no obligation to share anything :3

I haven't had much time to work on it, but I've been drafting for that epistolary story a bit. I've been debating on who should be featured, if it should just be letters between Mori'na and her mother, if it should just be from Mori'na's pov, or if I should include some letters from Bohean. It's, naturally, a work in progress.

Despite those debates, here's a snippet from a letter their mother wrote in reply to the first letter Mo will send (I'm tweaking it, tweaking everything haha).

---

Clan Lavellan to Haven Addressed to Mori’na Lavellan

Da’assan,

When the letter had arrived, your poor mother’s heart dropped. I had thought the worst had come, and thought it best I brace for it. “Just one more day and then I can rest,” I remember thinking to myself. Dear Bohean held onto it for me until I could muster the courage. I set up at the shrines everyday until I could. A week it took me, if only I had listened to the Halla. Such strong creatures, never fearing what fate may come.

A fool you must think of me, dear one.

A fool you must think of all of us. Bohean has been pacing non stop; it’s rare I can stop him long enough to fill his belly. The duties of First have brought a cloud to his mind I fear. I hope this hold on him fades soon. Not even a chuckle from him from your request. What am I going to do with that boy? What am I going to do with you? Both my children, grappled with things that are out of their control.

[sweetchcolate]

With only a few days left until the finale, what are your thoughts about the future of Sugar Apple Fairy Tale? Do you think it'll be coming back for another season and if so what are you most excited/hoping for?

Ooof, I'm really divided on this one! On one hand, shojo/romance shows rarely get more than 12 or 24 episode anime adaptations, and so it's very rare for an adaptation to completely cover the og material (or even cover all the material available at the time of the anime production).

For example: Akatsuki no Yona, Kamisama Hajimemashita or Akagami no Shirayukihime stopped at one (AnY) and two seasons (KH, AnS) respectively, despite the manga having much more material to adapt (I know that kamihaji covers some of the later arcs through OVAs, but that's a bit of a cheap move imo: just give the anime a third season, yeah?). If they had been popular shonens like Naruto or One Piece or Boku no Hero Academia, I have no doubts they'd have gotten multiple seasons announced to keep up with the manga.

On the other hand, JC Studio has completely adapted another shojo called Niehime, and from what I remember discussing with a few mutuals, they have a history of usually completing the shojos they adapt. That, combined with the fact SAFT's og material is done, could be a good sign that they might adapt the rest of it.

tldr: bracing myself for the worst, hoping for the best

If SAFT does get another season soon, then I'm looking forward to Anne's next (mis)adventures! I know from general spoilers that she has a rough time ahead of her in the next volumes, but I still want to see her grow and overcome the odds. Plus, I wonder if and how the fairy slavery plot point gets addressed.

If not, then I hope that 5 or 10 years down the line, it will get adapted again (either the Brotherhood/Fruits Basket treatment where it gets a whole new anime, or the Kimi ni Todoke treatment where it gets a new season to follow-up the old anime)!

Or at least that it gets an OVA or a original movie! That would be so cool!

[fragmentedink-archived]

at work today I realized a feeling I was having besides anger was sadness and I immediately judged myself for it and rejected it

somewhere along the way I started assuming the best in others, I started to have Some kind of hope and optimism but I swear every time I do, I get crushed and then I get proven right

sometimes I really, really don't want to be proven right about people. I'd actually like to think not everyone has the worst intent and that I didn't have to brace myself for the shoe to drop and the inevitable knife in my back

I want to believe people are better than that. That I can actually trust someone around me and somewhere along the way I started to believe that. but then multiple of my coworkers proved I cannot trust them and it makes me feel so sad but I want to immediately reject the feeling of sadness

I'd rather be angry and spiteful and hateful bec there's fuel in that. Sadness takes and takes from me and I'm left feeling hollow and alone bec I cannot trust people to be there when I feel like that so I just shut myself in my room and try to distract myself and turn Sadness into anything else because I don't want to sit with it by myself

[clatoera]

I was watching the Eras tour live and when willow played, I lowkey thought of clato cause “rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife” just reminds me of them. I love that you’re also a swiftie and clato shipper, I think that’s what makes me love your story so much more, seeing the Taylor influence in your work. I hope chapter three comes soon (but also no pressure you’re doing amazing).

Bestie. This? this is an utter, unbelievable message. I was watching the Eras on Stream as well (And making a playlist as it happened) and when I heard Don't Blame Me I SCREAMED. Thats their song. "Insane but I'm your baby." "Don't blame me love made me crazy" "For You I would cross the Line" " Something happened for the first time, in The darkest little paradise" "For You I would fall from grace." Thats their song noone fight me on this!! But also I think I have a special skill in that ANY song I hear I can be like ah yes a Clato Line.

Cruel Summer? "I'm waiting for you just to cut to the bone" "I love you ain't that the worst thing you ever hear/he looks up grinning like a Devil" "if I bleed you'll be the last to know" "what doesn't kill me makes me want you more"

Mine? "You saw me start to believe, for the first time." "Everything was slipping right out of our hands....Braced myself for the goodbye cause it's all I've ever known" also like You are the best thing thats ever been mine it ALL Could be a Clato song

August? "Live for the hope of it all"

Haunted? "You and I walk a fragile line, but I never thought I'd live to see it break."

Out of the Woods? "we were built to fall apart, but fall back together"

even All the Girls You Loved Before I've already got one: "I want to teach you how forever feels"

Eyes Open I always felt was very Clato adjacent bc it is like..about two kids who grew up play fighting which turned real fighting.

Ready for it? The entire song. entire fucking song.

Okay The point being DROP A TAYLOR SONG AND I CAN FIND A CLATO Line like a little gremlin I am.

My two hyper fixations fr.

I am so glad you enjoy the Taylor inspiration. Originally my goal was to have the whole thing, every single chapter, be Great War lyrics. Which I expanded to Taylor Swift Lyrics, then general lyrics. I have a whole note list of quotes for chapter titles. Ironically the only one that currently does not have a Taylor quote is chapter 3, Which is "you should see me in a crown" right now. That being said if you have a different song/lyric to suggest for me to use for Clove's games and win :) I'm all ears.

so sorry for the ramble, I am just ramped up on T Swift rn.

thank you for giving me this outlet for these feelings bestie. Please come by to talk more about this combo, it means the world to me.

[austerlitzborodinoleipzig]

according to japanese fans at the show, yuma's sound of silence sp isn't 100% confirmed; more like it's an option for his sp than a definite. I think the article everyone's quoting meant it's ready to be an sp or ex, not sp and ex. He said at a fanmeet last week too that his fs was done, but didn't say anything about his sp, so this not being a certainty would add up with that. some skating news accounts jumped the gun a bit

Yeah I know, and tbh it's Yuma. I remember for the 2020/2021 season he announced a Take Five SP and Princess Mononoke or Lord of the Rings FS and showed up at the start of the season with Vocussion and Avatar.

I do hope Sound of Silence will stay as an ex but I'm bracing myself for the worst case scenario.

Then again it's Yuma. I remember groaning when I heard he was skating to Believer and RIYBE... And in retrospect Believer was a slay and Rain was hands down the best FS of the season. He makes dubious music choices and then make then work!

[ladyazulina]

Birthday(s)

So, after my Birthday's Eve post, I thought I should do one about the birthday per se, as a minimum. But I can't really talk about my twenty-fifth birthday without sharing my perspective—not about birthdays in general, but—about my birthday. So here it comes.

I don't remember ever liking it, but that's not even fair because I don't remember most of them.

I know it was properly celebrated when I was a child, things were different then, and proof of it was in memories shared from my mom and a unsuccessfully erased pink eight-shaped silhouette of the foam sculpture that was atop my cake that year from the wall. I have grown up with that shape still carving my wall. But one thing that has always shaped my day was sadness. From different sources:

I grow up without my dad. My mom kicked him out when I was six because he was still cheating on her, and one of the first things I remember around my birthday is from one year later if I'm not mistaken (and I can be), being in this weird and unknown place with this kid almost one year younger than me that I didn't like and this woman that tried to be nice to me. My half-sister's birthday is, in fact, 28 days earlier than mine. And I've seen my dad in them. What he had left in mine was this awful feeling and a craving for ice cream, which also made me sad because it was the go-to thing to do during the scarce moments of my teen years when he came to spend time with us.

My mom did the best she could, I know that, but I still grew to be a quiet, timid, and reserved kid. It didn't go well socially for me in school, and my birthday has always been on winter break or right away the last day of exams. There was one year, after a circle of friends adopted me and did their best to take me out of my shell, that my classmates allegedly threw the Christmas party in my honor because of my fourteenth birthday. The friends ambushed me on the last day of classes and made me call my mom to have her permission to go to the sleepover in the house of one of them, I didn't want to go but didn't feel brave enough to be honest, so I went against my wishes. They dolled me up, took away my glasses, put on makeup I didn't want, (created me a Facebook account), and we went all together to the party. I didn't like the food and there were two cakes I didn't touch, one with a picture of the gang of the person giving the house, and one with "all the classmates". I hope you assumed I wasn't in either, so it was hard to believe that it was even 1/3 for me. The worst part is that my house was close to the one where the party was held, but I wasn't able to be left out to go to my house, so I had to go through the sleepover anyway. (It was 2012, I believed the world was ending on December 21st, and was mad because my lil sister was sad with me, not being able to give me the gift she chose for me.)

I don't remember when I noticed I didn't like cakes (unless they're homemade), give me ice cream instead. But I think I was adamant after that party about not wanting any birthday party for myself. Brace yourselves: the year after I had a surprise party. Yearly, we have my mother-side family gathering for Christmas, so some particular characters of the family decided to use that gathering to give me a party I vehemently said I didn't want. People not excited or interested in my birthday. Wifi cut out because my sister was mad at me for wanting to chat with my boyfriend. Three rented adult dresses to change into. Makeup to bear. Five to ten centimeters of heels to break my feet with. Lots of photos, with the one using a white dress making me look like a bride with my cousin of life seeming my spouse. Of course I smiled and feigned happiness and let them drag me in whatever, my mom asked. But I took off as soon as I was able, knowing that not even that was for me.

Goddess, that sounds kind of sad.

Two years ago, my dad decided to take me on a trip for my birthday, with all his daughters (my sisters and his other two). A tourist destination. A rented house. Three days, two nights. Walking day and night. Going to beaches. Looking and sightseeing. It wasn't a trip made for me because I don't like any of that, my half-sisters do, the planners of the trip. It was cold, the water was freezing, and we didn't have a lot of sun. I discovered my birthday was only an excuse for them to go there again, and for my dad to unload one night some of the burden eating him from inside. It wasn't nice, but I still hold onto the fact that at least the rented house was nice.

All of that made me reconsider that having a vendetta against my birthday was only making me suffer, so last year I started planning to make me look at it better.

I didn't have a lot of time to do something grand, but I asked friends and some groups I felt comfortable talking to, to do something nice for me on the day (it could have been something as little as just spending some time talking with me), because that was the important part. It wasn't a good day, but thanks to their help, it wasn't totally bad. I decided then to have a date with myself the next year.

This year. Two days ago.

I'm not sure if I said everything I wanted to say about birthdays here, it feels like a rant and some reminiscences, but I'm short of words, so I should do you a favor and just stop. The summary is that I never liked my birthday and the feeling just increased with every attempt, but I'm trying to give it a 180º for myself, and this is the second year trying.

And I'll come back soon to talk about my Birthday Spree, so don't tune off.