#Why do i make myself suffer like this

[moon-brain-90]

I don't know why I'm torturing myself with this FP1, first Charles, now Franco, I only care about 2 other drivers on the track😭

[siley-the-wizard]

We both know what choice I made

[fleur-dans-la-nuit]

Wally: What are you in the mood for?

Dick: World domination.

Wally: That's an interesting choice…?

Dick: You are my world.

Wally: Aww...

Dick:

Wally:

Dick:

Wally: OH.

[jupijupijumi]

You hear that?

I don't hear anything!

That's the point. No nightingales

[bluespiritshonour]

here's 18-19 year old aang sketches. been hearing aang is ugly discourse—no he ain't. he was just 12.

[hotvampireadjacent]

I try to dress masc at work so I was wearing black work slacks driving home In like 92 f weather with No ac I was dying……

Too damn hot today wtf

[wewcom-1234]

"eeny meeny" 😛

fuck you

[brown-little-robin]

oh I just realized that my interest in anime and my interest in clowns are linked by the concept of "exaggerated silliness". hmm!!!

[paper--moons]

absolutely devastating when the one agere fic for a character gets deleted

[puppyeared]

ive made myself more wet and pathetic

[bloodycotton]

Day twelve.

Serena, you are a strong woman, bc this hurt like a bitch. Serena you are so real

Prompts by: @raven-cincaide-words

(English is NOT my first language)

Day 12.- Talking

The Priest (Serena 2012) Fem!reader

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," you said, your hands trembling in your lap, pausing for a few minutes before continuing, glancing out of the corner of your eye at the beautiful grille that divided the confessional booths. 

You knew that what you were about to reveal was going to be a final point, but your conscience weighed heavily, weighed like a large boulder on your back that was chained to your ankle. 

 about to reveal was going to be a final point, but your conscience weighed heavily, weighed like a large boulder on your back that was chained to your ankle. 

There was silence, the father was waiting for your confession.

"I am..." You thought for a second the name of that feeling "Desperate. I don't know what to do with my conscience; it weighs on me, it haunts me even in my dreams. When I think I'm safe, there's always something that makes me fall, that makes me stumble."

Your eyes couldn't even lift from your hands, which trembled as they clutched at your clothes, trying to control you. Your heart was pounding hard against your ribs, almost so loud you could hear it, and you swore it was so thunderous the whole parish would hear it. It echoed like the bells of the damned church where you were confessing your deepest desires, and, if you could call it that, your sins.

The father listened attentively to your words. 

"I think I am sick, my heart is always pounding, like a kind of tachycardia, I feel it pounding in my chest, I hear it in my ears, and I can feel every drop of blood pumping through my veins. What is wrong with me, do you think I am going to die?" you asked, feeling your eyes sting.

"No, my child, I don't think so" That was all the father on the other side of the confessional answered, with a heaviness in his voice that was palpable, you wanted to ask him for a second about his wellbeing, but you moved on. 

"I do believe that I am going to die, it is a heavy feeling, which presses on my chest and is about to break my bones. I find no comfort..." You thought about whether it was right to say the following, but it was part of your grief, so it was important. "The prayers aren't working. Have they ever really worked? Do they work for you? Does the weight on your shoulders get lighter when you pray?" You questioned him. 

He gave a long sigh, not of weariness or boredom, it was as if he was genuinely pondering his answer. 

"Yes, it does."

"It doesn't work for me, it never has, not even now. I prayed before I came, asking God for something to stop me in my tracks. I prayed that even the slightest obstacle would make me understand that this was the wrong idea, that it was wrong, and that it could hurt those around me and myself. But I didn't get a single reply." You didn't understand why your words sounded so harsh, so full of anguish. Your tongue was tangled on its own, as if preventing your thoughts from coming out and seeing the light of the sun. 

"Perhaps it is the Lord's will that you are here" He tried to give you an answer to your distress. 

"But what if I am being led by Satan?" You rebutted him, you always had something to say back. 

He sighed. 

"I doubt that Satan is leading you down this path" He tried to calm her down. 

"What if he's making me have these kinds of thoughts? Does he have his hand around my heart and is he squeezing it? Is he making me lose my way?"

"Do you think you're losing your way?" he asked you, you could see his eyes looking at you, but you weren't able to face him. 

"I think I'm already lost. Sometimes I feel like I'm betraying myself, that I'm abandoning what I always believed in."

He looked at you, with a hint of concern, but it was more curiosity. "The path of faith is not always easy, my child. Sometimes confusion and pain are part of the process. The important thing is that you are willing to seek the truth in your heart." Still he counselled you, always counselled you, no matter the day, no matter the hour, but he was always there for you. 

"What if the truth is that I want something I shouldn't want?" you replied with a lump in your throat. 

He looked at you once more, confused, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. You took a breath of air and decided to continue. 

"I... I am in love. I love him, with all my being, my heart and soul. It seems to me that my feelings for him are pure, for there are days when they are, but at the same time I feel that I am breaking a law, that I am defiling the Lord's name by asking him to give him to me, I want him for myself. I feel that loving him is a sin..."

"Love is not a sin," the father said softly. "Love is a divine gift. What matters is how you act on those feelings. It's natural to feel confused, but you must examine the root of your love. Ask yourself: is it based on respect and kindness, or is it just a fleeting desire?"

His words resonated in your heart, but your mind was still not at peace. 

"It’s not a fleeting desire. Yes, I desire him, but I also respect him, I respect his convictions, I admire him, sometimes, the very mention of his name brightens my day and fills my heart, but at the same time it fills me with an inexplicable fear, I can't help it. Every time I hear him speak, my heart races. His voice, his way of seeing the world... everything about him attracts me. But at the same time, I feel guilty for loving him. It's a love that shouldn't be."

He chuckled softly, he was slightly touched. 

"It's normal, it's your first love, after all."

"Maybe it is, and I may never feel the same again, and it scares me, for he is unreachable" You wanted to refute him, but the lump in your throat prevented you, and without your permission, tears began to fall down your cheeks. "What do I do if..." The very thought was painful "What do I do if he doesn't love me back?" The weight of your feelings became overwhelming. 

The father looked at you with a mixture of understanding and sadness in his eyes. "It is painful to face the possibility that your feelings may not be reciprocated, especially when that love is directed towards someone you deeply admire."

You took a breath of air, feeling the lump in your throat intensify. "It's not just that I admire you, Father. I'm... in love with you." The words came out, almost as a whisper, but they echoed with overwhelming clarity, the tears falling like an unstoppable torrent, it was an endless fountain, for you knew in advance his response, though, as much as you wanted to lie to yourself and protect yourself. 

He looked at you, surprised, his eyes wide, almost frightened, it seemed the colour drained from his face. Then he looked straight ahead again, his chest rose and fell rapidly with heavy breaths. And you swore for a second that his eyes filled with tears that didn't fall. 

But he said nothing. And you knew, the only comfort you could have right now is that you faced your worst fear. 

"Is it bad?" You asked him. 

He took a few long seconds to answer. 

"No."

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

I'm so ashamed of myself. I have done so much research for the 1930s noir fic and yet I missed this. I could have made them live through an extremely cold time, like, some of the most extreme weather in New York. February 1934. But nooo. I'm past that. I'm in early 1935. Fuck damn it.

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[arainywriter]

I figured out what my favorite ship is.

the light one, usually wearing brighter colors and is stereotypically the good one, but is entrenched in a horrible system that they believe they need to be loyal to in order to be good.

the dark one, only wears black or darker clothes and usually closed off, but loves the light one with their whole heart and just wants to be with them, damn everyone else.

usually the light one inevitably betrays the dark one, and I end up crying.

[tamagotchikgs]

i hate my face it needs to be softer and i hate my body it needs to be sharper

[rabbithaver]

every so often i will see a post from a leftist on this website that is so egregiously ableist that i remember that like. oh yeah the userbase of leftists on this website is violently anti-disabled people and will jump at any chance to demonize any of us for any reason. i just forget that fact because i'm extremely dedicated to curating my space

i'm paraphrasing here but i saw a post that said, "every time i see an American [disabled person] mention being scared about the election because they're afraid of losing their benefits i have to laugh. anybody who wants blood-soaked money from the US government deserves to starve" which. like. goodness that's a lot to unpack. i think we should burn the whole suitcase instead !