#a self para in 2024??

[dulcie-hernandez]

Am I Making You Proud? || Self-Para

The peak of Dulcie's intoxication had seemed to pass and as she started to settle down, she found herself in great need of some fresh air, especially as more and more couples started to make out around her. She told Odessa she'd be right back and slipped out the back door of the club, grateful as the cool air hit her. Even more grateful when she found the back alley empty. The muffled sound of the music was comforting as she found a crate to sit on and slip off her heels for a moment. It was definitely one of the better pride events she had been to lately and though her month was sure to be full of them, she couldn't say she was exactly ecstatic about all of them. Most of the time they often made her think too much about her loneliness, about the lingering eagerness that came along with wanting to be in a relationship.

As she thought about it, her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her dress pocket, smiling to herself as she saw her sister's name and a text asking how her night was going. She wondered if her sister could feel it in the universe that she was having this melancholy moment with herself. She hesitated in texting her back, instead scrolling through her recent texts, smiling as she clicked on her family's group chat. A couple of days earlier her father had sent a rainbow emoji with a 'Happy Pride' message followed by a rainbow gif from her mother. Her sister had called them corny but had sent her own message, accompanied by the tik tok clip of someone saying 'be who you are for your pride.." it made her laugh all over again and before she could stop herself, she found tears coming to eyes.

There had been a time where she could have never fathomed this happening. Where the idea of admitting even to herself that she was gay felt like the most terrifying thing in the world. If her younger self could see her now...the thought brought on more tears and she set her phone in her lap as she brought her hands to her face. She knew she was drunk but she also knew that these were feelings she rarely let herself dwell on because most of the time it hurt. It hurt to think about all the time she spent keeping quiet, watching from the sidelines and she supposed in some ways she still felt the same.

But things weren't the same. She wasn't that same scared teenager, longing for her best friends affection or attention. She wasn't hiding in that closet, so sure that God would hate her, that she'd be the biggest disappointment to her parents. She had fallen in love, gotten her heartbroken, in fact tonight she had already run into two of her exes. One who she was still on great terms with and whose partner she loved and another who she had avoided. A full lesbian experience depending on who you asked. She had made out with women she had never seen again, danced and laughed and learned so much about herself. Her confidence had grown tremendously and though her pickup lines were somewhat cheesy and she hadn't been in a relationship in over two years, when she really thought about it - she was happy. Not only that, she was comfortable in her skin. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, she genuinely loved the person looking back at her.

In the past couple of years, she had found her relationship with God again. She had seen how much it grounded her and understood now that whatever spirit was flying around in the sky loved her exactly as she was. Her family loved her. Her friends loved her. Dulcie was loved. Deeply and infinitely. In a way her teenage self could have never imagined or dared to dream of. She was so far from that Dulcie. The one who used to pull uncomfortably at her uniform skirt while pretending not to look at other girls in theirs. The girl who kept her head in the books and did everything she could to not disturb the trust of her parents and teachers. The girl who lived in fear every single day.

The tears were flowing freely now and she had to laugh at herself as she started to wipe at her face. Maybe she hadn't given herself enough credit for how much she had grown and learn. She knew she didn't. She had been too focused on being hard on herself. But tonight, sitting in the Kat's back alley, she could admit that she was so proud of who she had become. And though her teenage self would likely be a judgmental little bitch about it, she still felt confident that even that version of herself would be proud.

"Get it together," she mumbled to herself, laughing as she slid her heels back on, texted her sister that she was having a great time and got back to her feet. Inspired by the feeling that she hadn't come this far just to sit on the sidelines again, she took a deep breath and opened the door and went back inside, in search of her friends and all of the love (and alcohol) she deserved.

[mishavorshevsky]

ANYWAY...

When: After Party, post-plot drop TW: None (for once)

Silence settles over the crowd like a lead weight, perverse in its gravity and filled with dread as they watch the video unfold. Unfortunately, Mikhail's experience with such limitless violence does not allow him enough naïvety to crumble into shock with the rest. Already his gaze sweeps across the room to find Vika, whose well restrained anger matches his own almost precisely–– both stormy behind the eyes and cautious in how they show it to the world.

He moves swiftly through frantic bodies once the lights return, scooping up Iza's arm along the way and practically hoisting her towards the exit. Without enough force to harm, but the rapid nature of his pace and obvious insistence leaves little room to argue. Not that she would, particularly after such a harrowing spectacle.

Perhaps that is what angers him most, beyond the simmering rage felt on behalf of Kosta losing yet another fragment of his first wife. That Mikhail had been successfully shielding Iza from most of the carnage, keeping her reality somewhat at bay and allowing her and Dmitri to live a relatively unscathed life. It wouldn't last, they both predicted as much, but he truly hadn't wanted it to crash down like this.

Cynicism whispers, at least it isn't her on the tape. Or Yuli, or Vika, or Sveta...

The corners of his mind are a mass grave filled with long dead women from his life and he ardently refuses to add more bodies tonight.

For once, there is gratitude to be found in the security that haunts his footsteps. His orders to them are frigid, unquestionable, sounding more like a Vorshevsky than ever before when the matter of his wife's safety hangs in the balance. It would be easier to avoid her gaze and usher the blonde along, to keep himself from reading the expression he knows is etched into her delicate features, but he clasps them between both palms anyway.

His thumb wipes away a miniature trail of saltwater from her skin as their eyes meet. Glassy versus resolute. "You need to leave now. Don't speak to anyone and do exactly as Boris and Pyotr say until I return. I'll be right behind you, promise." She merely nods, impeded from the full gesture by how deliberately Mikhail cups her face. "I love you." Sentiment exchanged, he releases Iza and allows his team to cart her off to a waiting car before returning to locate Vika.

Finding her is simpler than expected, probably because their train of thought so frequently aligns, and there is one terribly specific way to return a favor to their enemies. His palm nearly envelopes the Pecatti woman's entire face as he forces it back into position against his cousin; so unlike the fervent adoration used on his better half only minutes prior.

"It took you long enough. Hold her still."

"With pleasure."

[giordirossi]

FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT

When: After Party, post-plot drop TW: Violence, a lot of it. Choose your kidnapees more wisely.

Hadn't enough stress been added to her evening without the untimely release of footage that would send the Russian piranhas into a feeding frenzy?

Not waiting for the grand finale, because she already knew how this video ended, Giordana slipped from the horrified throngs of spectators through the darkness and began seeking out inevitable targets. Protection amidst the impending chaos would be crucial if the Sovrani and their affiliates wanted to leave relatively unscathed.

Like hell did she come all the way to London just to relive the losses of Launceston.

Vincenzo and Giorgio would be exceptional fish in this pond, perhaps too great for a snatch and grab. The others, though... Frankie, Olivia, Patrizia, maybe even Gianna, dangled on the line. Unfortunate that the French were caught in the crossfire of this alliance, but most were none of her concern save for one who could handle himself better than anyone she knew.

Lights flickered on and panicked voices began their crescendo when she descended into a corridor in pursuit of the last place her brother ventured with his wife. Instead, at the very end, she spotted a familiar silhouette that gave her a modicum of relief.

She exhaled. At least one had been located.

The other woman turned and their eyes locked right as Giordana spoke loud enough to be heard across the distance,

"Olivia, you need to––"

Large fingers grabbed the assassin roughly by her hair, knotting through intricately woven curls as they forced her from a standing position into something bent and compliant. The stranger took advantage of her momentary surprise by dragging them into an adjoining room, all the while nails clawed into the back of his hand attempting to find purchase. The wrist alone would allow for position reversal and the opportunity to break free. Yet as soon as she took hold, the man flung Giordana face first into a nearby armoire.

Fucking really.

Impact was negated by adrenaline and she recovered just in time to turn and duck below a fist when it collided against the wood where her now bruised cheekbone might've been. The curse that flew from his lips sounded Russian, but the grunt made when she sucker punched him in the gut and kicked his knee out was universal.

So absorbed in the mission to corral those who mattered most to Giorgio and Vincenzo, it dawned on Giordana a bit too late that she hadn't considered herself in that count.

This was a message for the Sovrani. Leaving her battered yet alive enough to pack up like a damn birthday gift for the Vorshevsky ilk. Someone must have foolishly believed that a lack of weapons made her less dangerous; easy pickings for a hand delivery. Mistake number one, they should've killed her.

The next swing met air yet again as the assailant failed to bring her down to his level. His frame might have been larger and come with a strength she couldn't fathom, but years of will-power fueled training made Giordana exceptionally nimble and agile. It kept her out of reach long enough to whip the heavy armoire door into his face when he lunged for a third time.

Now who was caught off guard?

Using his temporary imbalance against him, one heel struck his sternum and sent the Russian careening into a transparent coffee table which shattered almost immediately beneath his weight.

Sincerest apology to the Berkeleys.

And to the solid mahogany frame of the paired sofa, which subsequently cushioned the blow of his giant fucking head with its base. Lucky break. Not taking any chances, she pulled a tea tray off of the vanity and bestowed three hard dings, the unrestrained force reverberating up her arms.

Glass shards decorated the rug like a shimmering prism and she considered picking up a larger piece to finish the job when her gaze swept towards sudden movement in the wall mirror. Of course this wouldn't be a one man operation.

Said reinforcement barreled at her from behind, tackling the brunette to the floor. With high ground advantage lost, it became the equivalent of a knife fight in the dirt as they landed significant blows on each other. The upperhand position gained and lost as they wrestled for two starkly contrasting motives. Until he found her neck. His fist pressed down with every attempt to cut oxygen at the source so they could cease this fight and she might come a bit more quietly.

Or maybe he'd finally wisened up enough to realize this only ended one way.

A palm splayed out at her side, reaching across the ornate rug for something... anything... only to find a now overturned coffee table book and–– metal. Weighted, solid metal.

A goddamn candlestick.

Fingertips brushed against the cool edge as she squirmed just enough beneath his suffocating grasp to roll it into her hand. The base swung upward and collided into her attacker's skull with a sickening thud. Startling enough to release his hold, which coincidentally gave Giordana the perfect leverage to propel him sideways until she straddled his chest.

Hesitation during this part had never been her forte.

Another blow. Then a third, a fourth, she stopped counting at seven. From there it was only mottled splatter and gurgling, his hands limp with disuse after they failed to defend against her relentless violence. More machine than woman, a shark-eyed creature bound for this singular objective.

When she finally stood and allowed the makeshift weapon to dangle loosely at her side, the metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air. Crimson peppered the expensive flooring around them and any furniture within range; it stained her once gloriously white party dress and dribbled down from her split lower lip and a cut above her brow.

From this vantage point, she couldn't tell if either of the men were still breathing. Nor did she care. Adjusting the one good strap left on her dress and pivoting towards the door, Giordana practically sensed the third body before she saw him. Was it possible to actually leave this God forsaken room?

Whirling with the candlestick poised to strike, a hand wrapped around her wrist before she could leave a pretty dent in his skull, too. For a moment they said nothing, his face speaking volumes more than words could ever convey about the state of her appearance.

The darkened shade over her eyes lifted somewhat as she registered his face. Never fully, never enough to allow complete weakness. He'd taught her that a long time ago.

After a beat of silence, she dropped her arm of her own volition and metal clanged lowly as it hit the floor. Standing in front of him like this, she felt twenty years old again. Messy, violent, and unrefined, having allowed someone to get the better of her because she'd been personally concerned about other people.

And there was Varden, the immovable pillar of exactly what she could be.

His hand moved from wrist to chin, turning over the damage back and forth with a different expression. This one Giordana can't read.

"I'm fine." No quips, no sly remarks. Her chest still heaving a little from the previous events, she didn't have any good natured taunting left in her tonight.

"I know you are." The Frenchman's grasp fell away yet again and his attention turned to the spectacular display she'd left behind. "You should leave here while you still can. I'll take care of this."

[capricious-and-caprine]

i want to scream into the wind to see if i still exist. late at night, alone, my oscillations travel, weaker and weaker, imperceptible. the sensation i feel tapping on my tablet isn't real: it's just the electromagnetic repulsion. i am nothing. that's a bit reductive: i'm a child, sibling, friend: a complex DNA sequence and entangled histories and the five closest people around me - a cloud of probability overlapping and repelling.

yet the words

you should kill yourself

you should kill yourself

you should kill yourself

fill my mind.

they don't streamline like the lines one gets for punishment. they stack like cartoonish idents. they permeate trivial incidents, like a falling out with my friend or facile decisions like deciding to make pancakes without neither a mixing bowl nor a spatula. i feel a lot safer in my room. my hermitage is imminent, i fear.

[maria-azenha]

Solace In Your Arms

Date: 25/03/2024

Maria read Cecelia's text a few times and had to keep in mind that the woman ran a business and her visit to the doctor's assured her that she wasn't in the right state of mind to be in a room full of people. She was finding it too easy to slip back into where she wasn't sure what was real and what was that night locked deep in her head.

A bag was packed, and she left a text to Ophélie and Amélie that she would be staying with Guillaume for a few days, not that he was aware of it at the current moment.

A light rap echoed off the door to his flat, taking a small step back waiting until he opened the door, brows furrowing at the sight of her. A quick glance over her, his eyes rested on her bag and he knew the drill.

No words had to be spoken between them, their friendship going that deep that he knew what she needed. The door opened wider for her to slip inside and that is when she noticed the redhead sitting on his couch, giving a small crinkle to her nose.

"Rebecca, we are going to have to cut our night short." What a horrid name, Maria thought, not feeling bad at all that she was breaking this little get together up.

It didn't go unnoticed the way the woman looked at her and a stoic expression remained etched into her features, ready to tear her down if she tried to go at her.

"Guillaume, we were just...." She wasn't able to finish her words before he spoke again.

"Time to go, I'll message later." A hand gestured for her to use the door.

A huff coming from the redhead's lips as she started to get up from the couch, going to fetch her belongings. She paused at the threshold, looking them both off. "Don't bother." A hand came up to flick her hair over her shoulder and stomped off.

Maria couldn't help but giggle, a hand coming up to cover her mouth when his eyes narrowed at her.

"You owe me, you know that." A smile pulls on his lips, shutting the door and locking it. "Go get ready." He knew the drill.

The brunette nods her head and makes her way off towards the bathroom where she brushes her teeth, washes her face, and lathers her face with all the different facial products she uses. Hair tied up into a loose bun. Taking a glance at herself in the mirror, she was finding it hard to recognise who she was. Slipping into the t-shirt she always slept in, Maria pads silently out into his bedroom, a side lamp the only light illuminating the room, finding him already stripped down to his boxers sliding into bed where he opens the blankets at the opposite side for her.

Without hesitation she climbs in beside him, scooting closer to him where she can feel his arm wrap around her, pulling her back to his chest. There was a comfort in his arms, the only place where he chased her demons away and she could find a dreamless state. No faceless man pointing a gun at her, pulling the trigger seconds after killing everyone she loved, sending her into a painful darkness.

Her body relaxes against his, finally closing her eyes and not being scared about it. A kiss is placed to the top of her head. "Sleep Maria, nothing will harm you. I promise."

I promise.

She trusted him with her life.

"Goodnight Guillaume." She whispers, not long after drifting to sleep.

[menodoramoon]

2024 Prom | Gothic Romance | Mooncakes

Also, secret lil' Moon self-para below the cut <3

@auntcass-hamada

BEFORE.

Her heart races, her heels ache. Cassandra had been cleverer, wearing flats to walk to the castle. Moon had worn her heels, having been unaware of the distance. And poor logic, admittedly. The commute from one wing of her own estate to another lasted all of five minutes, if that. The walk to the castle felt different. 

It was mostly light out still when they arrived, and Moon couldn’t help feeling two conflicting things, and a third of neutral stance:

First, an excitement about attending her first prom with a best friend like Cassandra. 

Second, A self-conscious unfamiliarity with herself in trousers and a suit jacket, dressed in black damask. (Uncountessly?)

Third, the neutral thing: how beautiful Cass looks in the fading light. As the sun sinks across the sky, leading way to night. As the rays trace coppery strands along Cassandra’s braids.

It’s admiration, if anything, Moon has to assume. Cass was someone who was easy to admire, for all the hard work she put in, for all the heart she gave.

The butterfly dress was beautiful in the store (The two of them had gone together), but Cass brings it to life. She wasn’t magick, but there was something remarkable about the whole ensemble. The butterflies seemed to come to life when she moved, fluttering despite their silken state. She looks so different, yet so unmistakably Cassandra.

Helios’s light has mostly faded by the time they walk through the front doors. And Moon thinks about the opposing light they both seem to thrive in. Cassandra, bright in the daylight, sunny in herself. Moon, bathed in moonlight as it dances across her skin from the open window. Opposing cosmic forces, complementing celestial energy.

How could Cass be her friend? Moon feels undeserving every time Cass smiles at her.

You are radiant in ways you don’t understand. I want you to see yourself the way I do. Someone who loves and cares and grazes softly against others, illuminating them as well. You’re enchanting in your being, in a way that sorcery cannot dare replicate.

Every time Cass says something, it's brighter.

DURING.

The photo lingers in Moon’s mind all night. Off and on, from the moment she tucked it in her purse to the moment she sees it again, looking for her apartment key in her pocket-sized clutch.

AFTER.

Moon walks Cass home. Cass still in her sensible shoes, Moon who swears she’ll have blisters the next day. Still, Moon laughs as the two talk about the evening. Despite the way her toes feel cramped and her arches ache, she feels like she’s also floating. The evening has set her at ease.

On the walk home, Moon prattles on about how excited she is to have Hiro and Tad over. How much she is looking forward to visiting Cass again before rehearsal one day, ordering a brown sugar coffee boba hybrid drink that she’d strung together out of indecision (and then decided she liked.)

She wasn’t usually a sugar-in-coffee drinker. But she’d make an exception.

Part way home she takes off her shoes, not minding the way the road abrases her feet. She’d dealt with worse. Her laughter did not cease.

She’s drunk on excitement, despite the concerns about that quite awry meeting with the server. Despite her nervousness regarding Hiro and making a good first impression. Despite her worry that Elinor may be doing too much.

And Moon is forced to think about how wrong she had been earlier. How the Moonlight suits Cass too. Her braided crown looked more like a silver halo.

Well, it was born of sunlight wasn’t it?

Could they not be so opposite after all?

Cass looks more like a queen now than she had before. There’s a fondness in that thought. Moon was a Countess, a Lady at most formal address. Cass was like something far greater. 

“Get some sleep, Cass,” Moon says, after seeing her safely home. Arguably, it could go the other way around. But Moon had access to a light sword at all times and was not to be messed with. Also, She insisted.

And then she’s by herself, adjusting her eyes to the dark. She barely needs glasses. Maybe in the dark they’d be helpful. But she’s a light sorceress, so how much could the darkness really harm her?

Her hand stings. She keeps walking, dancing lights guiding her way. For the first time in a long time, she drops the guard on her hand. 

She holds the picture, standing at the threshold of her apartment. Picture and purse in one hand, key in the other. It feels almost wrong. But then again, every other time, it’s been an illusion. 

Cass had held her hand when the photo was taken. Moon is holding the picture now.

Cass, you are a light upon this world. And maybe, one day, I’ll be able to hold light like yours.

She knows she has to give the photo back later, for Hiro to duplicate. But for now, she sets it on her kitchen table, leaning up against a tea canister.

It’ll be a perfect reminder in the morning, when her own fairytale spell has broken and everything returns to the way that it was.

[majkemaniiia]

A Character Reference that She would Deny Writing to her Grave?

(In reference to a certain @apennywasted)

[deathclaw-for-cutie]

Earlier this year (2024), I found this video while idly scrolling through YouTube. I watched it over and over, fascinated. I finally decided to look on AO3, a site I knew about but had never visited.

I discovered "para bellum" by @lilacretrograde. I discovered "Wrong Kind of Preacher, Wrong Kind of Church" and "Call Me Angel Again" by @odd-ball-out. "White Lies and Fireflies" by @aviatorfics. So many more, but these are the first ones, the ones I remember the best, the ones that made me finally understand the phrase "reading this changed my brain chemistry."

After a childhood spent writing and drawing (original things as well as what would now be called fanfiction and fanart), I hadn't done any writing at all in years. I hadn't drawn anything in years. Decades.

I started writing "Cat in a Hot Tin Suit". I came back to Tumblr, and found @hpysprkl and @lordsammichsilas and @hancocksbestgirl and so, so many others.

After literal decades of nothing, I've been writing almost every single day since late June. At least a few hundred words, sometimes thousands. I've started drawing again.

I started posting my silly, self-indulgent, self-insert fanfic, and to my complete and utter shock, other people actually liked it. Knowing that people have bookmarked it, have subscribed to it, is terrifying, humbling, and invigorating.

Your stories, your art, inspired me to get back to who I was before I shut myself away years ago. Rediscovering my creativity has brought me so much joy, so much pride in my own accomplishments, and brought people into my life that I never would have met otherwise (okay also the Halloween Boop Wars of 2024, but mostly the art).

So...yeah. Fallout brought me back to life. You all brought me back to life. Thank you. Love you.

xoxo

Izzie

[srbachchan]

DAY 6034

J,Mum Aug 25, 2024 Sun 6:52 pm

Birthday - EF - Harshavardhan Ghatapanadi Monday, 26 August ... our best wishes on this day .. ❤️

🪔 ,

On Janmashtami and everyday may the blessings of Shri Krishna ever be upon us within and without .. 🪈✨📿

August 26 .. birthday greetings to Ef Harshvardhan Ghatapanadi and Ef Garvita Channi .. love and 🙏🏻❤️🚩

the day has been in the work on the body and the mind .. and eventually with the DAY of the GOJ .. and the joy and heartwarming responses that the Ef and the well wishers , spend their time and energy to be at the gates and to express their love ..

it has been such an overwhelming moment and one that has been so overwhelmingly been a joy of immense proportions ..

my gratitude as ever ..

and now as I wait for the evening captures .. a moment with the game , CHELSEA ..

see all in a bit ..

AB

11 :06 PM .. Jalsa, Mumbai Aug 25, 2024

.. the lightness of food .. the rhythm of exercise and stretches .. the abstinence from supplements of fizz and pain relief .. and and and the discovery of a strain of music that wins the day and perhaps many days ..

aah .. the dhun .. the words .. the voice .. the simplicity of it all yet so shatteringly emotive .. water in the eyes without effort .. and the solitude of the one by the self .. a lifetime to be spent thus ..

and the followers of the 'impotency of content' .. the polluting emblem of thought and word .. keep away from my liberty of thought .. your desperation is so apparent .. the non aesthetically mounted, corrupt, ethically damaged .. rest well with your troubled conscience .. there can be no greater counselled enlightenment ..

flores para los muertos

Amitabh Bachchan

[livinglycan]

☽ ~ The sand shifts beneath your paws and the scent of salt fills your nostrils ~ 𓃥

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ "𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍" ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ello!! You can call me Theo, Ari, or Feng! I'm transmasc and my pronouns are He/It/That + any dog or (were)wolf related neos! I'm (feralromantic) aroallo, MLM/Gay, wolfdog freak, and objectum.

Feralromantic and wolfdog freak are both coins termed by me!

I am a werewolf. This is not a kintype, I am physically a werewolf. I’ll still post under the werewolfkin tags because I feel like werewolfkin can relate to my experience. I am a therian and otherkin but stuff relating to that can be found on my main blog, @confused-canid where I interact from. I appreciate the use of tone tags for me!

This blog is for me posting about me being a werewolf, or werewolf related things! This could be my selfships, art writings, etc.! My tags are: #Running with the wolves🐺 - Talking with my mutuals! #Howling at the moon🌕 - Original posts that are text! #Weird little claw marks✏️ - My art! This will usually be paired with text so it will be tagged as #Howling at the moon🌕 and as #Weird little claw marks✏️! #yapping back🌙 - Responding to asks! #Tasty posts🦴 - reblogs relating to this blog but not therian related or my own (usually used for posts I’m saving for later), #Rabies🥩 - Gore, animal death, angry stuff, and other things that make me hungry, #Home🌲 - Heart-home (Vancouver island) stuff, #Mother🏹🦌 - Artemis worship related things, #Little wolf🐾 - Agere posts (rbs and original ones

Theriotypes:

~Harlequin great Dane

~Bottlenose dolphin

~Western coyote (unsure what type but one that lives in or near Kansas, prairie dwelling)

~Leopard seal

~ Rocky mountain Bighorn sheep

Kintypes:

~Merfolk

~Two legged dragon

~Marble fox Kitsune

Others:

~Equidae clado hearted

~Changeling holothere

~ Lemon shork (Kaiju paradise)

~ Like slime pup (Kaiju paradise)

~ Nightcrawler (Kaiju paradise)

~ Chocolate sprinklekit (Kaiju paradise)

~ Lockheed SR-71 blackbird

DNI: Basic DNI criteria+, NSFW blog, make a lot of nsfw posts about werewolves, Radqueer, RCTA, Proship or any variants of it, Demonizes cluster B disorders or delusions/are an ableist, Zionist/pro Israel (Get tf off my blog. Seriously. Like, leave right now. I will maul you.), antikin, fakeclaimer, anti researched self diagnoses, pro Trump, pro Biden (Trump is bad and so is Joe. He is directly funding the genocide against Palestine.), anti ACAB, Pro contact for harmful paras (People w/ big 3 and other harmful (if acted on) paras can interact but don’t go against the rest of my DNI. I hope you can recover, I'm proud of you. You can do this.), anti atypical dysphoria, or are here to debate me about my identity.

Anyways, bye creatures!

Last updated July Fith 2024

I live in the central daylight timezone / CT, in case you want to talk

a lot of this was just to show off these dividers

^silly little werewolf gif collage ^^

[cielob03]

Art from April 2024. [Current design of my self insert].

According to Lito (my self insert), killing people is prohibited, but not to torture them?! 😱

Please accompany me and Alastor on this friendly outing, together with our strange and questionable morals in the hell of Hazbin Hotel 🦊🦌🔪🩸 .

.

.

[Diálogos]

Alastor: Sonríe, querida! Hoy es un día maravilloso para comer helado y matar pecadores repugnantes!

Cielo: Ugh! Aly... Tu sabes que no mato personas, incluso si son pecadores horribles... PERO, no estoy en contra de torturar a esas almas desagradables por la eternidad, venadito.

Alastor: HAHA! Trato hecho entonces! Por fin tenemos un plan para hoy, mi pequeño zorrito azul!

✨💙 I hope you like it! :3 💙✨

[damianesco]

[ PATTERNS. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Damian experiences his first serious same-sex relationship. TIME FRAME: August 2024 - October 2024 TW: Emotional abuse, abuse, alcoholism, language, dissociation, relapse

AUGUST 26, 2024. [ URIEL: No show ? ]

It’s six in the morning, and Damian hasn’t slept.

He’s getting ready in the bathroom, staring at the bags underneath his eyes with a small frown. No doubt some of his students will make some smart comments about the sight — he wishes, fleetingly, that he were as good as some of the other volunteers at Bright Sparks with makeup. Might’ve made it easier to get through this.

“Hey.”

Jason steps inside the bathroom, in a soft gray t-shirt and similarly-shaded sweats. He’s got the day off today. Says he’s gonna spend it catching up on the sleep they missed last night.

He steps toward the toilet and takes a piss. Damian’s still staring at the bags underneath his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, flushing the toilet.

Damian glances at him. “I look like shit.”

“Aw,” Jason steps toward the counter, pressing a gentle kiss to Damian’s temple. “You could never.” He runs a hand through Damian’s already-unkempt hair, and it feels warm on his scalp. “But I get it. Heavy bags,” he nods. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson, huh?”

Damian frowns.

“Don’t start a fight at night,” Jason raises an eyebrow. “Could’ve avoided the whole thing if you’d just relaxed.”

Right. Damian had mentioned — something about Jason’s tone, when speaking to the waiter at dinner last night. He hadn’t liked it — it’d been condescending, and rude. Jason had felt triggered, he’d said, as he’d been labeled condescending and rude his whole life growing up just because he was born into privilege. I didn’t choose it, Damian. I feel like you’re getting on my case about things out of my fucking control.

“Yeah,” Damian mutters, glancing back at the mirror. All he sees looking back is a stupid man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

–

SEPTEMBER 2, 2024. [ URIEL: You going 2 meetings in BH ? ]

—

He hasn’t spoken to Oliver in a week.

He keeps glancing down at his phone, hoping maybe the next notification that shows up is from him, to no avail. He’s scrolling through Instagram mindlessly when Jason walks into the kitchen.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for hours,” he says casually as he makes his way toward the fridge. “Waiting for a call?”

Damian shakes his head once. “Not — technically,” he admits, glancing up at his boyfriend. “Ollie and I — we haven’t spoken since—” he stops himself. “I just miss him.”

Jason says nothing as he reaches inside the fridge for the water pitcher. He says nothing when he sets it on the counter. He says nothing when he grabs a glass from the cabinet, when he fills that glass nearly to the brim. He says nothing after he chugs half of it and sets it back down.

Then he says, “I always thought he was a shitty friend.”

The instinct to defend Oliver is quick to rise in Damian. Years of practice. “He’s not,” he insists. “We just — we had a disagreement,” he says. “It’ll pass.”

“Will it?” Jason raises a challenging eyebrow at Damian. “He strings you along for years and then, what? One little spat and he drops off the face of the earth?” He gives Damian a sympathetic look. “You deserve better, baby.”

That’s not what this is, he wants to say. Oliver wouldn’t do that. He knows Oliver, longer than he’s known Jason, even — Oliver wouldn’t—

Jason grabs Damian’s phone from his hands and pockets it. “That’s enough of this for tonight.”

Damian gives him a puzzled look. “What?”

“It’s just messing with your head,” Jason presses a kiss to Damian’s forehead. “Let’s just relax. You and me. No phones.”

It’s a sweet gesture. Still—“I need to call Sofia, tell her I’m spending the night.”

Jason’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly downward. “You’re a grown man,” he points out to Damian, voice sweet. “You can stay out for a couple of days without keeping your little sister updated every single time.”

“She’ll worry.”

“She has her own life,” Jason reminds him. “You’re not the center of the fucking universe, Damian. She’ll be fine.”

And Damian doesn’t really have an argument to make against that — even if he did, he doesn’t think it’d be a good idea to make one at all. He hasn’t slept the past two nights, not well, because he’s slipped up a couple of times, made Jason feel insecure or belittled. He’s working on choosing his words more carefully. He’s working on doing better.

“Maybe we go to a meeting tomorrow?” Damian puts the offer out into the room gently. It’s been a minute since either of them have been to one. He doesn’t know about Jason, but Damian’s starting to feel the absence of the meetings like bullet holes in his willpower. Sometimes he’ll wake up from a dream — a nightmare, really — and still feel the alcohol burning down his throat. 

Jason shakes his head. “Why the fuck would we go to a meeting?” he crosses his arms over his chest. “What, I’m not enough for you to talk to?”

“No,” Damian amends quickly. “Of course not. But — you know—”

“Right,” Jason laughs, the sound piercing and bitter. It cuts through Damian’s resolve quickly, sagging his shoulders. “I’m never enough for you. Always running to a meeting, always needing your friends to text you back. Why are we even fucking doing this, Damian?” He demands. “If I’m just always going to be an afterthought?”

Damian shakes his head profusely. “You’re not, that’s not what I—”

“Save it,” he snaps, making his way upstairs. “You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

The bedroom door slams shut, the sound reverberating through every inch of the house. Damian feels it like ice in his veins.

It takes him about an hour of sitting in silence, gaze fixed on a day-old stain on the floor, to realize Jason’s kept his phone.

–

SEPTEMBER 10, 2024. [ URIEL: Worried about U, kid ! U will give me ulcers. Talk soon ? ]

—

“Mr. Escobedo.”

Damian glances up from his desk, meeting Elsa’s gaze. Elsa’s worked at the front office for years and years and years — longer than Damian’s been alive, he’s sure. The students are taking a test; some of them glance up curiously at the interruption. Damian stands from his desk chair, and glares playfully at his gaggle of teens.

“Eyes on your own tests,” he warns. “I’m right outside.”

He follows Elsa out into the hallway, frowning. “What’s up, Elsa?”

She gives him something of a wry smile. “Damian,” she reaches out and squeezes his wrists affectionately — or perhaps reassuringly? “We’ve gotten several calls from a certain Jason Plymouth asking about your classroom’s extension.”

Damian’s stomach sinks. “Is he — is everything—”

Elsa holds up a placating hand. “As far as I know, everything is fine, dear,” she promises. “But he is — persistent.”

Damian wipes at his face. “I’m sorry. He’s probably — I turn off my phone on test days, he—”

Elsa shakes her head once. “We cannot give him your extension,” she tells him. “You may. But we cannot.” She pauses. “I recommend you call him back,” she says slowly. “Ask him to maybe stop calling…?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Damian assures her. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Elsa.” 

Elsa eyes him for a second, almost searchingly. Eventually, she asks, “Is everything okay, Damian?”

The question catches Damian by surprise. “Yes,” he replies almost instantly, the word rushing out of his mouth like an instinct. “Yes, it is. I’m — of course it is,” he laughs, though it sounds a little rattled to his own ears. “I’m so sorry. He’s probably just worried. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Elsa hesitates for a second, before finally nodding her assent. “Alright,” she takes her hands back from Damian’s wrists and makes her way back to the front office, nothing else to say to him.

He doesn’t know what he tells himself to convince his heart it’s racing out of anything other than fear.

But it works.

–

SEPTEMBER 14, 2024. [ URIEL: Did U change UR number ? Is this still Damian ? Please respond if not. ] 

–

“You fucking embarrassed me!” 

Damian doesn’t know what to do when Jason starts shouting. A part of him wants to shout back — another part of him wants to flee — but whatever part of him wins out is always a part that shrinks into itself, doing his best to look as small as possible, as unassuming as possible. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, please,” Jason walks up to him, face so close to Damian he can smell his boyfriend’s sushi-laced breath. “Batting your eyes at the waiter like a fucking slut. Thought you were gonna get on your knees for him right then and there.” He spits the words into Damian’s face, and he feels his body start to go taut in response to the proximity. “Meanwhile, your boyfriend has to watch it all happen and smile through it like the dumb little cunt you think I am—”

“I don’t,” Damian insists. “Jesus, Jason, I don’t think you’re — I never even—”

The lamp’s knocked over before Damian has a chance to take his next breath. The glass of the lightbulb shatters across the floor into shrill, fine pieces, decorating the otherwise pristine marble tiles of Jason’s living room.

“Fuck,” he shouts, taking a step away from Damian. Damian’s eyes remain fixed on the mess. “You see what you made me do? You drive me fucking crazy, Damian,” his voice is tense, but it sounds sadder this time. At least Damian thinks it sounds sadder. He’s hurt Jason — he gets that. Even if he hadn’t meant to — maybe he’d inadvertently sent some mixed signals to their waiter — maybe if he were just a tad bit more self-aware—

“Did you hear me?” Damian blinks out of his stupor and meets Jason’s heated gaze. “I said clean it up. I’m going to bed.”

Damian nods once. “Okay,” he replies quietly. 

Jason holds out his hand, then, wordlessly. Damian instinctively reaches for his phone and presses it as gingerly as possible into his boyfriend’s palm.

Then Jason turns on his heel and stomps up the stairs.

And Damian cleans up the mess. 

–

SEPTEMBER 16, 2024. [ PILAR: missed u for el grito 🥺 stop ignoring meeeee ]

–

Jason hasn’t spoken to him since Saturday. 

Damian’s tried to say something to him. Anything. But he gets the silent treatment. He doesn’t get his phone back until Sunday evening, and that’s mostly because it’s being blown up by work emails, and Jason seems tired of listening to the notifications.

He reads Pilar’s message and feels tears sting at his eyes. 

He doesn’t reply.

–

SEPTEMBER 17, 2024. [ PILAR: hellooooooo motherfucker i’m telling sofia on you!!!! ]

–

Jason comes home with a large bouquet of flowers and a million apologies. He gets on his knees and cries into Damian’s lap, begging for forgiveness, swearing he’ll do better. He’s trying, he’s trying, he says, he’s so fucked up, this is what they made him, he’s so fucked up, but he’ll do anything to make it better. He’ll do anything to make it better. 

Damian runs a soothing hand through his hair and shushes him, comforts him. It’s okay, he tells him in between sobs. I forgive you. It’s okay.

It is okay. They can work through this together, Damian thinks, hope swelling in his chest. It’s okay. They’ve both been through so much — it’s only natural that this would be work. It’s okay. 

It’s okay.

–

SEPTEMBER 24, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

Damian sits outside the community center in Chicago. He doesn’t go inside.

The fact that he’s managed to get here at all — Jason’s on a work trip this week, and Damian’s managed to go home. Say hi to Sofia. Shower in his own bathroom. Sleep in his own bed. For a second, he’d remembered what normal used to feel like, and almost as if on autopilot, he’d found himself taking the train to Chicago and finding his way to the AA meeting he hasn’t attended for a month.

He can’t work up the courage to go inside, though. He thinks he feels embarrassed, but about what — he can’t really say. Maybe it’s the fact that he never got back to Uriel. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been craving a drink so fucking badly this past month he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Maybe it’s the bottle of tequila he’d purchased last night before the liquor stores forced themselves closed, now hidden under piles of blankets in his closet. 

He should go, he thinks. He has no business being here. 

Damian pushes himself off the rickety bench when he hears his name in the familiar low, dulcet tone he’s come to expect from his sponsor.

He meets Uriel’s gaze, surprised. “Uriel?”

Uriel makes his way over to him, arms crossed — despite his usual stoicness, there’s something like worry in his expression. Damian wonders if he’s going through something, too. 

“You made me think you was dead, kid,” he tells Damian, frowning. “Had to reach out to some folk in Blue Harbor, make sure you wasn’t.”

Damian looks down at his feet, ashamed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve just — had a busy month.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein the words hang between them. They’re not quite a lie — they don’t quite ring true, either.

“You goin’ in?” Uriel finally asks, and Damian shakes his head instantly. 

“N-no, I just—” he clears his throat. “I just—” He doesn’t have an excuse, he realizes. None that sounds good enough to his own ears. “I’m not.”

Another beat of silence. 

“You relapse?”

Damian shakes his head. “No,” he promises. “I’m fine. Just busy.” I’m fine, just busy. I’m fine, just busy.

“Maybe we go get some coffee, hm?” Uriel offers. “I’ll buy. Some o’ the good stuff, too, none o’ that new-wave hippie dippie shit.”

Damian laughs slightly, and it almost hurts his throat. “Thank you,” he finally meets Uriel’s dark gaze again. “But I really do have to go.”

Uriel searches his gaze for a second. “Whatever it is,” he tells Damian. “I can tell you it ain’t worth it, kid.”

Damian feels his eyes start to sting. That’s where Uriel’s wrong. It is. He’s always thought himself off, thought something was so inherently wrong with him no one could love him — and now here’s Jason, offering him his love, promising him the world, something Damian never thought he could have. It’s worth it. He needs this. If not Jason, who? Who else will put up with him? Him, damaged goods, no filter, no worth? 

“Goodbye, Uriel,” he mutters. 

He leaves his sponsor behind.

–

SEPTEMBER 25, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

He opens the bottle of tequila and pours himself a glass.

Damian stares at it for an hour before he pours it down the drain. He’s about to do the same to the rest of the bottle, but something stops him.

Instead, he hides the bottle back inside his closet. Forces himself to forget about it.

–

SEPTEMBER 27, 2024. [ URIEL: Here if U need anything ]

–

“Fuck, I missed you,” Jason groans, kisses him deeply one last time before rolling off Damian. Damian, for his part, traces the usual patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Doesn’t point out Jason texted him every half hour, asking him where he was, what he was doing. Doesn’t point out he hadn’t given Damian a chance to miss him. Doesn’t even think it matters, because this is how it should be. Jason should miss him this way. Obsessed with you, he’d once said. And that can only be good, right? 

It means Damian’s been good. It means Damian hasn’t scared him off yet.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jason cuts through his train of thought. “I said I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Damian replies automatically. The pattern on the ceiling turns into a horse. Then a dog. Then a cat. It starts to look like a cow, maybe.

He feels Jason roll off the bed. Hears his footsteps retreat into the bathroom. Damian rolls onto his side and looks at the wall, listens to the tick, tick, tick of the clock above the headboard. 

His mind drifts to his closet. 

–

OCTOBER 2, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

It doesn’t matter.

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one glass?

What’s two? What’s three?

What’s Jason’s breath smelling of weed and his tasting of alcohol if they’re mingled together, anyway?

What does it matter, if this is what love is? If this is where he’s found it? 

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one bottle?

It doesn’t matter.

–

END.

[issialou]

A important news if you follow Aypierre on Twitter.

(I would translate in english and in spanish and portuguese (for the two last one it would with the help of DeepL cause I don't speak at all this two languages).

English : "This account will self destroy the 12/31/2024. For continue follow mines actualities the best way this is

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/aypierre/

Discord discord.gg/aypierre"

Spanish : "Esta cuenta se autodestruirá el 31/12/2024 Para continuar siguiendo mis noticias lo mejor es :

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/aypierre/

Discord discord.gg/aypierre"

Portuguese : "Esta conta se autodestruirá em 31/12/2024 💥 Para continuar acompanhando minhas notícias, a melhor maneira é :

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/aypierre/

Discord discord.gg/aypierre"

In this second tweet he answers he explain his reasons quit Twitter/X

English : "1) Network become too much toxic (we would tell me do clean the feed etc but by nature of Twitter you have always stuffs ultra toxic go up at your eyes whatever you do), and the people can what they like without any legal consequence (lived experiences lol) cause twitter doesn't care to communicate anything at the not US autorities.

2) Without presence the people feel less inclined to come annoying you or mention you cause they lost this feeling be able to attack you / insult you like if you was "in front" (but without risk), and so it limit the diffamation in any kind (lived experience again).

The QSMP + legislative experiance have convainc me the decision have already be take 3 months ago, I wanted just take the stock in the stats side if get out from twitter wouldn't affect too much for the business (many ope ask tweets etc) and after this 3 months of study it is clear I can replace twitter by insta for the business without impact.

For the commu I found this is more simple talk on discord or insta with the people for the exchange side more simple and long on discord and the most private side on insta (talk non public)."

Spanish :

1) la red se ha vuelto demasiado tóxica (la gente me dirá que sólo hay que limpiar el feed, etc, pero por la propia naturaleza de twitter siempre te salen cosas ultra tóxicas por los ojos hagas lo que hagas), y la gente puede salirse con la suya sin consecuencias legales (experiencia real lol) porque a twitter le importa un bledo comunicar nada a las autoridades no estadounidenses.

2) sin presencia, la gente se siente menos inclinada a venir a mancillarte o mencionarte porque pierden esa sensación de poder atacarte/insultarte como si estuvieras «delante de ellos» (pero sin riesgo), y eso por tanto limita la difamación de cualquier tipo (de nuevo, experiencia de primera mano).

El QSMP + la experiencia legislativa me convencieron de que la decisión ya estaba tomada hace 3 meses, sólo quería comprobar las estadísticas para ver si deshacerme de twitter no me afectaría demasiado en la parte empresarial (muchas operaciones piden tweets etc) y tras estos 3 meses de estudio está claro que puedo sustituir twitter por insta en la parte empresarial sin ningún impacto.

En cuanto a la comunidad, me resulta más fácil charlar con la gente en discord o insta porque el intercambio es más sencillo y largo en discord y más privado en insta (discusión no pública).

Traducción realizada con la versión gratuita del traductor DeepL.com

1) a rede se tornou tóxica demais (as pessoas me dizem que você só precisa limpar o feed etc., mas, pela própria natureza do Twitter, você sempre tem coisas ultra-tóxicas aparecendo nos seus olhos, não importa o que você faça), e as pessoas podem se safar de qualquer coisa sem nenhuma consequência legal (experiência real, rs) porque o Twitter não dá a mínima para comunicar nada a autoridades fora dos EUA.

2) sem uma presença, as pessoas se sentem menos inclinadas a vir e difamá-lo ou mencioná-lo porque perdem a sensação de poder atacá-lo/insultá-lo como se você estivesse “na frente delas” (mas sem risco), e isso, portanto, limita a difamação de qualquer tipo (novamente, experiência em primeira mão).

O QSMP + a experiência legislativa me convenceram de que a decisão já havia sido tomada há 3 meses, eu só queria verificar as estatísticas para ver se me livrar do Twitter não me afetaria muito no lado comercial (muitas operações pedem tweets etc.) e, após esses 3 meses de estudo, ficou claro que posso substituir o Twitter pelo Insta no lado comercial sem nenhum impacto.

No que diz respeito à comunidade, acho mais simples conversar com as pessoas no Discord ou no Insta, para trocas mais simples e longas no Discord e mais privadas no Insta (discussões não públicas).

[kimhortons]

five years.

on the 17th of February 2024, we celebrated our 5th year together. this was the first time na nag celebrate kami na ginastusan namin. thought we'd like to try something new, so nag book ako ng photo session sa isang self-shoot studio dito sa Legazpi.

may be something different sa photo booth like yung nasa Timezone na 1st year palang namin together, binalak na namin na hindi naman matuloy tuloy haha. then i got the idea when we had the experience last year with my bestfriend and her husband sa isang photo booth din non sa Trinoma. so why not try a photo session nalang din.

the experience was fun, kahit ang hirap picturan ni J kasi laging funny yung mukha niya at awkward yung smile niya—kailangan ko lagi siyang patawanin para makuha ko yung gusto kong smile niya. haha. actually, awkward narin ako mag pose, i'm not that confident enough narin para mag pose e haha ewan ko ba.

also, we had baby back ribs for our dinner date at Gringo. i find this really something special cos beside sa di nga kami nag cecelebrate masyado ng monthsary at anniversary, lagi lang din kami sa fast food kumakain. ito lang yung second time na gumastos kami ng libo para sa food namin. hehe. (medj kinikilig tuloy ako ngayon cos playing in the background ang Anchor by Novo Amor while typing this haha)

now i realized, na ang layo na pala talaga ng narating namin. dati nung LDR pa kami hindi kami nakakapag celebrate ng birthdays and anniversaries namin together, ang hirap kapag LDR diba. halos 2 years pa kami di nagkita nung pandemic. nito lang kami nakapag celebrate ng magkasama nung andito na ako.

ngayon, iba naman sa panunuod ng sine na usual na ginagawa namin tuwing monthsary or anniversary. hindi natuloy yung na-plan naming travel last year for this, so baka next year nalang. hehe.

dati lagi kong iniisip, ang tagal na namin pero never pa namin natry mag ganito, ganyan—nagtatampo pa ako kasi parang ang boring ng relationship namin. pero napagtanto ko, marami pa namang taon ang dadaan at pagsasamahan namin para itry lahat ng bago sa relasyon na 'to.

[qwertyofmylife]

Menyala Hidupku ✨️

Oleh: "Z. ABDUR." : Zaky Abdurrahman

Dalam catatan sanubari.

Seperempat abad lebih 730 hari.

Jantung berdetak zaman berdetik tak henti.

Melepas isak berlinang 16 Agustus silam.

Penggalan sya'ir, "Kangennya masih ada di setiap waktu, kadang aku menangis bila aku perlu" itu nyata. Tak kunjung tenggelam.

Muak dipecundangi dosa.

Lelah berkutat dengan nelangsa.

Menyala Temaramku,

Syahdan angin membadai akan menghujam jiwa.

Bila kakiku jauhi dataran menggapai angkasa raya.

Sepi berkawan sunyi.

Pamit jua berpisah, hal biasa dan berakhir seorang diri.

Menyala Malamku,

Masyhur katanya, bila pohon menua.

Batang rantingnya meninggi akar menghujam inti bumi.

Hembus di atas lebih riuh berisik,

ketimbang nyanyian lembut ilalang rerumputan nan berbisik.

Habis raga sekarat jiwa.

Pertanda redup iman di dada.

Bergulat tak kenal hari melawan diri.

Menyelisihi Iblis jua nafsu angkara.

Nan berbala tentara para pendengki berbahan bakar nestapa berkawan rasa putus asa.

Menyala Letihku,

Bukankah Tuhan tak peduli dosa-dosaku, bila taubat, istiqomah teriring ampunan-Nya lah tempat berpulang dan harga matiku?

2023 kala itu,

Mengenang memori hitam.

Monster anomali bangkit dari kubur alam bawah sadarku.

Aku 'gendeng' gila, kata manusia sedarahku.

Aku mendengar padahal sunyi sekitarku.

Aku tak nyaman padahal tanpa masalah dengan sekelilingku.

Aku terintimidasi oleh kepalaku sendiri, padahal tak ada satupun yang ingin penggal leherku.

Hingga belulang telapak kanan jadi saksi.

Amarah tak terbendung hingga ia bergeser dislokasi.

Pikiran tuk akhiri hidup?

Makanan sehari-hari.

Tangis, hilang arah, kesepian, hilang asa?

Minuman usai makanan tiap hari, tiap waktu.

Menyala Hitamku,

Tuhan Sang Maha Semesta.

Berserta milyaran nan berjuta makhluk baik lainnya.

Takkan mampu mengubahku.

Bila kumenolak kasih-Nya.

Jika kutak acuh, seraya enggan berubah.

Takkan mampu menolongku.

Apabilaku enggan ditolong.

Sembari menolak pertolongan-Nya.

Mungkinkah hidup ini berakhir bahagia?

Bahagia bagiku, baginya yang terkasih, bagi sekitarku, bagi banyak insan senasibku, bagi agamaku, bagi bangsaku?

Mungkinkah kulayak, berpulang penuh kebaikan menemui-Mu wahai Kiblat Semesta?

Menutup nafas dan hayatku dengan tersenyum?

Berpulang bahagia, sementara bumi manusia menangis haru melepasku?

Menuju rumah, menyusul yang berpulang, menemui Kekasih-Mu, menemui sosok terkasihku, dan berakhir bersujud pada-Mu?

Mungkinkah kuberpulang dalam peluk rahmat-Mu?

Sedang hari ini kutak layak tuk Surga-Mu?

Menyala Matiku,

Meski terlalu mengandai berandai-andai.

Bila kematianku menyala, melahirkan para pembaharu.

Meski terlalu naif, berharap tutup usiaku bersama detik terakhir seruan panggilan 5 waktu-Mu.

Meski terlalu tinggi tuk berharap.

Engkau menjemputku, usai kumandangkan Asma-Mu dan Kekasih-Mu.

Sebagaimana ku dilahirkan dahulu.

Menyala Hidupku,

Selagi hariku masih menapak bumi, menatap langit bermentari, berpayung malam berembulan, dihias kerlip bintang-gemintang.

Wahai Engkau, Poros segala Keindahan.

Bolehkahku menjadi salah satu keindahan-Mu?

Bermandi pahit getir, ku Berdo'a.

Bersenjatakan Sabar ku Bersyukur.

Bogor, 18 September 2024

Rabu, 14 Rabiul Awal 1446 H

Di pembaringan dalam peraduan.

Seberang Kampus AKA Bogor, 900 meter dari Salam Bogor.

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

Wahai Engkau, Poros segala Keindahan.

Bolehkahku menjadi salah satu keindahan-Mu?

Bermandi pahit getir, ku Berdo'a.

Bersenjatakan Sabar ku Bersyukur.

*NTMS: Note to My Self - Catatan tuk diriku dan kalian sobat qwerty, pembaca yg berkunjung membaca:

Puisi itu adalah rangkuman hari-hariku semenjak melepas kepergian Almh. Ibu tertanggal 16 Agustus 2022 silam. Al-fatihah untuk beliau... Aamiin.

Dan ini sebuah catatan elaborasi ragam peristiwa sejak 2022 hingga hari ini, September 2024. Angka 730 hari lahir dari perkalian 365 kali dua.

Belakangan aku tersadar, mengapa ditinggal cinta dan kesepian selalu hadir? Karena masih ku gagal mencintai diri sendiri, sehingga mustahil ku mencintai sosok yang lain. Mustahil tulus mencintai, tulus memberi, ingin dicintai, padahal diriku yang terkadang pertama kubenci.

Terima kasih sudah membaca...mari bertukar do'a :') Do'aku untukmu: semoga baik-baik saja, sehat selalu, dan semoga mampir lagi ke blog qwerty of my life, ini.

[coochiequeens]

Speaking about his personal history with the BBC in June 2021, Petrillo said: “Until four years ago, if you’d talked to Fabrizio (the name Petrillo was given at birth), Fabrizio would have given you the idea he was sexist. He was a tough guy who’d speak dismissively of women and then be a woman in his private space.”

Another misogynist who couldn't succeed against other men.

By Genevieve Gluck August 13, 2024

A 50 year-old trans-identified male from Italy is set to become the first man to compete in a women’s category at the Paris Paralympics. Valentina Petrillo, whose birth name is Fabrizio, who competes in the women’s T12 classification, for athletes with visual impairments, and currently holds 8 women’s running championship titles, despite failing to earn even one while competing as a male.

Petrillo has been diagnosed with Stargardt disease, a disorder of the eye that causes retinal degeneration over time. Due to this visual impairment, he has been permitted to compete in both matches designated for women with disabilities, as well as those which are not.

At the Paralympic Games, which are scheduled to run from August 28 to September 8, Petrillo will run in the women’s T12 200m and 400m. He was cleared to compete against female athletes, despite being a man, by International Paralympic Committee (IPC) President Andrew Parsons. The IPC works closely with the International Olympic Committee (IOC), and the two have self-described as “strategic partners.”

Speaking to BBC Sport, Parsons revealed that the IPC does not enforce an official position for or against allowing men to self-identify into women’s sport, but rather “[allow] individual sports to make their rules in terms of transgender,” which results in rules that are “different from sport to sport.”

“Some are coming with different positions on transgender, or with the criteria to allow them or not to allow them, so I’m not surprised by the repercussions of it,” Parsons said. He added that he hoped the sporting community would “unite” on policies dealing with gender identity.

According to the World Para Athletics Championships guidance on participation, “an athlete shall be eligible to compete in women’s competition if she is recognized as female by law.” But their policy book goes on to note that it will “deal with any cases involving transgender athletes in accordance with the IOC’s transgender guidelines.”

Petrillo first changed his name to Valentina and began taking estrogen in 2019. The following year, he began competing against female athletes and has since broken multiple Italian women’s running records.

Speaking about his personal history with the BBC in June 2021, Petrillo said: “Until four years ago, if you’d talked to Fabrizio (the name Petrillo was given at birth), Fabrizio would have given you the idea he was sexist. He was a tough guy who’d speak dismissively of women and then be a woman in his private space.”

Mariuccia Quilleri, an athlete and lawyer who has represented several female athletes who oppose Petrillo’s participation in women’s races, told the BBC that inclusion had been chosen over fairness and “there is not much more we can do.”

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