#am i being doubtful??? out of fear??? or am i being lazy

[heartoflesh]

Don't be too lazy to have faith, for what can the Father not do? Tell me, what is impossible for God?

[monzamash]

easy to please lando norris x you rating – mature (sexual themes, coarse language) blurb for ✨monzamusings✨

thinking about u, the text read. above it, there was a photo – dark, a little bit blurry, possibly a figment of your weary imagination. a hand pressing down on black cotton, tanned and veiny – a hand you immediately recognised. fingers too, gripping the thin material and an outline that had you sitting up in bed, lazy smile slipping across your flushed cheeks as the picture came into focus. lip bitten. baby, was all you sent in reply. your eyelids fluttered shut momentarily, loosing the battle to sleep until you felt your phone buzzing, resting in your slack hand. they were coming thick and fast and bringing you back into the present. your fingers tingled from the sensation when you held it up and nearly dropped the bright screen on your squinting forehead. don’t baby me i miss u can i call please???? winky face emoji.

you sighed sharply into the plush pillow beside your head, wondering whether or not you had the energy for it. the appetite was always there. hell – all you could think about was him; even in the mundane moments, he was everywhere you looked – your work, your friends, the cheesy rom com that made you cry before wrapping yourself up in a blanket and falling asleep. you missed him. the back and forth, the will they won’t they bullshit nearly sending you into a spiral of complete and utter confusion. the future was uncertain; the distance between where you were and wherever he was in the world unbearable but what you did know was that you loved him, missed him. and he was yours.

heartbreakingly so. alright romeo but make it quick always am hehe. dickhead.

the phone call connected after one, maybe half a ring – there was no pretence anymore with you and lando. this was routine now, the late night calls across oceans, and it was always the same. whispered, i miss you's and i love you's, strangled moans, hands frantically chasing the high of what you knew felt like heaven together, by whatever means necessary, the best dirty talk you could ever imagine, barely tiding you over until you could be close enough to feel each other again.

“hi pretty girl.”

“hi boyfriend”

“ugh, i love it when you call me that. say it again…”

and you did, over and over until the late night giggles took hold and lando couldn’t breathe – the goofy smile scrunching the corners of his dry eyes, fatigue and exhaustion lingering in his hoarse voice.

“you should be sleeping.”

“i would be if you were here,” he stated matter of fact, not even a blinking, “i think i got used to having you with me over winter break… spoiled me too much and now i'm ruined for life.”

“so dramatic.”

“i’m being so real,” he yawned and by the soft grumble on the other end, he was definitely stretching out his sore, weary muscles like cat. there was a beat and a click of the tongue before lando spoke again, the ominous silence already making your eyes playfully roll.

“so… what are you wearing right now?”

“unbelievable…”

“you cant blame a man for asking, especially in my hour of need… show me pleeeeease” lando whined, toothy smile no doubt lining his chapped lips.

“what if I’m not wearing anything?” you taunted, snapping a quick photo and sending it through without a second thought.

lando quickly peaked, side-eyeing the screen sneakily and sighed when he realised you were pulling his chain, “i'm wearing some shirt you left behind because it’s hotter than satan's asshole here in london at the moment.”

he groaned more to himself than to you, eyes scanning your curves under the thin material, fixated on how unconstricted you were under the shirt he recognised, breasts pert. lando was restless and you really did deserve more than the desperado ‘what are you wearing’ pick up line but god, he wanted to know, no, he needed to know because if he didn't find out, he feared he may never recover.

after all, it was you that had him sick in love. and perpetually horny.

“think i might like you in my clothes more than naked…"

“you’re a sicko.”

“mmm you make me like this… and no bra, like are you trying to kill me?”

“always.”

you cupped your chest over his shirt and took another photo, teasing the gorgeous man waiting for your every move with bated breath. he’d sucked in his bottom lip, you could hear by how shallow his breathing had become, reminiscent of a panting dog – the sound alone quickened your heart rate. the image of him sitting in a hotel room alone, hand pressed to his aching cock thinking about you, parched to the point of a sleepless night was dizzying.

and it was easy with lando, the familiarity of his voice and the rhythm you effortlessly fell into. all remnants of consciousness melted away with him.

“wish i was there with you baby,” he whispered and you nodded, smiling, even though he couldn’t see how happy it made you to hear him say it.

“me too,” you sighed, relaxing into the stillness until your loud, obnoxious doorbell shook you from the peaceful silence.

“fuck!” you cursed, frozen in place.

“what?” 

“someones at the door…”

“what time is it there?”

“like 11pm… should i ignore it?” you were already grabbing the cardigan you'd thrown over the end of your bed and halfway to the door, curiosity winning out.

“nah, nah. you’re on the phone with me – answer it,” he encouraged, “i wanna make sure it isn’t your side piece coming ‘round when i’m not there.”

“ha-ha, actually my other boyfriend is already here, i've been trying to get you off the phone this whole time...”

"hmm, lucky cunt." he mumbled.

lando made you brave, stupidly brave so you swung the door open without hesitation, locked and loaded with a line of interrogating questions for the person interrupting the precious time you had with the man you love.

but you were hearing double as you held the phone to your ear and looked up – you knew that mess of frazzled curls and tired eyes anywhere, peering back with a smile the size of the moon curling at the corners of his lips. he was bundled up in a hoodie, one you knew would feel warm to the touch and smelled like him.

you had to be dreaming.

“better go tell your other boyfriend to pack his shit and get the fuck out of our house.”

“lando…” tears welled in your eyes as you lunged into his open arms.

“hi pretty girl…” he chuckled, picking you up without hesitation and hooked your legs around his waist, carrying you over the threshold.

“why didn’t you say you were coming home?”

“surprises are sexy, no?” he asked, voice deliciously low. he knew your answer.

“very sexy.” you moaned and pressed firm, fiery kisses into his strong neck, “you’re so sexy – all of this is sexy… god, i love you.”

“love you too sweetheart – let’s go to bed.”

“to sleep?” you asked, with doe-eyes and a devilish grin.

“yeah, i flew eleven fuckin' hours to just sleep… oh and by the way," lando narrowed his eyes and pointed to the crinkled shirt hanging from your shoulders, you looked a mess.

"i want my shirt back right now.”

you hummed and twirled down the hallway, “you’re gonna have to pry it off my cold, horny body, norris…”

“mission accepted,” lando confidently stated, chest puffed as he started stripping his hoodie from his body and inched closer and closer to where you were stood and all you could do was admire the gorgeous man stalking towards you.

oh, and blink a few times to make sure you definitely weren't dreaming, "i can't believe you were sexting me in the back of a cab."

“i know," he chuckled, "it was getting a bit much by the end there, so i walked the last couple of blocks to calm myself down."

you couldn't suppress the moan building in your throat at his touch and his confession – your mind was running wild, "that's so hot."

"you are." he quipped, hands slowly tracing your sides and cupping your chest in his warm palms.

"this is way better than phone sex.”

lando shrugged as you ran your hands down his toned stomach, thumbs circling the indents just above his hips, “i’ll take anything with you – it’s all good to me.”

“you’re easy to please.”

“well, you make it easy – god, look at you,” he exhaled, brushing the loose strands of hair from your face and all you could do was smile.

“i’m glad you’re home, ya goof. it doesn't feel right without you here."

“me too, baby. meee too.” lando smiled and planted a longing kiss to your pouty lips.

more writing...

bit of backstory with this blurb; it was originally going to be a follow up to another fic i wrote called lost in japan and then got buried in the wip graveyard. somehow it resurfaced in my doc folder right when i needed it and i feel like it still kinda fits in the lost in japan universe - selfishly i love those characters. anyways, i hope you enjoyed it 💋

[tame-the-lion-writes]

[miguel o'hara] holding the world

This is reposted from my AO3!

After a nightmare all about your deepest insecurities, Miguel is quick to comfort you.

In other words: I was having fun reading a filthy as fudge Miguel O’Hara fic, and all of a sudden, literary SUBDROP hit me in the face like Peter Porker had just pulled an anvil out of nowhere. SO--this short little blurb is for all my fellow Miguel O’Hara simps who need something soft to follow up that kinky shit. Not quite aftercare, but a whole--“you exist as a human being outside of sex” sort of thing. Especially when that sort of “post-nut/fic” clarity hits and you need some love. So yeah!-- love y’all.

tags: hurt/comfort, praise kink (that isn't really a praise kink but just comforting), fluff, angst, can be taken in a post-sex manner

His palm presses down harshly between your shoulder blades, forcing your face into the mattress while his free hand bruises your hip.

“This is all you’re good for–” he whispers– “and to think you’re not even that pretty.”

To say that you were innocent would be a lie, but to say that you could take little blows like that on a high without realizing how much the doubt built up would be doubly so. And while your Miguel never degraded you like that–would never even dare to go near such a thing–the insecurities had built up. The dam overflowed.

It’s what made you wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, imaginary hands on your neck lingering in the cool dark shadows.

“Mm… mi cariño? Por favor–what’s wrong?”

Miguel’s voice comes out as a mumble, muddled with sleep. And yet, his arm, formerly rested across your waist with lazy affection, is still strong as it pulls you into his chest. His face now nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Bad dream,” you answer in return. “It’s nothing… Go back to sleep.”

But he feels the way your body is stiff against his, and the way your chest rises and falls in the wake of frantic pain. He doesn’t believe you.

“I won’t until I know you’re okay. So don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

His voice is clearer now that his concern has further awakened him. But you don’t respond right away – unsure of how to do so. It was a nightmare, you tell yourself. A fear from past trauma and situationships and exes that shouldn’t – and wouldn’t – apply now. You tell yourself he loves you. Miguel loves you. You know you do. 

And yet, your brain doesn’t trust him. Refuses to. He’s too good to be true.

You overthink so much that your words don’t come out natural.

“I– I just… You– you love me, right?”

As you glance up at him, hands on his chest, you see Miguel’s soft expression harden. It almost makes you flinch: you’ve seen so many faces before that it’s hard to distinguish different types of stress. Or more like your own stress keeps you from determining his exact mood. So much so that, for a moment, you think he’ll answer no–

–but better than a yes–

–he sighs and presses his forehead against yours. Lets you feel small and safe and vulnerable all at once. In a way that you let him. And he traces the tips of his fingers down the side of your face–not quite cupping it, but brushing strands of your hair away.

“When I call you mi vida, mi amor, mi corazón – I don’t mean that you’re the love of my life. I mean that you are my heart in its entirety.” He gathers up your hands in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That I am yours as much as you are mine.”

It’s his kindness that makes you break.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just– I trust you– I swear I do. But a part of me just nags that you don’t really want me. That all I do is annoy you. That I’m not enough and never will be–”

Miguel doesn’t say anything to halt your rants. He knows you need this moment to vent, and as such, does nothing but shush you gently as he sits upright and holds you in his lap. Once your cries quiet down, he wipes away your tears with his thumb, places a kiss to your forehead. All that, and more.

And seeing you pout, he gives you this half-soft, half-teasing smile.

“... Do you need me to praise you? I’ve got a lot of those up my sleeve, you know.”

You can feel how puffy your eyes are right now. Hell, you can feel all the side-effects of ugly crying–snotty nose, congested throat, raw skin. But Miguel doesn’t seem to care as you come to nod, only complying with what you need, and speaking gently as though singing a lullaby.

“Alright, then. You’re a good girl, you know. No–the best girl. I know you try your best in everything, but when it gets hard and you just want to exist for a bit, that’s okay, too. And have I mentioned how pretty you are? Ay por Dios, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. The smartest, too. She’s got me like a fool on a leash. Imagine that…”

You can feel sleep take you once again as he speaks. And you can feel the way he moves your shared blanket over your shoulders as your eyelids droop.

What you don’t hear is how he ends his little speech, long after consciousness has departed.

“And you’ll never believe how much I love her. Like I’m holding the world in my arms.”

[bluegekk0]

I've been in such an emotional slump lately. I fear that I upset my friends without realizing and now every interaction I feel like they're mad at me. It's like every time we chat I get the impression that they're annoyed with me, I keep thinking they're being sarcastic and trying to tell me to shut up in subtle ways, but I'm scared of asking cause what if I'm overreacting like I usually do? I just hate it so much. I feel like I'm such an exhausting person to be around and a little voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me it would be better for everyone if I distanced myself.

And I'm also fighting really hard against the idea that people in general are getting bored of me. I know engagement is not everything, I know that drawing for myself should be a priority. It makes me happy, and I draw what I love BECAUSE I love it. But it's so hard for me to not hope for validation and feedback when I've been compared to others all childhood. And it stings so much when a drawing I'm super happy with maybe doesn't perform as well as I hoped (at least compares to the number of people who follow me). I don't know if it's not reaching people here or if it's just getting too repetitive for people to care anymore. Or perhaps people see my self-reblogs as desperate and get discourages from interacting for that reason? Maybe they're right for that.

I've also been looking into and educating myself on the experiences of autistic individuals since I suspect I'm on the spectrum, and I do relate to many of them, plus every test I take indicates that I might be autistic. So in theory, self diagnosing would help, right? I could stop worrying that I'm broken somehow or a failure of an adult, and just accept that my brain simply works differently and maybe even be more kind to myself. That sounds good. But then the doubts keep creeping in. I don't remember if I showed any signs in my childhood, I barely remember anything from it. So what if I'm wrong, what if there were none, and I'm just overanalyzing symptoms or even faking them? How can I consider myself part of the community if there is a chance I shouldn't be there at all? What if I'm just lazy, what if I'm an introverted, anxious loser who put themselves in this situation by being incompetent at everything, now trying to find excuses?

I don't know. There's so many exhausting thoughts that have been dragging my mood down for the past few days. And I guess I'm just waiting for it to pass since I'm so scared of actually going out there and getting help.

Well, there goes another oversharing session. I usually feel bad talking about this with my friends cause I don't want to put them under the obligation to respond. And with how terrible I am at responding to their struggles (not that I don't care, I'm just so, so bad at responding to emotions and putting my thoughts into words that don't make me sound robotic) it often feels too one sided. So I guess this is a way for me to scream into the void and give people a choice if they want to ignore it or respond. I could just write it down in a diary or something, but part of me is hoping that maybe this experience resonates with someone and I'd feel less alone. Or maybe I'm simply just desperate for advice or validation that would feed my ego.

[ko-existing]

https://www.tumblr.com/infiniteko/739604880079093760/what-kind-of-posts-answered-questions-would-you

none!! and i mean this as the HIGHEST praise imaginable. you five are like a superhero squad… my boyfriend and i call you ¡los cinco infinitos! (spanish is our first language).

the brilliance of you and realitywarpingg is your refusal to overload us with information. you keep it simple to show that it IS simple. your bluntness forced me out of a cycle of overconsumption. anytime i had a question, i learnt to rely on myself rather than ask you. i realised every question i wanted to ask was only taking me away from mySelf. and every question is futile anyway because the answer is always the same!!

what really made it ‘click’ for me was constantly investigating the ‘i’. every time you go to define (limit) yourself, or ask a question, or verbalise a doubt — find out WHO is defining/asking/doubting. really look at yourself. when you say “i understand who i am, i know i am not the body, but i still see the same thing every day” …WHO still sees the same thing every day? WHO is that ‘i’? not you!! if you know you are not the body, you must know you are not the senses either. senses are of the body… eyes see, noses smell, ears hear, tongues taste, fingers touch (all seemingly, of course)… so stop clinging to them. stop claiming any of it as yours. stop giving it any sort of meaning. pay it no mind at all, let it do it’s thing and it will dissolve. give it up entirely.

with every thought, every feeling, every desire, every fear — use it as an opportunity to look at who you are being. look at how you are identifying with the false Self. it is like a constant remembering of who you are by peeling back everything you are not. soon you’ll know it permanently and you’ll never forget it again. :)

anyway, ¡muchas gracias! thank you so much for everything you have done for me. if people stopped asking questions to you, and instead asked themselves who is the one asking the questions, they’d reach this same conclusion. i feel you have been such a great help already, and less is truly more. i think you’ve provided so much wonderful, life changing, illusion shafting insight already. that being said, i always look forward to your posts so selfishly i hope you continue to upload regardless🤭!

ANON THIS IS SO SWEET TYSM!!😭🖤

I agree with eeeeverything you said here!!💯

•"the brilliance of you and realitywarpingg is your refusal to overload us with information"

-> it's because we (infinite 5) are so lazy😭 when i stumbled across Advaita V. and saw 92738283-words long essays i vehemently refused to read more than the forst few sentences. I always looked for short videos or posts but rarely found them🕵🏻 i'm glad that you love how short we keep it. We've received some "asks" telling us to make longer posts because we explain things too vaguely(?) and were frustrated🤷🏻

i hope you don't mind if i post your experience and what made it "click" for you on IG too👁️🪷

[ananxiousgenz]

COME GET Y'ALLS JUICE I POSTED ANOTHER FIC TODAY

@izel-scribbles for you <3

There was no doubt about it: John was horribly, irrevocably in love with Arthur.

He had been for years. He knew that much now. People tend not to bargain with unknowable beings or repeatedly relive someone’s traumatic death to protect and help someone they couldn’t give a shit about. But he hadn’t reached the conclusion that he really, truly loved Arthur until a few months after their separation, on a lazy Tuesday in their shared apartment.

John had been lying on the couch, listening to some jazz music over the radio while scribbling out ideas for a poem he’d been working on. It was late afternoon, and the light shining through the windows covered everything in echoes of molten gold and fox fur and fire, staining the wallpaper all warm and bright. Specks of dust floated through the streams of it pouring into the room and lit up like stars. It was wonderfully cool outside, in contrast to the fiery sunset, and the breeze that drifted in from the window felt positively delicious in the overheated apartment. Arthur was standing over in the kitchen, starting to cook dinner, and had raised his focus from the pan in front of him to ask John a funny question that he couldn’t recall now. All he could remember was the way Arthur looked when he asked it. 

The light from the kitchen window caught in Arthur’s hair, melting into a glowing halo at the edges, and turned his eyes to a bright, gleaming amber as it gently kissed its way across his scarred face. There was a half-smile on his lips and his eyes were clear and happy as the breeze ruffled his hair. He was radiant and beautiful in a way John had never noticed before, hauntingly perfect and terrifying in the golden hour light. A saint. A memory he wished could be frozen in syrupy, amber light for the rest of his life.

John just stared, mouth slightly ajar as his stomach twisted in something akin to fear. The only thought in his head was I love you, and it was the most confident, most certain, most intense thought he had ever had in his life. And that scared him.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. No one means to fall in love, he’d learned. But if he truly understood anything about being human, it was that understanding and handling emotions was, to put it lightly, a bitch. Emotions tended to do as they pleased with little regard to logic or plans or circumstances, or the poor, wretched souls which they plagued. 

And he hated it. 

He hated it so much.  

It meant despite his best intentions, John was irrevocably in love with the man whom he had hurt, betrayed, manipulated, and fought with a dozen times over. A man who certainly cared for him, but probably, no, definitely, did not love him. Not like this. John was little more than a monster, a parasite who had sucked the life from Arthur’s eyes and soul and ruined it. 

So, now he would have to tiptoe around his feelings and act like they didn’t exist, because saying them outloud would be a death sentence for their relationship. It couldn’t be that difficult, right? John had been fairly good at keeping his thoughts to himself when he had been inside Arthur’s head. Keeping his thoughts to himself when he was outside Arthur’s head could only be easier.

Looking back, he severely underestimated how difficult it would be.

Every time John thought he’d reached some kind of maximum, that he couldn’t love Arthur any more, something new would come along and he’d go falling all over again. A mannerism he’d never really noticed before, or a new poem Arthur had taken fancy to. He often wondered if humans could die from not talking about what they were feeling, from holding it in and bottling it up and shoving it away. He knew, in one way or another, repressed grief had almost killed Arthur after he lost Faroe. Hopefully, unexpressed love didn’t do the same.

He had to bite back an I love you when Arthur took Faroe to the park again and she, in her high-pitched, small voice, leaned down to the floor of the bridge overlooking the creek and said, “Are you there, troll?” When Arthur cried and assured Faroe that he was fine, just happy, dear. When he listened to her describing the ducks in the pond with the biggest smile John had ever seen grace his face.

He had to swallow I love yous every time Arthur went out for a walk and came back with a surprise of new poetry books for John to read and study.

He almost actually said the dreaded words when Arthur laughed long and hard at a stupid joke he’d made, but just managed to catch himself before the I love you slipped past his lips.

It was to this campaign of suppressed emotions that John was dedicated when he and Arthur found themselves on a walk to the park on a dull, overcast afternoon. Faroe was at school, and Arthur needed a break from his cases before he drove his mind into the damn ground with them, so John decided some exercise would do them both good. Arthur, ever dedicated to his work, had groaned and complained about leaving loose ends unsolved, but nevertheless pulled on his shoes and coat.

They headed out of the apartment, arm in arm, Arthur chuckling good-naturedly at a wry comment John made about his case-solving habits.

“Now, John,” Arthur sighed, a lovely half-smile playing across his lips as they strode down the sidewalk together, “you can’t honestly expect me to not work? Investigative work isn’t exactly regular, but it certainly makes a good deal more money than bartending does.”

“I never said I didn’t want you to work, Arthur. I only said that maybe you were working too much,” John argued. 

“Working too much? I don’t think that’s true. Working too little, well, that seems a bit more likely,” Arthur replied, tilting his head to accentuate his point.

John sighed, and was glad, not for the first time, that Arthur couldn’t see the small, fond smile blossoming across his face. “Arthur, how many hours in the past week have you slept?”

“Well-”

“And how many times have you eaten or drank water without me reminding you?”

“John, I-”

“And exactly how much time have you spent with me or Faroe? Sitting on the couch reading case files while we are nearby does not count.”

“I’m spending time with you right now, you know. Does that count, my dear?” Arthur asked, voice dripping with affectionate sarcasm.

John rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the flutter deep in his stomach at Arthur’s oh-so casual use of a pet name. “Absolutely not. You only came with me because I dragged you out of the house. If I hadn’t forced you, you would have sat at that table until doomsday.”

“I would not!”

“Arthur, you would have!”

“That is simply untrue, John. I very much enjoy taking walks with you. They’re the highlight of my day!”

“You complained from the second you began putting your shoes on about ‘leaving loose ends untied’ and ‘time is money’.”

Arthur sighed dramatically. “Must we fight again?”

“Only if you’re going to continue being such a stubborn ass.”

“Oh come now, you know how a fight will upset the children.”

Arthur sounded like a character from one of those radio dramas Faroe was so fond of listening to, the ones where someone was always getting betrayed or making a shocking new discovery, all loud voices and exaggerated emotions and cheesy acting. John couldn’t help it. Arthur sounded so silly and ridiculous that he snorted.

Arthur paused for a second, and then grinned brighter than the summer sun at noon, clearly egged on by John’s response. “They can’t grow up in an environment like this! Do you have any idea what a divided household will do to their psyches?”

Despite his best efforts to keep it bottled up, a laugh was bubbling up John’s throat, silently shaking his chest with the force of an earthquake.

“John, we’ll simply ruin them if we keep arguing! We must keep the peace! Think of the children, darling! Will no one protect the children?!”

John had given up on trying to hold the laugh back. It exploded out of his chest in a joyous firework burst of sound, rattling through his ribcage and stomach like it was shaking him down for money. Arthur’s bright, sunny laugh joined in shortly after, and John could swear he saw it glittering like a lit sparkler as it weaved itself into the air around them. And then the two of them were laughing, almost hysterically, as they walked, arm in arm down the sidewalk, stumbling and leaning on each other as though they were drunk on happiness. And maybe they were. Could one get drunk on elation? John wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt better in his life. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until tears were streaming from both of their faces and John had to pause walking to wipe them away. 

He reached over to Arthur’s face with a gentle hand and wiped the tears away from his face as well. God, he was beautiful. Still shaky with the last few gasps of laughter, with a smile like Faroe’s on Christmas morning, sunny and beaming with joy. John smiled softly as he swiped his thumb over Arthur’s cheekbones. He wanted to hold Arthur’s face for just a moment longer. Just a second. Maybe if he wished hard enough, the moment would never pass, would be encased in amber memory forever, bright and crystalized and unbreakable and beautiful.

But the moment did pass, as all moments do. 

A sudden chorus of soft laughter drew John’s attention away from Arthur and towards a group of young ladies and gentlemen clustered farther up on the sidewalk. They were whispering and giggling to each other as they walked, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for folks of their age. But something about them made the hairs on the back of John’s neck prickle with discomfort. Their laughter and murmurings seemed too… secretive. Too accusatory. They weren’t just chattering among themselves, John realized. They were pointing, too, stealing not-so subtle glances at something they clearly found incredibly amusing. Were they laughing at him? Or Arthur?

John shook his head to clear the thoughts away as he took his hand off Arthur’s face. Maybe they had just seen an amusing film, or someone had told a funny joke about one of the nearby shops. John was just overreacting. It was fine. It had to be fine, even though every instinct he possessed was telling him otherwise. He took Arthur’s arm again and continued walking in the direction of the park. The sooner they made it away from this group, the better he would feel.

A distant roll of thunder shivered through the air as John locked eyes with one young lady whispering into the ear of a friend, who pointed at John and Arthur while snickering in response to her silent comment. John’s stomach twisted in humiliation and fury. 

They were laughing at him and Arthur.

John took a shaky breath in and grit his teeth as he glared at the group passing by. One of the boys stuck out his tongue. Whispers of “fucking queers” and “homosexuals” in venomous tones floated over the breeze and into John’s ears. Another child picked up a small pebble from the sidewalk and threw it in their direction as he passed, hitting John squarely between the shoulders. John froze in his tracks.

The fragment of a god that still lived in his heart wanted to rip them all to shreds, watch them bleed out and suffer on the sidewalk for the crime of daring to laugh at a being so powerful their mortal minds could barely comprehend its edges. He felt so sharp and angry that he wondered if he could spear them all through just by spitting at them. Maybe he could get away with tearing them limb from limb with his bare hands. But part of him didn’t want to start a fight and just wanted to leave as quickly as possible. If he fought, Arthur could get hurt again, and it would be just another way John had ruined his life. That damned bit of humanity that was lodged in his soul wouldn’t let him cause Arthur any more pain (and John was finding that the human part tended to win out these days). He was still for a moment longer, listening to the battle of god and mortal raging in his mind.

And then John, former piece of the King in Yellow, put his head down and walked away, dragging a very confused Arthur with him.

He was crying a bit as they turned the corner he realized, furious tears carving hot, woodburned lines down his face and turning the world into a wobbly, grey mess. He felt so fucking small. So humiliated. And raw. And angry. Over something as stupid as a kid laughing at him. A kid laughing at him had enough power to make him cry? How perfectly fucking ridiculous. It only made him feel worse.

“John? John, what’s wrong?”

Arthur sounded so concerned, so gentle and careful with his words. He always did when John got upset like this. But John stayed silent, jaw locked in place with the force of his fury, like toffee sticking sickly sweet between his teeth. Some part of him was afraid that if he spoke, the words would burst on his tongue like a series of grenades, and the shrapnel would kill him and Arthur both. 

“John. John, please. Please slow down for a minute.”

John just kept walking, making a sharp right into the gates of the park and crunching his way along the gravelly walkway. Before him, trees covered in their late summer leaves dotted across the meadow and near the edge of the pond, which was coated with a thin layer of ducks and frogs and lily pads. The last of the summer wildflowers wobbled in the breeze as thunder grumbled its way overhead, a warning bell for the storm to come, and John wished for a moment he had the foresight to grab an umbrella on his way out of the apartment. It was some small distraction from the clamoring mess of angry emotions all vying for attention in his head. 

“John! For fuck’s sake, will you stop walking and talk to me?!”

John stopped in his tracks. “What do you want, Arthur?” He cringed as the words left his mouth far sharper and more vicious than he had meant them to be.

Arthur’s face was pinched with concern that had mutated into frustration as he took a step forward and glared up in John’s general direction. “What the fuck happened? Why were you rushing off like that?”

“It’s nothing,” John huffed. “I’m fine.”

“No, you are not, and don’t you even fucking think of trying to lie to me.”

John sighed deeply. Damn Arthur’s fucking detective instincts. Damn them all to hell. “I don’t want to talk about it, Arthur. Have you ever considered that?”

“At least give me an idea!”

“Why should I?”

“I’m assuming you saw something I didn’t, and it’s a bit difficult to figure out what is visually wrong when you’re fucking blind, John. So what happened?”

John sat in that stony silence for a moment, staring at Arthur’s determined and frustrated expression. Overhead, the thunder loudly voiced it’s complaints about their conversation, and a few drops of cool rain began to fall.

“Those kids were laughing at us,” John muttered, feeling his face begin to grow hot with embarrassment.

“What?” Arthur asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“There was a group of kids on the sidewalk that passed us. They were… pointing at us. Laughing to each other.”

“I heard them laughing, yes. That’s what upset you so badly?”

“We needed to leave,” John huffed. “We were at risk.”

“They were kids, John. I don’t think we were in any real danger-”

“They were calling us names! They threw a fucking rock at me!” 

“And that’s what children do! How many times has Faroe thrown a toy at you? Or shredded papers because she was playing pretend?” Arthur shouted, spreading his arms open wide.

“This was different,” John growled, the thunder rumbling in answer to his tone as the rain began to pick up.

“How, John? How was this different?”

“We were in danger! You could have gotten hurt, Arthur!”

“John, for the last fucking time, they were kids. I think I can handle myself around children.”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“You don’t need to keep me safe!”

“Yes, I do!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

John immediately regretted ever having vocal chords of his own. Arthur was silent. The only sound was the heavy rainfall, thick drops mirroring the sudden, fearful tears sliding down John’s face as he stared in horror at Arthur’s reaction. He seemed frozen, his eyes were blown wide with surprise and mouth open in a small, tight oh. Even as the rain began to soak through his hair and coat, he still looked so fucking beautiful. 

“I love you, Arthur, alright? I can’t- I haven’t been able to say it because I know it would mess everything up. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

And John couldn’t bear to look at him. At what he had done. He’d just fucked up everything so beautifully, hadn’t he? First he couldn’t stand up for himself (against a group of kids no less), then he admits to being in love with his best friend in the pouring rain, which would give them both a nasty cold if they didn’t get out of it soon, and he would never be able to talk to Arthur normally again without this moment appearing and making everything awkward-

And then Arthur’s hand was on his cheek.

John froze and could have sworn his heart skipped a beat as Arthur’s fingers brushed gently over his features, outlining his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, his lips. This was… unexpected. The look on Arthur’s face was so soft, so tender. Nothing at all like the frustrated explosion it had been only moments before. His amber eyes flicked back and forth across John’s face with no clear point of focus. There was some emotion lurking in them that John couldn’t quite catch. Pain? Longing? He couldn’t tell. Thunder crackled across the sky, accompanied by a flash of purple-white lightning. The rain kept falling. Arthur leaned in like he was going to whisper something in John’s ear, and then hesitated.

And then Arthur’s lips were on his, and it was like the world exploded.

The cold drops of rain were gone, and the thunder nothing more than background noise for the fireworks show happening in John’s head. Everything in the whole wide world was replaced by the warm press of Arthur’s lips on his. Every nerve in his body was alive and sparkling like sunlight dancing across water and Jesus Christ, if this wasn’t what John had wanted for so long, had dreamed about for months on end. It was exactly as perfect as he had imagined it would be, and God, it felt so good to kiss Arthur. So right. So warm and close and beautiful, fucking hell, was this why people kissed each other? To feel like this? John had been missing out, hadn’t he? 

Arthur pulled away first and pressed his forehead to John’s. “Always so dramatic,” he murmured with a smile.

John’s brain was short-circuiting. There were thoughts scrambling around his head so rapidly it was difficult to simply pick one to voice aloud. “I- wait. You- you don’t hate me?”

Arthur chuckled. “No, you absolute idiot. Or else I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I- you kissed me…” John said through a daze. He half wondered if his legs would be able to keep him upright for the time it would take them to walk back to the apartment. Currently, they seemed to be about the consistency of jelly, and the rain making the path under their feet slippery wasn’t exactly helping matters.

“In case the kiss didn’t make it clear, I… I love you too, John. I have for a long time,” Arthur said softly, running his fingers along John’s jaw. “Thank you for looking out for me, darling. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was just trying to understand.”

John was glad yet again that Arthur couldn’t see the giddy grin and blush that had taken over his face when Arthur said the word “darling”. He probably looked fairly stupid, but he could care less. Arthur loved him, too. Arthur felt the same way. Jesus Christ Almighty, Arthur had just kissed him.

“Uh huh,” John breathed, trying not to completely fall over. “Yeah. Okay.”

Arthur chuckled a bit. “Did you think I didn’t feel the same way?”

“I- Well, how was I supposed to know?! I’m not a mindreader!”

“Christ, John, you can be dense sometimes, can’t you? I think it has been fairly obvious that I am in love with you.”

“Obvious to you! I’m sorry your uptight English nature isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to read,” John said, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“Hey now, my ‘uptight English nature’ has gotten us both out of plenty of scrapes and you know it,” Arthur replied, a sunny grin gracing his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about how your pretty face has saved us all,” John said with a sigh.

“You think my face is pretty?”

John froze for a moment before he grabbed Arthur’s arm and turned sharply on his heel in the direction of the park gates. “Let’s go before we both catch pneumonia!”

“John, you didn’t answer my question,” Arthur said in a sing-song voice, falling into step beside John as they began to make their way home.

John sighed heavily. “Yes, Arthur, I think your face is pretty. Oh, wipe that smug grin off. Have a little mercy on me.”

“Who’s grinning?” Arthur asked, smiling from ear to ear like the damn Chesire cat from Faroe’s books.

John rolled his eyes again. It was going to be a long, lovely walk back to the apartment.

[infamous-if]

Praying for your inbox. 41 and trying to hold Sebastian's hand?

gulps

Doubt.

You hate that word.

As a singer, you're not allowed to feel it. Doubt means messing up a line, going off-pitch, doubt means ruining everything you worked for.

Doubt means possibly embarrassing yourself in this parking lot.

Sebastian leans against the hood of his car, pale fingers curled around the steaming cup of coffee. Swirling neon lines from the DINER sign blurs in the puddle of water left behind from this morning's storm. It's night now, and if it weren't for the lights that illuminate the lot you wouldn't have been able to see Seb's face.

Which would've been so much better.

He stares into the diner, keeping an appraising eye on the customers inside. You noticed something about him recently; how alert he is. How aware he can be. His eye never remain in one place too long. You wonder if that's a product of being a parent. Even when Maya is safe in the hotel, Sebastian can't help but soak in the world as if waiting to be attacked.

You find it endearing most of the time. Now? You wish he would just look at you.

Look at me, you urge silently. Your eyes narrow just a bit, willing for some hypothetical latent mental telepathy to suddenly work. Don't you want to look at me?

He doesn't.

You stand next to him, your feet in front of you as you absently tap on your own drink. The air is musty, humid from the rain, and you two stand side by side, silent. His arm brushes yours on occasion, and when it does, you feel his eyes flicker to your face in your periphery. If you move your foot one inch to the left, your toes would be touching. If you inch closer, your hips.

So close, and yet.

"I like this," Sebastian says suddenly. You jolt, turning to him just as he hops on the hood of his car, legs dangling. "The silence that doesn't feel like silence.'

You quirk a small smile. After a moment of indecision, you pull yourself up by your hands to sit next to him. The whole left side of your body presses against his, but he doesn't seem to mind. Instead, his offers you a small, lazy smile.

"Silence that doesn't feel like silence?" you prompt, your breath growing a bit thin under his casual stare.

He shrugs, looking out into the empty street. "The world is never silent. You hear the wind, the cars. We're always so caught up in our lives...we never take a moment to soak in the small things. It's nice to just...be." He wrinkles his nose, the blush rising on his face so deep you can see it even against the harsh lights . "I'm sorry. That was cheesy-"

You shake your head fervently. Cheesy or not, you're willing to listen to anything Seb says if it means witnessing the sparkle he got in his eyes when he spoke. It's rare you see this Sebastian; the one who speaks freely, who offers lazy smiles like he has an endless amount of them, the one who just wants to sit next you in a diner parking lot that smells vaguely of cigars and exhaust. The one that says cheesy things without thinking because he's comfortable enough to.

"It wasn't cheesy at all," you say. "I like..." You swallow. "I like just...being with you."

There's a moment of non-reaction, and part of you fears you may have crossed a line. Then Seb smiles a little, keeping his eyes on the lights of the diner. "I like just being with you too. I..." He thinks for a moment. "I like who I am with you."

Your heart races. That familiar doubt rises again when your eyes settle on Sebastian's hand, which rests comfortable on the hood. When you look back up at him, you realize his chest has stopped moving, as if he's holding his breath.

Doubt. You shake it from your mind and slowly, very slowly, let your fingers creep to his until they settle on the back of his hand.

Seb stills and his eyes glance down. You begin to pull your hand away, feeling foolish and a bit pathetic.

"I'm sorry, that was... embarrassing-"

"No!" He grabs your hand in mid-air. His voice is quick and not to mention loud, so loud in the emptiness of the parking lot that he squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. When he opens them again, he smiles. "Don't." His movements start off slow: one finger on another, one thumb grazing your knuckles, until he's turning your hand around to hold it completely. In a move that sends you yelping, he pulls you closer and your upper-body practically falls on his lap. "Don't apologize."

You huff a small laugh of your own and let your head rest against his chest. You don't even remember why you were questioning yourself so much. Now that you're here in Seb's arms, this is exactly where you should be.

[sauriansolutions]

Just a lil slice of TreyJade

... featuring eel-form Jade being a scary, teasing predator, and Trey being totally into it.

Also, feedism--I left the actual feeding part as a cliffhanger though, because I am lazy evil. Muahaha.

♧

Trey arrived at the largest of Octavinelle's pools, with a large picnic basket under his arm and a swing in his step. Setting the basket down, he sat by the pool, took off his shoes, cuffed his pants, and gingerly dipped his toes in the inky black water. He introduced his bare feet slowly, one centimeter at a time, getting used to the cold that nearly took his breath away.

He was not there for more than a minute before v-shaped ripples appeared in the water, heading his way.

Soon a spiky dorsal fin appeared, cutting through the water faster than seemed natural. Trey resisted the urge to yank his feet back out of the water.

Before him, Jade appeared, breaching the water only to chin-height, so his mouth was out of the water enough to take in a breath of air, then say, "You know, if it had been Floyd swimming tonight, I doubt he could've resisted the urge to grab your ankles and pull you under."

Trey only chuckled. 

"Yeah, but I knew it was you. And you'd never do such a thing."

Jade reached out to put a wet hand on Trey's knee, pulling himself further up out of the water, head tilting to the side as his gills widened to exhale water, so he was breathing air properly.

"You knew it was me?"

"Sure," Trey replied, placing his own hand atop the ice-cold, webbed one. "You agreed to meet me here tonight."

He leaned forward to give the eelmer a kiss on the forehead--laughing as the Jade's ear-fins flared in response.

"Also," Trey pointed out, "you always swim in straight lines, while Floyd... well."

Jade lowered his head and grinned toothily.

"That my brother gets easily distracted is no secret."

"Ah," Trey laughed too, adjusting his glasses, "I was going to say he 'tends to meander more,' or something like that."

"My dear Trey-san." Jade slid what Trey realized was a shoulder-strap down the length of one finned arm, and hauled what at first appeared to be some sort of messenger bag, dripping, out of the water. "Diplomatic as ever."

"Naturally," Trey replied, one eyebrow raised pointedly at the bag Jade was setting down at the pool's edge beside him. 

He now realized the bag was more of a woven net, filled to the brim with dark, glistening shapes that were shedding water rapidly, and... 

Some were wriggling.

Trey coughed.

"Not that I want to dissuade you from thinking that I'm 'diplomatic,'" he said, scooting to the side in hopes of keeping the growing puddle of water seeping out of the net-bag from completely soaking his pants, "but did you just put a bag of live sea creatures next to me?"

Jade somehow managed to make a chortle sound predatory. A clawed, web-fingered hand went up to cover his mouth. Glints of dagger-like teeth showed just a bit through his fingers.

"My apologies, Trey-san, but... I thought we had agreed to share our meals with each other tonight?"

"Oh," Trey said, looking at the bag of squirming fish and unidentifiable other things, and biting his lip. "So you just brought a ton of seafood. I could've guessed."

"Fresh-caught," Jade said by way of agreement. The eel grinned proudly, even as he ducked his head to pick something *large* from between his teeth. "You'll forgive me if I helped myself to a few of the unlucky morsels that I couldn't quite fit in the bag before you arrived. The nostalgia of aquatic hunting does whet my appetite so."

This statement was punctuated with a low, gurgling growl, which it took Trey a belated moment to realize had come from Jade's stomach, distorted and muffled slightly by being still underwater.

"Oh," Trey said, "yeah. That's. Ummm. You're hungry, huh?"

He could feel his face burning. Hoping to distract from how flustered he was feeling, he turned and pulled his own picnic basket closer.

"Well, fear not," Trey assured, lifting the basket lid and tilting it slightly to show off its contents to Jade. "I came prepared."

Indeed, Trey had packed his basket to the brim with goodies: chicken salad sandwiches on croissants with fresh veggie sprouts, cheese and jelly danishes, mini-quiches in cupcake foil, pasta salad, and spicy deviled eggs topped with green onions and bacon.

While Trey was in his element baking-- his cookies and cakes that were the undisputed centerpieces of Heartslabyul's famous Unbirthday parties--his picnic game was not to be underestimated.

"That looks, and smells, simply delectable, Trey-san," Jade murmured, pupils narrowing to sharp little pricks as he took in the picnic basket's contents. Muscles cording up, like a big cat getting ready to pounce.

Though he trusted Jade, Trey couldn't help the instinctual shiver that ran down his spine, as some instinct-driven, ancestral part of his brain recognized the intent of the huge seafaring predator who'd practically crawled into his lap, licking his lips with a delicate, baby-blue tongue, nearly twice the length of Trey's.

Seawater had at this point soaked fully through Trey's pants, making Trey glad that he'd had the foresight to bring a change of clothes. He just hoped the oddly glittery mucosal layer coating Jade's eel-hide would come off in the wash.

"Careful," Trey warned, as Jade's dripping upper body leaned ever closer to the picnic basket. "If you get the sandwiches wet, they'll fall apart."

Jade halted in his advance, then lowered his upper body down into the water, chin resting on Trey's knee, affecting a pout. Twelve feet away, Trey could see the fan-like tip of the eel's tail flicking back and forth, disgruntled.

"Then how am I supposed to eat them?" Jade asked sadly.

Trey ran his fingers comfortingly through Jade's damp hair, a sly grin forming.

"Well--and this is only a suggestion--but, you *could* let me feed them to you."

Jade gazed up at him, eyes narrowing, but forming arched half-moon shapes that Trey at this point knew signified amusement rather than annoyance.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jade nearly purred.

Trey tried but likely failed to keep the shiver of anticipation from his voice as he confessed, 

"Yes, I'd like that a lot."

[itgirl-111]

IMPOSSIBLE? WHATS THAT?

Impossible doesn't exist in my reality. I am the best to ever do it. Whatever they do i do it million times better. I am the blueprint. I fully understand that my mind is infinite and the world is just a mirror. Hence anything is possible. I do not doubt if something's possible or not because to me all things are possible. I am truly limitless. I have no limits. I am incomparable. I am unmatched. There's no one who compares to Me. Every little detail about me is so lovable and admirable. I simply dream high and achieve even higher. Everything is way too easy for me. They didn't know perfection until they saw me. I exceed everyone's expectations all the time. I am perfect from every pov. I am literally flawless.. I am once in a lifetime. It's Way too easy for someone to be obsessed with me. I am nothing like they've ever seen before. I invoke deep, intense emotions in people and make them feel like in utopia. I am the embodiment of first love. I am the embodiment of pure art. I am pure perfection. All I do is literally win. I raise the bar higher than ever. I am the blueprint. Nothing can match me. No one can match me, I'm just too perfect. I just keep going higher and higher. There is no peak to me. Everytime I just keep getting a billion times better. I am literally my best self. I couldn't imagine being someone else, all the beautiful qualities I have are just too unique and perfect. I am mentally, physically, spiritually, professionally perfect 24/7. I am literally perfect in every single way. I am beyond perfection. I literally have no flaws. The world hasn't seen something like me before. There could never be someone like me in the next billion years and there was and is no one like me. I am too unique. I offer things to the world no one does. I don't need to fix or change anything about myself. I am perfect in every way and I couldn't be anyone else and no one could be like me. I am everyone's first choice and top priority. I am literally so chosen all the time. I am the most special person people are so afraid to lose me. People literally throw the best opportunities at me because they know I deserve it the most. I never fail. I only win. Success begs to stay with me. Success and luck is my best friend. I have everything i need to be successful already. I always look best, feel best and achieve the best. I am out of everyone's league. I am everyones favourite. I am unforgettable. The vibe and the hype it creates is something unforgettable. I feel so nostalgic yet new. I am so one of a kind. I stand out way too easily. I only accept the princess treatment I deserve. I am love and abundance. I give a vibe like no other. You can never find someone like me because there's no one who is quite as perfect as me. I am simply unmatched. It's a fact not an opinion. It is so hard to not love me. It's so hard not to choose me

People beg to give me all of their love, attention, money, opportunities and happiness. Why am I so perfect? I am so limitless. It's impossible to not fall in love with me whether it's romantic or platonic. I am 100% confident that I'm successful in every way and I always will be. My beauty, success, and talents know no bounds. Everything works out in my favor. Everything happens better than i expected. Everything goes a billion times better than I expect it to go. Every day I become the best and the best version of myself. I am so amazing. The world is literally my oyster. Everything is equally easy to manifest. I literally am THE BEST. I Am so heavenly and beyond perfection

There's no limit for me, doubts, fears, negativity, competition, external validation, laziness doesn't exist at all. Only good things happen to me. Good things are literally begging to happen to me all day every day. I don't chase, I attract. Only the BEST most perfect opportunities chase me. I always make my future self proud all the damn time. My mere existence leaves people speechless and leaves their body with sheer goosebumps. I am nothing like the world has ever seen. Without a doubt they know I'm the best and no one does it like me. It only keeps getting better and better from here. I truly am beyond anyone's imagination…a dream come true.

2023 is my year and it only keeps getting better and better.

[4ga1n5t-4ll-4uth0r1ty]

ive rummaged through my brain thoroughly and I believe i am pretty confident for what is going on /gen (this post is mostly for me, but can be helpful to others :] )

trigger warnings for below - suicide mention, sh, (y'all i need help with trigger warnings idk what to put and i don't want anyone to be hurt TT)

what i definitely might have

trauma that poses as factitious disorder

OCD - 100% - diagnosed, experienced since age 6

anxiety - 100% - diagnosed, experienced since toddler hood

depression - 100% - undiagnosed, experienced since this year (comes with suicidal thoughts !1! :D)

dyscalculia - 55% (im not sure. im told i have it by my psychiatrist and mother quite frequently, but i think im just bad at math. I've only exaggerated on it once, with me "switching around the numbers 6 and 7") - diagnosed, experienced since birth

PTSD - 100% - assessing, experienced since age 2, only found out this year

autism - 100% - verbally diagnosed, experienced since birth

ADHD - 100% - verbally diagnosed, experienced since birth

things i have faked

hallucinations - i do have them, just not to the extent i say. the fears that have emerged from them are real

ASPD - don't know why, the stigma surrounding ASPD is already horrible (which no one should go through simply because of their disorder, it's not right)

chronic fatigue - i do experience quite a large amount of fatigue on a constant basis, but not to the point of it being chronic and as serious as the condition. fatigue, chronic or not, is not 'laziness' and should not be labelled as such.

schizophrenia - i don't know when exactly it started, the hallucinations i would force myself to have started to actually happen though

^^ THERE ARE MORE, ITS JUST VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING RIGHT NOW AND I CANT THINK TT

one thing that makes me doubt things is the amount of disorders/disabilities that are labelled as 'what i definitely might have', so they may change. let me know if any of them don't work together and i will continue to look into my head. I want to stop lying

one thing i know for sure is that none of my experiences/stories are fake, so please don't take them as such

most of my vents are real and genuine, if i delete them, they either weren't or i was just embarrassed about my feelings

all the sh, meltdowns, shutdowns, stimming, and hyperfixations (can i call them that ? im not sure TT) are genuine

i am so so so so sorry to everyone i have lied to and manipulated

[secretwhumplair]

Lazy morning

1,212 words | Sevenlands - Niveus & Tern (sequel to Tern)

Content | Slavery, fear of punishment, conditioning, assumed betrayal, hunger

Notes | Tern settles into his new home. Or does he?

He's just not used to good things. Including his new name.

Taglist | @whump-blog

The slave woke warm, and that was the first indicator something was off.

Warm, and soft, and comfortable in a way that simply never happened.

He opened his eyes, and the memory hit him with the force of a wyvern’s jaws. He was in a bed, in a bedroom, and by the grace of his new masters, he would be every night for the foreseeable future. Gosling had assured him of it. Gosling, who had been so kind and gentle and friendly.

He was no longer alone.

Except, in taking in the room and the light falling in through the window, he realized he now was, and, much worse, he had overslept.

His insides froze. This was exactly why he couldn’t be allowed to be too comfortable. It was his very first day with his new masters, who had extended so much mercy towards him, and he had already failed, before he even had the chance to attempt being useful. He could barely breathe at the thought of what punishment such blatant misbehaviour would incur, a misbehaviour that never would have occurred under his old master, who knew to keep him in line. Tears pushed into his eyes at the realization. He always had believed he could be good if his master went a little easier on him, and now that it had happened, he couldn’t.

The fact that the other slaves had not woken him, left him behind to earn a punishment he couldn’t even imagine with how little he knew this new place, barely added to the pain piercing through his chest. He was not used to having companions, anyway.

There was nothing he could do but crawl out of bed - oh, he would not earn its continued use, perhaps they would just resell him right away for the useless thing he was - and dress with trembling hands; his body still hurt as he moved, but that never mattered. His old, tattered clothes had been taken away, and he slipped out of the new nightshirt he had been granted into a new set of work clothes, and he had repaid all these mercies with nothing but disobedience.

He didn’t know what to do or where to go once he was done. He didn’t know the house, or what work would be expected of him; he had received no orders, but that was no excuse for being idle.

He remembered where the kitchen was, and surely there was some work to do there. Trembling in every limb, he left the slaves’ quarters, half-expecting one of his new masters to catch him and deliver the punishment he dreaded.

It was inevitable, of course. He deserved it, and he shouldn’t even try to delay it; it would make nothing better.

He reached the dining room he had been so generously fed in the night before, and sure enough, one of the masters - the daughter, Tertia - was sitting at the table, and put her book down as he entered; no doubt she had been waiting for him.

He fell to his knees. He wanted to apologize with every fiber of his being, wanted to beg for mercy, but had he been given permission to speak? His old master didn’t care much, he enjoyed hearing his fruitless pleas, but everything was different here, and he so needed to learn what the rules were, if only anyone would help him.

The young mistress looked alarmed. »Hey, Tern!«

»I’m sorry, Mistress,« he blurted out, his tears escaping him. »I - it won’t happen again, I am so sorry, I will be useful, I’m sorry-«

»Tern! Here, sit.« She rushed over to him and he shrank back, but she only gently touched his arm and directed him to a chair. »What happened?«

What happened? What did she want to hear - what was the meaning of this? His old master had been merciless, but he had never played this sort of mind games, and for the briefest moment, he wished for it back. »I - I overslept,« he whispered, the shame of it not quite drowned out by the fear of what it would lead to. »It won’t ever happen again, I, I’m sorry-«

»No, no, it’s alright.« The mistress sat down next to him. He couldn’t look at her, only staring down at the teardrops falling uselessly into his lap. »No, listen, we figured we’d let you sleep in - you were exhausted, and you’re injured. It’s alright, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry this wasn’t - made clear, it was kind of a spontaneous decision.«

He slowly looked up, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. He had been allowed to sleep in? That wasn’t - that wasn’t how anything worked. He was a slave, he was supposed to work, not laze away the day in a comfortable bed, and the certainty of bad things happening when he didn’t was anchored deeply in his soul. And injured? A few whipmarks and bruises had never been an excuse.

It didn’t make any sense.

The mistress smiled at him. »It’s really okay. Let’s get some breakfast into you and then I’ll show you around, alright? I can’t ride anyway, so.«

Right, she had been injured for his sake, that was the only reason she could be bothered with him at all. He wished she’d simply show him a task to do, so he could prove he was useful, at least a little, even if it had never been good enough. He didn’t want to lose this, even if he didn’t deserve it, he didn’t want to be sold again to another uncertain future.

He almost missed the part about breakfast until she pulled a bowl of porridge from across the table in front of him. There was fruit in it - a foreign fruit of this land so far from anything he was familiar with - as if the taste was of any matter.

He was still hungry. He felt he shouldn’t be, he had gotten to eat so well only last night, but he was. And despite everything the mistress had said and done, his mind found it impossible to believe this was for him.

»Go on, eat.« She didn’t even sound impatient, although she certainly could have. She sounded gentle, and he ate.

The porridge had cooled, it must have stood here for a while while he was in bed for far too long, but that was no detriment, not when the climate was so wonderfully warm. He was so used to being cold every day; even just believing he deserved the weather here was difficult. The porridge was filling and the fruit sweet and tasty. It was far too good to believe.

He realized the mistress was waiting for him to finish, even as she went back to her book, and he hurried to finish his meal. He found himself calming down somewhat as he ate. His fear was not gone - it never was - but he understood the latest wave had been over nothing, his masters had decided for him he should sleep in, and the others had, of course, respected that decision.

Now all that was left was to prove his usefulness.

»Finished?« The mistress smiled at him, putting her book down again. »Alright, I’ll show you the stables.«

[qumiiiquinnquin]

im scared to tell my psychiatrist i tried to end myself twice within a month (sep-oct). i dont know why i am. i have to call the office myself since im an adult now, but im really scared making phonecalls. i have to do it because its been since april that ive seen my psychiatrist but i have to do it. i dont know when ill do it, im too scared. that fear frustrates my family a lot. i feel like im already a failure of an adult and will continue to be like that forever.

today was mostly good, just uneventful until this evening. but now im feeling depressed and i want to cry until i cant anymore, but i cant cry, so i just feel bad. i dont feel tired so i dont want to sleep, but its almost midnight so i should soon. im feeling stressed out about needing to call the psychiatrist's office, so i dont feel like i can relax at all.

ive just been feeling bad a lot lately but thats not new, i say think that to myself every other week or so. whats making me sad the most right now is hating my art. i dont have any confidence in my art but i want to get better, but i dont think i ever will. i will always have mediocre talent, no matter how hard i try. i keep thinking about burning my physical art and either deleting my digital art or just even destroying my laptop, though the latter is very excessive, but i still think about it every now and then out of frustration. i want to give up but i really dont know what else id do, ive always drawn since i was very little, its always made me happy. i really want to not care how upset stopping would make people, including myself, but if i dont stop out of just purely giving up, i probably will stop because i k!lled myself.

every day is feeling the same, it even felt that way when classes were still going. i got so used to the schedule that i got used to the systematic cycle. i partially dont want classes to start again because of that, its boring and the amount of work is stressful, im just going to go back to breaking down and nearly attempting from stress and lack of confidence that i can really do this, that i can really power through and get the degree i want. i keep getting told im smart and always work hard, but that really doesnt mean anything now. being and doing those things doesnt suddenly mean that because of those things, ill survive the stress. it only actually makes it worse, like im ridiculous for feeling the pressure and have the mental health collapses that i do because of college, that im not trying hard enough and am lazy.

for some reason the desire for love has been on my mind and i dont know why, youve seen the pathetic longing things i say about romance. right now i feel like i am missing out and am a failure by societal standards for not even have dated in my life, and i still dont have a partner at 18 years old. i feel extremely lonely to the point that seeing other couples makes me depressed, which is probably selfish of me. i feel like and believe now that i will always be alone. i know i am not beautiful to anyone, i know i am not funny, i am not interesting, im a pain in the ass, im too much to deal with and am just unlovable in general. i hate feeling this way, i never cared about romance or relationships and have always been repulsed at the idea of me ever being loved romantically or being in a relationship. i feel stupid. i feel like a jerk. i feel like i deserve to be alone forever, and i really do. or maybe, just end myself, if im so unlovable in every way, then why not just weed myself out? whoever takes my place will be much more worth it than i ever could be. its so stupid thinking about myself d*ing from a broken heart. "just grow up, sad excuse of a grown adult." (in quotes because its a direct thought to myself towards myself, nobody else)

i really doubt everything will get better, ive felt this same exact way for 3 years now. sad, burntout, stressed, like im nothing but a problem for my family, a burden and waste of time to be around or talk to or care about. i did attempt once in 2021 but failed, obviously im still alive. i really want to try again. im really scared of pain, so im trying to find the quickest way or the least painful option. if i just call, i can get different meds or a different dosage and i wont feel this terrible. im so childish for an adult to be unable to make a fucking phonecall. i feel like next year might be it, im not sure why i get that feeling, but i dont have any reason to keep going. im not looking forward to anything. nothing is really that fun or exciting, i just try to distract myself. i know im not wanted, and im too difficult for my family.

its now a half hour after midnight because im incapable of shutting the fuck up. i might just lay down and watch youtube or cry myself to sleep, whichever happens first

[danielle-exposed]

EXPOSED

I am going to die. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But someday I will die. Death is the ultimate unknown. I have gone through an eclectic process of determining what I believe happens after death. I was raised religious and, for most of my life, thought I had the good fortune of being born into a community that had all the answers. Lucky me. When I was 19, I was given the opportunity to begin to doubt everything I had been taught. I then spent the next 15 years seeking answers on my own. Regardless of what I currently believe will happen after I die, the truth of the matter is that I simply don’t know. How wild is it that at any given moment, I might end not knowing if that end is final or a transition of some kind? If it is a transition, will that transition be pleasant or unpleasant? I don’t know. Do you? What do you think you know? If you are blessed to have been given the answers, is there not the tiniest seed of doubt? Do you fear death? For me, the option to die has often been a source of consolation. Having the ability to make it all end has afforded me comfort in my darkest hours. A couple of years ago, my aunt took her own life. She stabbed herself in the neck. I think about that often. Out of all the times I’ve fantasized about taking my own life, I never once considered severing my jugular. I can’t help but wonder if she was murdered. The police report says suicide. Perhaps when I die, I can ask her and perhaps not. When I’m fantasizing about death, I get into the nitty gritty details. I wonder about my dirty laundry. Should I wash it first? I would feel bad about leaving it for someone else to deal with. I suppose it would be easier to just throw it away. I would feel bad about that, too, though. There’s laundry at the very bottom of the hamper that has been there for at least a year. It’s the articles of clothing that need to be dry cleaned or hand washed that I never seem to get to. Am I really just going to leave with that unfinished business? Why is laundry such a pain in the ass? As I’m working through everything I would need to do before I would feel okay about killing myself, I realize it would be easier to just live. Laziness is what keeps me going.

I should probably get to the point of this blog. I do have a point and there is a clue in the title. I aim to expose myself; the good and the bad. Confession is a known cathartic process. It’s been made acceptable only behind a veil or the closed doors of a therapist’s office with the listeners sworn to secrecy. And why must it be secret? Because we are afraid if people knew our secrets they wouldn’t like us anymore.

Well I’m going to share all my secrets with you; from my most shameful thought to my most tender desire. Secrets breed separation and loneliness. I have felt alone most my life. Perhaps by reading my secrets, you will feel a little less alone.  

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 6: Houseguest

The sound of a door opening jolts me awake. The clock shows 9:45, so Q must have just got out of work.

“Bloody Hell! Did you break into my apartment?” The geek shouts from behind me.

“Good evening, Q.” I try to turn my head to see him better. He’s wearing a different shirt, no doubt having sweated through the other one due to all the stress at work. “Eve gave me the entry code. Not breaking in at all. Nice cats, by the way.”

All 3 cats have settled next to me on the couch with lazy expressions. Q ignores my comment and walks over to stand in front of me. I can see he’s been working hard today from the dark circles under his eyes, making me wonder how Bond’s doing.

“Eve gave you the code to my apartment? She failed to mention you were coming. What happened?”

“When I got home I found out my apartment had been broken into, so Eve told me to come here. You have no idea how glad I am that you’ve got a real security system.” Q’s bewildered expression changes to one of concern as he walks over to sit next to me. “I’d have made dinner but didn't mean to pry into your kitchen. Your sense of style is certainly unique. Clean, but more colorful than I expected.”

Q stares at the floor. “You didn’t file a report. You went back out in broad daylight with nothing but a cat and a loaded pistol. Do you realize how dangerous that is?” 

Is he serious? My life has been compromised to terrorists and he’s lecturing about protocol?

“Far be it from me to disappoint you, Quartermaster,” I respond cockily. “I am still alive.”

“Barely. That kind of recklessness can get you killed.”

He stands up, walks to the kitchen, and pulls out tupperware containers from the fridge. Oh no, this conversation is not over!

“I call it being creative. I’m a mess of nerves anyway, mine as well act on it.”

Q sticks the food in the microwave. “You should be used to nerves by now, 0011. As you like to say, ‘it comes with the job.’”

He talks about this as if it’s everyday news. 00 agents are supposed to have a short lifespan, and this espionage business keeps threatening to shorten my life even more.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “It doesn’t help when every gangster or idiot with a gun is out for my head.” The pressing thought pounds in my head and begins to tear apart the mask keeping my fear hidden. “My name could be on that list too.”

My Quartermaster doesn’t answer. The continuous ringing of the microwave is the only sound. He’s not going to care. If he felt having friends was weak then he’ll surely laugh at my pathetic nerves-

Now Q walks back over and sits down again. Great, another lecture- “You think I don’t know that?”

His tone is the thing that sticks out most. It’s softer, almost vulnerable. “You seem to dislike me so much, I thought you’d be welcoming of the idea of me getting snuffed out.”

This triggers an unexpected reaction from Q. I feel a large, warm hand cover my tiny one. When I look up, Q’s set his jaw straight and is looking me straight in the eye.

“I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

Q isn’t one for emotion, so he must be joking. “Why? So you can keep seeing me get beaten to a pulp, only to be stitched back up for you to laugh at my weakness?”

His eyes widen by a fraction. “You really believe that? I don’t think you’re weak, 0011. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with.”

I can’t keep quiet anymore! “This is why I think you’re delusional to friendship, Q. All you do is talk about work. And that’s alright, but don’t expect people to like you when you keep such a cold demeanor.”

Now Q’s getting angry too. I guess we never know when to quit arguing. “I focus on work because it’s what I’m best at! What else am I supposed to talk about?”

I frantically gesture to his apartment. “Look around! You have so many hobbies and talents, any one of them would be amazing topics to talk about!”

“Oh, now look who’s delusional! You actually think I’m talented-” Q retorts sarcastically.

“I do, you stupid Quartermaster! You’re one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever met! If I wasn’t stuck on this couch I’d storm out right now.”

As a response Q walks around and grabs my shoulders as a way to pin me to the couch. “You’re not going out there when your cover’s been blown. Since you’re already here, you can sleep on the couch.”

I try to protest but Q walks back to the kitchen and brings over the leftovers from the microwave. He hands me a bowl of chicken and rice, and as I take a bite my taste buds sing with approval and melt away my anger.

“This is delicious! You are a man of many talents, Q.”

He takes a bite himself. “Thank you, praise towards my cooking is always appreciated. I would cook something fresh but as you know work’s been a hassle.” 

I look at him as if he just grew wings. “Q, the workplace has been the equivalent of a dumpster fire. You look like you’re about to pass out.” I lift myself into my wheelchair, grab the empty bowls, and head to the kitchen sink. 

“Ah, 0011, what do you think you’re doing?”

I start rinsing the dishes. “Doing cleanup so you can sleep.”

“But-”

“No ifs ands or buts. If the MI6 Quartermaster isn’t fit for duty then we all suffer.” I point to the stairs. “Shower. Bed. Now.”

Q, still flabbergasted, slowly walks over to the bottom of the staircase. “Are you ordering me around in my own home?”

“I’m highly suggestive as a concerned houseguest.” I finish drying the bowls and wheel past Q to reposition myself on the couch. “Now for the last time, go to sleep!”

The nerd hesitantly complies, slowly climbing the stairs. I think I hear him mutter “So bossy” before he reaches the top and I can’t help but smile. Q should be allowed to take a break, even if he is annoying at times. Can’t blame him, though. This whole week’s been tough on everybody. After about 20 minutes he reappears in flannel pajama pants and a sleep shirt which makes him, quite frankly, outright adorable. I won’t sugarcoat it. His floppy hair is wet and unkempt, adding to an appearance that almost makes him unrecognizable from the man I see at work. Q gets a glass of water, mutters a quick “goodnight,” and then quickly retreats up the stairs again. I must have lost a large amount of blood to be this incoherent. 

Eventually Cricket comes down to lay next to me, and as I drift off more thoughts fly through my head. Are Bond and M safe? The fear of being assassinated may be unnerving but the idea of attending Bond’s funeral is even more alarming.

[mapoyaj]

fear is a good thing (nine years after)

Hello everyone, I want to share a story from nine years ago, on my #RoadtoRPm. It’s been nine years since the board exam results were released (though I remember finding out on July 31).

Everything that happened with the boards was so unexpected. I remember clearly in March 2015, right before graduation, I told myself I’d take the boards in 2016 because I was so scared. At that time, I knew I would graduate as a Magna Cum Laude, which I was proud of, but with that came immense pressure. Being a Latin honor meant I had to pass the board exam.

I was terrified of disappointing my school's faculty and myself. I had often failed to meet my own expectations, and the fear of failing again weighed heavily on me. It’s so hard to expect so much of yourself, but the expectations were sky-high, and the pressure was unbearable. Yet, I decided to take the board exam because my professor told me, "Fear is a good thing." It makes you more careful and increases your chances of passing compared to being complacent.

After graduation, I began my review, but for the first few months, it was utterly useless. I was enrolled in a distance learning program, which meant I controlled my schedule. Unfortunately, this led to me reviewing only about 3 hours a day, sometimes even less. I was distracted by computer games (Need for Speed, GTA, etc.) and other requirements, adding nothing to my knowledge.

A month before the exam, the pressure hit hard. I cried from sheer fear because so many people expected me to pass, including my family, who believed I could be in the top 10. The stress was overwhelming. I felt so unprepared, having barely touched my review modules. I cried for days, feeling worthless, stupid, and lazy. I doubted I could ever pass.

After my "existential crisis," I rushed to Recto to buy reference books, spending nearly 3k. From that day on, my 3-hour review sessions turned into 8 hours, with breaks only for lunch and sleep. I didn’t want to overwork myself, so I read the books like John Green novels, absorbing as much as I could.

A week before the boards, I realized I hadn’t finished my modules and had only gotten halfway through my books. I felt doomed, especially after hearing from a review center professor that those who pass usually read entire books for each subject. I had barely reached chapter 5 in four books. During the final coaching session, I sat in front with my friends, trying to appear confident, but I was terrified every time the professor mentioned something I didn’t know. My grades in mock exams were decent but never outstanding. Despite my friends' belief that I might top the exam, I had lost hope.

On the exam day, the first subject went well (I was thrilled, thinking I might top), but after the second subject (psych assessment), I prayed desperately to St. Jude at La Consolacion, asking just to pass, not even to top. By the last subject on the second day (I/O Psych), I was almost in tears, having left four questions blank. I feared that this meant I would fail. I texted my mentor, who reassured me that it wouldn’t affect my score, but I remained unconvinced.

The ten-day wait for the results was agonizing. Every single day felt like an eternity. Then, around 7:00 am one morning, while I was showering, I received a text saying I was a topnotcher. I thought it was a cruel joke until I checked the PRC website and saw my name in the Top 10. I nearly collapsed with joy, realizing all my sacrifices were worth it. All my self-doubt vanished in an instant. It was the most unexpected and beautiful moment of my life.

It’s incredible how the person who doubted their abilities ended up in the Top 10. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, just when you’re about to give up, God shows you why you shouldn’t. It taught me to take risks. As my mentor said, "Always remember that you are greater than the 450 questions." Whether you top, pass, or fail, it’s not the ultimate measure of your worth. The journey itself is what truly matters, at least to me.

[mafuwi]

/some kind of vent

"Yeah, you were the fucking problem all along" Zoro screamed in the face of the person in front of him, his boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend "You made me feel bad, you were the fucking shit who talked to others behind my back, the one who ignored me and said I was fucking excessive, does this seem excessive enough to you!" Tears formed in his eyes, the bitter taste between the words, he just wanted to leave this alone but he couldn't just shut up.

And that's because Zoro was a patient person who let everything go, but not anymore, he couldn't stand her attitudes anymore. Every day was like a stab in the back, each word drier than the other, they were simply not made for each other anymore,

It hurt, it hurt like hell to give up the person you loved so much at some point, he knew he was going to miss those hugs, those words of affirmation, the few good times you had together, of course it would be painful.

"Zoro I…" she tried to speak.

"Get out of here, I don't want to see your face in my life" Zoro turned away trying to hide the tears that were streaming down his face "Stop it please, I'm sick of hearing all your excuses, all your bullshit towards me."

"Zoro!" the shout was heard more insistent

"Stop it already!"

"ZORO!

"ZORO!"

His eyes suddenly snapped open, his breathing quickened and the wetness of tears in his eyes, the only thing keeping him conscious was the pair of warm hands and a blue gaze full of worry and fear "Curly?" his voice came out raspy, his throat aching from the dryness.

"God Zoro you had me worried" the blond exclaimed with a tinge of relief in his voice still stroking Zoro's face trying to remove the moisture from his cheeks.

"W…what happened?" Zoro lay confused, he could feel the softness of the bed, his eyes wandered in the room, his room, their room, almost dark for the hour they were in only illuminated by the lamp on the right bedside table where Sanji illuminated his night books.

"That's what I should ask you idiot Marimo! I come from working the night shift and all I hear when I arrive is screams, for a second I thought we were being robbed or something" Zoro could feel a slight tremor in the blond's long fingers.

The green-haired man sighed trying to calm his racing heart and took Sanji's hands with his own trying to give comfort to his partner "sorry, shitty dream".

"You want to talk about it?"

"It was, kind of dumb, I don't want to remember it honestly."

Sanji let out a look of doubt "can I do anything for you?"

Zoro looked into his boyfriend's beautiful eyes, those which could express so much being an open window to his emotions whenever they met. His, delicate but skilled hands for his work which he worshiped as well. Soft blonde hair that he dearly caress, thin but lovely lips to kiss and his trademark eyebrow that he always teased was one of the things he couldn't help but love. Everything, everything about Sanji was beautiful, everything glowed, he couldn't believe how lucky he was to meet him, to be loved by him, it sounded so unreal he was always afraid it was all a damn dream where the universe would mock him for believing he can deserve anything in this life.

"Stay with me" Zoro brought his hands to Sanji's waist squeezing him to his body.

Sanji smiled and stroked his head "Here I am, well actually I want to take a bath first, I feel the sweat and grease on me, but if you give me 20 minutes I can…"

"No…"

"Marimo what are we talked about my personal hygiene?"

"No, I'm talking about always, about this relationship, stay with me always."

Sanji let out a sudden blush at Zoro's so sincere words then smiled and hugged him more.

"I don't know what kind of dream you had silly but you've become so sappy all of a sudden."

Zoro was still looking at him with serious eyes.

"Okay okay easy my dear Marimo, I will never leave, you would have to kill me or hit me hard on the head to forget such a lazy, annoying, nasty mess" Sanji paused to grab Zoro's face and plant a quick kiss on his lips "But as sweet, adorable and cute as you are" another kiss "I love you".

Zoro felt his heart racing like all the times Sanji talked so openly about him.

"I love you Curly"