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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

#i hope you are okay #i wish i could help more #i hope the pain eases soon #and i hope that you stay #ps . to those of you reading this thinking i should help you too: please just dm me #it makes me really #really really scared when it's anonymous #bc i cant check in with u #i am not a professional and i am not actually good at helping ppl through their troubles #this is an exception bc they are 16 #not the rule #ps if u misunderstand ''being a teenager is the hardest thing i ever did'' when i mention briefly that i was in unsafe housing...#trust me. it was worse there. by like A HUGE margin #every person raised in unsafe housing nodding their head like . oh yeah worse stuff TECHNICALLY happened after but leaving that home was #legit the hardest thing i ever did

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babycakezero · 3 months ago

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♡ a sudden confession !

A few soft knocks at the door of your room effortlessly peeled your attention away from the laptop currently placed ontop of your lap. You glanced at your alarm clock, '11:52 pm' it read in bright coloring.

Unlike most nights, Toru, your best friend since your first year at U.A, hadn't come over to your dorm room. She told you she wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to put you at risk of also getting sick.

So you had no idea whow as on the otherside of your door. And maybe it was because you uad just finished watching your favorite horror movie, but you could feel the invisible hairs on your body stand up at the millions of creepy monsters and deadly murders that could be lurking in the darkness just outside your door.

With your hands places snuggly on your waist, you called out quietly, "Yes?"

"It's Eijiro."

Oh. That may be worse than the evil murderous creature you had imagined lurking in the darkness just outside your door.

You opened the door, suddenly feeling exposed despite wearing your favorite colored pajama pants, and an oversized hoodie, that you nervously began to pull at the sleeves of.

You'd never let any boys into your room before, as you grew up with sligjtly strick guardians who thought it was inappropriate to have boy friends over in your room, which you always respected. Well, you actually let Koda into your room last semester because you desperately needed his help with a small bird that had gotten itself stuck inside your room. But, you supposed they couldn't actually get upset at you over that if they ever found out, since you did leave the door open the whole time and you kept a respectable distance.

Due to this way of your upbringing, you always kept a wall between you and whatever boy happened to be around. You didn't want to disappoint your family by becoming distracted by boys and dating. And besides, you never had much interest in those things outside of your favorite romance movies before. Before him.

The moment your eyes met his bright red ones, an accidental "Hi." Rushed out from between your lips.

"Hey." He smiled wide, like he always did, but now everything seemed different.

His hair, instead of its usual style that reflected well on your classmates personality, was now let down, and there were dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

Was he... fake smiling at you?

"What happened?" You asked without much thought, suprised at yourself for even noticing, and caring, about such intimate things about the red headed boy.

His eyes darted away from yours, "Just... nervous, I guess."

"About graduation?" You finished with a guess, wondering why he was acting so strange as he stood before you wearing baggy sweatpants paired with an ill fitting tank top.

"That and.." You watched almost impatiently as his chest rose from beneath the red top, "I like you."

You blinked up at the boy. Once. Twice. And still, you hadn't the first idea on what to say back to him. Your first instinct was to just try and rewind time so you could ignore his knocking, or never attend U.A all together. Maybe then you would have never been distracted by him. You wanted to run away and hide, anything but be here.

But then a memory of a voice whispered itself inside you head, "Why don't the two of you just kiss already!" It was Ashido's voice when, during your second year, Kirishima had somehow managed to save you from hitting the back of your head by grabbing onto your waist. The memory itself was enough to make your legs feel weaker than jelly.

"H-huh?" Is all you managed to squeak out.

His hand attached itself to the back of his neck, a thing you realized he did whenever he felt nervous or shy, which was a rare thing to see, "I know it's pretty sudden to be confessing like this, but we're graduating in two weeks, and I realized that I couldn't live with wondering whether you would reject me or not for the rest of my life. And, if you don't feel the same, I'll totally understand, and also I hope I didn't wake you up. I should've just waited until morning, I'm really sorry-"

Was he... blabbering now? He was saying too many things all at once, and you felt as though you might short-circuit trying to comprehend everything that was coming out of his mouth.

"I like you too." You interrupted him, suprised at yourself.

"Wait... really?" His bright red eyes searched yours, and again you felt your face go red again.

Jeez, what would your family think of you right now? Getting red in the face over some boy, and letting it be even the smallest distraction from your hero studies. At your surface, you felt ashamed for allowing yourself to feel this way, but inside you wanted to be a kid, even if it was just for a few seconds.

"Yes." You answered with a small nod, your eyes desperately trying to look anywhere but his intimidating eyes.

"Then," He suddenly stood up straighter, making you crane your neck to look up at him correctly, "Can I please be your boyfriend?"

characters ♡ eijiro kirishima x ♡

a/n ~ write in the comments what you would say to our lovely, adorable eijiro kirishima !!

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 7 months ago

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Obligation [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader who is 52.

Tags/warnings: Throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, angst, Joel doesn't take it well but is soft, implied abortion.

Summary: You've been fucking Joel Miller for a couple of months when you realize that you're pregnant - which you didn't think possible because you thought you were post-menopausal. How does one get an abortion in Jackson - and how are you going to tell Joel?

Words: 4,267

A/N: For all my old gals out there, as well as those who don't want kids.

My masterlist

I think I may be pregnant.

The realization reverberates through you, bringing with it another wave of nausea. You barely have time to stick your head down the toilet before you throw up. The acrid taste of bile fills your mouth and nose, and tears stream down your cheeks. You grip the toilet seat as you continue retching, your stomach hellbent on emptying itself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, how can this be?

What an idiot question. You almost laugh at yourself in the midst of this misery. How does one become pregnant? Well, fucking someone like Joel Miller on a regular basis is a good start. He fucks you deep and good, the bed and his body creaking in unison as he has you pinned underneath him, his broad, heavy body a welcome weight on you, his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt when he finishes and leaves you full even after he's pulled out. His thick, creamy cum dripping out of you when you fall into blissful sleep, sometimes with him staying over.

You know how babies are made, for God's sake. You just didn't count on you still being able to make them. You're past 50, and your period stopped years ago. This is new to you, you’ve never been pregnant before or even had an interest in trying, but you’re not stupid. You’ve been feeling tired lately, out of sorts, a dull nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach like just before your period, and last night when Joel grabbed your breasts, you almost punched him. Even now they’re so sore even the weight of them hurts.

And now this. Morning sickness. You haven’t eaten anything strange, you were okay last night, and paired up with everything else that has been going on… you must be pregnant.

Thank God Joel isn’t here, you think dimly. He didn't stay over last night, quoting an early morning today to go on patrol. You didn't mind. What you have together is casual, and you're not the one who needs to be cuddled – or coddled, for that matter. You like it when he stays over, but don’t care if he doesn’t. It has worked out well for a few months now.

And now this. You draw a quivering breath, and slump against the wall. It seems like your stomach has settled, so after a couple of minutes, you carefully stand up and bend over the sink, rinsing out your mouth with cold water before splashing some in your face. Straightening your back, you meet your tired gaze in the small mirror above the sink. There is nothing different there, except a lack of energy, but nothing that could reveal the fact that you are carrying a growing clump of cells in your belly.

The thought makes you nauseous again, and you step back to the toilet, expecting to be sick, but there is nothing else to expel, so you flush the toilet, and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Despite being sick, or because of it, you’re hungry, so you take out what provisions you have, and sit down at the table. You usually take your meals in the dining hall, but you don’t want to show yourself right now. God knows what will happen if anyone asks you how you are. And what if you eat, and then throw up again?

Slowly, you gnaw away at a slice of bread with cheese on it, while trying to get yourself together and think over your options. But no matter how you try to think about it, there are no options except one: you have to get rid of it. The reasons are many, but the two most pressing ones are the simple fact that you have never wanted children, and this is not a world into which children should be born, as far as you’re concerned. The more you think about it, the more certain you are. But how in the hell are you going to get an abortion? And while you may not be shy, how the actual fuck are you going to tell the doc that you, a 52-year-old woman, didn’t think to protect yourself? Or that you know your own body so badly that you didn’t even know that you’re, in fact, not post-menopausal?

You stopped crying years ago because tears have no function in this world, but now your humiliation makes your tears well up. You sniffle wetly, put down the piece of bread, and angrily wipe at your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter, but there is no stopping the tears. When the first one runs down your cheek, you bang your fist to the table and scream.

“FUCK!”

You let the tears fall, confident that there won’t be too many. When you’re done crying, you finish your meagre breakfast, wipe your face, and get dressed. A day of work awaits you, and maybe if you work hard enough…

You shudder at the thought. You may not have any experience in this department, but you know that your age is a liability. Things could go wrong, and you could die. You don’t want to die. You didn’t survive for all these years just to get taken out by a goddamn unwanted pregnancy.

Fortified by your sheer will to live, you open the front door, and get to work.

During your lunch break, you slip into the Jackson library, which is only just one room in the schoolhouse. The collection consists of whatever has been found during raids, as well as works that the residents have brought with them. The stacks are neat, though, thanks to the teacher who also doubles as a librarian. The collection is divided into main classes, and you quickly find the small section for Biology. There is a middle school book with a chapter on human reproduction, but that’s just the basics. You check the Medicine section, finding nothing. You leave the library, mentally chiding yourself for thinking that you’d find anything there to help you deal with the fact that you’re geriatric, pregnant, and in need of an abortion, with no hope of having one because there are no hospitals, only one doctor who operates out of a simple cabin with barely any equipment or drugs.

Anxiety rises in you again, bringing bile with it. You slink in behind the nearest house and bend over. What little breakfast you had lands before your feet, and you spit away the taste.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?

You take a steadying breath before reappearing back on the street, aiming for your house. So purposeful are you to get away from people, that you don’t notice the tall man next to you before he puts his hand on your arm.

“Hey.”

You start, jerking back before you recognize Joel’s frowning face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, casting your eyes down as you continue your walk. “Just didn’t see you there.”

“Going to lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“All right.” His hand is on your arm again, now effectively stopping you in the middle of the street. He stands in front of you, broad, tall, and smelling of horses.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is lower now, so as to not have anyone overhear him. “You look a little pale.”

Joel Miller has been nothing but good to you. He doesn’t talk much, and what little he talks, happens in the darkness after you’ve fucked, when there are no barriers left between the two of you. He keeps to himself, to the girl who was with him when he arrived, to his brother. To you, now. You may not be able to make him laugh as Ellie does, but he saves soft smiles for you. He’s loyal, kind, and helpful. And despite all that, you’re going to lie to him.

“I didn’t sleep well.” You look into his eyes, even giving him the ghost of a smile. “You wore me out, but I still couldn’t sleep.”

His face softens visibly, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he leans in and whispers: “I’m sorry, darling. Just have to try harder next time.”

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, but it doesn’t translate to the usual heaviness between your legs. Instead, you just feel sick for having lied to him.

Joel’s hand travels down your arm to your hand, thick fingers quickly squeezing years before letting go.

“See you later?”

You hear the question, know what it means.

“I think I better get a good night’s sleep?”

Joel flashes a sympathetic grin. “Good idea. See you around.”

You watch him stride towards the dining hall, broad back squared, head held high in constant vigilance, even here within the walls of Jackson.

He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s smart. He’ll know something’s up.

You shake your head to get rid of those unwanted thoughts, and then you return to work.

The next morning starts the same way the previous one did: with your head down the toilet bowl. This time you feel even more sick because you didn’t get much sleep, and when you finally emerge out of your house, you run into Joel, who’s halfway up your porch.

“Morning,” he greets you, then stops as he sees your ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” you shrug, stacking another lie upon the previous one.

“Maybe you should stay home, get some rest,” he suggests, and even if he’s wearing his customary frown, you can hear how his voice is laced with concern. Managing a smile, you brush your arm against his.

“I’ll just get antsy. I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

He’s happy with that and doesn’t question you when you don’t go to communal breakfast.

For the next few days, you do what you can to avoid Joel. You don’t want him to know that you’re sick in the mornings, don’t want him to touch you and find out how tender your breasts are, don’t want to talk to him or even see him because it only reminds you of the solution you inevitably have to find soon. You’re going to have to come clean to the doc at the very least – unless you try to deal with the situation by yourself somehow. But you have no idea how to do that without hurting yourself, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Finally, it’s Joel who takes the first step. You have declined his visits for a week when he surprises you by knocking on your door one night. His face is backlit by the porch light that creates a halo around his ragged, curl-prone hair.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, but he speaks your name, and you realize that there is no running away anymore. So, you step to the side to let him in.

He stands before you, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares at the floor between the two of you. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the same spot. There’s dirt from his boots there, but you don’t care.

“Listen, I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know nothing’s been explicitly said here. About us, I mean. It is what it is. But I thought we had a good thing going, and now it seems like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you fear that you’ll throw up your dinner as well as you did your breakfast.

“Joel…”

“I just want to know if I did something wrong, so that I can apologize and then leave you be.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself to prevent the slight trembling that’s starting to travel through your body. Your nerves are shot, and you press your lips together to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Then what is it?” Now he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burn into you.

Does he have to sound so fucking gentle? It would be easier if he yelled at you, or stormed out, or hadn’t come at all, but you should have known that Joel Miller would be so fucking gentle about it.

You take a deep breath, then finally look up into his eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel stares at you, his face blank. There is just nothing there for several breaths before his brows rise and his arms fall to his sides.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

He still looks at you like he doesn’t understand.

“But… how is that possible?”

You lean your head to one side and give him a come on kind of look. Joel scoffs, scratches his head, then shakes it.

“Aren’t you too old?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You didn’t know?”

You don’t like the hint of accusation in his voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen my healthcare provider in a while!” you snap, now irritated. The change in tone causes in a change in Joel as well.

“If you weren’t sure, then why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice is now raised, and your hands come to your hips. “You took one look at me and thought, ‘Oh, this old hag surely has no eggs left’, and then you happily stuck your dick in me, to hell with any other consequences?”

“You should’ve said something!” he growls, now visibly upset. If you weren’t so intimately familiar with just how soft he could be, you’d be afraid of his dark storm cloud demeanor. But you’re not afraid: you’re pissed off.

“I didn’t know,” you articulate. “I haven’t had my period in years, and I’m over fifty! How the fuck could I have known that I could get fucking pregnant!”

“Is it even mine?” Joel retorts, and for some reason, that’s what makes you snap. Before you know it, your palm has connected with his cheek, and you’re pointing at the door.

“Get out. Get the fuck out, now!”

You don’t need to tell him twice: the door slams only a moment after. You’re no longer feeling nauseous, or trembling. You’re just empty inside.

He's back the next morning. You did not expect that, and eye him with apprehension where he stands in the doorway, shame etched into his features.

"Can I please come in?" he asks quietly. You're nauseous again, but you don't want to be a bitch. He's a good one, you know that, despite everything. He deserves a chance.

You let him in, gesture for him to go on through to the kitchen. Following him, you swallow down the nausea, and hope that you won't have to throw up. It would be so humiliating.

Sitting down, you nod to him to do the same. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, sincere gaze searching for eye contact.

"I'm really sorry," he finally says, his voice low but earnest. "I handled myself poorly."

You give him a Ya think? look but say nothing. He gets the message.

"I didn't expect... or think..." He falls silent, looks down at the scratched surface of the table. You stare him down relentlessly, waiting for him to speak on. He's slowly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, like they're itchy or in pain.

"I had a daughter, a long time ago. She... I lost her on the first day."

Your heart could break from the choked agony of his voice. Swallowing hard, this time to fight the lump in your throat, not nausea, you reach across the table to put your hand over his.

"Joel..."

He looks up at you, now with a new fire in his eyes.

"It was a long time ago, but I've lived in that pain every day, until Ellie took me out of it. And now... this feels like a second chance."

He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. You stare at him, suddenly wary.

"What do you mean, second chance?"

"To have a child with you."

You stare at him in bewilderment, barely even sure you heard him right. He hurries to elaborate.

"I'll take my responsibility. I'll help you raise the child. You won't have to do it all alone."

You quickly pull your hand out of his, like you burned yourself.

"Joel... I'm not going to keep it?"

Before Joel can say anything, your stomach revolts, and you shoot out of your chair, only just making it to the sink before you throw up. Spitting and turning on the water to wash away the vomit, you cup your hand under the stream of cold water, and drink to eradicate the sour taste in your mouth. Barely having swallowed the water, you throw up again.

Joel's warm body pushes gently against you, and his hand is on the small of your back.

"That's it," he murmurs, "deep breath, you're okay."

"I'm fine," you gasp, trying to breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell that seems to penetrate everything.

"I know," he replies calmly, reaching for a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you. "Here."

You drink carefully, hoping it'll stay down. The cold water chills your entire stomach, but you do feel better.

"Thanks." You glance up at him, hand holding the glass shaking a little. Joel notices, and takes it from you.

"You're welcome. Wanna sit down?"

You nod mutely, and he leads you back to the kitchen table. You can walk by yourself, but it's comforting to have his hand on your back. You're no longer alone in this, and it's a bigger relief than you thought.

You bow your head and hide your face in your hands for a moment, steadying yourself. Hearing the other chair scrape against the floor, you finally look up at Joel.

He looks sad but resigned.

"How far along are you?" he asks quietly. You shrug.

"No idea."

"Probably over six weeks."

You shrug again and draw your hand through your hair.

"I meant what I said, Joel." You try to sound gentler. "I'm not keeping it. I can't. I don't want it."

He casts his eyes down, and for a second you think you see a tremble in his lower lip. Then he sniffles with a grimace and looks up again.

"Okay."

You raise your brows. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"It's not my decision, sweetheart." This term of endearment is new, and you're not sure what to make of it.

"You're not going to try to convince me to keep it?" you dare him, but without vehemence. You're just tired.

Joel shakes his head, but you can see that he has something on his mind.

"Joel?" you prompt, and he finally sighs deeply.

"Are you sure you won't regret it?" His voice is eerily toneless, like he's trying his best not to sound accusatory. You rub your forehead with both palms in an attempt to suppress the headache that you can feel building up behind your frontal lobe.

"I've never wanted kids," you tell him in the same, dispassionate voice. "Not when I was younger, and surely not now. Not in this world, not at my age. Not at all."

He flinches, like your words hurt him, but then he nods solemnly.

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, because the question faced you with the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.

"I don't know."

Your voice breaks, and the first tears well up in your eyes.

"Fuck." The tears spill down your cheeks, and you hide your face from Joel, embarrassed by this sudden display of desperation.

"Hey..."

He's around the table in a heartbeat, crouching by your chair and collecting you into his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out. We'll talk to the doc."

The tears multiply, and you sob audibly from sheer relief of having someone else take charge. You haven't lived with the knowledge of your condition for barely a week, but it has weighed you down more than you knew. And now Joel knows, and he is telling you that it's going to be all right.

"I - just - feel - so - stupid!" you whimper between the sobbing, and Joel strokes his hand down your back.

"Not as stupid as I feel. It's okay, I promise you it'll be okay."

You draw a deep, quivering breath, and square your shoulders. They feel lighter, and you wipe your eyes and cheeks before smiling weakly at Joel.

"Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles back, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You haven't seen it before. It feels like a promise.

Carl, Jackson's doctor, is a GP, but has had to deal with a variety of emergencies over the years. He doesn't bat an eye when you, seated next to Joel, tell him of your predicament, and that you want a termination. He asks for a urine sample, handing you a cup that you, frowning, take with you into the bathroom, do your business, and leave it on the counter, as per Carl's instructions. Coming out of the bathroom, Carl asks you to come back in the afternoon. You agree on a time before you and Joel step out. He squeezes your hand before you part to go to work.

Returning later to Carl's office, you find out that you are, with a seventy percent accuracy, indeed pregnant.

"It's the best test I have," Carl explains. "If a thin film forms over the urine, pregnancy is likely. If not, there is no pregnancy."

"And it couldn't be anything else?" Joel asks, surprising you. Carl looks pained for a moment, and you realize what a difficult question that is. Your hand moves on top of Joel's on the arm rest.

"Given the symptoms; breast tenderness, morning sickness, light cramping... I can't think of anything else to explore."

"How do we stop it?" you want to know. "Can we even?"

"A surgical abortion is technically possible," Carl nods, and you feel your shoulders relax. "I've done it a couple of times before I came to Jackson, even."

"Well, good."

"Is it safe?" Joel's voice seems tight. "Is it doable here, in these conditions?"

Carl hesitates for a moment before leaning forward to rest his forearms on his desk.

"The procedure itself doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, but our conditions are, as you probably understand, not ideal. I can sterilize the equipment, but our biggest concern, apart from post-surgical infections, is pain relief."

He lets the information sink in before he adds: "I simply do not have the means to sedate you or give you the pain relief that you are going to need. I wish I could tell you this in any other way, but I can't: It's going to hurt a lot."

You swallow tightly. Joel's thumb passes over the back of your hand.

"Okay," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't have a choice. I'm not going to have a kid in this world. There's no way. We have to do it."

Later, after an extensive talk with the doc, you step out onto the main street of Jackson, Joel right behind you. Without words, the two of you slowly walk towards your house. Not until reaching it, do you sit down on the porch steps. Joel sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a hard question to answer," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. Joel sighs as well.

"Yeah."

You sit in silence and watch people go by. Ellie passes further away together with a friend, waving hello to you but not coming over to chat. You and Joel wave back.

"What does she know about us?" you ask quietly. Joel grunts.

"She knows we hang out, that I like your company, but I haven’t told her that we… you know.”

"I’m sure she knows. She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You wet your lips. "Listen, Joel... I just want to say... thank you, I guess. For being there for me."

"Of course," he replies softly. "And I really am sorry for how I reacted."

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"Kind of." You shoot a quick grin at him, and he grins back.

"Don't think about that," you shake your head. "And I want you to know that you don't have to be involved in what comes next."

"I'm not going to - "

"You wouldn't mind having a baby," you cut him off, "so I'm not going to have you watch me take one away."

"It's not a baby yet," he reminds you pragmatically. "And I said we'd figure this out together. I'll be there, every step of the way. I'll make sure you get through this."

He speaks with a quiet, gentle confidence that makes you want to cry again. You never knew how much you have longed for someone like him.

"You don't have an obligation," you try one last time. Joel turns towards you and cups the back of your head with one large hand.

"I want to be obliged to you, sweetheart."

He leans forward to let his lips brush over yours.

"Let me," he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, accepting both his offer and his kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x mature!reader

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nanaminokanojo · 6 months ago

Text

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 48

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 48 next>>

A/N: Contains prose with panels in between. Mind the order.

"Don't you have anything to review for?" you asked Sukuna who was walking beside you on your way to the library. You were surprised to see him after your class, leaning against the wall and pushing himself off it the moment he saw you. He was sporting that usual smirk as he threw his jacket over his shoulder.

“I do my reading at my own time.” He walked beside you. “Mind if I tag along with you?”

“I’m going to the library. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“Your call.”

Your exams were coming and you had every plan to get in as much studying as you could on your breaks when you weren't hanging out with him and his friends. It was unexpected how your schedules seemed to have shifted from just minding your studies and your engagements with charities to adding socializing and actually investing time to be with them. You didn't regret a single thing about it, thankful that you've met them and they wanted you around just for the very purpose of having fun. It was good to have friends for once.

He glanced at you. "Getting sick of me now?"

"That's not what I meant." Your steps faltered, panicking for a second, but you calmed down when you saw how he was suppressing a snicker. You pouted at him. "I should be asking you that. You're the one being inconvenienced."

"No and no. Not in a million years." He slung an arm over your shoulder. "I wouldn't even be here if I didn't want to be."

Just as quickly as he had put his arm around you, he let go when this crowd of girls suddenly flocked around him like crows to a piece of meat. You immediately stood aside, immediately reading into whom they were after, smirking at his direction when you saw the helpless look on his face.

"Sukuna, you haven't been showing up at parties," one of the girls said, latching onto his arm while the others agreed, asking him one question after the other.

It got you thinking how many of them he had kissed like he kissed you, how many of them received his undivided attention which, although offered at a limited time, still counted in the same manner as yours did in that it was genuine human interaction. You may not be sleeping with him like all those other girls were but you were no different from them where your bond with Sukuna was concerned.

Almost the whole time since you got injured, his attention remained on you. You’d like to think he was paying special attention to you, but then he wasn't yours, and he may leave when you've recovered. So, why were you suddenly feeling strangely upset over the fact that these other females were surrounding him, treating him like they knew him better than you did?

"I'll be at the library," you told him, as you walked ahead. You didn't like what you were seeing, and although you couldn't do anything about how you felt, you had the choice and will not to act on it.

You've already found a seat at the farthest corner of the library you could find, your notes spread on the table in the organized manner you always do when he finally showed up. His arrival wasn't something you expected at all, but he was there anyway, pouting at you as he pulled out the chair beside you, trying hard not to make a noise. But his presence has always been loud, something that made itself known with the least effort, enough to fill your apartment with life whenever he was around.

"Why did you leave me out there, bunny?" he whispered. His lower lip jutted out, his chin on the heel of his palm.

Pretending to be busy with sorting your stuff out, you didn’t even look at him. “Sukuna, you’re whining.” You glanced at him when he didn’t say anything before turning your book to the next page. "You looked busy there. I didn't want to be a party pooper."

"That was hardly a party," he complained.

"It looked like it."

He just looked at you as if he sensed something off, but you pretended not to notice and continued reading. But then he asked, "Do you disapprove of my…uh…habits?"

You shook your head, glad that your opinion mattered enough for him to ask. "I'm not in any position to say anything…”

Your words hung in the air, promoting him to say, “But?”

“I can't say I'm for it either."

Sukun arched a brow at you, fighting a smile yet cautiously asking, "Why not?"

"Well, they're bound to haunt you someday, especially when they get in the way of things you want to achieve in the future."

“How?”

You shrugged, setting you book down. “What if you genuinely like somebody but they don’t agree with what you do? Or it gets in the way of you making connections you need for certain purposes.”

Sukuna grinned cheekily at you. "So, you worry about my future?"

Detecting his teasing tone, you brought your book down, meeting his gaze squarely. "Yes."

It was his turn to be speechless at your honest response, so you felt the need to explain yourself.

"I don't need reason just to wish you well even if you were a stranger. It's the same as not having any reason to wish you ill."

"How are you a real person? The world doesn't deserve you."

You just chuckled at his sentiment. "I'm hardly perfect, Sukuna, but I consider you my friend after all, the first one I made on my own," you lifted your injured arm, "although it needed a little push."

He pulled away slowly, confusion drawing itself across his handsome features. “Just a friend?” he asked, sounding disappointed, but you immediately saw through his ploy to mess with you.

“You’re really good at this,” you told him, shaking your head as you returned your attention to the book.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t satisfy that with a response, grinning to yourself instead.

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @junehasnotbeenfound @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @its-princessmara @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @mythoscalliope @noble-17 @pheonix-eclipses @weebbuscuit @sukunasbudussy @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @iluv-ace @kidd3ath @multifandomloner @ichorstainedskin @ti-mame @hellyyy06

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

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Holy crap I’m loving your writing! Im especially obsessed with Ken and the ranch owner

I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do an fem human reader x Ken where the reader gets a bit sick, nothing too serious but Ken absolutely freaks out and thinks the reader is dying or sum (he learned about death from Stero Barbie. Also spiders. He’s terrified of both) and the reader thinks it’s a bit funny so she’s like “yeah I’m dying” but then he gives her the most terrified and sad kicked puppy look and she has to explain that it’s just a cold lol

Awh thank you!! Im glad that ppl still love my barbie movie stuff even though barbie summer has come and gone 💔

........

There were only two things that Ken feared after beginning his new life in the Real World:

One is the mortality of humans, as Barbie told him all about how fragile their lives were and the two paths they were given: either growing old and dying peacefully in their beds, or some terrible occurrence cutting it short long before their time on this earth was up.

The second was spiders.

He especially hated the spiders.

You only recently discovered he had that fear after finding one of those 8-legged critters in your house--or more specifically in his room, where he came barreling out from as though he accidentally set something on fire.

At first, you thought he really did start a fire until he dragged you back into there, begging you to get rid of the "strange beast".

You had no clue what he could possibly be referring to....and then he pointed to the corner, where a little cellar spider sat completely unbothered, weaving its web.

In that moment, you realized you may have turned him arachnophobic, considering you did show him one insect-themed horror movie this past Halloween. He kept freaking out over it potentially growing horse-sized or injecting venom into his bloodstream when he was asleep.

But despite you assuring him neither of those things could happen (and insisting that the spider was more afraid of him), Ken refused to go into the room until it was gone.

You find it hard to fathom that this same doll who led an entire revolt, came to terms with his own identity crisis, and bravely made the transition to humanity....was totally inconsolable in the presence of a tiny bug.

Then again, maybe showing him that movie--and allowing Barbie to explain why arachnophobia was among the top fears humans had--was a huge mistake.

Regardless, you made it your mission to get rid of the critter.

Oddly enough Ken insisted that you didn't actually kill it, but you found you it sweet that he valued its life despite it scaring the shit out of him. So you contained it in a cup, putting a napkin underneath it before releasing it outside.

After that, you mentioned how most people usually killed spiders and other pests that invaded their home.

He looked wildly uncomfortable at that fact, before he began talking about some rather... concerning things: like if the spider knew how short its lifespan was, how easily it could have been crushed, if it feared death or if it was even aware of it at all-

Before he could derail and start rambling about death itself too much, you stopped him, asking if he was feeling alright.

And he went quiet for a moment, before smiling and giving you a kiss, reassuring you he felt better.

Yet even as he left the room, he still appeared awful tense.

It was that day where you worried that it's more than just spiders he feared..

.......

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you sick??"

"...unfortunately, but it's nothing serious. Just a stupid cold I caught at work." Sighing tiredly, you sat up in bed, seeing Ken walk into the room.

He looked nothing short of horrified at how drained and exhausted you sounded this morning. "A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want you to catch anything, so I'm sorry...but no kisses today."

"Then..what about tomorrow?"

You just rolled your eyes, drinking some tea you made for yourself. "Maybe, but we'll see if I wake up."

Although it was meant to be a little joke, your foggy brain forgot how seriously the blond often took jokes, and he rushed to your bedside, kneeling down.

His eyes were wide as he took your hand. "If you wake up??? Are you dying??"

Putting down your mug, you sighed once more, trying to figure out a way to remedy this situation before you upset him too much. "No....I mean I just feel like I'm dying, but.." You paused, noticing the tears coming to his eyes. "Ken?"

Now that he was a lot closer, you could see the utterly terrified look on his face--as though you kicked a puppy right in front of him.

Yep, it was already much too late. He was upset.

"I-I know tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone, but you have to get through this, [y/n]! Please..I can't lose you, too...not when you've done so much to help me." He was extremely close to crying, his lips trembling.

Your heart sunk as you placed a hand ober his own. "Oh honey, I was only kidding around when I say-"

"Why do humans joke about death so much? Don't they know y-you...you can't come back? That they have such short lives?? O-Or sure, some believe you can be reincarnated but that doesn't make it any-"

At this point, he was just blubbering nonsense, so you took him into your arms. And for a moment he fell silent, before burying his face into your chest, trying to calm himself down. "I-I'm sorry.."

"No, no..I'm sorry. You're right..I shouldn't be joking about death around you." Frowning slightly, you stroked his hair. "I promise I'm not dying. Not today, or tomorrow..not for a long, long time. This cold will pass and I'll feel better soon enough."

".....a-are these the irrepressible thoughts of death Barbie had?"

'Oh.'

It finally hit you.

He was going through the same thing she once did.

"Ken.." You had him sit up so you could see his face. Aside from it being a little red and his eyes puffy and watery, there were tear marks trailing down to the stubble that had formed along his jaw and chin. "Why didn't you tell me you were having those thoughts?"

Sniffling, he just shrugged. "I don't know. And... I don't know why I'm thinking them. Barbie could blame it on somebody who was playing with her, but...I can't. Because I'm not a doll anymore, I'm human....a-and...those were my thoughts alone." He shuddered, terrified at that realization. "I guess I just..didn't wanna scare you, b-but obviously it's too late for that..."

A small chuckle came from him, although it dissolved into a small sob as he wiped his eyes. "S-Sorry, I....I want these thoughts to just pass already."

"And they will." You nodded, squeezing his free hand reassuringly. "It looks like you're just experiencing them for the first time, and that's okay. They won't be all you think about. And you don't have to apologize for how you're feeling, as long as you're honest with me."

"Th-Thank you.." He sniffled. "I should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Do you need you anything? More tea? Meds? Anything at all?"

You smiled fondly, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. "You're all I need right now, sweetheart."

That response seemed to bring Ken's giddy old self back, as he smiled bashfully in return. He melted back into your arms when you wrapped them around him, and he listened to your heartbeat: the only assurance he needed that you were still living.

Eventually...those thoughts of death did pass him by, and he felt okay again.

#clanask #anonymous #barbie x reader #barbie movie x reader #barbie ken x reader #ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling ken x reader #sick reader #hurt/comfort #tw arachnophobia #tw death #female reader

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delinquentbookworm · 5 months ago

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howww about ❄️ & 🌤️

Oh thank you so much! Okay so a snippet from a WIP of my choosing and some dialogue. I'm just gonna do one that covers both of these because the first bit I picked is pretty long.

This is from a fic that I started writing when I got sick a couple weeks ago and decided to project how I was feeling onto Jace. The context is that Jace has called out of work but there isn't a substitute sorcery teacher available. Porter, who at this point is still nothing more than a coworker, draws the short straw and ends up being the person who has to go heal Jace and drag him into work before one of his students burns the school down.

This snippet is Porter having just arrived at Jace's place and calling him on the phone to be let in, while Jace is half-asleep and feverish and has no idea what's going on.

“Hey, Stardiamond. Aguefort said you weren't feeling well and he asked me to come heal you. I'm outside now. Tried knocking but you didn't answer.” A voice says through the darkness, vaguely familiar, deep and rumbling. And, oh, wouldn't that be nice if it was true? Arthur Aguefort actually giving a shit about him, sending someone to make sure he’s okay. It’s never happened before, Jace can't see why it would start now. A pleasant dream, nonetheless. “Mmm, that’s nice of him. An’ who’s this?” Jace slurs out. “It's Porter.” Even in his delirious state, Jace recognises that this is a nonsense premise. Porter is the barbarian teacher. He doesn't have healing powers, doesn't have any kind of magic. Jace isn't about to turn it down, though. A healing-fantasy-slash-sex-dream about the hulking, brutish barbarian he ogles in the teacher's lounge sounds far better than the strange nightmares that plagued him all last night. “Oh, hi Porter,” Jace lets his voice turn flirtatious, or at least, as flirtatious as he can considering how much he’s struggling with his words. “You've - you've come to kiss me an' make me all better, huh?” There’s a bark of laughter, and Jace feels vaguely offended (is he being rejected in his own fantasy?) before Porter's low, gravelly voice returns. “Yeah, something like that. I need you to come let me in, though. Your front door's locked.” “Not very barbarian of you. Jus' break it down.” Jace moans a little at the thought of Porter wanting him so badly that he kicks the door clean off its hinges. “Gods, you sound fucking delirious. No, I'm not gonna break your door down. You're gonna have to come open it."

"I don't think I can get up," Jace whines. His whole body aches terribly, and every part of him just feels so heavy.

"For fuck's sake. Alright, have you got a spare key hidden somewhere? In a fake rock or something?” Jace pouts. Why is his damn mind so focused on logistics, why can't it just skip straight to the good bit? “No, don't need it. I've got Knock if I ever forget mine. It's fine, if you can suddenly have healing powers - and fuckin' telepathy, apparently - you can have teleportation too. It doesn't have to make sense." “What? I'm a paladin, that's why I can heal. I don't have any teleportation shit. Or telepathy. What are you talking about?" Porter asks, sounding frustrated. That makes two of them. “Okay, fine, you can be a paladin. Still doesn't matter how you get in. Break in if you want, it'll fix itself when I wake up." There's a brief pause before Porter speaks again, amusement seeping into his words as he asks, “Stardiamond... You do know this is real, right?" “Uh huh. Yeah. I'm sure you're very real.” Jace says placatingly, in the tone he always takes when a martial class thinks he’s insulting them. (In fairness to them, they're usually right.) “Real an' big an' strong an' handsome. Just, just waiting to have your way with me while I'm all weak and helpless. Can't even cast spells right now, 'm totally at your mercy." “Fucking hell." Porter's voice sounds a little thicker than it did a minute ago, a bit gruffer. "Don't get too excited, sweetheart. I'm here to heal you. That's it."

(Eventually Porter checks the back door, finds it unlocked, and manages to get inside to cast Lesser Restoration on Jace, who is absolutely mortified at everything he's said, and spends the next few weeks avoiding Porter. Or at least, that's what I've currently got plotted out, idk, that might change.)

#starbreaker #jace stardiamond #porter cliffbreaker #fanfic #wip

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morgana-artt · 1 year ago

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Giangio x Apprentice!Male!Reader

-------------------------------------

Note: twirling and kicking my feet at this because I need more of this man, we don't know much but he's definitely an interesting character and the more I do these x readers the more I'm slowly diving into the need of writing up smut. Especially possessive ones. But only if people would want that and it'll probably be mostly Male reader or afab being written.

Also big thanks to people liking these, it means a lot and its been giving me the confidence to write more so MWAH thank you guys.

Warnings: Spoiler for Giangios character/ some stuff near end game is in this so be warned and minor swearing.

-------------------------------------

Giangio was a...strange man. Stranger than most some would say and as someone who you've "worked" for you eventually got used to his antics. His favourite thing was to lie. Like, a lot. Most couldn't tell because he was that good putting on a front but you've known him long enough to see the small smile that quickly appears on his face to the slight narrow of his eyes when the person he's lied to believes him. The next lie you witnessed was when he said he was infected with the disease- the petrification disease to be precise- to a young man with bright blue eyes, a certain softness to his face and dressed in rather rich clothes.

You eyed your companion as he put on a sick cough and voice, "Of course, friend...please do be careful..." his weak voice spoke as the boy in front of you nodded before leaving. Giangios voice went back to normal but in a hushed whisper, "I really do not like to lie-" "-and that's a lie in on itself" you interrupted him and got a chuckle from the green haired man in response, "You got me again (Y/N)! My...you're getting quite good at catching me out!" he said with a small smile, you furrowed your eyebrows "but why lie to him...he doesn't know you?", "Ah, my dear friend...that lie was necessary. I want to see how this all plays out", you frowned, "what play out?" you asked as he leaned on the pillar next to you, "You'll see, friend. I have a feeling this one is pretty special" you blinked, 'special...?' you thought as the taller man next to you dusted his gloves off. "I know I'm leaving you in the dark here, (Y/n). But trust me when I say that this may be a breakthrough for us all", you sighed "You get more cryptic as I hang out with you...I can never understand you Para-Giangio."

He grinned at your slip up, "Oh? 'hang out'? I didn't know you thought of me as a friend!" he chuckled making you roll your eyes, "I'm gonna ignore you now" and with that the conversation died down.

-Timeskip-

The sound of your heeled shoes echoed through the halls of the place you were held up in, you decided to stay cooped up with Giangio in an abandoned house in a corner of Krat, in his words 'best place to stay until it's time' cryptic bastard.

You sighed as you sat on the sofa next to the green hair bloke you had been with for a while now, "I do wonder-" Giangio started making you glance at him, "-why you decided to stay with me" he asked although there was a sense of coyness within his voice. You shuffled in your seat, "well...for starters I don't want to get hammered into the ground by some puppet and secondly, didn't have much of a choice did I? With you-know-who basically forcing me to go with you, I couldn't say no." Giangio tapped his index finger on top of his cane, "Hmm...both valid reasons. However..." he turned to you, a glint in his eyes "there's something more isn't there...hmm?" You glared at him, "get lost" you grumbled as you slumped into the chair, you heard shuffling and saw your companion closer to you, usually you would just get up and walk away but lately it had been really lonely in Krat. Up until recently, Giangio wasn't around you for a while and you basically had to defend and be very aware of your surroundings and now that he's back you sort missed the lying bastard. You were assigned to him when...your father forced you to. Saying how it was to help you become an alchemist and yet there was nothing you really learned about being an alchemist with Giangio and it seemed like Giangio had an agender of his own, he never told you but he did tell you his real identity which you were strickly told never to tell and only that he was in search of something. You didn't know what it was and you had a feeling Giangio wouldn't tell you, at least not now.

You got used to his weird personaility and come to sort of...liking it. Your father never really bothered with you once your mother passed- even when your mother was alive he didn't bother much either but your mother was the only one who you were close to, you would be babysat in the alchemist tower and it would get lonely and even lonelier throughout the years. Until you meet the man sitting next to you, he was quiet and only spoke when needed. Giangio and your father would be all hush hush and it made you suspicious until one day your father suddenly announced that you would be working with Giangio which was a surprise but nothing else was said and now here you were.

You let out a tired sigh, it had been a rough day for you as it made you just sad looking out in the broken city of Krat, before the frenzy it was genuinly a beautiful place but now it's nothing but a cold and harsh place. You felt a gloved hand take your bare one, a thumb softly rubbing over your knuckles. You glanced at the man next to you practically a few inches from your face, "don't worry my dear apprentice...it won't be long before the puzzle is almost complete" Giangio whispered as you stared at him, "again with the cryptic nonsense...just what are we waiting for? Can't you tell me?" you asked softly as the greenette shook his head with a frown, "not yet.." he took off his hat and placed it on the table in front of you before laying his head on your shoulder making you turn your head to the side in embarssment, "don't get used to this..." you mumbled as you heard a low chuckle.

The taller man sat up before leaning into you, "but what I can tell you is that I missed you..." you rolled your eyes, "sorry, did I just hear the Paracelsus say HE missed ME?" you snorted. "isn't it bit inappropriate to flirt with the leader of the alchemists son?", "I've never been a one to follow the rules 100%...and you haven't been the one to follow your fathers rules either..." he softly chuckled as his gaze went to your lips before going back to your eyes, "god, we really are just two lonely men..." you mumbled. You were quiet for a second before sighing, "but fuck it, why not?" you shrugged as you grabbed the collar of the greenette and smashed your lips against him earning a surprise 'mph!' before feeling him deepen the kiss, your face heated up upon feeling his tongue pressed against your lips asking permission which you granted him.

Your hands hugged his slim waist as you both deepened the kiss before pulling away a little, a bit breatheless as you narrowed your eyes at him, "I think we'll stop there..." "what a shame, I was enjoying that" Giangio replied as leaned in and gave you soft peck, "my fine assistant I suspect our job to be almost done and after that I truly do hope we can continue our little...winding down time". "You sound pretty confident that we'll continue this" you smirked with an eyebrow raised, Giangio had a glint in his eye as he chuckled before placing his hat back on and grabbing his cane before standing up. "I must go see so that puppet, he must have more coins for me by now, stay here and try not to miss me too much!" he sang as he walked out.

....

Shutting the door behind him, Giangio smirked "You may have developed a whole being Manus... but I can already see your son in exceeding further beyond that...and I don't intend to let this one go." he mumbled to himself before making his way down the desolate alleyway of Krat alone.

#lies of p imagines #lies of p #lies of p giangio x reader #i need more mystery man in my life and i will give a bif smooch to anyone who does a giangio oneshot #him and his stupid top hat #lies of p x reader

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stargazer-sims · 9 months ago

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The Art of Redemption

(part 7)

previous // next // story index

__________

The Brindleton Bay Arena is the second-largest arena in the city. It's designated as a multi-sport facility, and that's technically accurate, but it's most commonly known for being the home of the Brindleton Bay Skating Club. It has three ice surfaces; a large main rink with seating for just over four thousand spectators, and two other regulation-sized ice surfaces with enough bench seating around them for about three hundred people each. The main rink is used for minor hockey and for public recreational skating as well as for figure skating, but the two smaller rinks are usually reserved for group skating classes and for the competitive skaters to practice on.

The only arena in town that's larger and more well known than this one is Seaport Place, where the Brindleton Bay Mariners hockey team practices and plays. Nikolai likes hockey. He enjoys attending Mariners home games whenever he can, and he likes the huge, bright and modern environment of Seaport Place. He's even competed there a few times, in events that anticipated far more spectators than the Brindleton Bay Arena could accommodate. He recalls the year Skate Canada was hosted there. That had been a proud moment for the city, and Nikolai had loved performing for the hometown crowd.

But, as beautiful and prestigious as Seaport Place is, it doesn't hold space in Nikolai’s heart like the old Brindleton Bay Arena does. This building is practically a second home to him.

At least it was.

Stepping through the doors of the arena with Beth-Anne doesn’t feel like the homecoming he imagined. It’s awkward and strange, and he thinks the sentiment is similar to that of two old friends who’ve drifted apart, inadvertently meeting on the street one day and realizing just how much each of them has changed. It’s true he hasn’t been away from the rink that long, only slightly more than a month, but being here now feels like he’s crossed into a parallel dimension. It’s as if the pocket universe inside the arena has altered itself just enough so that he’s no longer included in its timeline, as if he'd never existed here as a skater at all.

He feels like he's trespassing. He can’t come in here without his skates and without a scheduled ice time. He needs a reason, a purpose.

He stops walking, but he’s unaware of it until Beth-Anne is several strides ahead. She pauses, and looks over her shoulder at him.

"Nikolai, are you okay?" she asks.

He feels sick, and he almost tells her he wants to leave, but he scrapes together the shreds of his courage and says, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Beth-Anne returns to his side and rests her hand on his forearm. "We're doing this at your pace, remember."

He swallows several times. It's one of his nervous habits, and he knows Beth-Anne will recognize it, but nevertheless he repeats, "No, I'm okay. It's just... weird. Coming here feels weird."

"I know," she says. "The first time I came here after I stopped competing felt weird to me too. Probably an understatement to say it was weird, actually. I never darkened the doorway of this place for over four years, and I had no intention of ever coming back, but Stan talked me into it. You know how he is when he gets onto an idea."

Nikolai manages a little smile. "Yeah. People don't really say no to Uncle Stan, do they?"

"Not if they know what's good for them," Beth-Anne says. She grins at him. "Or unless they're you. You're the reason he called me, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He couldn't handle you. Said you walked all over him."

"He likes me," Nikolai says. "I don't think it was so much that I said no to him, but that he couldn't bring himself to say no to me."

"A little of Column A and a little of Column B, I think," says Beth-Anne. "Anyway, he said you needed someone who'd love you and let you have fun, but who'd encourage you to focus and who wouldn't let you get away with your usual shit. For some reason, he thought of me, and he pretty much just told me to show up at a certain day and time."

'I remember that day."

"Me too. I felt like I was going to puke my guts out the second I came through the door, I was that nervous.”

"You didn't seem nervous."

"Because I'm good at bullshitting my way through situations," she says. “But, you know what? I’m glad I showed up, even though I was scared as hell. That was one of the best risks I ever took, and look what came out of it. Stan said you were special, and he wasn’t wrong.”

“Stan said I was special?”

“He did.”

“He never told me that. He usually said I was a huge pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive states of being.” She arches an eyebrow, amused. “You are a huge pain in the ass sometimes, but I love you and you’re worth the trouble. And you are special.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I love you too, but you probably already know that.”

“Yeah, but what do I always say? Never miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, just so you know, I calmed down once I was here for a while on that first day. Being with people I love and doing something that makes me happy made a difference." She gives his arm a light, reassuring squeeze. "It does get easier, I promise."

"I trust you," he says, because he does. It's hard to believe it'll get easier, but if Beth-Anne says it will, then he can at least accept the possibility.

"You're not alone. You don't have to do any of this by yourself."

"I know," he says. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. Now, do you think you're ready to keep going?"

He's not entirely certain he's ready, but he nods his affirmation. "Yeah. Let's do this."

He follows her through the foyer and down the corridor that leads to one of the practice ice surfaces. Part of the wall is constructed of shatterproof glass, and he can see three small children already on the ice and several adults seated on the benches.

Preschool group class.

He was part of a preschool group class once himself, although he only has the vaguest recollection of it. His most solid early memories of skating are from when he was about nine years old, practising at his old club and competing in local pre-Novice events. He hadn't done very well, and his teacher at the time had told his parents that he probably wouldn't still be skating past the age of ten or eleven.

His parents had taken that pronouncement at face value, and his father had broken it to him as delicately as he was able. Nikolai, however, was not ready to give up on his dream. He remembers running to his grandfather and sobbing in his arms while trying to relate the awful news.

Grandpa had understood the problem.

"Kolya, I want to tell you two very important things," he'd said. "The first is that not everyone can be good at the things they love, and I want you to understand, that's okay. But, the second thing is that no one should ever quit doing what they love just because someone else thinks they should. If you want to be a skater, then you should keep skating. Maybe you won't be good at it or maybe you'll be a world champion some day, but if you stop now, you'll never know."

"But, what about Papa and Mama?" he'd asked. "Papa said—"

"Never mind what he said. I'll talk to your parents," Grandpa had assured him. "And never mind that teacher, either. We'll look for someone who knows what they’re talking about. Someone who knows whether you've got real potential or not."

Making good on his word, Grandpa had more or less taken over supervising Nikolai's skating career after that. He found another coach, one who did indeed give an honest answer about Nikolai's potential. She was of the view that Nikolai wasn't doing well because he didn't get the individual attention he needed in group classes and was essentially being held back by everybody else. She agreed to take him on as an individual student, and by the time he entered the Novice division the following year and started competing seriously, he surprised everyone by winning a silver medal in his very first competition.

That was the day Grandpa gave him Champion the teddy bear. He'd tapped the little plastic gold medal around the bear's neck and told him, "Some day you'll have a real one of these, Kolya. A real gold medal, and I'm going to be right there to see it happen."

And he was. Grandpa was there for every competition for his entire time in Novice, travelling with him and Allison, his coach, to various parts of the country. He'd seen quite a lot of Nikolai's Junior division competitions too.

Then, when Nikolai was sixteen, the whole family had moved here to Brindleton Bay. The move was ostensibly for Grandpa's work, but it wasn't lost on Nikolai that Grandpa had made contact with the one and only Stanislav Kovac and somehow convinced him to be Nikolai's coach. Stan coached him for a year, and then Beth-Anne came along.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Maybe, he tells himself, it'll be the same with coaching as it was with his competitive career. He doesn't know if coaching is what he wants to do long-term or if he'll have any aptitude for teaching, but he won't have the answer to either of those questions until he makes the attempt. And Beth-Anne will be with him, just like always. Grandpa too, he realizes, and suddenly finds he can hardly wait to tell his grandfather about this latest development, as undefined as it is.

He's going to watch those preschoolers with all the attention he can muster.

Nikolai is busy coming up with basic skills he might look for in the little skaters as he and Beth-Anne approach the the entrance to the practice rink. They're only half a dozen steps away when the door swings open and someone dashes through it with a shout of, "Nikolai Pavlenko!"

The young woman runs straight toward Nikolai and flings herself at him so forcefully that Nikolai has to drop his crutches in order to catch her. He lets out an inelegant grunt as he's forced to put weight on his injured leg, but he stays upright, and that's something.

"Nikolai! Oh my God!" the girl exclaims. "You're okay! Uncle Stan said you were in the hospital, and we were all literally freaking out. I'm so happy you're all right and..." she interrupts herself with a squeal of joy, and squishes him in an exuberant embrace. "I missed you!"

It's difficult not to respond to such an enthusiastic welcome, and he smiles. "Hi, Mariah. I missed you too."

Beside him, Beth-Anne doesn't seem quite so pleased. She makes an exasperated huffing noise. "Mariah! For fuck's sake! Did you not see the crutches?"

"Oh! Sorry!" Mariah says, but she's not contrite. She releases Nikolai and then scrambles to collect his crutches for him. As she's helping him get situated with them again, she glances over at Beth-Anne. "My mom says you say the F-word too much, you know."

"Typical teenager," Beth-Anne grumbles. "Always making trouble."

"Yup," says Mariah, unfazed. Nikolai knows Beth-Anne isn't really angry, and Mariah clearly knows it too. "That's me, Mariah Torres. Making trouble since 1995."

Nikolai wants to laugh, and momentarily forgets that he's supposed to be anxious. He adores Mariah. The sixteen year old kind of reminds him of himself and Ginger at that age, full of energy and affection and harmless silliness. In hindsight, it's no wonder Stan hadn't been able to handle the two of them together.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Beth-Anne is asking Mariah. "Your ice time isn't until three-thirty."

"I know," Mariah says. "My dad's away on business and my mom had to take my sisters to the dentist this morning, so like, somebody had to make sure my baby brother made it here for his ice time. But, don't worry," she adds. "Me and Gabriel have dentist appointments too, so once his class is over we're gonna go there, and then I'll go to school for the afternoon."

"Your little brother's in the preschool class?" Nikolai asks, intrigued.

"Uh-huh," says Mariah. "And he's awesome. I mean, not that anybody's actually good when they're four years old, but like, Gabriel hardly ever falls down, and he can skate on one foot a little bit."

"I'll keep an eye out for that."

"You're going to watch the class?"

"I'm going to be observing all morning," he says.

"Cool," says Mariah. "Come on. You can sit with me, and we'll observe together. We can pretend we're assistant coaches and make notes."'

Nikolai doesn't tell her that he's not going to be pretending. He and Mariah find a spot where they're able to see everything, and they settle in to watch what Gabriel and his friends are learning.

There are five kids in the class altogether, and it turns out that little Gabriel Torres really is the best of the bunch. Just as his sister claimed, he can skate on one leg, and he zips around the orange safety cones without falling down once. He can even skate backwards, although he does land on his bum several times while trying that. The only other child who comes close to him in skills is a little girl who has backward skating down to an art, but who can't seem to stop unless she crashes into something.

By the time the class ends, Nikolai can barely believe half an hour has already gone by. He’s getting more comfortable with l being here and he thinks he might even dare to say he's having a good time.

He says goodbye to Mariah and Gabriel, and tells Mariah he might see her later that day. She gives him a high-five before skipping off with her little brother in tow.

After the group class, Stan and Ginger show up for Ginger's ice time. Ginger greets Nikolai with just as much enthusiasm as Mariah had, but unlike her younger counterpart, she's careful of his leg and waits until he's sitting down again before she tackle-hugs him. She fusses over him for several minutes until Stan yells at her to quit her nonsense and get moving. Laughing, she pulls off her skate guards and hands them to Nikolai before making her way to the gate and stepping onto the ice.

Beth-Anne comes to sit with him, and they watch together as Ginger rehearses her programs for Worlds. Beth-Anne suggests things for Nikolai to pay attention to, and he does his best to follow everything Ginger is doing. He's watched hundreds of videos of himself and other skaters over the years that he's had to study, but he could pause those whenever he wanted and rewind as many times as necessary. Analyzing someone's routine in real time is a lot more challenging than he expected. He can't say he dislikes it, though. It's fascinating, and just as Beth-Anne predicted, it does change his perspective.

After Ginger's practice, they all have time for a break. Stan and Beth-Anne go off somewhere together, presumably to discuss something coaching-related, while Nikolai and Ginger make their way out to the vending machines in the foyer. Ginger digs around in her bag for some change, and then gets a bottle of orange Gatorade and a bag of pretzels, which they share. Beth-Anne would be horrified to see them drinking from the same bottle, but neither Nikolai nor Ginger is particularly worried. This isn't the first time they've shared a drink, and it most likely won't be the last.

They chat for a while about inconsequential things and make plans to go bowling once Nikolai no longer needs his crutches. She should know better than to challenge him to a bowling match, he says. She's terrible at it and he invariably wins.

"Hope springs eternal and all that," she says airily. She doesn't care if she doesn't win. She just wants to be with him, to laugh and eat pizza and listen to the bowling alley's old-timey soundtrack.

He tells her he'd like that. He's happy whenever he gets to be with her, and a best friend date with greasy bowling alley pizza and old time rock 'n roll sounds fantastic to him.

When the pretzels and Gatorade are gone, Ginger checks the time on her fitness tracker and says she has to run. She has a massage therapy appointment and then a session at the dance studio afterwards. She kisses him on the cheek before she leaves, and says she hopes he enjoys the rest of his day.

Now that he's feeling more at ease, he fully intends to enjoy the rest of his day. It's all going so well — much better than he feared it might, in fact — and he has to admit he’s surprised by that.

He gathers his crutches and makes his way back to the practice rink. Beth-Anne isn't back yet, and nobody else is there.

Nikolai reclaims the seat he'd occupied for most of the morning and waits. It's nearly eleven o'clock, which Beth-Anne had said was Brett's scheduled ice time and also when Nikolai's first tentative assistant coaching assignment would begin. He's looking forward to studying Brett's performance. The junior skater is obviously very good, and Nikolai wants to see exactly what it is that earned him a qualification for the World Junior Figure Skating Championship.

He doesn't have to wait long for Brett to appear. The wooden bench has barely warmed beneath him when Brett Eriksson enters through the door from the men's locker room. The fourteen year old is small, but Nikolai can tell from the way he moves that there's nothing fragile or weak about him. He's clad in grey athletic pants and a form-hugging blue top, with a blue toque pulled down over his mass of white-blond curls. His expression is grim, incongruous with his cherubic features.

Brett skates around the perimeter of the ice surface in long, slow, fluid strides. He doesn't seem to realize Nikolai is there at first, but when he finally does notice, he slides to an abrupt halt, sending a small shower of snow over his skates and the surrounding ice.

There's no other way to describe it; Brett glares at him.

"You," he says. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Watch your language," Nikolai says. It's the first thing that springs into his mind, and he doesn't have the willpower to filter it.

Brett glides up to the boards and then just stands there for several seconds, still glaring at Nikolai. He folds his slender arms over his narrow chest and demands. "Where's Beth-Anne? Or am I skating alone again today?"

"She's here," Nikolai says.

"With you."

"What does that have to do with anything? Beth-Anne's here. You're going to get your ice time with her."

"Am I?" says Brett. "I missed three days because of you. Because Beth-Anne thinks you're more important than the rest of us, apparently. Your career's fucking done, and she still pays more attention to you than she does to me."

That's not—" Nikolai begins, but trails off because it's pointless to deny that Beth-Anne has been devoting her time exclusively to him for the past several days. Brett can't possibly know everything that's transpired, but Nikolai can still see his point of view. No doubt he'd feel ignored and he'd be angry too, if his and Brett's roles were reversed. Still, nothing that's happened is Nikolai's fault, and he thinks it's unfair for Brett to blame him.

He shakes his head and admonishes himself, Brett's just a kid. Don't get yourself into a stupid argument with a kid.

Taking a deep breath, he tries again. "Brett, I'm sorry you lost a few training days, but that's not something I had any control over."

"Like hell it isn't!" Brett retorts. "You've got Beth-Anne wrapped around your finger so tight, she'd come running if you had a fucking paper cut. And don't try to say that's not true, 'cause we all know it is. So, you whine about some dumb little thing and she up and leaves us to fend for ourselves. You think that's something you can't control?"

"It wasn't a paper cut. I was in the hospital."

"So what? You've got a mom and dad and a wife. They're the ones who're supposed to be taking care of you, not your coach. Our coach. She knows I have a big competition in a few weeks, and yet she's still putting you ahead of me, and that's literally fucking wrong."

"Maybe, but it's still not my fault," Nikolai says. He tries to keep his tone steady, but he's starting to feel panicky again and he's scared his self-control will slip. "If you have a problem with how Beth-Anne is managing your training, she's the one you should be talking to about it, not me."

"Oh, yeah? Talk to her about it and hear what, exactly?" He pitches his voice in a high, mocking tone. "Nikolai needs me. Blah... blah..."

That... that is not fair! You—"

"No!" Brett cuts him off. "You know what's not fair? You barging into my practice session is not fair. You think Beth-Anne is going to waste even half a brain cell on me with you sitting right there?”

“She’ll give you all her attention. This is your practice time.”

“Yeah, my practice time,” Brett echoes fiercely. “You don't belong here, Nikolai. Not in my practice session and not anywhere in this whole damn arena! You're not a skater any more, and we all know it, so why don't you quit taking up space around here and just leave already?"

For what feels like an eternity, Nikolai is unable to move or speak. He has no response in any case, even if he could find his voice. The edges of his vision darken and his heart hammers so hard and fast inside his chest that he can barely breathe.

Not now, he pleads, but hot tears fill his eyes despite his silent begging to whatever powers control such things.

On the ice, Brett is laughing. He shouts something unmistakably mocking and derogatory, but Nikolai’s brain can’t process the individual words.

Nikolai jumps up from the bench. Forgetting that he's supposed to be on crutches, he tries to run and then gasps in pain when his bad leg takes his full body weight. He can’t see clearly through his tears, but he can make out the shape of his crutches and he knows where the exit is. He scoops up his crutches from where they're leaning against the bench, gets them positioned, and then hobbles toward the door as fast as he’s able.

He doesn't see Beth-Anne coming and nearly collides with her on the way out. She squeaks in surprise, and says, "Nikolai! What's going on?"

He doesn't answer her. He just keeps limping along the corridor, head down, concentrating on every agonizing step.

"Where are you going?" Beth-Anne calls after him.

"Home," he says. It comes out quiet and strained, and he doesn't know if she hears him or not. "I... I need to go home."

#writing #the art of redemption #theartofredemption #nikolai pavlenko #beth-anne jones #mariah torres #ginger holmes #brett eriksson #stargazersims

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yourdeadcutie · 4 days ago

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Some random rant about my ex because I have no life

I now realize that he never loved me. It's surprising it took me so long to get it through my head. When I got into that relationship with him,I knew it wouldn't end well. Who was I kidding,a long distance relationship in highschool. It practically writes itself. Yet I let myself believe that it'd be okay and maybe I wouldn't be like all of the other sob stories online. I did though. People are right to say we "love" or whatever sick obsession I had changes your mindset. And even after we broke up, I still thought about him day and night. I never wanted to break up but he wasn't treating me like a girlfriend and more like a girl that he just talked to when he was horny. I guess I can't expect much from a teenage boy. As gross as he was I feel that he was the first person to understand me and I could understand him in some sort of sense. I was perfect. I let myself believe that since I was perfect for him, he'd be perfect for me. I guess when I reached out to him a month or two after the breakup, I finally realized how insignificant I really was. Perspective is a nightmare if you think about it. Someone could play such a huge role in your life and you'll just be a weird phase or a random Tuesday. Anyways when I went back,we started talking. I had to remind him who I was. It took him a while to remember me,not even by name but by what state I lived in. Then he proceeded to talk about much he thought of me and some other stuff now that I could now see was his way of trying to weasel his way back our relationship. It worked and that night we talked. We talked about a lot. For me talking to someone without the usual filters I hold myself to is the equivalent of ripping my heart out and giving it to them. After a whole night of talking we said our goodnights and went to bed. When I woke up I was greeted by a sweet little text along the line of "I can't do this, I'm a sex/porn addict and some other stuff" it's funny now that I look back but at the time I was just so heartbroken and distraught. I mean how peculiar, I had made it very clear that I had absolutely no problems with him and his issues. I let him play out every fantasy with me even the ones I wasn't too fond of but I still did my part. Now he suddenly grows a conscious and says "this is wrong and I'm not ready for a relationship" you don't just have this realization overnight. Sadly,back then I was desperate for him and I wanted him to stay with me because now and then I have no one. I couldn't relate to anyone else. I had him and I didn't wanna lose him again. He didn't even read my pleas before blocking me on everything.

Looking back now,I learned that he was probably just horny and liked what I told him. He did say I always knew what to say. It's just so strange to me now, looking and thinking about him. So much conflicting emotions. I'm mad at him and I know if he came back I'd play him or tell him off. Then I feel upset because deep down I want him back more than anything. Then I want to move on.

I'm better now. I know he won't come back. It's just so lonely now. The only person I've felt connected to is gone and out of my life. It makes me sick that he gets to live,get a new girlfriend and gets to be happy with her and not me. I wanted that to be me.

I wanna be happy to. Not even with him specifically but just with someone I can bond my soul with. It's a stupid thing to say I know but I wouldn't want a relationship if it wasn't that way.

Anyways if you read this far thank you.

#femcel #girlblogging #female hysteria #this is a girlblog #female insanity #female manipulator #losergirlblogger #loser girl #female incel #female rage

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hospitalterrorizer · 1 month ago

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diary395

10/21/24

monday

a guest is coming over tomorrow...

i think i am going to show him fear and hunger 1 and maybe 2, while we just bullshit about everything else, hopefully he won't be painfully tired or anything, from graveyard.

today i have been rather depressed, but i wrote a lot. i got an idea for a new story, or... not so much a new story? it is but it isn't, it absorbs something i wrote a while ago, and couldn't figure out, now that is an ending section written from a separate perspective, and i've roughly written the first. it is maybe rushing a little. i'm not sure. it probably is but it's also about someone who doesn't like, matter. something about sitting in a vc where people just talk about twitter people stuck something in my craw i suppose, writing about a guy i knew or an extreme distortion of him is one way to get that out, having that out of me, it lets me think about the turn necessary to make the story anything beyond complaining or shallow cruelty. it also is coming from thinking about how people always touch me when i don't want to be touched, or i guess a couple men and those experiences, i sat in the shower thinking about that and felt rather unhappy. it was really strange. it made me think of how a friend of mine seems to feel a lot, they get so upset sometimes, it's less the content of what we get upset over and more that specific wave of unhappiness seems to express itself, an animal kind of feeling almost, for them they get rather mad, and talk about being pissed at nothing, i wasn't pissed really, i just felt locked up in a weird cage, while in the shower. or the shower soothed it, a little, because hot water soothes all kinds of things.

i listened to this song a lot today:

youtube

very miserable song.

i wrote some other stuff too, just some other sundry tiny pieces, a little edit in something i want to submit, i want to do another full pas through that, i think i can sharpen that into something very interesting, i wonder how to best work with how it disintegrates.

i keep thinking about how he says menstrual blood in that song, 'a delicate mixture of sweat and menstrual blood', a very beautiful line. as is 'stains and scars i can't explain'.

what else... oh, i don't know. i feel like a huge failure, today. i don't know why, it just feels like i will never be much. i don't know what much means. i just think i want more peers, i feel so alienated from most people, i don't know how to talk to most people. that's my own fault. usually, you just talk. i know some people are bad at it too, but i just should know how to do these things by now. i guess i just wish my writing were better. my close writing friends tell me it inspires them, but they know me. it means a lot, no matter what, i'm just really never going to be satisfied, that's the real issue. i want to be better than i am, and this is good, it makes me try at least. but sometimes it's exhausting to feel behind, or to feel, this is an ugly feeling, that i am behind people who simply know how to have a personality in the right places. it's irritating, but the fact i feel that way probably expresses that there is something wrong with my personality and people are right to avoid me when they do, or be put off.

what do i even mean by personality? it's not personality so much, just being able to put oneself out there, continuously, to post, in the ways people post these days. i can't because it makes me a little sick. i like posting here because people really don't read these crazy long posts normally, outside of a few people, which i always appreciate. and posting my art felt good, i'd like to get better at coloring and all the things people do to make stuff something anyone wants to look at, but nobody seemed to hate it or whatever, which is good. i just can't do things that feel like lying. being funny in the way all those people on twitter are, i can't, they're so unfunny normally... that's the real wound in everything, so much of what goes on is mediated by that platform, but it's just something that seems to make people... i dunno. i have a friend who complains about people making the internet a kind of tv. but twitter is the most reality-tv thing ever honestly. it's like freebasing real housewives.

it just bites idk. the world bites, and i have no one to blame but myself since i'm stupid enough to try and befriend people who are just, stuck there, i suppose. trying to make peers out of people i don't really want to even be around. but i hate that. i want to be friends with them, i want to be nicer and better, in every way. so why can't i be?

i dunno. maybe i'm wrong about not wanting to be around them, sometimes they're fun. it just baffles me. it baffles me how they are i guess. it sucks that sometimes all i can seem to do is be quiet, that's all that exists, be quiet and listen to people or be moved around.

the other day, when i went out, did i forget this anecdote? i can't recall, we were eating pizza, and i was daubing off the grease because it's gross when there is way too much, and this person we were there with who kept touching my head and grabbing at me to try and make me dance with him, called me chris chan for doing that, and then i said "that's ulililia who did that you faggot". he looked so sad. i guess this is the feeling inspiring what i started writing. at least it is a potent feeling. this person is so depressing.

i hope no one finds me too evil for saying faggot, i think i'm allowed, maybe the way i used it was evil though. i don't know. maybe i'm being too much of a cop to myself. i'm really just loopy right now or something. maybe just the or something. my mom texted me today, and asked if i have a social media she can follow, and i said i don't really want her to... too much to explain since i'm not really a man which is what i guess she'd expect. or a boy. either way, i'm clearly another thing. or i think i am. or i guess i know i am. is it annoying that i'm like this? i can't tell. i feel so stupid and depressed. she is worried about me becoming estranged, it's not that, i just don't know how to tell her, i'm not really your son, i don't need to be your daughter though, since i know you didn't want one, i'm just what you had. which has mostly been 'disappointing'. ha ha. not that she expresses or even thinks that anymore. she's very kind to me, she's a good mother, i just feel like i really did disappoint her through my development. i guess "i'm not really your son but i don't need to be your daughter," is as good a statement as i can get but i think she'd feel like i was being cryptic when all i mean is exactly that. i don't think she'd really be upset about it. i think she'd worry she's upset me... but i let everyone call me whatever they decide to call me, or what they used to call me before i decided to try and look different and be more how i felt inside. it's strange, every time i'm sad, i always end up talking about my gender. it feels less like it's got to do with it triggering the same emotions, and more it's just something i can ruminate on rather safely, because as time goes on, i only become more myself, and more comfortable with all the feelings i've had for years, feelings and experiences/methods of experience.

i sort of feel like i've been gutspilling too much lately, things aren't that heavy, i'm just going a little crazy i guess. i dunno why. i'm almost very happy sometimes, other times i just space out. i guess i'm just feeling something come over me, a new compulsion, which is always painful, and a lot of hating men. i don't want to really, i miss when i trusted them more. but they keep... i dunno... i say they like it's a bunch of them. really it's just very pathetic kinds of people, and sometimes friends who have taken jokes too far. my friends are easier to forgive because there's always drinking, earlier i felt so upset about that, but now i feel like whatever, the pathetic people fuck me up more, i don't know how you end up being someone who constantly negs women and then starts touching a femme person just because you know they're, i don't know, because i'm not cis or whatever it's like i'm a toy you can be more rough with and because you don't want to believe you can hurt anyone you keep doing the same things over and over because it's like you think you can prove you're not bad, to yourself and to this other person, but you're just making things harder, you're becoming more grating, gracelessly digging a pit.

whatever, though, it's all fine. i'm not a victim of anything really. i shouldn't act like it i'm just histrionic and stupid.

i should sleep now, i think that's all i really need, that and to write and be rid of these stupid thoughts, plus talking to a friend i haven't seen in a while will be helpful for me. hopefully i don't get waken up early like i did today too. maybe that is contributing to my mood.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#Youtube

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