#childhood trauma strips you of an innocent before the fall

[thinkingofmikey]

There's a dark pit in me. Sometimes, it feels like a black hole, like a force of nature that has intense gravity, threatening to swallow anything that comes close, thoughts, light, me. That I'll be trapped in its darkness, lost. That me, whatever me is, won't be able to escape, and I'll just be the darkness instead.

It feels empty, like a void, like a hole that goes down and on forever, bottomless. That no amount of throwing things in there will ever fill it up. Sometimes it feels like an echo, like thoughts get close to it and get distorted, bouncing back to me all different and wrong. It's the source of all those terrible fears, maybe it is fear, or loneliness. It's self-loathing and self-hated. Unkindness. It spawns every dark narrative whispered when things are too much or too hard: "you're not good enough" "you'll never be good enough". "No one will ever love you", "you are unlovable". "You have done terrible things" "you are unforgivable". "Even the people who should have loved you unconditionally beat you, neglected you, turned your own blood against you, cast you out". "You deserved it", "it was your fault". "I wouldn't hit you if you were a good girl".

The fear of the fear gives it gravity, turns it from a void to a black hole, the fear of getting close to it pulls you in against your will. Sitting quietly near it, feeling it hollow out my chest, push a lump into my throat and air from my lungs, makes it both overwhelming and manageable. Reminds me that it doesn't have gravity per say, that it won't pull me in.

Trying to avoid it distorts life, too. Takes energy and vitality away from living, just to try and put a railing around it. Trying to avoid it curves every path such that they always end up next to it, and usually when you least expect it. A stray thought and you're right next to it, with its echos in the dark, telling you what a piece of shit you still are.

In therapy today, I sat near it. Breathing. Not letting panic creep in. Sat near it and didn't try to push it away or lock it up somewhere. Sat near it, saying nothing, so there were no unkind echos. Sat near it, and felt the space get a little larger.

Trauma is exhausting, a constant battle under the surface, against yourself, against the dark. Most of the time, these days, I feel like I'm winning, like I have more resources and tools to cope, to be kind and effective, to not believe the echos.

But watching Good Omens has shaken some things loose, rattled them around. When Crowley says, "Unforgivable, that's what I am", the void screams, "me too! I, too, am unlovable! Cast out! My creators didn't care for me, either!" Trauma is lonely, at its core, isolating. Having a mirror held up to it has been good... but hard.

It looks like I have a lot of sitting next to a dark pit, not falling in, and just breathing, in my future.

[thinkingofmikey]

OP (@snek-of-eden) I dunno what happened to you, but trauma informed therapy can still help. Even if you feel like it's getting better, I cannot recommend finding a good therapist who specializes in this area enough. Absolutely life changing. My three year anniversary with my therapist is in a few weeks and my life is soo much better for starting this journey. It definitely gets better.

Thoughts on Angel Crowley & Healing from Trauma

As someone who’s endured my own Trauma and dealt with the resulting PTSD without any help, watching Crowley’s journey from a joyful, silly, and entirely innocent angel to a withdrawn, lonely, hyper-vigilant demon as a result of the Fall both shattered my heart and confronted me with the fact of myself, and I’d like to talk about it. 

When you* experience Trauma, you experience an existential disorientation and a profound sense of grief over the world you thought you knew–one where you were safe and nothing bad had ever happened to you. “Innocence died screaming,” and all that.

You're also therefore mourning the loss of who you were, and struggling to make sense of who you are now. Which is why this conversation is so gut-wrenching:

“I know you.” “You do not know me.” “I knew the angel you were.” “The angel you knew is not me.” 

This dialogue admittedly still makes my eyes swim. It’s reminiscent of the many conversations I’ve had with people close to me who knew me Before and After. Not only are you grieving the loss of your own innocence, so are those around you, and it feels like you’re wearing their loved one’s face like a mask.

And then underneath the grief, there’s a river of–what you’ll later discover is misplaced–guilt. They want you to be who you were. Fuck, you also want to be who you were -- to not have experienced what you did -- but you can’t.

And when they catch a glimpse of something that reminds them of Before-You -- because it's not like that you has just up and vanished, you've just changed -- they say things like, “I feel like I have you back!” Like the After-You is a consolation prize, something to be tolerated while they wait for the Before-You to return.

It’s not malicious. They love you. They want you to be happy. But it just serves as a reminder of your loss and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how alone you are with the Thing that hurt you.

After trauma, you’re lonely and you're afraid. But those emotions make you feel quite naked, because both of those things would require you to depend on other people to feel better and, at this point, the thought of doing that is far too scary, so to the world, you’re angry. Thus begins the cyclical self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that cycle goes a bit like this: People see the mistrust and the bitterness and the volatility (the shield that keeps people at an arm's length and helps you feel safe). They don't see the profound sustained fear underneath, the desperate need to feel seen and accepted. And so people pull away.

And that real or perceived abandonment feeds the monster that’s taken up permanent residence in your ribcage and screams at all hours that you’re not worthy of love, that you’re irreparably broken, and you’ll always be alone. And you pull away from the people that love you. And the cycle repeats. And you start to believe all of the bad things about yourself that the monster tells you.

Being confronted with a character who you adore and who you also relate to closely is bittersweet in that it’s both immensely painful, but also offers you an opportunity to interrupt that cycle, to explore a different -- perhaps more forgiving -- lens through which to view yourself. To practice self-compassion by proxy, if you will. After all, we tend to extend far greater empathy and forgiveness to others than we do to ourselves.

Angel Crowley, "who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty,” (joycrispy) reminded me a lot of “Angel T,” or rather myself before Trauma.

And Crowley's story is tragic. I was heartbroken and angry for him; I felt the depth of the betrayal he experienced at the hands of someone he loved who he'd believed loved him; I found myself wanting to protect him, to comfort him. Crowley did not deserve what happened to him.

And, over a decade later, I started to finally accept that I didn't deserve what happened to me, either.

And -- if you find yourself relating to this post -- neither did you.

Once we can accept that, we can lower the shield. We can allow people closer, including ourselves. We can bring the parts of ourselves we may have hidden away back to the surface. We can soften again.

Crowley, at his core, remains the same. He is still kind, deeply loving, playful, silly, and – against all odds – hopeful. But his trauma has changed him; his innocence is gone.

He struggles to trust others; fears abandonment; engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms; finds it easier to prioritize and tend to Aziraphale's needs and desires than his own; and has difficulty expressing his emotions.

But he also gained an abundance of empathy, a deep love for humanity, and a strong sense of justice.

We adore Crowley exactly as he is now; we don't wish for him to be who he was before the Fall. And neither does Aziraphale.

In kind, we won’t be who we were — nor should we try to be — but we can be something new, a different version of ourselves that is equally good, equally worthy, and equally deserving of love. 

After over a decade, I think my Trauma wound has mostly healed, as much as Trauma wounds can, anyway; it’s a dull ache rather than an acute pain. Yet Crowley's story assuaged that remaining hurt like a salve I hadn’t realized I needed.

So thank you to @neil-gaiman for giving us such a beautiful story, and to David Tennant, Michael Sheen, and the rest of the cast and crew who bring the characters we love to life on screen. Good Omens truly is a gift.

* I am aware that I say “you” when I should use the singular first-person “I,” but I still struggle with this when talking about my own trauma. So I’m using “you” and you, reader, will deal with it x

[chronicallycouchbound]

Unhoused Joy: Cardboard Sleds

So often are unhoused youth stripped of the simple joys of childhood. Even if we weren’t homeless at a young age, most of us never had the type of childhood where you sled for hours and come inside to a cup of hot cocoa. But Chris and I were young teenagers and both trying our best to stay sober as friends around us struggled to do so.

We were living in the teen shelter together. We had grown close. Not like friends close, but like siblings close. He always poked me and pushed my buttons and in return I steered him away from trouble. Just like any good brother would.

In the harsh New England winters, there wasn’t much to do. We were both in high school and had too much energy for the library. There wasn’t anywhere else indoors to hang out for people our age in this god awful small town.

So Chris and I went for walks. We liked to hang out at this random tiny gazebo next to the fairgrounds. I’d chain smoke and we’d joke back and forth. I’d give him advice about the most recent trouble he absolutely was at fault for.

One night I see stacks of cardboard at the nearby dumpster. We grab them and use them to take turns sliding down the small hill. Chris eats shit and I die laughing. We repeat until the cardboard boxes have disintegrated from the weight of us and the cold freshly melted snow.

We walk back laughing and shivering to the youth shelter. We come inside and staff asks if we’re high and we can tell them honestly, no. Chris sits in the kitchen, leaning back in his chair on the brink of falling. He did fall once or twice. I made us hot cocoa and fluffernutters.

I’m sure we talked for hours before heading off to bed, we often did back then. I miss those moments of innocence, a reprieve from the day-to-day traumas of homelessness.

Cardboard sleds didn’t grant either of us housing. But they did grant us hope and joy in a time we frequently didn’t have either. Thank you for those times, Chris.

[nkatr84]

Comfort

So my heart just broke upon learning Marc’s story. Not even with Loki did I want to reach into a TV screen and hug a character. This episode made me fall in love with Marc as much as Steven. (BRING HIM BACK MARVEL!!! 😭) And until episode 6 comes out, I need this catharsis to tide me over. Hints of Steven x reader and Jake x reader, but mostly Marc x reader. Enjoy!

Waking up in the middle of the night was to be expected when dating a superhero that worked mostly at night. What you could never expect was the same experience each time. Because your boyfriend was actually three people in one body thanks to their Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Steven would try to be quiet when he came in. He really did. But his natural clumsy nature would often bump into something with a hushed curse along the lines of “Oh Bollocks!”

Or sometimes you’d open your eyes to see him sitting up and reading in bed. Still unable to sleep sometimes. Squinting through his glasses in the moonlight. He’d always notice you had awakened, and apologize,

“Sorry Love. Did I wake you?”

Then you would curl up on his chest as he read to you, his London accent soothing you back to sleep.

Jake didn’t bother being quiet. He knew you were a light sleeper. He did try to avoid you seeing the blood on him before he stripped to take a shower. Other times you would wake up to find Jake lavish his attentions on you. Giving you a sly wink on his way down.

Marc almost never woke you up. Maybe you’d wake up when he come home, but he’d always whisper in his Chicago cadence,

“Just me. Go back to sleep Baby.”

And with a gentle kiss to your forehead you would, only briefly becoming aware when he’d join you under the covers. He never tried to wake you up again.

So imagine your surprise one night when you awoke to the sound of whimpering. Jake would never and the lack of Steven’s accent told you it was Marc. You turned over to see Marc practically in the fetal position, eyes clenched closed.

He was muttering softly in his sleep,

“No…please Ma…Mom please…please stop…stop…I didn’t mean it…please…Mommy please…”

You sat up, unsure. You wouldn’t dare with Jake. Steven you wouldn’t hesitate. But how would Marc react? Though you couldn’t see or hear Khonshu, you knew he had his way to make himself known.

“Should I wake him?” You whispered to the dark. A gentle breeze that came from nowhere ruffled the curtains.

“I hope that’s a yes.” You muttered to yourself. You turned to Marc and started to shake his bare shoulder.

“Marc? Marc? Marc Honey wake up.” You called gently.

He jolted awake, sitting up trying to catch his breath. His eyes, watery and red from unshed tears took in his surroundings before landing on you.

“Bad dream?”

He nodded, swallowing,

“Bad memories.”

He sighed rubbing his hands down his face.

“Come on. Lie down.” You nodded plumping up the pillows. Unsure, Marc waited until you laid down and made grabby hands at him. He gave a small upturn of his lips before he complied. Adjusting himself so that he was using you as a pillow. His head nestled between your boobs. He sighed in content as your fingers started to comb through his curls.

Still he had to ask,

“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You replied.

You waited. He didn’t say anything. But you could hear the gears turning in his head.

“Not really.” He finally replied. “But you need to know.”

So he told you. About his little brother. About the accident in the cave. About his mother. You felt your nightshirt growing damp with his tears. You felt your own tears threaten to fall. You knew from your research with DID that some kind of childhood trauma caused it. But suddenly it all made sense. Steven’s innocence. Jake’s intensity. Marc’s protectiveness. All combined by a sweet gentleness that took your breath away.

When he was finished, you sniffed,

“Oh Baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have helped you.”

“You do though. Every time you touch me with love. Every time you comfort me. And Steven. And Jake. All those times you do something for us to make us feel loved. That helps.” He told you.

What else could you say?

“I love you. All of you.”

“I love you too. Steven and Jake say Ditto.” Marc told you with a glance at the mirror. You only saw his reflection of course, but you knew in his minds eye that Steven and Jake were there. Steven smiling softly with adoration. Jake smirking with pride.

With a giggle you put a hand on his chiseled jawline and drew Marc up to meet your lips. He shifted up on his knees to deepen the kiss. You wouldn’t mind it if this was how Marc would wake you up.

[ladyoriza]

@aynrandslashfiction made a post earlier asking if there were any other black fans of Far Cry 5 and said this in the tags:

#i been seein a lot of uhh… well. you know.#lot of blondes in sundresses and suchnot--#it's a lil…. hm#iykyk

Which has been in my brain all day and I finally got the spoon necessary to talk about it.

Because this is the exact problem I have as someone who likes two other characters with...let's just say it out loud- a lot of appeal to bigots. (Joshua Graham and Ulfric Stormcloak, for anyone wondering- for different reasons. They could be much better in competent hands and I like exploring what they could be).

This isn't even "you're liking this character wrong", it's "you stripped this character of everything they are, reducing them to a ken doll you can act out your Good Christian Housewife fantasy for". Joseph Seed is manipulative, controlling, abusive, and he's not above doing absolutely heinous things for what he believes is right. Rachel Jessop was 17 when Joseph began brainwashing her into becoming Faith. He did that to a child.

Obviously not everyone into the Seeds has a tradwife/tradhusband(?) fantasy. But there's an alarming number of fics out there that fly so close to it that I have to wonder, you know? When Joseph is reduced to a sad middle-aged man that just wants to help but the big mean Resistance just won't stop killing his poor innocent Peggies? (do not mind the corpses upon the billboards and signs, do not notice what he did to the three Faiths, do not even acknowledge Jacob, do not pass go).

When the Resistance just sees poor, sweet, Rook as a tool but Joseph Sees her and wants to take her away to love and safety?

When they're all weirdly antagonistic but Grace and Tracey are outright aggressive and violent towards Rook? Yeah, that's so thinly-veiled it might as well just take the final step into barefoot and pregnant. Actually, there is no veil. Just a head in the sand.

But no, of course, he's just concerned about poor Rook, right? He doesn't want them brainwashed or turned into an Angel or anything, right? (Again, under no circumstances are you to acknowledge the Whitetail region and Joseph's explicit approval of Jacob's brainwashing or the eventual existence of the Judge...unless it was written before New Dawn. Because I'll fault people for bad writing, not an inability to see the future).

I suppose that's a good litmus test, though. If the Whitetails are even acknowledged or if Eli and Staci are just chopped liver.

It's at best a complete lack of nuance. Like, sure Joseph was correct that the bombs would fall. At no point does that make ANYTHING Eden's Gate did acceptable or justifiable. One of my favorite NPC lines is one of the Resistance women saying something like "I don't care how much Childhood Trauma they had, that doesn't excuse what they're doing to us". And she's right.

Look, I don't read much with John or Jacob but I have a hunch this is a problem with all 3 seedlings.

My rambling point is: you can like the bad guy but for FUCK'S sake think about WHY you write what you write. Nothing exists in a vacuum. If you need to strip off all their traits to force them into a box...maybe just make an oc.

[wandsandwheezes]

505 | G.W

WARNINGS // SMUT 18+, If you know the song, you know what’s coming. Mutual pining, kissing, a lil sadness, George being a simp, 

I wanted to celebrate me reaching 500 followers (something I legit never saw happening) by writing a fic for you all!! I went back to one of my favourite songs... it seemed pretty fitting. 

ps. please don’t post my work elsewhere, it breaks my heart!!

I'm going back to 505

If it's a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive

In my imagination you're waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

505 New Harleston St. The place where it all began, your childhood home. It had been years since George had seen you and every part of him dreaded the thought of you loving someone that wasn't him. It hadn't been easy for him to move on, when every beat of his heart was beating for you. As he turned the ignition of the car and rolled out of his driveway, the destination was set in his mind. Each road and turn was like muscle memory as he set off on the forty-five minute drive in the pouring rain to see you. He prayed you still lived with your parents and that you weren't in the arms of another man. He pictured you in your bed, back arching as you touched yourself to the thought of him. The imagery was sinful, and distracting, so distracting that he had almost veered the poor ford Anglia off the side of the road. He however couldn’t pull himself away from the soft melody that was your moans as they echoed around his brain. 

Only when he was parked outside your house, looking up at your window, which was only dimly lit, did he contemplate driving back home. But he was sure he was meant to be there, after all even if it had taken a Seven hour flight, he had to be there to see you. 

He stepped out of his car, the heavy rain drenching him from head to toe within a few moments. He checked his watch, it was nearly midnight and he hesitated once again. He then noticed the kitchen light flick on. 'it's now or never' he thought, his feet dragging him to your front door, ignoring the doorbell to knock gently on the painted wood. 

The knock on your door caused you to spin around and look at the clock, confused at who would come knocking at this time, you assumed it could only be that your cat, Ernie, had snuck into the neighbour's house again. You quickly walked towards the door, words falling from your lips before you could even process who was in front of you. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Jame- George?" 

Stop and wait a sec

Oh when you look at me like that my darling

What did you expect

The way you looked up at him with a look of pure innocence and love drove him absolutely crazy. An old oversized t-shirt was hanging against your thighs as your eyes went wide with shock. you blinked a couple of times, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you. He didn't disappear, however and something inside of you roared as you darted forward, hand sneaking up to rake your fingers through the hairs at the back of his neck as you pulled him down and into a kiss. You didn't care that his clothes were soaking wet and that the rain was gusting into the house, you had George in front of you and that was the only thought plaguing your mind. 

It was as if all the time you had spent apart had never happened, your body slotting perfectly against his as soon as he had you in his arms again. The kiss you shared was passionate and needy, before you knew it, he had you trapped between him and a wall, making out like teenagers again, your hands frantically pulling off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. 

"Georgie.. I've missed you." Your eyes were wide, looking up at him innocently and full of passion, it was a look he was obsessed with. The nickname you used for him brought back so many old memories that he knew that he had to have you back and he would do anything in his power to call you his once more. His hands had slipped under the t-shirt to rest against your waist, the feeling of his large hands on your warm skin was familiar and intoxicating. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, my angel, I miss us."

His confession had you weak at the knees. Despite the fact that your break up was messy, the love you shared for each other had never left. Having both gone through the war with each other and gaining trauma that neither of you knew how to process, resulting in more frequent arguments, less affection, more ange and more more resentment until you both decided it was best for the both of you to part ways. Over the years, you had taken the time to heal but George however, grew insecure and lost confidence of his own worth. He didn't know how to move on in life without you by his side. 

That's why kissing him felt so natural, his lips and arms felt like home to you. It was why you were willing to risk it all and take him back. It was also why you were sure you were sure you'd let him fuck you senseless in the hall out of desperation. You were still in love with him and a part of you had truly never stopped loving him, even after all this time. 

I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Or I did last time I checked

You'd pulled the boy up to your room, stripping him of his damp clothes and admiring every inch of his skin, you had to pinch yourself every time because having him here felt like a dream. As you lay on your bed, your head on his chest, you listen to the in and out of his breath, letting his heartbeat remind you that he was in fact here, and not hundreds of miles away. 

He didn't try to initiate anything you didn't want to do, talking into the early hours about everything you'd done since you'd last seen each other. You confessed that you would take him back if he wanted you. George's eyes went wide at that statement, his breath hitched in his own throat. He took the opportunity to kiss you again, the soft, open mouthed kisses turning quickly to a more passionate exchange as your tongues brushed against each other. He pulled you on top of him so that you were straddling his hips, his hands guiding your own to gently rock back and forth against his. 

You were grinding against him, feeling the desperation for him grow inside you as you were reminded of the mind blowing sex life you used to have, you adored him even as he was fucking you relentlessly, hand wrapped around your neck. You missed being touched the way he touched you. You picked up the pace, causing a string of moans to fall from your lips, it was enough for him to buck his own hips up to meet yours. As if he could hear your thoughts, a hand moved up to grasp at your neck, a smirk plastered across his lips. "Always knew you liked that, Princess."

The string of moans that fell from your lips were pure filth but nevertheless, music to his ears. You were adults, pining over one another, in a situation not too dissimilar from one you had with him as teenagers, sneaking away from your group of friends and up to the dorms. Coincidentally, it was the same day he'd told you he loved you. 

Your mind was flicking back and forth to the present and the past as George's hands trailed gently up your sides. The look in his eyes was pure lust as he pulled you in for another kiss. His kisses were intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from going in for another, and another, and another. 

"We don't have to do this, not if you're not-" You cut him off with a simple kiss, before pressing your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses down to his collarbone, slipping between his legs with a content sigh. "I want this George, I want you." 

You had started by palming him through his boxers, watching as his head fell back into the pillow. There was no rush, just gentle, meaningful movements. When you finally pulled his cock from his underwear, his heart sped up, you rested your cheek against his thigh as you stroked him, his hand smoothing over your hair as warm moans fell from his lips. You looked up at him through your lashes, as amazing as George's more dominant side was, to see him completely at your will as his cock was in your hand made you feel so powerful. Your hand was perfect, small enough that when you wrapped your hand fully around, the squeeze was enough for him to feel like he was in heaven, not to mention the way you looked at him. You truly were his angel. 

He had flipped you over before you could even take him in your mouth, he was gentle as he pulled your shirt over your head, kissing every part of skin he could. This moment with you was everything he was waiting for, to be with you, intimate and in love. He slipped your underwear to the side before pushing into you. It felt like everything you could've needed in that moment, he didn't make it rough or push you. He simply made love to you as the sun rose, mumbling words of pure praise against your lips. "You're doing so well, Princess, taking me so, so good."

His fingers found your clit, rubbing circles with his middle and pointer finger as he brought you close to your release. His hair was hanging messily as his hips rocked into yours. "That's it baby, cum for me, such a good girl."

When you came over him, your mind went blank except for the thought of him. It was perfect, he was perfect, he was repeating over and over that he loved you. Godric, did you love him too. 

Not shy of a spark

A knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

You and George had been back together a whole month before he offered for you to move in with him. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t hesitated when he asked. You were worried that perhaps since getting back together things were moving too fast again, but as soon as he’d shown you his beautiful home, all worries seemed to fade. When George bought the house, he imagined what life would be like with you sharing his home - your home together. Everywhere he looked, he imagined what your future children would be doing as they ran around the halls. Everything he seemed to do was with you in mind.

It was one particular evening where you’d come back to your now shared home to find George sat alone on the sofa, all of the lights still turned off. He hadn’t even noticed you enter, he was silently sobbing as tears rolled down his cheeks. Thoughts swimming in his head of not being good enough for you, that he fell short of being everything you needed. He didn’t know how to process these feelings, he hadn’t learned how to cope with the negative thoughts, let alone how to tell himself that they were all bullshit. 

You noticed the tears glistening off his cheeks, lit only by the lamppost outside, quite literally dropping everything, not caring where it fell. You pulled the crying boy into your arms, his head resting against your chest, the salty tears transferring to your t-shirt. Once he had come to his senses, no longer lost in his own bubble, the bubble in his throat prevented him from speaking, hardly able to string a sentence together. You did your best to console him, but the pain in his chest felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest and continued to turn the knife. 

“I-  I know don’t fucking deserve you.” He was babbling over his words as you rocked him, playing with the hair that he had grown out especially for you, pushing the strands out of his eyes and off his forehead. George only managed to calm down by the grace of your soothing hum and gentle kisses into his hair. He still felt the pang of sadness that didn’t want to shift, as a shallow breath rattled around his lungs. “You are enough for me George, I love you and I’ll always love you.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

You were sitting together on the sofa, your head on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined as you watched a movie, something you’d insisted on bringing into your home together.  You had been feeling overly emotional In the past week, breaking down into tears over nothing. Just yesterday the sight of orange peel made you tear up. You’d told Fred about it today and he simply laughed at the notion that George had ‘made the orange naked’. While Fred found it hilarious, George hated the sight of you crying. Crumbling completely into a mess to care for you at the very sight of a tear. 

Fred and Lee often joked over dinner that George was ‘whipped’. He shrugged off the taunts, retorting back that at least he had a girlfriend. To which the other two boys imitated, un-phased by the younger twin’s attempt at seeming menacing. Lee told you about how they used to call him ‘Whipped Georgie’ back at Hogwarts, a nickname you knew you had heard too often in the quidditch changing rooms. You marvelled at how it was nice to have them all back, but really the group was incomplete without Alicia and Angelina here, you note that you must have them over for dinner soon, or at least another girl’s night.  

More recently, however, you and George had been like passing ships in the night, It was kicking into the busiest time of year at the shop and he more often than not crawled into bed with you in the early hours of the morning, only for you to kiss his forehead goodbye as you left for work only a few hours later. The mornings didn’t get any easier, leaving his warm arms another day, to return to him not being there. You feared he would slip away again, a heavy feeling sitting in your stomach as you wake for your day, to see your boyfriend only just slip through the door. You had greeted him once again with a goodbye, your eyes hanging on to his for a pleading moment, as you considered never leaving his hold again. 

I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

George had strolled into the shop, ready for the afternoon and evening rush, his eyes deep set and tired. It was back to sleepless nights for him. Fred noticed the exhaustion in his brother’s eyes, making a quick decision to send him home. They had only just yesterday had the conversation that George had seen almost so little of you that it didn’t even feel like you were together. That feeling broke his heart. 

There were so many thoughts running through his head as he walked home. The usual quick walk was slowed way down as he pondered on every running and passing thought. He was a man filled with worry, what if you had stopped loving him? He couldn’t lose you twice.

He arrived home to you, his precious girl, sat on the bed sobbing, looking down at something in your hands. His whole body ached, seeing the tears physically fall, when you smiled up at him his heart softened, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He caught a glimpse of the small blue box in your hands and his eyes widened. George Weasley was always shit at keeping secrets. 

His mind told him ‘fuck it’ as he got down on one knee next to you as you were sat on the bed. A thousand ways of saying what he wanted swirled around his brain, he wanted to say the right words and make it a special moment for you. Every moment you had shared together flew past his eyes, it was like watching a star go supernova. Every bright smile and giggle, every kiss and longing look. It was the perfect movie shared between the two of you. 

“I think you already know what I’m about to say, and based on the fact that you’re still crying I hope this isn’t a bad time. But Merlin, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. I want you to be mine forever. I’m sorry that I still haven’t healed and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. My life is you and if I don’t have you, it’s thunderous and wet and lonely. So, my sunshine, will you marry me?

I'm going back to 505

If it's a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive

In my imagination you're waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

...and a smile

The red-haired boy was sitting at his desk, a dim lamp emitting only the faintest glow. Once again his mind was on the thought of you. The thought of you waiting for him at home, His gorgeous wife, her fingers desperately trying to find a release at the thought of him.  He contemplated running home, in a full jog, just to devour you. He flicked back to the day he travelled to 505, how he was so desperate to see you, that he would’ve climbed every mountain just to kiss your perfect lips and see your perfect smile.

George realised that It was never 505 New Harleston St. that kept pulling him back. It was you. You were 505. 

@starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half  @wand3ringr0s3​ @vogueweasley​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​

[a-funny-little-sunflower]

♡ Yandere Maedhros Alphabet ♡

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Maedhros shows his affection in little ways, like taking you to watch the stars with him or by leaving soft lingering kisses against your skin.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Although Maedhros is the calmest of his kin and doesn’t exactly like having fights, when it comes to you, he would rip a man apart with his bare hands if need be.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Although he is renowned for his frightening nature, he knows the value of family and thinks that it's unforgivable to ever do harm to your spouse, so he’d treat you like a fragile flower.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He would probably try to keep you away from others, especially potential suitors because he’s convinced that you will find someone better and leave him all alone again.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Maedhros is quite guarded about his trauma so it’ll take gentle soothing words and a determined attitude to get him to open about anything along those lines, he’s also quite self-conscious about his missing hand.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It would frustrate him, but he would understand your side of things, after all, he was imprisoned against his will for years. But he can’t help getting frustrated because he just wants to keep you for himself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It’s not a game to him, he wants to keep you all to himself and the fact that you keep trying to leave is something that annoys him to no end.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The worst thing is the punishments, they are few and far between but when you’ve tried to escape too many times and misbehaved for days, he finally snaps, and punishes you. And the punishment...Well, we’ll get to that…

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Maedhros ideal life with you is to move into a cottage near the Misty Mountain’s and have a garden filled with flowers to attract butterflies.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Maedhros is incredibly protective of you, something as seemingly innocent as a man looking at you for a little too long could anger him, he will stare at the man with a cold murderous stare until they catch on that you're taken.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He loves to touch you because it’s a reminder that you’re really there and that you love him enough to let him touch you. He likes to keep an arm around your waist and give you sweet cheek kisses at random intervals.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He would be tentative about courting you at first, he is aware that you bring out yandere tendencies in him and he doesn’t want to frighten you. His first interaction with you would be during a starry night when all is quiet.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Maedhros has to hold up a stoic front with everyone else, the only exception being his family, so when he’s alone with you, he’s able to seem more relaxed and he is more tender with you, one of his favourite things to do with you when you’re alone together to lay in bed together, facing each other with your foreheads pressed together.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

His punishments are few and far between, but they do happen. When you misbehave too much, he will have you strip, and tie you to the bed, leaving you completely exposed, then he will go a retrieve the riding crop that he keeps for occasions like these and how long the punishment lasts will depend on how much you’ve misbehaved.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Maedhros would probably try and keep you away from anyone he sees to be a threat, which might include male friends that you have, he also might keep you from going to certain places because he’s suspicious of them.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He is the most mature and patient of his kin, aside from maybe Maglor, so he will be patient with them, but there are times when you push all his buttons and he spanks you till sunrise.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He would never be able to move on from you, he loves more than anything and he’s already lost so much, losing you would be the thing that would finally break him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Given as he was captured and kept against his will, he would most likely feel guilty for abducting you, and as for letting you go, he might do it once, and a few days later, truly realises how deeply he loves and needs you, and go and abduct you again.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

It comes from a mixture of two things, the constant need to share things with his younger brothers, never being allowed to have one thing all to himself, and the second, all the torture and pain he’s gone through definitely twisted his moral code a bit.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It makes him feel incredibly guilty. He knows what it’s like to kept against your will, and he remembers what it was like to be so frightened, so when you let out sobs that shake your entire being, pangs of guilt fill his chest and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He would do his best to make you feel comfortable in his presence, not wanting himself to be viewed as a monstrous captor, but rather as a loving protector.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His fear of loud noises. They trigger his PTSD the most, to the point where he might even collapse. So, if a large thunderstorm hits and he falls into his own fearful flashbacks, you have two choices. Escape while you have the chance and leave Maedhros alone and frightened or stay and comfort him.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

During his punishments with the riding crop, he would but they are as rare as cherry wine, so if you behave, you don’t have anything to worry about.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He may be self-conscious about what he can offer you, but a part of him still has that fiery determination, and that part of him will do whatever it takes to get you to love him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He would pine until Dagor Doriath came around if he was allowed to, but the threat of you being snatched away by either time or a suitor frightens him into action.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If pushed to every limit, and the threat of you leaving becomes too real, to the point where he can almost feel you fading from his arms, he would break you, and unlike Glorfindel, he would do it purposefully. His shattering of you would be methodical, attacking every weakness you have to get to yield as quickly as possible.

[writing-in-april]

Curl Recovery

Post Prison Spencer x Gender Neutral Curly Hair Reader

Gif is from @zhuzhubii who also helped me out of my writers block to write this by talking about their curly hair request. They have a writing about curly hair as well go check it out along with their other works! Also thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for helping me as well!

Summary: Spencer has returned from prison and isn’t feeling himself. His whole being has taken a beating including his hair. Y/N helps him gain back a little of what he lost.

Warnings: Talk of Prison, this is fluff but it has angst (comfort fluff)

A/N: Hey Hey loves sorry for being MIA I had a major writers block. I was supposed to post Mismatched first but I’m in a rut with writing it. So here’s something I whipped up to try and get my writing brain going. This didn't have a beta but I did try to edit. Also again this was supposed to be a blurb and I failed lmao.

Masterlist Word count: 1.2k

Spencer never cared much about how his hair looked. It was always something that he never bothered to learn how to properly tame. No one really taught him how to in his childhood and he honestly wasn’t sure where he inherited his waves from. Before prison he would normally gel it back to where you could barely discern he even had wild fluffy beautiful curls hiding underneath.

Spencer tried to do his normal routine of slicking back his hair since he got out, but every time he looked in the mirror the image that he was greeted with didn’t seem like himself anymore. His face was no longer filled with boyish charm and was now tinged with sadness and heavy eye bags. He wanted to let his curls and waves live free just as he finally felt after those hellish weeks.

However, the soap that was given to him in prison shouldn’t have been put on anyone’s hair. He was pretty sure the soap that was being passed off as shampoo was really dial soap. Spencer could recognize the way the soap foamed on his hands and the smell had been too similar to not make the connection.

Sulfates aren’t a gentle chemical, they strip the skin of its natural oils, depriving it of its resources. The chemicals had done they’re damage in the three months he had been behind bars. His once defined curls now sat limp and frizzy, no longer framing his face like they once had. His identity was stripped from him and he didn’t realize how much he loved them until they were gone.

Tears clung to the corners of his eyes as he raked his hand through his hair that now felt like straw. He felt stupid for crying- I mean who cries over hair? Somewhere deep he knew that it had nothing to do with his vanity and had everything to do with the fact that he felt robbed. He felt robbed of his passion, joy, and the slight innocence he had retained throughout the years even with his gruesome job.

His torso was suddenly wrapped up with a familiar warmth, at first he started to jerk away from the embrace as a reflex, he had gotten much more jumpy with touch ever since getting back.

“Sorry!” The familiar voice of Spencer’s significant other squeaked out in fear that they had scared him.

“No- Y/N I’m sorry. I've just been really jumpy.” Spencer scrambled to say. He always loved when they embraced him, he gained a tremendous amount of comfort from their touch. Turning around to face away from the mirror hanging over the sink Spencer scooped Y/N up in another hug, tucking his head into their neck and nuzzling.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for bubs.” Spencer was silent in response with tears still pricking at the edges of his irises, which worried Y/N. Even though the trauma he had from prison was still deep rooted he had given the impression that he was doing extremely well for only being out for a little while. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to gel it anymore and I want my curls back. The shampoo at the prison destroyed them, they’re gone.” He choked out, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks and on to the t-shirt that Y/N wore. Y/N couldn’t take the deep rooted pain that Spencer now carried from prison however, they could give him some solace by helping him gain back a little of what he lost.

“Don’t fret Spence. We can get them to come back, it’ll just take some extra time and care. Have you washed it today?”

“I haven’t washed it today.” Y/N peered over the tub to look at his array of products, they had never taken a close look beforehand, though they weren't surprised to see the typical 2 in 1 shampoo conditioner.

“Your products that you have are damaging to your hair too.” His face fell at their words the twinge of restoration crumpled in front of him, “But, you can use mine Spence.” They said while ruffling his hair with a grin trying to cheer him up as much as possible. Spencer still felt a halo of darkness around him but the presence of the person he loved made everything seem a tone lighter. His hands reached for the curly hair products they held, though they were swiftly tugged away from him.

“No Spence, let me take care of you.” A stool was brought by Y/N for Spencer to sit on. They cradled his head gently after he sat down and tilted his head over the sink where a towel was placed to catch all of the excess water.

The massage that was given to his scalp by Y/N made the tension start to melt away. After shampoo the deep conditioner was pulled out to soften his locks again. While the conditioner was working its magic on his hair Y/N sat on Spencer’s lap tracing light patterns on his skin with the tips of their fingers. Silence was the only thing being exchanged in the air. However, it wasn’t awkward. It was content peaceful silence, which was something Spencer hadn’t been able to enjoy in a long time. When the time came to wash it out he let out a disgruntled whine not wanting to break the delicate peace that was created. The peace still happened to remain between them as Y/N took an old t-shirt that they didn’t care about anymore, carefully scrunching out the excess water out of his hair.

Spencer realized that he felt the happiest he’d been in a long time while Y/N put gel into his hair. This time however, the gel was placed meticulously in stark contrast to the stifled locks he had worn before, his curls were wild and free. He decided to take a cue from his curls and let go a bit. He may still have pain with a long road of recovery ahead of him, but can still try to live life to the fullest, especially with his beloved Y/N at his side.

[tintentrinkerin]

Cathartic Arrest

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Michael (Supernatural), Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Caning, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), It’s all about inflicting and receiving punishment, Jealousy

Summary: ”Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer’s abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell.

And he’s JEALOUS.”

Word Count 1,793

READ HERE OR ON AO3

Sam was still shaking when he got back to the bunker. He had taken his time before he came back home, but still. This time, it had all been different. She had to help him back into his pants, his shirt, even tuck his shirt in, help him ground himself; when he still didn’t come down from what just happened, she made him sit in her “calm room” as she called it. 

She gave him food, good food. Fruits. Pineapple, strawberries, vanilla infused yoghurt. Juices of passion fruit and apples, bread with butter and some lean chicken tenders. He could choose whatever music he wanted, but all he ever would choose was hard rock – the music of his childhood, part of his youth and part of Dean. The music in his ears, usually is of a different, much more intense nature. He’d tried pop. One Direction. Too happy. He’d tried Nu Metal. He was too old to bounce back into his emo stage, also known as his years at Stanford. He had tried all kinds of metal. Trash, Death, Melodic, Symphonic. Nightwish. Later Aesthetic Perfection. All good music, quality wise. But nothing was ever louder than the noises in his head. The crying of baby Sam Winchester, inner-child Sam Winchester. Traumatized and angry and helpless. 

Only the noise of a cane meeting his skin, his ass, his legs, even his feet, his own painful cries, the muffled grunts, the thank you’s and the yes'es, the reenactment of his shame, would silence the child. It’d been rough today. The wax on his chest left pink swollen spots, the cane beat him bloody this time.

“I can stop, aye?” she said. 

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her slave. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam was still shaking when he started Baby’s engine, slowly rolling away from the place he visits when pressing on his scar stops working. And it’s been working less and less and less. Until nothing else will help but being beaten up by someone to finally overcome the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being weak and useless. Sam Winchester might be broken, but he still can take a beating without crying.

Dean hates liars. Which is kind of, let’s say  hypocritical, given his nature, his past. He lied to Sam about hell, he lied about the deal, he constantly lies to the only person who will probably never leave him. Because even if Sam does leave, he always comes back. He won’t even die for good. Dean doesn’t, Sam doesn’t. They’re here, two moons in this earth’s gravitational pull, doomed to circle each other; the forces of nature keeping them in place but always keeping them apart. 

It's one of those days when Sam says he’s about to go jogging, but since when does he have to drive fifty miles to some secluded forest area to jog when they're in the literal middle of nowhere? Dean has seen Sam in the showers. They have their privacy here, both want that or pretend to, but the showers are group showers, long lines of shower heads like in school gyms. They usually lock the doors, so why, this one time, does Sam not lock himself up like he used to? Dean knows about the nightmares, the triggers, the sudden flashbacks and the pressing of Sam’s thumb against the palm of his cut hand. He noticed cuts, deep cuts around Sam’s wrists, that never heal because he keeps on scratching off the scab. The bleeding never stops. 

Dean decides that today, enough is enough. He knows this trauma, he was in Hell too. He tortured innocent people, he tortured Bela fucking Talbot. A woman he really respected in the end, though he sugar coated it with cunt-y behaviour. He’s seen so many faces twisted in pain and agony – and all they do in the end? – cry for mama. They cry for their fucking mother, and Sam? Dean wonders who he cried for in the Cage?

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall. 

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam’s nostrils flare and damn, now Dean is on freakin’ thin ice. He is so goddamn jealous of this woman giving Sam something that Dean would give him freely. And happily. He would give him the relief he needs. 

“Don’t talk like that!” Sam hisses, trying to wind himself out of Dean’s grip but he’s still sore from the last time Lana tied him up like a Christmas present and hung him on the wall like a pig-half at the butcher’s. Sam loved the marks of the rough rope, loved the feeling of just hanging there, floating, the ground beneath him so far away, the rock bottom so far…“You have no idea how I feel!”

Dean’s head tilts to the side. “I tortured people in Hell, Sam. I know how to make you feel the worst pain of your life – but I can also give you the greatest relief. I can show you mercy, because that’s what you really want. Isn’t it?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back. 

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

Dean drags him up and brings Sam, who is suddenly so pliant, to his room. What no one has ever known about is the secret door. Dean’s not a witch, Sam would be a great one, but Dean managed to hide a tiny little torture chamber behind his room. Sam fights,  he insults Dean. Dean knows, yes he knows, it’s Sam’s way of provoking him and, kind of, making Dean stop. 

Sam knows that, when he came back from Hell, Dean fucked around even more than before he’d died –but no one ever saw him with the girls, the submissive ones, the broken little dolls he found. This is Deam’s coping. Reenacting Hell.

Sam clings on to Dean when he’s tied to the bench, naked. Sam is still black and blue, some of his bruises had turned green-yellowish already but no one should hurt him there again. These bruises would take ages to heal, if they’re lucky, without a doctor needed. Sam isn’t fighting anymore, he’s crying.

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding.

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened. 

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

HE

WANTS

TO 

BE

BROKEN

And Dean is giving him that. He can think of the girls and boys in Hell while doing it, like he’s not the one inflicting this pain on Sam, but it feels so damn good. Purging. Sam’s cries and whimpers, his yells and finally, finally, when Dean is about to lose control and maul Sam alive – there’s the one Sammy would cry for.

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs. 

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent. 

“Dean, I want to go home….” and that is truly when Sam is broken, the last bastion of his mind, his pride, his goddamn pride is stripped from him. He babbles, he cries, snot and tears and gulps, he even chokes on his cries. “I want to be home with Dean, please hold me, Dean, take me home, Dean…”

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean leans onto Sam’s heaving, still tied up body, sweat and blood, tears, the sobs. When Dean releases Sam from the restraints and carries him to a sofa, he huddles up in Dean's lap. Like a newborn. Overwhelmed with the world outside, sobbing and crying for Dean. Dean is here, holding him tight. Offering him water and more blankets.

Lucifer has never been closer, but Dean has blown him away from Sam. He made Sam just forget for a while. It’s so fucked up, but he can live with fucked up. As long as it’s with Sam and Sam never, fucking never, goes to a whore again when he can have everything from Dean.

Dean will do anything for Sam. 

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

@laxe-chester67 @deanking @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @cloudesworld @all-4-wincest @ohnoitsthebat @rpsocsandcanonohmy @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

IF YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN MY MAILING LISTS, SHOOT ME A MESSAGE <3

[chemicalpink]

Bonding(M)♡ Park Jimin

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Dom!Reader

Genre: Smutttt , Steamy(ish), Stripper!AU, College!AU

Summary: in which Jimin is known (and fawned over) for being a stripper, whereas the reader is secretly working as a dominatrix for both money and research on her psych major, until Jimin discovers her and asks her for a favour in return to not spreading her secret.

Word Count: almost 3k

Warnings: honestly… some dom on dom action and a bit of plot if you look closely

A/N: It started with a kinda ehhh plot, got lost in the middle, ended up being smut af, and the end… i just idk I kinda want to make a fluffy part 2 if you like this mess. Also, please bear with me, I just recently got into a fandom again after 5 years on hiatus. K love u. Oh! and requests are always open!

You can read Part II here!

“I heard that just by looking at you once, she has you all hardened” some guy gushed over to his friend in a quiet voice

“But nobody has really seen her face” another voice joined as you rushed by to get to your Behavioural Analysis class. 214...214….This was the third time you were late to class, work has just been too much lately, not that you were complaining, money-wise it was great, the word was getting around pretty fast, and research was just as good but sometimes you wondered if it was really worth the sweat dripping down your back as you ran from the bus station to get to class. 

The door made a creaking noise and you flinched a little as you took a seat at the back of the room, next to a platinum-haired boy you, unfortunately, knew too well. 

“Miss (Y/N)” the whole room seemed to turn to look at you as the professor acknowledge your presence and you felt your heart skip a beat, anticipating the worst “Its the third time this week that you try to sneak into my lecture” you wouldn’t normally care about some man’s piercing eyes towards you, it was actually a part of your job to step over that type of confidence, but this was just… not your stage, you turned to look down, his gaze somehow becoming overpowering 

“I overslept. My apologies” a stifled giggle made its way from your left side and you felt the sudden urge to roll your eyes at who it belonged to… Park Jimin. It’s not that you hated him. You just hated the fact that of all places, you had to coexist with him in the same class, same campus, the same era in time. 

You really weren’t sure what evil you had done that the universe just seemed to get you back ten times stronger. Having to share a classroom with Jimin was bad enough already, he seemed to make your inside bubble every time he talked, but when the professor asked for you and him to be involved in a differential, it just had to be a payback for always arriving late. You were 99% sure at any time you would implode. The case was pretty simple tho, Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Which seemed to fit perfectly to your classmate, so you thought about playing your cards in front of everyone, maybe if you were that someone that just shook their little brains, they would finally comprehend they were praising an egocentric little bitch. 

You could feel Jimin’s eyes waiting for you expectantly as soon as the teacher called out your name “Well NPD would pretty much sum it all up” and there it was, the same stifled giggle from before 

“Childhood trauma would also do it, Y/N” his tone was teasing you, and you knew better than to get involved but it was just not your day, your whole body turned towards him and a teasing smiled crept its way to your face 

“I thought you would know better, Jimin” his eyes squinted at you “Exaggerated feelings of self-importance, an excessive need for admiration, and a lack of empathy toward other people… sounds a lot like you” the whole class seemed to quiet down as you said it. No one had ever dared to talk to THE Park Jimin that way… not with his status on campus.

“Should I keep going?” you felt your heart beating faster as you tried to keep up with his eyes-that were glued on you as he clicked his tongue and bowed his head as if asking you to proceed “Self-perception of being unique, superior, and associated with high-status people, Sense of entitlement to special treatment and to obedience from others-” 

“And that would be it for today, you are dismissed” your eyes were still locked with Jimin’s as everyone gathered their things, you heart not slowing down and a boiling feeling within you, much to your surprise, Jimin was the first one to break eye contact, getting ready to stand up and leave the classroom, his right hand was already pushing the door open when he turned around to face you, still packing up your things.

“You know, Y/N, it's so brave of you to talk that way taking into account what you do for a living” you felt your heart rate quicken and you began to breathe rapidly. He-no. he couldn’t. Could he? No. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about” “Sure you don’t” stop the overthinking Y/N. He doesn’t know. No one knows. 

“So tell me… where should I pick you up if ...you know, I want your services” you could swear your heart stopped beating for a second just before the boiling sensation of rage took over and venomously spatted “I’m not like you” he chuckled 

“Of course not, kitten. I dance for a living. You make people cum” something took over you as the last word left his mouth.

 That side you didn’t use except for work, just happened to overdrive your body and within seconds you had THE Park Jimin pined against a wall. Yes, the same guy that was way too famous for making all the girls swoon over him during Friday nights after class, in a small strip club just outside campus. The Park Jimin was an overly famed dom and took pride in it. 

And you- well you had your fair share of fame, but in a legend, almost mystic type of way. No one was supposed to know you were the famous dominatrix that attended every. single. need from the people visiting her small studio-like office, a few blocks away from where the boy danced his life away. 

“So I guess its true then” he smiled that teasing smile of his, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make your knees just a little bit weak “you do make any guy harden at your touch” you let your hand fall from his chest and quickly turned away as you tried to steady your breath 

“Listen… no one can know about this” he smirked as his eyes somewhat darkened. You knew this look. You would have to pay the price of his silence

“Just tell me already how much its gonna cost, you perv” your tone was kind of desperate as you stole a glimpse of the classroom’s clock and realised that you were already late for work. “a hundred? I’ll get them by the end of the week” 

“Actually” he paused as he looked at you as if something seemed funny to him about this whole situation “Social service will do this time. I’ll stop by your dorm tonight” you slowly felt whatever it was that possessed you a while ago. Rage? Indignation? Both? Whatever it meant that he would stop by your dorm, you weren’t having it. 

“I have work tonight” 

“So do I” so… there really was no way around it 

“Listen, money is no problem Jimin” 

“I know. But unless you’d like the whole campus to know who our beloved and mysterious dominatrix is… I’ll see you… let’s say, 2 am?” he bit his lip as he exited the room. Not giving you a chance to even consider manipulating him into getting your way, which was indeed, your speciality. 

The thing was, between attending evening classes, late-night work, homework and maintaining a somewhat normal social life, Jimin stopping by to whatever he meant by ‘social service’ meant you’d have to cram your studying time.

Work went by pretty quickly. And you couldn’t help but keep on wondering what was waiting for you with Jimin. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of what you did for a living… but it would lose its spark if people knew who you were.

Your head started to ache as you started getting ready to leave. It was already 1:30 am, which meant that it would take you around 20 minutes to get to your dorm and hopefully have enough time to change out of the red kinky thigh-high leather boots your work required that day. 

But boy were you one to get the times wrong. 

As you entered the hall of the unit, your eyes fell on a very glittery Jimin sitting on the floor outside your studio, unbuttoned black shirt and phone in hand. 

You walked up to him, exhaling loudly as an attempt to calm yourself down. You nudged his side with the tip of your boots. He looked up. 

“I was about to call you, but then I realised that I didn’t have your number” great. so he was an asshole and also had lame pick up lines. You really wondered how exactly did he have so many girls falling for him 

“And you’re not getting it” you opened the door and motioned for him to enter “Come on in, and may I ask, how exactly you got into the girl’s unit?” 

“Ah… little Y/N. I can get any girl to do whatever it is that I please” you closed your eyes as another wave of pain hit you 

“Yeah… you stay here. I’ll just go grab an aspirin” the dorm wasn’t big, as a matter of fact, your bed was just a few steps from the ‘living room’ where you left Jimin, but it did what it promised, let you crash. 

You could have sworn you were gone less than a minute before encountering a semi-naked Jimin propped up on your bed, striking what he might have thought of as a sexy pose, patting the bed by his front side for you to sit “Okay. I’m done. Get out”

He sat up “No, wait. I really need this. And you too, Y/N” he smiled at you, but not that smirk you had been used to seeing, the smile that radiated confidence and ego but one that almost seemed friendly, one that made him look innocent, cute, dare you say it. 

“A favour for a favour. As classmates that do kind of the same for a living” You grabbed the chair from your desk and sat in it, crossing your arms. Willing to put on a fight for as long as it benefited you 

“Fine. Be quick” 

“I’m just asking for a few minutes of your night, once a week. I need help with my show. And who knows? you might end up liking it” and there it was, every ounce of liking towards him that he built with the friendly smile and appealing to the sentiment of belonging to the same team. Gone 

“No way”

“Fine. Then just be ready for your little secret to come out” Was it really worth it? He did say, just a few minutes every week. But the thought of having Jimin over, dancing and doing who know what in your dorm, was unbearable. Then again, he did say he needed it. 

“Just a few minutes every week?” 

“Yeah” 

“Fine then stop by tomorrow. Same time” he smiled brightly at you “Now get lost. I need sleep”

What happened the next night though, nothing could have prepared you for it. Your assistant told you you had a new client coming, so as per usual, you were ready to test him out from simple to more complex things. You heard the door closing as some footsteps approached the bed behind you 

“Just stay there. I’ll be with you in a second” 

“God. those bunny ears really do suit you, Y/N” you could have sworn that your heart skipped a beat as you felt heat building up inside you, from rage. But this was somewhat to your advantage, he had just stepped in the lion’s den and had no idea 

“I thought we agreed on meeting in my dorm” you said as you walked up to the bed, taking a seat behind him, with his back between your thighs 

“I thought this might be more fun” of course he was more than excited to play this game, but you weren’t going to let him win. 

Something flashed in his eyes. Something you have become very familiar with. Lust. And then Jimin pushes you against the wall, his fingers laced with yours, your back against the cold wall that held all of your work tools. And you saw what he was going for. Tying you up. But you were having none of it. In a matter of seconds, it was him pressed against the wall, his eyes reflecting the pink led lights from the room. You held tightly on his crotch as he tried to gain dominance over you, keeping him in his place. He just smirks.

You stay there for a moment, him locked under you, and the two of you stare at each other like you’re waiting for someone to make a move. A stalemate. And then you can’t tell who breaks it first, but somehow your lips collide in a hungry, urgent kiss. He kisses you deep, hungrily, desperately, like he wants to consume you whole. As you let your firm grip go, his touch is rough, his fingers grip so tight against your hip that it hurts, and the pain just spurs on the arousal beginning to pool in your belly. 

Jimin bites your lower lip as he pulls away, his eyes scanning over your face. The room felt silent, steamy like the bright lights were invited you two to step it up, taunting you to take it forward. Your breath hisses in involuntarily as you look down at the bulge in his pants, your eyes flitting back up to Jimin’s face. He has a cocky calm look on his face, and it occurs to you that you had never expected Park Jimin the stripper to be like this. 

For a moment you consider stopping, standing up and strolling out. This is a bad idea, the rational side of your brain chides. He’s… himself, the single-cell brained asshole that always sits beside you in class, the self-centred stripper Park Jimin, this is so wrong. But when you look into Jimin’s dark eyes and see the way he licks his lip while staring you up and down, the confidence that emanates from him. And all reason flies out of your head. You want him.

“C’mon spread those legs for me” he whispers to your ear and you can feel his hot breath tickling your neck. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what to say. Saying it without cockiness or nastiness but stating it firmly and calmly… sweet God. 

But this is a game you are not allowing yourself to lose. The hand you have been keeping on his crotch rapidly makes its way into his pants, stroking him over his underwear. He lets out a suppressed grunt and the sound makes you smile. 

Your smile widens when you stop stroking and grab him full in your hand and feel his thighs stiffen. Somehow his lips find their way to your neck, placing you in his previous stand, bot of your bottoms soon discarded, as he held both of your hands behind you, you felt a warmness near your pussy, followed by his voice.

“Tell me how much you want it”

“I don’t beg” everything that had gone thorough between you two in the past few minutes was better than anything you could have imagined. But the way he seemed so bothered by you not sticking to his dominant side’s orders just made you even wetter and weak in the knees. 

And then Jimin slides inside of you.

The last thing you see before closing your eyes and succumbing into pure please was Jimin’s jaw clenching, his platinum hair all messed up. He takes it slow, likely on purpose, and you let out a cry at the feeling. His cock is thicker than what you’re used to, and it stretches you out. It’s been such a long time since you’ve had sex, and when you did have time in the past, it was always rushed. You, dominantly riding a guy until you had a quick, mildly satisfying orgasm. But it was never this – dominated, teased, sprawled under a man with plump lips and a silky smooth voice. 

When he’s finally all the way inside of you, you release a long breath that you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. You hear Jimin let out a stuttering breath, the two of you are still for a moment, just feeling one another, you exchange silent glances to which you weren’t quite sure the meaning of and then Jimin starts to thrust.

He is fucking into you hard, his pace steady and at just the right speed to have you crying out his name while shutting your eyes and drawing your nails into his back for balance, or maybe just to somehow be able to feel him closer. The blood is rushing to your face and you’re slightly dizzy from the mask you have on but all you can feel is him, the loud slap of skin resonating between the four walls of the small room as he slams into you. 

You can hear the vocalizations he makes with every thrust, grunts, growls, and then small soft mewls as he arches upwards and hits you at different angles. Each push of his cock leaves you a writhing mess beneath him. Just as you feel an unavoidable heat forming in the lower part of your belly, he stops. He completely stops. Steals one last glance at you, adding his signature smirk after pulling his pants on and leaves you there. All worked up against the wall, your mouth hanging open as he walks out. If you didn’t hate Park Jimin before, you were sure as hell you did now. 

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 13

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12

This time: Zavala asks for another favor. Eva takes matters into her own hands.

-/

Zavala is pacing. In the years that she has known him, Karena has never seen him anxious. It doesn’t have the humbling behind-the-scenes kind of appeal, or make him seem less of the immovable person that he’s always been, to see him this way now. Perhaps that’s because Zavala has always had this approachable, human aspect to him despite his stoic exterior. Now, in this light, she realizes that he holds himself together well. That he places his concerns for others before his own well-being.

Right now, she is the one who has to fight for him. He’d insisted they do this the right way, no matter how desperately he wanted to throw his weight around. It would only create serious drama, for them - Karena, the orphanage, and Zavala - as well as for Amanda, the innocent bystander caught in the middle of it all.

“I’m telling you,” She says, clipped into her comm, “Grace. Listen to me. I have an adopter. I have someone who will take the girl. I never even knew you’d been assigned to her. This is hardly fair to anyone, most of all her.”

The Commander turns back from the front window of the orphanage, his eyes narrowing on her features as the response comes. “Look. It’s almost always a twenty-one day window. You had more time than that, and the psychiatrist called me. That’s what they’re bound to do by civil law. As of yesterday at ten hundred hours, I became her guardian. She’s handicapped, therefore she comes to me. Honestly, you should have seen that coming, Karena. You’ve been doing this longer than me.”

The kindly matron scoffs. “I was with her prospective adopter, he was filling out the paperwork. I had planned to have this sorted, Grace. You should have waited for handoff. I can’t imagine it went over well with Amanda.”

“Yes, well, teary goodbyes would have gone over about as well as her little tantrum.” Grace’s voice is stern, not at all sweet like her nickname of Gracie. It’s for the best, as Karena never used it. “She thought the Tower’s hospital was the best this City had to offer. It’s sad, what these impoverished ones think.”

Karena looks over at Zavala, standing ramrod straight, watching the glow of the comms device underlight the woman’s face. He hides it well, but she sees the tic of his jaw in fury. “Her prospective adopter is military. The girl is likely terrified she won’t see him.”

“That’s strange, the only thing she’d say to the psychiatrist is that she refuses to be adopted. So I’m not sure who your mystery adopter is, but clearly-”

“She’s just saying that. We hadn’t told her yet. You know the amount of red tape there is.”

“I do. But you know our rules. I don’t make them. You’d have to talk to the governor of the orphanage. It’s not to me to bend them for you.”

“Oh bullshit,” Karena curses. “You and I both know that’s just a money-grab. Her prospective parent cannot tithe to New Monarchy. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“Well then they cannot be considered.”

“Just look over the application I sent you, Grace. I’m certain you’d change your mind.”

“You know I can’t.” She almost sounds remorseful, but it fades quickly. “This is the way it works. You know how it is. They’d strip me of my job in an instant. You need to remember how things work around here. It’s why you never made it out of that crummy little home.”

“I assure you,” Karena states firmly, looking over at Zavala and then back to the woman on the comms device, “That the location in which we do our work does not matter when the quality of care we provide comes not from physical resources but from the effort we put into raising our children. I have never thought it ethical to force prospective parents to pay for the opportunity. I’d rather they put their money into raising the child.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. If your prospective adopter changes their mind about New Monarchy, have them apply for the program. There’s only a four month wait for consideration to enter our foster-to-adopt program. I’m certain they’d match him with the right child.”

“Oh, you-”

The comms click and fall silent, the light on the screen fading.

“That bitch,” Karena swears, pushing the machine aside. “That wretched bitch.”

“I can talk to the Speaker,” Zavala finally says, after a few moments of even pacing through the small room. “Just as a temporary-”

“Absolutely not,” Shiori interjects, shimmering into the room, cones pointed in a serious pose. “You know you cannot sign up for New Monarchy. He would tell you the same. The Vanguard has a history of remaining neutral and supporting each faction equally. It would be a disaster.”

“Then what do I do, Shiori?” 

Karena clasps her hands over her heart. The tone of his voice is heartbreaking, it’s clear he truly does not know how to proceed.

“You can’t jump on the New Monarchy bandwagon.” She shifts around, making sure to stay in his line of sight. “Zavala, it’s literally the thing Hideo has been waiting for. He’d capitalize on this.”

“I don’t think he’s that heartless.”

“Do you want to find out?” Shiori asks.

“I don’t care.”

Shiori waits him out, sees the clench of his fists, the heavier breaths. “Yes, you do. You know this could very well cause a faction war, if you’re not careful.” 

“What about Amanda? I can’t imagine she’s faring well. They won’t even let non-backers volunteer.”

“Then we’ll get someone to back them,” The Ghost relents. “Just, sit, okay? You’re going to pace a hole in the floor.”

He drops into the chair across from the matron’s desk with a sigh. “Who do we ask?”

“Chin up, Guardian. We’ll figure it out.” Shiori turns to Karena. “You, too. I have an idea.”

-/

In all her years, Eva has done plenty of outlandish things. Taken certain risks - in influencing fashion and in life in general. Most of them had paid off, been worth it. She'd been asked by plenty for help, and always given what she could give - maybe even more than, if she's honest.

But, this, she thinks, looking at Zavala, his glittering gaze dead serious and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes far more pronounced in his exhaustion, is not something she should have to agree to.

Not because she does not want to. He is not a man who asks for things for himself - this might be the most selfish thing he's ever asked for. He should not have to ask her for this.

And he knows it.

He tells her as much. But he is not above rules, he cannot act around them. He will not, even if he holds himself personally accountable for the very negative impact it has on the child.

His child, he very softly admits to her.

He will do it right, and he'll pay her. She simply has to help him get her back via the correct channels, he'll compensate her for her troubles, and for whatever funds New Monarchy demands of her.

She isn't interested in that and tells him call as much. She has never shied away from telling him the truth. "This is quite literally the most ridiculous series of hoops the factions have ever had you jump through."

"It can't be like this," He agrees. "I'm working on a proposal to change things." And, softer, "It's madness."

"It is, my friend." Zavala sighs at that. Eva does not like seeing him so hopeless. "But I'll do it."

For a moment, Eva thinks he's going to hug her, he looks so relieved. When he doesn't, she hugs him, anyway. He hugs her back and she wonders for a brief moment if perhaps there isn't something she could do to expedite the process.

She returns to the Tower North, slowing as she hears the Executor's voice, mellow and smooth. She has heard plenty of praise for him, and certainly a fair bit of criticism, but he has always been cordial to her. She wonders how much of this he knows about. The policies, the reasons… she's certain he's involved. But she's also certain there's a hidden eighth in his Seven Tenants, and that's to keep Commander Zavala on his good side.

It's certainly an outlandish move - Zavala will probably not be thrilled. Eva will take that risk and face the consequences, whatever they are. Waiting on a waitlist for months isn't going to help the issues happening right now. Amanda's well-being is at stake. Eva knows, just from their brief meeting, how fragile she is. It's how these few remaining refugees are, the things they've suffered and seen. Especially the children. They're terribly impressionable.

The Speaker, in his infinite wisdom, steps down from his observatory and bids her good afternoon, as if seeing her decide that action must be taken and trying to find the right method of delivery. He tilts his head to the side. "Is there something on your mind?" He queries.

Eva sighs, looking up into his mask. Her surprised smile melts into a frown. "Well, you see," She admits, just a touch louder than normal, "I've just heard the most terrible thing."

[lim-lifeinmotion]

A story about a boy just a little bit broken

I would like to tell you a story About a boy that is broken Not by much Only just a little bit if at all You see this boy was a happy child He did normal happy child things He’d play and sing and dance Even if not very good but oh how this boy liked to play In the mud, mud pies, mud soup He liked the mud he did Stuck in the mud, mud scrub, mud bath mud, mud, mud, mud, mud He was an odd little child, Liked playing with barbie dolls, ken dolls He had no preference really And eating snails He enjoyed spending time with his friends Although mum made this difficult sometimes You see mum didnt always agree with the other mums Im sorry you cannot see them anymore But that is okay because he had plenty of other friends to play with But none were like them He felt sad and lonely Where are all my friends? This boy also loved to fish! What a thing it was Spending time with dad who he never really saw One weekend away this little boy had a new friend Of who’m he’d like to play! A new friend he thought  “I’m so happy” Mummy and daddy should we play? Allright said the little boy He knew nothing better Down his pants went I dont understand why? Touches his pee pee Nobody can touch that? But a new friend is a new friend “This is our little secret”? Okay So everynow and then They’d play mummy and daddy She was a lot older  He was only 3 he didn’t know any better He did not want her to touch his pee pee Or lick his private parts But a new friend is a new friend Will everyone be angry? So as the years went by mummy and daddy wouldn’t stop fighting To count the days when they were happy? He was young but even he could count as high as 10? It’s all your fault we fight they said Time and time again If it weren’t for you kinds we wouldn’t have these problems “I don’t want to be the problem”? How do I not be the problem? Be a better boy, listen a little more, Maybe if i stay home I can show mummy I‘m a good boy I dont want you to go away This little boy found a new friend!  Hip hip horaay He was so happy and excited A reason to wake up every day But this boy could never stay over Not for a whole night What if mummy was gone when I get home? Please take me home, I want to go home now. Once more mummy disagrees with the other mummy, I am sorry you cannot see them any more I’m sorry I’m not supposed to talk to you I have to listen to what mummy says Now they wont stop fighting, And we’re moving in with my aunty I liked her dog and her pool and her piano A few years we were happy, no more yelling at last But as this boy got older He saw his sister being yelled at Please stop fighting I don’t like to see you all cry When she was 15 she had had enough He didn’t want her to go but knew mummy would be happier if she did So she did We were happy again Daddy came home but the fighting continued Only with my other sister now It wasn’t long before she moved out  A few years into highschool You see everyone in this family Was in the top of their clases They were not dumb or stupid They weere in fact extremely smart Nerissa was good at english,

 drawing, she was also a very nice singer Tyla was good at netball and maths, she was so popular and so was nissy Ryan was good at maths and art and really enjoyed running and sports, He wasn’t the storngest but he could run and never look back But now everyone had moved out And I was again all alone The boy had no friends Although everypne knew who he was At school he’d walk and chat Bounce between groups making them smile and laugh You’re so funny ryan So many friends now! But on the weekends it was playstation and games Nobody wanted to hang out with him  Out of uniform he really didnt belong And the yelling started again His entire life he did not think it would ever be him? But im such a good boy mummy I try my best every day Until one day It was time to leave You see out of nowhere he met a boy A boy he fell in love with Someone that liked him, thought was funny and kind It’s all he’d ever wanted The boys became close They shared their first kiss Their first everything What a time to be young, to be alive He would get bullied  By the younger students Because the older ones knew his sisters Everybody loved them But they no longer went to school They both left way too young They were so smart and so popular I dont understand why? But this boy didn’t care The silly words people would say He was happy and in love He finally had a friend He started living with this boy, His family were like his own No fighting no yelling A safe and peaceful home for two years they lived together until they grew apart When you’re young you are curious There is so much to live for to see and to do He began to see the darkness again His home was gone again He had no friends The words now had power He tried but he let them in Fag they would say Push and shove him they would do In class he cried At home he died He began to wonder about death How beautiful it would be So he took the knife and made his first cut An addicion he would soon regret At first they were small On the wrist because thats were people did it right? But too many eyes saw  You cannot wear an armband all year So he took the knife and took to his thigh So much more flesh to cut I can go deeper and harder now than before This boy truly wanted to die Bloody sheets  Vodka bottles He stopped going to classes But did all his work He didnt want to be a drop out But he didnt want to go to school So in a bottle of chi he’d mix A bottle before, during and after school Nobody suspected a thing, He never wore uniform anyways He was never rude or inpolite The opposite in fact He had to be a good boy He had a job which he quit Becausee he drank and cut and cried Nothing could stop it A part of him had died So he decided he needed money Skipped a few weeks rent Was told they needed to talk So up he went and left He didnt mean to hurt them He didnt want to be a burden They found the bottles and the bloodied mess He didn’t want to make them angry So back he went “home” To the yelling and screaming The rules oh the rules Do not exist From here things fall apart and there is no more rhymes That little happy child, he was dead now, he died a long time ago and all that was left was darkness, sadness, an anti depressant shell He spent his days drinking and taking drugs and cutting himself. Nothing made sense, the only clear thing in his existance was the fact that he no longer wanted to be in this world and he made it clear that he was just waiting to die. I missed a lot out of this story, a lot of good things happened, he was so loved but honestly those memories are all but faded and bleak lost somewhere in the dpeth of the lonliness he had felt his entire lfe, the sadness, the emptiness that filled him. He was annorexic and coudln’t eat, he saw his weight go from 64 down to 48 where it would stay for some time. He met a lot of amazing guys but none felt right, none gave him that feeling that young cute boy did and no matter how hard he tried all he ended up leaving was a wake of destruction and hurt wherever he went. I could count 10 different people he ended up destroying, 2 earned the label. He never intended to hurt them, he really tried, he just wanted to feel loved, to feel something, anything at all. But never could. He sold his body for sex at the age of 17, he needed money to continue drinking and living because partying to forget was all he knew. What a messed up life this poor child had, no wonder he’s a god damn mess until the other day he knew anything bad that could have happened had happened to him, the other day when he remembered he was molested. He’s been raped by his best friend, molested when he was a child, sold for sex, beaten, thrown to the ground, abandoned on the side of the road by his parents. literally kicked out of the car at 3 or 4 years old and I just remember him standing behind the car screaming and crying, begging to let him back in. He been cheated on, drugged, ruphied, overdosed and died. He’s tried to kill himself on more occasions than I can count of both hands and both feet. He’s put himself in hospital but never once has he intentionally tried to hurt someone, Never has he ever laid another finger on another human being that he hasn’t blacked out and done in a fit of rage, childhood trauma is funny like that. I am not a bad person and I know this to be true but I feel like there is little more that life could throw at me, little more that I can have done to me because I have seen it all, been through it all and I am so angry at the world for this. For so long I see eyes that reflect the soul, I know how to play this game, I managed to trick myself into believing I was happy in order to stop myself from killing myself, you can sure as hell bet I will trick you too. When you look into my eyes and you see that pure innocent smile, that cheeky grin, the light sparking as it fills you with that infections glow. Sure some of the time it is genuine but for the most part I am just so sad and there is no way I want to put that onto anybody else, ssssssssso I will fool you into believing I am happy and so damn peaceful but my actions reflect someone so broken, so detroyed, someone that has next to no love or respect for themselves because how can I? After everything? Im working so fucking hard to make this work, to re learn the things I had stripped away from me, pice by piece, like tiny cracks forming on the glass I was constantly trying to fix and mend but like so many cracks I couldn’t keep up with the speed at which they were forming and shaterring. I became so very good at fixing them but now I am left with a broken soul, A shattered mind, a scarred body, left trying to yet again mend the pieces but she is so very tired, a life without a brake and I am ready to put the brakes on before I break because breaking is all I know how to do, breaking is what I do best but I just need a brake because it will break me otherwise. I know I am such a powerful person, I am so god damn resiliant yet still so fucking loving regardless of all this shit. I wonder sometimes how the fuck I am still here, kicking, working, moving forward trying to make a better life for myself, because with all this on a page and missing quite a lot, that is too much for one 24 years of “life”, That is too much for anyone to endure. I havent even mentioned my sisters life, how they both tried to kill themselves, “Home” was that bad that they would rather have died than exist. My youngest sisters boyfriend killed himself when she was 16 or so, she wanted to follow, had a note and the noose all ready. How much shit can life throw at somebody before it really is just starting to take the piss, I feel my life is just one big fucking joke because no way can this be real, no way can this be the reason I was put on this earth for. If there was a god why would he look at a 3 year old and smile telling him he was going to be sexually assaulted time and time again, beaten and abused for the rest of his 25 years in the world. How fucking dare you. How fucking dare you. This may seem like I am asking for pity but that I do not want, I don’t need your sympathy because it makes no god damn difference o me, It doesnt change the chemicals in my brain, it doesn’t give me a reason to get up in the morning or give me comfort in bed at night. I want you to know how fucking cruel this life has been and why I am so god damn fuking messed up in the deepest and darkest way possible. “Why” is the big question of endless possibilities but this is one of those reasons, one of the many possibilies, the endless ways my life could have gone and destiny looked at me and chose this path for me. Fuck you, Just fuck you and your bullshit lenses about flowers and fairies, I grew up with the monsters under my bed, the headless horseman was my ride through hell and back, Samara was my pen pall and nobody was there for me in the end to protect me, I can’t even protect me, I can’t say no to people so I just close my eyes, pretend to be enjoying it and let it happen. Fuck you Unedited rant because fuck reading this to edit its way too fucking much

[mariahnatalia-blog]

We all have things we’d rather keep inside, like lost hopes and dreams, fears of the unknown, childhood trauma and insecurities. I have found over a trial of a year, that these things are usually what we need to come out in order to coexists within thyself. It can be a struggle to overcome these thoughts and overwhelming emotions, but it is vital for your self confidence and ability to feel peace of mind. Though I know this concept now, before college I had no clue that my past childhood trauma was an underlying reason of my self destructive behaviors to come my first year of freedom.

Growing up for me looked a lot different from my peers. I can recall a time in fourth grade when a group of my friends conversed about how one would be redecorating their room that weekend. I heard a variety of different color patterns and new bed frames she had been thinking about‍. I obviously weighed in on my opinion, but took a lot for me to process what I had heard..

I grew up with a mom and dad who were caught up in a dangerous lifestyle. My dad ultimately had no real options after being in and out of jail since the age of 18. My mom had a decent job and sustained us for a while, but eventually lost it when I was about 5, and my little brother Aaron was 4. It began a downward spiral for my family structure. My mom and dad were eager and turned to selling drugs for survival. At the time of my conversation, I had been living in motel rooms for the past 3 years. It was my norm. Within my norm, I saw a lot of tragedy at a young age. Poverty, drug and alcohol abuse, gang violence, abusive relationships, and prostitution are a small list of things I saw by then. I was not able to comprehend the idea of having your OWN room, and the ability to decorate it as you please, but that was Skylar’s norm. I was stripped from my innocence and throughout the years showed a lot of signs of childhood depression but I never knew, and my mom never saw it.

I was placed into foster care 2 separate times by high school and was living with my nana. She took us in, when my mom was in recovery. My dad was not able to keep us because he lived off of his social security checks and knew it was not sustainable to raise two preteens. Living with our nana gave us a new norm, a sense of a family with structure. I was always able to utilize school as a positive relief to my difficult life. Throughout my time at my grandma’s, I found myself extremely depressed. I use to cut myself when I would be too overwhelmed with my emotions, this lead to suicidal thoughts and attempts. Thankfully, I was unsuccessful, but the pain and agony I endured within myself was detrimental. Due to the neglect of my emotional well being, while I was young left me a wreck as I grew up. My family didn’t catch onto my harmful behavior and I never talked about how I felt with anyone. I was damaged and felt like I could never be whole again. My depression continued throughout high school, but I wasn’t as self destructive like previous years. I strived for greatness throughout high school. I had a close knit friend group. I had found a home in school and excelled academically, which helped fill my emptiness. I had one goal: Go to a college as far away from home as possible...

There is this saying,”work hard party harder,” and it was my motto freshman year of college. Being exposed to the new college life was a thrilling experience for me. I was amused with the raging frat parties and new experiences the dorm life brought. I got through fall and winter quarter successfully,but by spring I was exhausted. I would go back home to southern California to visit my sick dad who had poor heart health. I became extremely homesick and just wanted to be in southern California. Partying became a huge distraction for me. Gradually, I found myself neglecting my school work, and not caring about why I decided to move 400+ miles away from home, for my EDUCATION. My priorities were lost in all of the hype and stress of college life. I failed to realized at the time I was using the party scene as a coping method from my childhood trauma and new life. This carefree mindset lead me down a destructive path. Losing focus of my goals and not caring brought a lot of problems in the end. I ended up being dismissed from my dream school, after putting in tons of  hard work and dedication to get there. I was disgruntled by the upsetting event, but knew I’d have to persevere.  Through this intense learning process, I found that being goal oriented with a positive and determined mindset about life, you can vanquish anything. You must push yourself to your limits and pursue to overcome all obstacles, to be gifted with a brighter future.

As I headed back to Oxnard, CA for summer after freshman year, I left school and all of my stress in Davis. I embraced the stress-free feeling, and saw it became the most destructive summer yet. I will be honest, summer 2016 exaggerated the toxic behavior I had already accumulated from being away at college. I constantly partied  and was being mischievous. I remember receiving a call from a lady named Maisha,  warning me that I would be on Academic Probation for the upcoming fall quarter due to my poor performance during spring. I was extremely worried after hanging up and was eager to change my career goal.

I can’t lie, my interest in food science was never a passion. It sounded cool at first and I took a food chemistry class in highschool that sparked my enthusiasm initially. I didn’t know what I really wanted from this career, but went with it anyway. Reflecting on my freshman year experiences, I realized I was not good at hard sciences. They were extremely difficult in college compared to high school, and knew if I wanted to stay at University of California, Davis, I would need to make changes.  I knew I’ve always wanted to help others, growing up. As I searched for a new major, I was certain I would stay in the Agriculture industry, giving my previous background. I’ve loved the kitchen since i was a young child, baking and watching my father cook on occasions sparked my earliest interests in food. Moving into high school, I joined the Culinary Arts Academy, where I evolved my basic knowledge to professional skills. I was even able to win a baking competition and was on the front page of the local newspaper. I brainstormed ideas of what could be a new possibility and stumbled upon International Agricultural Development (IAD). I fell in love with the core concepts of the major and was eager to explore more, once I returned in the fall.

I moved into my first apartment at the end of summer and also started a new job at the beginning of fall quarter at the Student Community Center as an Event Staff. This was the first time I was expected to pay rent, my car and other bills on my own. It was a huge adjustment from having a job in highschool than in college. I had to manage a full course load plus work under the pressures of my fall quarter contract. I was stressed out, but I had faithfully left the destructive party scene after returning fall quarter. My mind and focus was on working, then school. I needed to get hours in order to stay in my apartment. Money is scarce and my family is not in the position to help me financially. They help when they can, but I can’t rely on them for much. I was drained from school and working constantly. I had started working out as a new stress reliever, replacing  my ridiculous partying habits. I found to love the gym and the feeling it gave me. I have always been overweight since I was a child, so working out helped me gain confidence in myself. As my self esteem rose, I found myself becoming more motivativated and feeling better mentally. My new regimen of working out and eating better was working! I started losing weight and could see the beginning of a new me. I was doing my best in school, but was still struggling with coursework. It felt like I had a huge weight on my shoulder, and didn’t have time to breathe. It came to end of fall quarter and I knew at the end I had lost all momentum. I gave my “best” work, though now I believe I could have done better. I received my grades one by one over winter break and was disappointed. I had missed my contract agreement of a 2.0 GPA by -.03, and received a 1.97.I was uncertain about my future at Davis at that point, but tried to stay optimistic going into winter quarter.

I was anxious once I received an email saying I needed to meet with a dean about my contract. I was terrified at that point, but knew I couldn’t avoid the situation. I set up my appointment and hoped for the best. I went into Mrak Hall hopeful, but prepared for the worst. I didn’t know being dismissed would feel much worse than what I had initially prepared myself for. Hearing I was dismissed from dean Brad Hurton, was a heart aching experience I’ll never forget. That exact moment broke me, but also gave me the opportunity to build a new sense of self. I was more than devastated after the meeting. I could barely talk without bursting into tears, my head was spinning and I felt like my life was over. I was mad at the world, and was certain I’d be heading home. At the time, I was full of rage and said I would never return to Davis. I called my best friend since 6th grade to confide in her. She brought me comfort and said she would support any decision I made. I appreciated her words, but still felt lost. I then called my dad. I struggled to even get the words out of my mouth, I did not want to disappoint him. He could hardly understand me, but knew something was wrong. I was able to get the words out after crying for a few minutes on the phone to him. He ensured me that I would be okay, and wasn’t upset at me. He did not agree with my desire to go home after being dismissed. He suggested that I stay in Davis, and do what I had to in order to eventually graduate from UCD. He always pushed me to do better than yesterday and made me feel confident in my abilities.  I didn’t agree with him at the time, but kept it in mind. The next day or two I was severely depressed. I couldn’t bare to get out of bed or even talk to others. I felt extremely disappointed in myself and didn’t have a plan B. I knew being moppy and depressed would only escalate my current situation, so I found the strength within to make a plan for myself. Talking with Brad, he mentioned steps I would need to take to return, so I followed up with these plans. I went to meet with the IAD advisor, and set up arrangements to attend Woodland Community College (WCC).

I enrolled at WCC for the spring semester to fulfil my requirements of my contract to return to UCD. I was still very upset about the ordeal but knew I had to push myself to get through this rough time. I adapted new study habits at WCC and grew to enjoy school again. I adopted the library as a new second home. I spent times between and before classes there, studying or doing homework. I also became more organized by setting self deadlines, utilizing a planner religiously and extracting all distractions (ie: my phone) during classes. These strategies helped me become more focused and through with my studies. My confidence in the classroom grew as I soared through class work and was at the top of the majority of my classes. It was rewarding and pleasing to see myself accel again. I knew I could use my new study skills at Davis to ensure I’d never be in the same situation again. At the end of Spring semester I received a 3.8 GPA. I was ecstatic and proud of my accomplishments! I was eager to return to UCD and practice all of my new skills and lifestyle choices. During the summer, I found out due to my financial state, I would not be starting in the fall. I decided to take on an additional job to save for my debt. I worked from June-December constantly. I hardly took breaks from my jobs and stayed in Davis, even though it was summer time. I felt good at this point in time. I had overcome one of the hardest struggles I’ve ever had to face away from home. I did exceptionally well during my academic leave from UCD at WCC, and was confident I’d return with vengeance. Physically, I had never felt better about myself. I had lost about 50 lbs and saw a new and improved self. My physical transformation correlated with my mental progression. I have become stronger, empowered and diligent, not only academically but also with myself. As I thought I’d been clear from another tragedy in 2017,  I was wrong. I found out after working all day, on November 17, that my dad had passed away from heart failure. I was in disbelief and a reck after hearing the news. Like mentioned earlier, I had been dealing with my dads poor health for some years by now and it was unclear how long he had. Some days he would be feeling like a new man, and others he’d wind up in the hospital for days. It was a bumpy road, and my dad knew this. He had “the talk” with me a few months prior to his death. It wasn’t about the birds and the bee’s, but what I should expect when he’s gone. It was a difficult conversation to have with someone I wanted to stay around forever. His supportive words then, help me to this day to cope with my loss of him. He clearly stated he wanted me to get back into University of California, Davis and graduate. He encouraged me that I could get through anything if I set my mind to it. Hes reassured my strength and admirable leadership skills that can take me as far as I allow myself. At the time, I didn’t take these words to heart, but now everyday they recollect in my mind. I miss him like crazy and only want to make him proud. I was never able to tell him I was starting school at UCD again, but hope he’s watching me from above.

As I anticipated the start of Winter quarter, I was still trying to cope with my dad’s death and embrace for my even more hectic life. I currently am taking 16 units, with 3 part time jobs. I still work at the SCC on campus. I have stayed persistent and was promoted to Student Manager recently, deliver pizza for Cenario’s and began my newest job at KFC as a crew member in January. My life right now is intense, I hardly sleep and am always busy with work or school. Though my life is hectic, I have been utilizing my adopted skill sets. They’ve improved my time management skills, study skills and have helped me cope with my dad’s death. Staying active at the gym has relieved a lot of stress I’ve been feeling. I continue to stay on top of my schedule and priorities to keep a peace of mind and  not get behind, which adds more stress and anxiety on me. Working three jobs and taking 16 units on the quarter system is a lot on my plate, but i’m managing well. Comparing myself from then to now, I would have never been able to feel this confident with this busy of a schedule. I commend myself for my strength and diligence in 2018. I know if I continue on this new and improved pathway of life, I will succeed.

Analyzing a year ago to now, I am a new and improved woman. My newest motto to live by is “hard work pays off,” I can say that 2017 was a year that completely broke me down. In the midst of my breakdown, I found it in me to recover in the process. Being in a financial hole, kicked out of school and having the death of my dad throughout a span of a year was crazy, and I am still dealing with the after effects. I felt like the bad news would never end, but kept a positive outlook and continued to stay focused on my goals. Staying organized while utilizing positive coping methods have changed my life for the better. I push myself everyday to be a better me today, than yesterday. I can not control what life hits me with, but I can control how I handle the situation. I have made tremendous progress in the past year, and am confident in my future endeavors.

[artistemor]

A WOUND TURNED INTO LIGHT: BODY & SOLD AT THE LABORATORY THEATER

 BY KAYLEIGH O’CONNELL

"you seem to replace your brain with your heart, you take things so hard than you fall apart you try to explain but before you can start those cry baby tears come out of the dark "

The hauntingly girlish voice of Melanie Martinez’ marks our descent into childhood horror in Laboratory Theater’s Body & Sold. The theme of lost innocence that runs through Martinez’ album is paralleled in this play by Deborah Lake Fortson which chronicles the experiences of human trafficking survivors. Based on interviews with survivors, the piece is grounded in reality while simultaneously achieving a level of surrealism.

 The surrealism stems from the topic itself in many ways. Most of us, hopefully, have not been victims of human trafficking and that creates a certain natural distance between the art and its audience. The beauty of the work is that it's entirely conscious of that distance and utilizes it to its advantage. First by establishing that it exists physically in a place that is our reality and yet not. The stage is remarkably bare with minimal dressing just chairs and a staircase. They reference places that we never travel to but inhabit all the same. A delicate ecosystem of physical abstraction and emotional realism that is sometime successful, sometimes less so.

 Directed by Kathleen Moye who is pursuing her master’s degree in drama therapy, you can see that influence in the staging. The chairs often set up to form a semicircle as the characters’ discuss their lives, the entire play feels like a group therapy session.  The more obvious sign of her background however is the compassion and clarity with which the material is handled.

 The characters are aware of themselves within the framework of the script and make joking asides wondering who will be cast to play them in the show. They directly address the audience, confronting us with the tragedy of their circumstances and inviting us to walk around in it. They never provoke pity nor do they seek it. Instead they achieve something that is all too rare in sexual assault narratives: understanding.

 Very often people address the issue with all the finesse of an afterschool special. Although well intentioned, these efforts may do more harm than good and rape culture still runs rampant. It’s insidious and permeates nearly all aspects of social life. It’s in our streets, our schools, ourselves. Combatting sexual assault begins with unlearning these biases as a community and standing in solidarity with one another.

 Body & Sold is all about solidarity. The characters are vastly different people but as the show progresses you see the cruelty that intertwines them. Their voices are interwoven thematically and literally as they rage against the system that abandoned them. They mourn for the loss of lives that never were and lovers who never truly loved them. Most of all, they are searching. Searching endlessly for someone who will treat them with tenderness and warmth.

 The best they can manage is temporary sanctuary. They meet a man with kind eyes who offers them hot chocolate and a place to stay the night. They meet a man who's really a very good man. He almost never hits them. An older man shows them love and they feel it all over. They feel safe and they are. For a time.

Perhaps one of the strangest misconceptions about domestic violence is the idea that it begins in violence and they should have known better. You can’t know better, you really can’t. Rarely does it ever begin in blood and screaming. It’s more akin to stepping into a warm bath and over time the temperature gets turned up until your skin starts to peel off. You don’t leave the water because you’re accustomed to it by now. There is comfort in the familiar no matter how deadly. Trying to leave will get you killed. Better to stay.

 In one of the most chilling moments of the show, we hear from someone on the other side of this script. A man who picked up a young girl he found at the bus stop. He takes her out everywhere. Clubs, parties, fancy restaurants. He showers her in affection and buys her diamond earrings from Tiffany’s. As he sits on the edge of the stage, he confides in the audience. A Machiavellian move straight out of Shakespeare and House of Cards. He tells us that we gotta be cool. Treat them special. Find out what they like and get it for them. Make them feel like you love them. By sharing this with us we become complicit in his abuse.

 We also see the various tactics used by abusers both familial and otherwise to lure young women into these situations. One girl suffers at the hands of a family member who tells her its ‘our little secret’ while another person abandons two girls in a strip club knowing full well what’s going to happen to them.

 Returning to the archetype of the abuser, we see a more nuanced approach to the trope. Something they coined “the sophisticated pimp”. A young gay boy fresh out of the midwest moves to New York to escape a heavily religious background and falls in with an older man. He is nothing like the monsters you envision. At first he is closer to a kindly Daddy Warbucks adopting Annie out of the orphanage and bringing her into a new life of glamour and luxury. He treats the young boy gently but the child has no delusions about this arrangement. He knows that this will eventually involve sex and has accepted that. He grows to love this man and in turn feels loved.

 The realization years later that the man he loved was using him is nothing short of devastating. When the character tells us that he “still can’t work out what he felt for me” it reminds us that the aftermath of trauma lasts a lifetime. The post traumatic stress shared by all the survivors is never fully overcome. Coping not conquering. The survivors describe themselves as living in a war zone that America doesn’t want to see. A war that they are then blamed for.

 This show has absolutely no tolerance for victim blaming or the so called lolita complex. The axis of responsibility is never placed on their shoulders. Indeed it would be impossible to do so considering these people entered into this as children and teenagers. One of the key elements of the play is a young girl sitting on the staircase. Dressed up like a porcelain doll, she remains silent for most of the show. A living reminder of the childhood that was stolen from them. She has one great scene where she tapes up her teddy bear’s mouth, telling the bear it has a big mouth and there are things we can’t talk about. It serves as a strong condemnation of the culture of shame that surrounds sexual assault victims and the erasure of their traumas.  

 That being said while the characters are never held responsible for the horror that was inflicted on them they are also never reduced to just their pain. They retain their agency and are active agents in their own lives. Free to make both good and bad choices, all of their decisions are born from a very human place of desperation and wild hope. We see them struggle with these decisions and their consequences but we can never judge them for it.

 They don’t always fall nicely into their assigned roles either. An aspect of sexual trafficking that is well addressed in this show is women’s role in abuse. There’s what you might consider positive sexism in portrayals of sexual traffickers on television. This idea that a woman can only be a victim or a hero. That our innate womanly goodness prevents us from being anything else. While it's certainly true that this play is full of female heroes (the social workers come to mind)  it is not interested in black and white morality. One of the survivors describes with great shame how they indoctrinated her to recruit young girls. Trained her. They plant seeds in your self conscious telling you that you are worthless. They break you and rebuild you in their image.

Amidst all this darkness, there remains light. Levity and joy. The friendship between two girls that outlasts their shared trauma and centers them. The former pornographer thinking about sending his dad a copy of his films. The young man in leather who

Mothers being reunited with their children. Girls going back to school to get their degrees. Becoming social workers, opening shelters and volunteering in LGBT youth centers.  

 Together they learn to breathe. Together they build a family.

 Ultimately the purpose the show isn’t to provide catharsis or to wrap a shiny red ribbon around it and tell us everything’s going to be ok. It’s not ok. The survivors in this play learn to breathe around the pain in their chests but that pain should have never existed in the first place. At the show they handed out pamphlets for abuse counseling centers and the q & a portion revolved around informing the community of local efforts to combat human trafficking.

 The Laboratory Theater of Florida is known for its youth outreach programs and its commitment to social activism theater. French painter Georges Braque once said that art is a wound turned into light. The Lab exemplifies this light.

 Contact List -

The Laboratory Theater: (239) 218-0481, www.laboratorytheaterflorida.com

SWFL Regional Human Trafficking Coalition:(239) 410- 050,  SWFL-HumanTrafficking.org

Artreach Human Trafficking Awareness Partnerships: (239) 415 - 2635

Abuse Counseling Treatment, Inc. (ACT) 24 Hour Hotline: (239) 939 -3112

Florida Hotlines: (800) 500-1119 or (888) 956 - 7273

National Hotline: (800) 799 - SAFE