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mccnyoongi · 5 years

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buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate.

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey, you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor.

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman.

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not.

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you.

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive.

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention. You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.”

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy.

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs.

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties.

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist.

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks.

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess.

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting.

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt.

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit.

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.”

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him.

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?”

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans. If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture.

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick.

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm.

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe.

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable.

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon.

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year.

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

#bts smut #btswritingcafe #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #buttercup #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bts writing #def not my best work but u know JKFDHKJFHS

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snapetrash · 4 years

Text

so I wrote a crack fic where Snape and Harry smoke weed and talk about their problems. kinda. It’s posted on Ao3 if you want to read it there. It’s pretty ooc and an adult smokes weed and tobacco with an underage student, so there’s your warning for moral ambiguity. Starts at the beginning of book 5, in an AU where everything is the same except Harry picks up a smoking habit to self medicate his slightly crippling anxiety and depression. Looking for a Beta so let me know if you’re interested!!!

Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys had been here for weeks while he had to deal with his relatives, and fucking demetors- what a load of bollocks. Harry dumped his trunk and bags in his room and made a beeline for the attic of Grimmauld Place, grabbing his pack of menthols and lighter as he went.

They’d arrived at the Order headquarters a little after 2 am, so he knew no one would come looking for him until morning. He’d told Remus after a brief hug that he was exhausted before he’d headed to his room. Harry climbed the rickety, spiraling stairs leading to the topmost floor of Grimmauld without so much as a glance behind him.

Harry knew Sirius was in the house somewhere, and probably awake, but anxiety and anger had tied his stomach in knots. He would go see his godfather after his smoke. After. Everything had to come after he’d had a moment to himself, or he’d blow up and regret everything.

As he struggled to wrench open the window, he briefly considered smoking inside, smell and lingering smoke bedamned, but as the thought crossed his mind the window gave a little shriek and popped open. Harry crawled out onto the dirty shingles and moved to sit beside the window, looking out onto the backyard of the house.

He opened his pack, pulled out a joint and popped it in his mouth, lighting up and taking a deep, fortifying breath. Harry’s eyes fell closed as he inhaled deeply, pulling in air after his hit and exhaling, long and measured. As he went to take another hit, he opened the pack of cigarettes one more time to retrieve a menthol and tuck it behind his ear, for later. His hair was such a mess that it covered the white of the paper completely, and kept the fug from prying eyes. It wouldn’t be fun if he was caught and chewed out by Mrs. Weasley for smoking.

The sky was dark and overcast, sounds of the city muffled by the powerful wards on the house. It was a fairly hot night, temperature perfect for Harry and his penchant for being chilly in all seasons. After three or four hits he could feel the tension bleed from his body, finally making way for bone deep exhaustion.

“ Potter, what on earth-” If Harry hadn’t been halfway through his joint, he would’ve startled at the sound of Snape’s irritated growl coming from the window beside him. But he’d been awake for more than 24 hours, and hadn’t had a decent meal for just as long. The energy to care about being caught smoking on a roof by his professor? He just didn’t have it at the moment.

“Are you smoking pot?” The utter incredulity in the Potion Master’s voice prompted Harry to actually turn and look at the other man. Snape was leaning out the window, arms braced on the sil with his wand in a relatively loose grip. He was wearing what looked like a long sleeve tee and worn sweatpants- both black of course- but surprisingly muggle. It made the older man look softer, younger; the small part of Harry’s brain that hadn’t checked out the moment he lit up was shocked at how Snape looked, even as he glared at him.

There were other things Harry noticed about him too; his paler-than-usual pallor, the way his body seemed wound tight like a spring and the heavy-lidded exhaustion in his eyes. Snape wasn’t staring him down, not like usual. No, he seemed like maybe he’d come for a bit of solitude too. In fact, when Harry’s gaze flicked down to the potion master’s hands he saw a wooden pipe, shiny and black just like the rest of him, clutched in his non-wand hand.

It was 2 am and everyone else in the house was probably in bed. Harry realized he’d been staring, not answering, and Snape was looking tenser and moodier by the second.

“Are you wearing pajamas?” He blurted out, immediately regretting everything. Fuck, he was gonna get so many detentions. But Snape was wearing pajamas, it was beyond strange, and Harry had gone ahead and said the first thing that’d come to his mind like a complete idiot.

Snape gave him a look of utter loathing, like he was thinking the exact same thing. Harry couldn’t help but notice the dark bags under his eyes, and again did something incredibly stupid. Marijuana in the wizarding world didn’t hold the same weight as it did for muggles, but still. He was sure there was a rule written somewhere that said ‘thou shalt not smoke cannabis with thy potions master.’ or something.

Harry offered him the joint wordlessly. It was quite a normal gesture, in general terms; Snape stared at the offending apparatus in what seemed like numb shock, his eyes a little wide, his mouth drawn down into a tight line. It hung in the air between them, and just as Harry thought that maybe he really was going to die at the hands of his teacher that hated him, the older wizard reached out and plucked the burning thing from his fingers.

The moment Snape took it, instead of watching him(his fucking professor!) Harry grabbed the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up, just to have something to do with his hands. He looked up just in time to see Snape exhale a fat cloud of smoke and look at the joint with a thoughtful expression. After a moment they swapped; Snape had the cigarette and Harry had the joint.

The younger wizard watched the other inhale and grimace, before his professor quietly muttered. “Of course you would smoke this muggle menthol crap.”

Harry snorted. “You certainly aren’t the first one to give me shit for it.”

This was probably the quietest, nicest moment he’d ever had in Snape’s presence. Who knew all it took was a little weed to win over the nasty dungeon bat? Harry had to force a cough, lest he giggle at the thought.

The deserted city before them had infected both wizards with a sense of calm; no nightmares, or oaths or dark lords could reach them here. When Harry saw the joint going down, he pulled out another and put the other out in seamless rotation. Snape made a soft noise that might’ve been a scoff, but otherwise said nothing and took a long drag of the new joint.

Neither man knew how they’d stumbled upon this fragile peace, but they weren’t going to go out of their way to break it now. Still, Harry couldn’t resist pushing his luck.

“I keep waiting to wake up from this bizarre dream, but it hasn’t happened yet.” He muttered with humor.

Snape side-eyed him, blowing a bit of smoke out before fucking smirking “Why does it matter? No one would believe you if you told them about this.”

That had Harry fighting back horrified laughter, coughing a little on the smoke caught in his throat, because this was another level and who knew his evil git of a teacher could be so devious? In a funny way, not his usual ‘Potter, detention for breathing’ way. Stealing a glance at Snape, he saw that he’d relaxed a lot more. He had an elbow on the sill, his chin propped up in his hand- and a little quirk on his lips that was almost a smile.

This side of Snape was completely new to Harry; but he vowed silently to himself that he’d try to draw it out as often as he could. Clearly the guy was under a lot of pressure, playing for both sides. Maybe he was a completely different person, outside of all the acting and playing the field he had to do.

“You’re different, like this.” Harry’s brain to mouth filter had said sayonara at this point; the small part of his mind that was rational, and screaming at him to ‘shut up, Potter, you utter wanker’ was drowned out by his high and the strange night.

“I know we have to keep hating each other- keep up appearances, I mean- um. But I wouldn’t mind doing this again. I just- I’ve been realizing how much you do for the war, for me and I- You’re not a bad guy at all, is what I might be saying. Who knows, I’m stoned. Ignore me.” Please, Harry, shut the fuck up now.

Snape’s burning gaze bore holes into his forehead as he hurriedly stuck his fug in his mouth to silence himself. The younger wizard didn’t take his eyes off his own hands, cheeks burning, waiting for the end.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you want to spend any more time with me than you have to? It’s not like I haven’t given you every reason to hate me that I could think of.” The older man replied, and oh god, both of them were way too tired and totally not sober enough to have this kind of conversation. If they were sober they would never have it in the first place.

Harry didn’t say anything for a while, not sure how to respond. “Well it’s not like I didn’t figure that out eventually- and you’re one of the few people in this entire, fucked up secret society that treats me like a normal person. From everyone else it’s either hero worship, pity, or they hate me for shite I can’t control.” He paused and took another drag of his cigarette. “Or they expect me to be a carbon copy of my dad. I guess you also did that for a while too, but you have to keep up appearances for the all the kids reporting back to their death eater parents.”

Snape turned his eyes on Harry again, showing a myriad of emotions across his face, all hard to decipher. He seemed almost angry. “Don’t be daft. I publicly humiliate you whenever I have the chance. I’m not a nice man, it wasn’t always an act!”

“Well you just admitted that it’s an act now! Why are you so afraid to admit you like me, professor?” That shut Snape up pretty effectively, because all he did was relight the joint that had gone out in his hands.

Harry sighed, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees, facing Snape. “You’ve always reminded me of my muggle teachers in elementary, kind of. The ones that knew from speaking to Petunia that I was a delinquent, but were still determined to teach me. It gave me a sense of normalcy amongst all the magic, in a place where suddenly I was popular and sought after for a glorified tragedy I don’t even remember. I dunno.” he laughed bitterly, remembering his first year. The months after his letter came, wondering if he’d go to sleep after classes that night and wake up in the cupboard.

Snape looked very tired, as if every word Harry spoke took what little energy he had left. “You’re not anything like your father was, as your age. How could you be, you’ve never met the man.” He mumbled the last sentence, but Harry heard it anyway.

“Exactly! You understand. Fuck.” The teenager took a shaking breath, and then the joint when Snape passed it to him. They fumbled for a second when he nearly dropped it, hands brushing in the dark, but it made its way into Harry’s shaking hands and he hit it once, with feeling.

After a few minutes of silence in which they finished the second joint, and Snape lit his pipe(which to Harry’s surprise) actually had weed in it. They passed it back and forth for a little while longer.

“Albus wants me to teach you Legilimency this year. You’ll come to my office once a week after class, and call it remedial potions when anyone asks.”

“Cool, we’ll be able to hang out more without anyone around to ruin it.” Harry replied absently. When he realized that he’d just indicated, verbally, that he’d enjoy hanging out with Snape(and his mind was really blown at that one) he looked up to see Snape staring at him with his eyebrow raised, a picture of unimpressed.

“You realize you’re going to actually have to learn to be a Legilimens, right Potter?”

“Oh yeah. It might just be the weed, but I’m feeling much better about it now than I would’ve if we hadn’t had this conversation.” The teen replied with good humor. It was true; he was feeling much better about Snape in general. Harry remembered how much of a hardass his professor was, and was quick to reassure him. “I’ll do my best to learn all I can from you.”

Snape’s face softened a little. “See that you do, Potter.” He straightened, Placing his pipe in his pocket and pulling himself back into the attic. The older man reached a hand out for Harry to help him inside. “Come now. It’s bedtime for wizarding saviors.”

Harry smiled, caught the larger, rougher hand in his own and allowed himself to be lightly manhandled back into the attic. He felt beyond tired. When he stumbled on the stairs, Snape dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder and left it there.

“To the kitchen first, I have a vial of dreamless sleep for you.” Snape said quietly. The younger man grunted a wordless acknowledgement and they made their way together through the house. The potions master beelined to a high cabinet in the corner and pulled out two small bottles, uncorking one and downing it and passing the other to Harry.

“Thanks, professor. Good night.”

“Goodnight, Potter.” Snape was rewarded with a blinding smile as Harry made his way upstairs. He went to his room, and fell asleep quicker than he’d had in years.

#severitus #ooc characters #crack treated seriously #crack fic

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birthdaylobotomy · 5 years

Text

I Took It And I Ran

WIP Currently still very much in progress. However, I wanted to share this!

CONTENT WARNING: Alcohol, drug use, violence, sexist/sexual language. In later parts there will be suicidal ideation, self harm, prostitution, sexual abuse, homophobia and racist language among other thing.

I do not share many of the ideologies my main character does. Remember- you are seeing this through the eyes of an angry kid in the early 90s. He says many things that are, in general, very bitter.

@sec-lude, @misfitwings, @cohldhands, @smoke-the-woke and anyone else who wants to be put on/taken off the tag list let me know!!

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!!

CHAPTER ONE (Part One)

The first time I met Luke, I was at that house party Monica was throwing for her ugly friend Brittney. I don’t remember all of the details, mostly because I was completely and irreversibly hammered. I just know Britt was sad about something, probably her baby daddy not paying his support- he never did- and Monica, who knew everybody up and down the block, decided to throw a party. What can I say? Monica was great at making people forget their woes, until the next day and pounding hangover, of course. Monica, pretty Monica.

I remember the scene at least, the setup. Assad was ranting off to me about some dumb shit I didn’t care about, but I had to pretend to care because as long as he thought we were friends, I would get my weed cheap. Was I manipulative? Oh, for sure, but I didn’t care back then. I didn’t care about anyone.

“This bitch was all over me, I swear,” he sighed, doing the thing he always did, which was tug at my shoulder twice and clap his hands together when he caught my glare. “But, but, I knew I had a girlfriend. She knew too!”

I had already checked myself out mentally from what he was saying. It was always the same shit anyways. He would be dealing to a girl, and she would have no money, “No nothin’ but her body, and damn was her body rich!” And Assad, poor Assad, would be faced with the trial of either going ahead and having the fuck of his life, or staying loyal to his baby. His baby that he sure had the habit of cheating on.

“Yeah, yeah, this bitch- oh!” He cringed his face tight and smacked his hands together twice. “Her ass was so fucking fat, I almost had a- a seizure, just lookin’! My baby can’t find out, she won’t. I won’t let her.”

I nodded twice. I hated men who cheat, I still do. They are scumbags who deserve to be found out. Assad was no exception.

The party was packed. Monica’s parties usually were. Over 100 shady people, all squeezed into one tiny apartment. People who I had never seen, who’s scent I hadn’t even smelled yet. Everyone knew Monica though. If they hadn’t fucked her or her sister, then their boyfriend had. Despite this, everyone loved her.

The room stunk, and that was coming from a smelly punk who lived in early 90’s Detroit. Even my roomates, a former prostitute and her shithead boyfriend, smelled like a flower shop compared to the mess of people I was in. Assad didn’t seem to notice- he must’ve been high off his ass. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his afro seemed to be weighed down with gunks of stale perspiration. He wiped his face a few times and licked his lips constantly.

“Fuck, man,” Assad groaned, giving one last tug at my shoulder before swinging his head in the other direction. “I gotta go. Monica’s parties always end with someone either gettin’ cursed or killed or pregnant. I gotta go.”

I made no attempt to keep him at that party. Instead, I nodded in support of the concept. “Listen, man, if you need to leave, leave. I definitely wouldn’t blame ya,” I said, gesturing of the swarm of drunk criminals that buzzed everywhere I could see.

He bobbed his head three times, each time slower than the former. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take care, white boy.” I sighed at his awkward goodbye- was it well meaning or an attempt at insult? I would never know or care. I nearly shoved him away, which I disguised with a rough pat on the back, and Assad quickly vanished into the crowd of rats.

Since I was alone, I decided now would probably be my only chance at a cigarette until some other phony friend would find it to be the right time to attack me with their personal crisis.

So, with nothing but a cheap pack a cigarettes and a half empty bottle of warm beer, I escape from the soup of musty kids and into the lukewarm night.

It was such a blessed night. And chilly, too. The raggedy holes in beat-up jeans soaked in the cold and made the skin on my knees prickle up underneath. I kept swinging around the bottle, my arm rubber, as I chucked it out into the street. Even my swaying, drunk eyes could see the glass explode like fireworks.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t even realize just how freezing it was until the vapor rose out of my mouth, like smoke from a dragon. I rubbed my hands against my naked arms and cursed the invention of wife-beaters.

I was mad. I had been for a long time, for a lot of different reasons. The most recent fuel to my fire was the fact that I had fallen bitterly in love with Monica. The queen of whores, sitting on a throne of the men she had fucked and left in the dirt. Pretty Monica, with her cherry red lips and big brown hair, her perky tits and squeaky voice.

I dug a cigarette out of my pocket. I didn’t know a single guy that wouldn’t get a hard on when Monica would wiggle her way into a room, spill a few tacky flirts and wiggle right back out. Something about her left guys, even ones who were damn well smart enough to know she was nothing more than polite slut, drooling after her and her tight little-

I couldn’t find my fucking lighter. My dead old jeans were ripped right through as I forced my hand through my pocket. It came out on the other side, the hole shredded and unfixable. I completely stopped for a long minute. My favorite pair of pants, torn but not in a way I could frame as being some punk bullshit.

“Oh, fuck off!” I grabbed whatever my hands could snatch- a nearly empty pack of smokes- and I flung it as hard as I could muster into the sidewalk. A few wandering crackheads were the only ones to notice as I stamped my heart out against the pack. Up and down I threw myself, until the pack was nothing but a flat stomped out pile of tobacco crumbs and mashed paper.

I stared at the ground. A pile of mediocre cigs, wasted.

Why was I so angry back then? I knew it was just more than Monica. I knew it, but it would have taken a gun or war to make me admit what it really was.

This block was a rough one. Buggy eyed homeless people, all high on dope and some other shit would always come swaying around corners, like feral dogs waiting to bite. Just walking to Monica’s apartment, only seven o’ clock, made me paranoid. The city was going through a great death those days. The auto industry had fled, racial tensions were so strung that you could cut them with a knife. I think everyone was angry, waiting to burst.

I stood there like some kind of scarecrow. I had no cigarettes and no beer. No knife either. As the sound of police sirens acted as a distant lullabye, I was reminded of that. I had left my blade at the apartment. I always did when I came to Monica’s place. The why was really dumb, but I just told anyone who would ask that if Gloria, my roommate, ever got into shit with her scumbag boyfriend, that my blade would save her life. Now that I think of it, she never used that blade, not once in her short life.

That’s when I saw- no, heard first- a man who I would come to know as Luke Evans.

It started with the pounding of his feet- an anthem against the black tar. I heard his sneakers slapping against the earth before I saw him. And when I saw him, I saw all of him.

His feet were a blur, he was running faster than anyone I had ever seen before- you know, if he had for whatever reason changed his life and poured his being into being some trackstar, he would have left Bolt in the dust.

His face- his face was filled with some primordial fear, something out of a nature documentary. His eyes distant but near, wide wide open but closed tight shut, peering. He bounced up and down as his feet touched and released the ground, and he sported an oversized jacket- like a little kid trying out his dad’s old coat. He sprinted with his arms, pumping almost as quickly as his legs did. When I made him out I stopped breathing. I wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t why I wasn’t, but for some reason, I immediately felt the urge to guard him from whatever beast he was escaping.

He ran straight, right through the center of the street. I was to his left- probably just a blur, a small mark on a large map of shadowy, red-brick row homes. But to me, Luke was something like an asteroid. A comet.

Ten more seconds. In a wild racing screech, blared honking and two blinding lights- the beast was revealed.

A truck, torn inside and out with big blocky bullet-holes, shredded to the point it could barely even be called a vehicle. What monsters in human bodies could have destroyed something so thoroughly? I began to sweat as it all came closer. Monsters that lived in each and every apartment as far as I could see.

This is when I, a twenty one year old child, brimming with rage and lust and depression, saw a decision, that I seemed destined from the day I was born to make. I saw the option more clearly that I had seen anything else up to that point. I could save this stranger, who had done something, something big and bad enough to cause that chase, and that anger. Or I could save myself. I could allow myself to continue this existence of standing to the side and nodding to get what I want. A life of putting in no effort, no care, no risk of change. A life that would keep me safe but miserable.

Of course, in that moment, it wasn’t laid out like that- I didn’t think of it that way. However, even young and dumb me knew I needed to do something.

So, in one of my few moments of selfless risk, I made the choice to save him.

It was swift- the flash of my arm thrusting out, the smudge of the darkness and Luke becoming one thing, and, of course, the look. The look we traded as this happened, as he had finally passed me on the street and I, a formerly minor distraction on the sideline, became a central figure. In that moment, I made myself almost as important as the car, with its headlights licking Luke’s heels.

As he looked at me, I swear to this day his baby blue eyes held no fear. He was confused, as anyone would be in that moment- but he wasn’t scared, at least not of me. I don’t know why.

I wonder what I looked like to him. He would never tell me. Maybe a hero. I like to think that at the very least. I fantasize and tell myself I had a manly shine and glimmer, my eyes determined and my mouth a fine line of focus. I wish I had asked him.

But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of me. I wasn’t really thinking about Luke either, truthfully. In reality, I was thinking about the car.

The car, which screeched as it came closer, closer, a giant hulking monster that would kill me in an instant if I refused to move any longer. I sprang, my legs weak and bouncy but strong. Strong enough to leap across the small plot of grass in front of the building, my arm a leash and Luke barely connected. I spotted the bush- the bush that all of Monica’s drunk boyfriends would piss in, littered with cigarette butts and and wrappers and whatever other shit people would be too lazy to actually dispose of.

In that moment, that nasty fucking bush was a paradise- something sent from God himself to rescue me and this beautiful blonde criminal attached to my arm. I threw myself fully into it, the thin twigs popping and crackling as they snapped around us. Everything was so fast, so urgent, that the moment we sat the world came to jolting halt.

Silence.

We were as silent as two panting, terrified children could be. I could only hear the sounds of our bodies and the city then- the constant warning of police and their wail, the close hum of the party in the building right against the shrubbery, and the car. The car, wheezing and sputtering like an old man. Its engine coughed and spat below the hood. I could hear shouting- what did they say? They sounded angry, and dangerous. I put my hand instinctively over my mouth, and I tried to slow my breathing one trembling huff at a time. My eyes couldn’t help but stray to the person inches away from me.

The light of the car moved slow, slow. It winked at us, walked across our bodies, the shadows of the leaves that crossed us looking like spots of black against our persons. The glint was too powerful and in a moment of impulse, I turned my face. I saw Luke, not move, not even blink. The light gave him a holy glow, a halo. He did not look at me. He looked only at the truck.

It seemed to last a million years. When finally the shouting stopped, I heard something like a mumble, and then the tires screamed against the street, and the truck sped off and away.

Neither Luke nor I moved for a full thirty seconds. Nothing. The car was gone- it was truly gone. I had been the first to hint at our safety; I looked at him and couldn't help but smile, big, goofy and relieved. Out of the corner of his eye he assessed me cautiously, before finally turning to face me fully for the first time. When he did, the corner of his mouth was a boyish grin.

Even in the hidden darkness, his eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. I could make out his dimples that shined through his babyish cheeks. There was something so alien about that youth, and those eyes. I couldn’t help but feel myself fall in an exhausted but hearty laugh. And he started laughing too, and I remember so cleanly both us giggling and sobbing with this brilliant feeling of ease.

When we eventually were became too sore to keep dying over nothing, we fell quiet again. I noticed Luke move his head side to side, as if he were searching for something. I could only see the darkness of his silhouette. I looked at only him.

“This bush smells like urine,” he said. That brought me back to a level of reality. It did smell like piss- and drugs. And whatever nasty shit people has dumped into it.

“Fuck, let’s get out then.”

“Okay.” Both of us moved at once- Luke, not drunk like me, popped up out of the bush with a flurry of broken and dry leaves. He yanked me up without me having to ask. We both stood there, very close, the brier scratching at our waists. It took my slightly intoxicated sway to get us moving again.

When we were back in the clear, Luke looked over up and down the streets as he yanked up his pants and held his huge jacket closed. He didn’t explain anything, but instead looked to me and nodded with gratefulness. “Thanks, man. Really.” I told him no worries, and picked a few thorns out of my knees. “What’s your name?”

My head jerked up. This was the crossing of a great bridge. I hid my happiness by raking my hand through my mess of hair. “Ryder. You?”

With one hand clutching his jacket, he stuck out a small, twig-sliced hand. “Lucas Evans. My friends prefer Luke, though.”

Did I plan it? Did I do it on purpose? I like to think I didn’t, and that I either was too stupid to realize it- which is much more likely- or that it was fate somehow. The idea of me doing it consciously makes me cringe.

“Alrighty, Luke...We should probably go inside.” Without hesitation, I took and shook his offered hand.

And in that moment, I didn’t just cross the bridge, but I flew across it, not even thinking to look back. Just by changing a few minor letters and shedding an S this person, who I barely knew but had still saved, went from being a complete stranger who owed me to a friend.

I saw him look to the ground in- in what? In pleasure, embarrassment, childish joy? But when he looked back up his dimples dotted his cheeks grandly.

“You’re right. I don’t-” He peaked over his shoulder again, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t think it would be all that smart of me to go back into those streets.”

“No kiddin’,” I said, leading the way back to Monica’s cluttered party. “If you just stay here for a bit you’ll be fine.”

When I opened the door I was hit with pounding, pungent reminder of why I left in the first place. Girls caked with makeup and sweat, greasy punk boys shedding their shirts to try impress someone, anyone. I let out a heave of a sigh and turned to Luke with a flip-flopped expression. “Just so you know, be weary of everyone here. They aren’t good people.”

22 notes · View notes

belaborthepoint · 4 years

Text

South Carolina Debate Transcript

GAYLE: Let's begin. Senator Sanders, we currently have a low unemployment rate. This means practically nothing since many people are working multiple part-time jobs with wages that barely keep them above the poverty line. But regardless, why would socialism ever be better than what Trump is doing for the economy?

BERNIE: Trump hasn't improved the economy for anyone other than rich people. We still have 87 million Americans who are underinsured or have no health insurance and 500,000 people tonight sleeping on the streets.

NORAH: Mayor Bloomberg, I'll let you defend capitalism.

BLOOMBERG: Trump should not be president. Russia is helping Bernie Sanders so that Trump will win. Russia gave Bernie Sanders a million donations of $27 to help him.

PEOPLE PAID TO BE THERE BY BLOOMBERG: (APPLAUSE)

GAYLE: Why would Russians want Bernie to be president?

BUTTIGIEG: If Bernie wins this nomincation, what you'll have is two people with very strong opinions, and they might raise their voices at each other when they disagree. Now imagine someone who's more relaxed, less agitated, more milquetoast. The kind of person who prefers honeydew melon to cantaloupe and doesn't like spicy foods. Right now, this is not about what we want for our country. It's not about health insurance, or wages. It's about just chillaxing, bro! Haha you know?

STEYER: Bernie is right. The problem is that he's wrong. What working families need is for basic needs to be commodified and privatized so that market has competition and capitalism can thrive. Donald Trump STINKS!

BIDEN: I'm not saying Bernie is responsible for mass shootings, but Bernie is responsible for mass shootings and he loves guns. In case anyone forgot, I was vice president under THE Barack Obama. And Bernie, he, let's talk about progressive. This was something that he wasn't. He, Bernie, he didn't -- progressive is getting, is doing things. And Bernie doesn't get things. Do. He doesn't do them.

BERNIE: Pete is funded by billionaires.

BUTTIGIEG: I will not allow this! I will no longer let this stand! I must let it be known that I also have donations from people who are not billionaires in addition to all of the donations that I do receive from billionaires. By the way, everyone please give me more money right now. As much as you are legally able to, give it to me now.

GAYLE: All right, all right. So, Vice President Biden, why don't black people like you?

BIDEN: Oh, you're actually wrong. They do. And if they don't, they should, because I deserve it. I worked like the devil's hotcakes. You shoot that spittin' pinjata wrestler like a hot diggity blubber nugget, and I mean that! I have come here and I plan to earn the vote and I plan to win it. I will win. You will vote for me or by dang, I'll splitterty splat the whole jib jab plipper plopper. You can count on that, folks.

(APPLAUSE)

GAYLE: Mayor Bloomberg. When you apologize for stop and frisk, it's sort of like you're not actually taking responsibility and you're trying to exonerate yourself for every terrible thing you've done? Can you admit that you, personally, carried out stop and frisk and it's your fault and your own actions are to blame?

BLOOMBERG: OH my GOD, ENOUGH with stop and frisk already!! You people are OBSESSED!! Give it a REST. Stop and frisk got out of control. I apologized, I talked to real live black people and I have nothing else to say about it. I don't have to justify myself.

GAYLE: Weellllll you actually kinda do though.

BLOOMBERG: I bet I can name more than one hundred black people. Ben Carson. Um. Give me a second.

GAYLE: Mayor Buttigieg, is racial profiling racist?

BUTTIGIEG: Yes. Also, sorry that we're all white, that's kinda awkward. I mean, you know, I'm not black, obviously. I'm white. What else would I be? I'm a white man. I'm not a black woman. I'm not. I'm just, I mean, I'm a man. I'm--

GAYLE: Thank you, Mayor Buttigieg.

BUTTIGIEG: I'm a man and I'm white. I'm not even a little bit--

GAYLE: Thank you. Thank you, Mayor Buttigieg.

BUTTIGIEG: I mean, look how white I am! Have you ever even-- I'm so white! I am a white. Man. I shouldn't even really be talking, cause I mean, you know, what do I know? I'm white! I shouldn't even really be talking about racial justice.

NORAH: Yup! Yes. Correct. Okay, moving on--

BUTTIGIEG: I am white.

BLOOMBERG: It's just a fact that racism exists, and we can't deny it. I just think we should all be acknowledging racism more.

BIDEN: I wrote that bill!

KLOBUCHAR: I am also white and I would also like to take a moment to speak about race. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, we're all united like three kids in a trench coat. We're all wearing one large garment. We are all three children standing on top of each other in a trench coat and pretending to be one adult, but really, we're children. I think we should provide childcare for everyone, and you know, I think everyone should be able to vote.

(APPLAUSE)

GAYLE: Senator Warren, why do you think Bloomberg is the worst candidate for the democratic nomination?

WARREN: Because he's literally a right wing republican who bought his way into this election and nobody trusts him?

GAYLE: True.

BLOOMBERG: In case you forgot, I was there for 9/11. I was inside of the twin buildings. I jumped out of the window of the 18th story through the burning flames and I died in the air from being on fire, but then, like a phoenix born anew out of the ashes of the old, I was reincarnated, and I became a democrat, because I love this country, and I love New York. Have you ever seen the movie Manhattan? It's my favorite Woody Allen movie, the one where he's 60 and dates a 17-year-old but it's okay because it's like quirky New York City people? Sometimes I watch that movie and I'm just like, wow, age knows no bounds. It's actually beautiful. I just love this city. This city is big. It's like a country. It's like a planet. I could probably be the dictator of a whole entire planet if I wanted to. Remember 9/11? Support our troops.

WARREN: Remember when you told a woman to kill her baby?

BIDEN: I wrote that bill!

BLOOMBERG: I did not say that.

WARREN: So why won't you let any of these women speak about their experiences?

PEOPLE PAID BY BLOOMBERG TO BE THERE: BOOOOOOOO!! Not all men!!!!

BLOOMBERG: Look, I don't know what more you want from me. Three women in the history of my whole life didn't think I was funny and then they tried to sue me. I'm sorry that they have a bad sense of humor and are too sensitive. A lot of women get confused and have bad hearing because of their periods, and I'm sorry if they made up things inside of their little brains and got themselves all worked up over nothing, but there's really nothing I can do about that. There's no point in continuing to bring up that I've harassed over a hundred women because it hurts my campaign and will make it less likely that I'll be president, so let's please just get over it.

PEOPLE PAID BY BLOOMBERG TO BE THERE: (APPLAUSE)

NORAH: Moving on! Senator Sanders, can you explain the math for the spending plans of every single one of your proposals in a minute and a half?

BERNIE: Um, no. It's kind of nuanced and would take longer than that.

BIDEN: THAT'S the problem. We need soundbites. Not lengthy plans that you can read about in your own time. You can't expect people to READ.

STEYER: I have an opinion.

BERNIE: Every study shows that medicare for all will save money. It'll cost $45 billion.

STEYER: Excuse me? Hello? I just want to take a moment. I just want to say that what we have on our hands here is the choice between a racist misogynist and a man who wants to make healthcare available for everyone, and to me, neither of those options look good, and this is very scary.

NORAH: Cool, thanks...so back to the actual conversation. Biden?

BIDEN: It's about time. Okay, Tom Steyer, remember when you bought a private prison system that wasn't providing healthcare for the people being held there?

STEYER: But then I sold it afterwards!!

BIDEN: Back in my neck of the woods, my hometown neighborhood baseball team would call that "Holly Golightly." You're just a beautiful, chain-smoking vixen with a cat named "Cat," that's what you are, you little tease! You old fox!

STEYER: Guilty as charged, mister. Say, you wanna get outta this joint and mosey on over to someplace a little more...intimate?

BIDEN: Holly Golightly!!!

(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

GAYLE: Mayor Bloomberg, you're super fatphobic and are one of those people who use the phrase 'obesity epidemic.' Would you carry out fatphobic policies on a national level and continue policing everyone's eating habits and blaming health problems on fatness even though there's actually no direct correlation between weight and health and these ideas are just widely promoted by diet culture and the weight loss industry?

BLOOMBERG: Yeah, I'm still extremely fatphobic.

NORAH: Bernie wants to legalize weed. Discuss.

BLOOMBERG: It should not be criminal. Unless you're a dealer because then you are a bad and evil person. More importantly, we don't really know what marijuana is doing to our brains. Has anyone even researched this before? I don't even know what it is. Is it a plant? Does it grow on a tree? Who even knows! We need to get to the bottom of this. Research suggests that it is unladylike to smoke weed, and only boys do it. Boys are entering comatose states and waking up twenty years later after being cryogenically frozen, because of what marijuana is doing to their brains. It enters the brain cells, it rewires the neurotransmitters and emits electromagnetic currents that destroy your entire nervous system. Marijuana is killing our boys. We need to find out why.

BERNIE: Our criminal justice system is super racist and equates marijuana with heroine.

BIDEN: I wrote that bill!

BERNIE: We're going to expunge people's records and help POC communities start businesses to sell legal marijuana so it's not just white elitist hipsters controlling the market.

(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

NORAH: Senator Warren, why should we pull out our combat troops? How can we keep people safe?

WARREN: We're not keeping people safe or doing anything productive at all by keeping troops in Afghanistan.

GAYLE: Mayor Buttigieg, what would you like to contribute, as a veteran?

BUTTIGIEG: When I came out of the womb, I was in full combat gear. And just as sure as the hair on my chinny chin chin, I had a weird birth mark on my shoulder that was the exact image of the American flag. America used to stand for something. That's the America that I know and love.

BRENNAN: Senator Sanders, you've praised communism's ability to lift people out of poverty and acknowledged that socialist governments have done good things. Does this mean that you love authoritarianism?

BERNIE: Obviously not. I don't condone authoritarianism, I just think that Cuba did some things successfully.

BIDEN: So you think authoritariansim is good.

BERNIE: Do you know how logic works? No, I don't. I can say that the Cuban government has done certain things well and still condemn authoritarianism.

BUTTIGIEG: What is HAPPENING here?!? Is this the Cold War?!? What century are we living in that you can talk about the Cuban government with any kind of nuance?!? Who DOES that???! THIS IS INSANITY. What does Bernie think this is, the 1960s?? Are we gonna start dancing to rock and roll and being gay??? Wake up!!!!

BERNIE: Pete, do you really think universal healthcare is that radical? Or raising the minimum wage? Or providing affordable housing? Or raising taxes on billionaires? Or criminal justice reform? Or immigration reform?

BUTTIGIEG: Yes. I just can't admit how moderate I actually am.

GARRETT: Senator Sanders, you claim to be Jewish, but you don't hate Palestine...what's the deal with that?

BERNIE: You know it is possible to be Jewish without being a Zionist, right? It's hard to ignore the harm that's been done to Palestinians.

GAYLE: Alright, final question. What's the biggest misconception about you, and what's your motto?

STEYER: The biggest conception is that I'm rich just because I'm rich. My motto is that I like to pour glue on my hands and then slowly peel it off because I know that I can always dig deeper and get to know myself on more levels.

KLOBUCHAR: Biggest misconception is that I'm not a party girl, because give me a few mimosas at brunch and I'll be dancing on the table! My motto is that I want to help people even though I'm a politician.

BIDEN: Biggest misconception is that I want a black woman on the Supreme Court. Wait no. That's my motto. Wait what? Okay, misconception is that I'm bald, while I actually have a gorgeous full head of long, flowing locks. Motto is "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you are never gonna keep me down."

BERNIE: Misconception is that giving people human rights is radical. The motto is the song "It's Possible" from the Rogers and Hammerstein version of Cinderella.

WARREN: One misconception is that I'm not always eating, cause I am always eating. I love snacks. Especially those big jars of peanut butter-filled pretzels. And my motto is, if someone asks you for a peanut butter-filled pretzel, just give it to them, okay? You can spare one peanut butter-filled pretzel.

BUTTIGIEG: Misconception is that I'm too milquetoast, when actually, I am a moderate amount of milquetoast. You want someone who's even keeled and doesn't have emotions all the time. My motto is that I'm like a priest, but like the young hot priest in the show Fleabag. Not like as a character, but just cause I'm young and hot and also religious.

BLOOMBERG: Misconception, that I'm tall. When actually I just take up space because of my male privilege and not my physical height. And the quote is actually a little ditty that I came up with myself that goes "I want to be president really bad please elect me now I have put a lot of money into this campaign and I want to win please vote for me so I can be president."

PEOPLE THAT BLOOMBERG PAID TO BE THERE: (APPLAUSE)

NORAH: Okay, cool...um. Yeah. Super Tuesday's coming right up. I sure up that everyone doesn't drop out and endorse Biden because the DNC desperately wants to defeat Bernie. But I guess we'll find out! Bye!

0 notes

makesureee · 7 years

Note

1-150 plz ty~~

omg holy shit that’s a lot and i’m on adderall this will be fun omg yay

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?some bitch ass bitch who’s dead to me

2. Are you outgoing or shy?DEFINITELY shy

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?any three of my friends, whenever they happen to hit me up, my dog, and my fUTURE GIRLFRIEND WHERE ARE YOU

4. Are you easy to get along with?it depends how well you know me i suppose but i am generally kind, or at least i try to be

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?i do not like anyone so i just get drunk by myself

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?i reallyyyyy love masculine looking girls (could be short hair, shaved hair, tats, piercings, just an all around “gay” look, which is kinda funny for a straight guy XD) but i ALSO LOVE feminine girls fat girls skinny girls just…..GIRLSbut as far as finding people attractive even tho i’m straight boys can be hecka cute too and i typically find myself finding the more feminine looking bois cuteand as for anyone nonbinary or genderqueer it’s pretty much the same

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?no but boy i sure hope so

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?fuck heteronormativity but uh no one really. i don’t like anyone. if you mean literally in general then i’m waiting for my friend to hit me up so we can smoke XD

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?yeah but not for reasons you’d think

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?no fuckin idea

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?“well i also gotta head back to my house so you’re good” cause my friend needed some time to get weed and food before i head over

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?Sad Clown - Kate MicucciPick a suburb, find a culdesac - Amy Bruce Spaceshowstraight kids playing dress up - the official suckersGot High and Still Got No Friends - Shelf LifeOld Maid Cards - Kate Micucci

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?only if it’s someone i’m really really really comfortable with

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?nope. i believe in coincidence and probability

15. What good thing happened this summer?nothing honestly

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?fUCK to the NO

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?um…definitely?? without a doubt??? we’re so small we’re so small we could just instantaneously die any second bruh we’re dust in the breeze this question gave me another existential crisis i want a refund

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?lol no

19. Do you like bubble baths?i used to but now it’s just like……im hot and sweaty and can’t breathe why is the air so wet……

20. Do you like your neighbors?i don’t know my neighbors but i like them because their christmas lights are aesthetic and ONE OF MY NEIGHBORS just has like 20 FUCKIN DUCKS chilling in their front yard. they’re like 3 houses down across the street but if i leave my window open sometimes i can hear them having a good time

21. What are you bad habits?drug dependency/addictive tendencies

22. Where would you like to travel?i wanna go back to italy. spain would be nice. idk. like……the earth has so many places…..

23. Do you have trust issues?nah i’m very forgiving and it sucks

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?drugs!

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?how in the world do i pick

26. What do you do when you wake up?roll a blunt…and smoke it

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?that question is complicated. i’m white, so ideally (in this corrupt awful world), it’s the most advantageous so i wouldn’t change as to have better opportunities and less judgement. however, hOLY SHIT ALL THE COLORS OF THE PEOPLE ARE SO COOL AND BEING WHITE LOOKS SO BOORRINGG so if we lived in a hypothetical world where every ethnicity was held at an equal standard yes a darker skin color would be cool

28. Who are you most comfortable around?nobody really. i’m not emotionally close to anyone right now

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?no but one relationship i ended and the other party did not want it to end

30. Do you ever want to get married?marriage doesn’t really matter to me. just a certificate. if it can help with taxes and whatever, sure, as long as i can remain the important parts of my independence. but imo i don’t even think that marriage should give people tax benefits but you take what good things the fucked up world gives ya

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail? LOL YES BUT I’D LOOK RIDICULOUS

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?michonne from the walking dead is super attractive and i can’t really think of anyone else but i probably would not have a threesome with celebrities that’s too much pressure

33. Spell your name with your chin.samkel (THAT WAS CLOSE)

34. Do you play sports? What sports?ew

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?TV but like does netflix count

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?not really i have this ability to not like people unless i’m almost certain they like me and terminate all feelings for a person if rejected. i mean like, i liked someone in high school once and dropped hardcore hints but never outright said it so killed my feelings and they actually told me recently that they used to have a crush on me too XDD funny ass shit

37. What do you say during awkward silences?“i’m gonna play some music”

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?cute funny stoner who loves and accepts me for who i am and supports me and helps me grow and does pills with me and loves all my new favorite music i show her and WITH LIKE A ONE IN BILLION CHANCE i’d like her to be shorter than me cause i’m really short and that’s really killer on my self esteem….but like….if we were both super short imagine how cute that’d be…..we’d be like ruby and sapphire….we’d get made fun of and be the smol couple but we would be smol together

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?my local headshops lolol

40. What do you want to do after high school?i’m already after high school but ultimately i want to be a glassblower and make bongs and shit

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?i don’t believe in blanket statements (lol that in itself is a blanket statement)

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?i’m awkward or anxious and don’t know what to say because i don’t know how to be a person

43. Do you smile at strangers?sometimes

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?NEITHER IF I AM NOT GUARANTEED TO SURVIVE but space even though i would still have massive panic attacks with that guarantee like i can’t even be on a road i don’t know by myself without having an anxiety attack

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?the hope that one day i’ll have something that makes me feel less empty

46. What are you paranoid about?holy shit EVERYTHING everyone hates me and i’m a disappointment to my parents and i’m super unattractive and everyone that sees me judges me and like these are straight up facts yo

47. Have you ever been high?i’m high right now

48. Have you ever been drunk?i’m drunk right now. just kidding on that one. i kinda used to be an alcoholic but i traded it in for pot lol. best decision ever. worst financial decision ever tho

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?i put 12 shucks of corn up my asshole

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?black. almost everything i wear is black when will i not act like im in high school

51. Ever wished you were someone else?only always

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?confidential

53. Favourite makeup brand?none i ent wear makeup

54. Favourite store?i’m not a shopping person so i’d again have to go with my local headshop

55. Favourite blog?i cannot choose

56. Favourite colour?black

57. Favourite food?also cannot choose

58. Last thing you ate?i have no idea i haven’t eaten today

59. First thing you ate this morning?i have no idea i literally have not eaten today

60. Ever won a competition? For what?you bitches better wATCH oUT cause this guy got SECOND PLACE in his THIRD GRADE SCIENCE FAIR for a poster board about EVAPORATIONand eh i think i won an art show award or two in high school

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?no i never even skipped class in high school cause with attendance you get exemption rights from exams~ now that i’m in college i skip occasionally tho lol

62. Been arrested? For what?dear god no i’d have a panic attack so hard i think the cop would feel bad for me

63. Ever been in love?yep

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?ugh ew ok so like i was bi at the time and so was he (but i wasn’t into this guy at all) but so anyway it’s after school and we’re behind it with our friends and we start walking away and he pulls me aside and the friends keep walking and his face kept getting closer to mine and in my head i’m just like dude…..why you….getting closer….that’s close….what…..oh….okay. that’s. lips. okay. it was like a gross quick kiss and then like when we talked about it and i rejected him hE WENT AND TOLD ALL HIS FRIENDS THAT HE REJECTED ME. luckily a friend i used to have and/or fuck jumped in while i wasn’t present and defended me cause that’s some straight bullshit.

65. Are you hungry right now?nah i’m on adderall

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?eh nah only because it’s harder to form a bond. not that i have strong bonds with my irl friends but we communicate more and smoke together

67. Facebook or Twitter?neither

68. Twitter or Tumblr?tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now?no

70. Names of your bestfriends?lexi is me only best friend but even we aren’t suuuper close anymore

71. Craving something? What?fulfillment and happiness and a girlfriend

72. What colour are your towels?green

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?bruh…….9 ok but 2 are for my dog when she isn’t sleeping next to me on my pillows

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?nah but i use my dog as a cuddle buddy. if she doesn’t wanna cuddle we just hold hands

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?i probably have a good bit lying around my room. idk maybe like 5-8 somewhere in a drawer or whatever

75. Favourite animal?cliche as fuck but like….dogs i love dogs i love themi illove them so much i lvoe dogs

76. What colour is your underwear?currently grey with black stripes lol

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?vanilla for sure

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?oreo!

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?black XD

80. What colour pants?BLACK

81. Favourite tv show?black. nah probably adventure time or rick and morty

82. Favourite movie?i don’t like movies that much

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?have seen neither

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?nope?

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?who

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?stoner turtle

87. First person you talked to today?my adderall buddy. she texted me like the second i woke up some how

88. Last person you talked to today?she literally just texted me as i was writing that out soooo

89. Name a person you hate?i aint no snitch

90. Name a person you love?lexi cause that’s positive

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?myself

92. In a fight with someone?never been, never want

93. How many sweatpants do you have?one

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?i had one but as of today i have THREE

95. Last movie you watched?suicide squad and it sucked but pretty colors tho

96. Favourite actress?ent got one

97. Favourite actor?nope

98. Do you tan a lot?not at all what is the sun

99. Have any pets?two! daisy and ko bear!

100. How are you feeling?i’m feeling okay. i’ll feel better cause now my friend hit me up but i’m rushing to finish this!

101. Do you type fast?YA DAMN RIGHT I DO I GOTTA FINISH THIS

102. Do you regret anything from your past?i regret like almost everything?

103. Can you spell well?the answer is no

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?nope

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?yep

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?yep

107. Have you ever been on a horse?ONCE WHEN I WAS LITTLE BUT I WANNA DO IT AGAIN but i’ve been on a camel does that count

108. What should you be doing?bagging my weed and leaving the house right now

109. Is something irritating you right now?myself as always

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?nope

111. Do you have trust issues?i trusted you not to repeat a question so maybe i do now

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?A STUPID ASS BITCH I REGRET IT SO MUCH i never cry in front of ANYONE before that it had been THREE YEARS since i cried in front of someone but i trust horrible people

113. What was your childhood nickname?sammy

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?yep. i was born in florida, live in georgia. been to a few other surrounding states but nowhere far other than abroad

115. Do you play the Wii?nah

116. Are you listening to music right now?nah the album ended

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?i don’t like soup

118. Do you like Chinese food?not really i wanna eat normal food with chopsticks tho

119. Favourite book?ew

120. Are you afraid of the dark?nah but i still get the creeps

121. Are you mean?some people seem to think so. i think so a lot of the time.

122. Is cheating ever okay?yes. i don’t do blanket statements

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?dear god no i avoid super messes but pretty much do whatever

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?fuck no

125. Do you believe in true love?i believe that love can be true but i do not believe that one single individual is your “soul mate” or “perfect match” or whatever. there are potentially thousands of people that you could fall madly in love with and it’s just probability and coincidence that allow you to collide with them

126. Are you currently bored?with my life yeah

127. What makes you happy?drugs and friends and dogs

128. Would you change your name?i have and it’s awesome now

129. What your zodiac sign?taurus

130. Do you like subway?never ridden one

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?heteronormative again and i don’t have a best friend but the only two female friends i have i would not have sex with, although me and one of them make cute jokes about dating and romance all the time

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?BRUH STOP REPEATING

133. Favourite lyrics right now?“you tell me all the reasons you hate meand it feels like you’re listing off the symptoms of a borderline personalityand I know I am not tetheredto all the behaviors or the thoughtsI know one day I could rise above it allbut for now my illness makes people think I really suckand I guess for a couple more years I need to suck it up”- Don’t Blame Yourself by Human Kitten

i relate hella cause i’m pretty sure i have bpd and i can’t afford health insurance so i’m just kinda here

134. Can you count to one million?fuck no

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?i never remember shit. that’s seriously not a lie i don’t remember

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?my door is always closed unless i’m home alone but eVEN THEN it’s closed if i’m sleeping

137. How tall are you?ew 5′2

138. Curly or Straight hair?mine? straight

139. Brunette or Blonde?brunette

140. Summer or Winter?winter

141. Night or Day?both or in between

142. Favourite month?october or december. i like the october vibe but like the december $$$$$

143. Are you a vegetarian?nooope

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?milk

145. Tea or Coffee?green tea with mint please!

146. Was today a good day?it was not terrible. first day of the new quarter. worked my ass off but made some money. aboutta go smoke. it’s been alright

147. Mars or Snickers?neither

148. What’s your favourite quote?too many good quotes

149. Do you believe in ghosts?nope i believe in science and facts homie g

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?“While some people will argue that this (A) may not exist or (B) is certainly not part of our physical forms, I’m going to go ahead and boldly state that consciousness (at the very least) is an irrefutable part of the human experience.” no shit that was Hannah Hart’s My Drunk Kitchen

#thanks for the fun!!!!#ily #<3333 #anon #anonymous #answered

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borderlinethoughts123-blog · 5 years

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Feb 10/2019

These long night shifts give me lots of time to think. I think about everything I hate in my life, everything I am dis-satisfied with, everything I failed to accomplish during the light hours, every plan I made and then did not fulfill . When I am at work is when I am the least satisfied with my life outside of work. I wonder why that is.

I wonder why failure seems to be the only thing I am good at. I wonder why I won't allow myself to do better. I wonder lots. Its like my brain never stops. Thats why I love being high or drunk. Because it helps calm the background noise in my head. Once I get home I don't want the thoughts to take over. So I get drunk or high as soon as I can and then I eat whatever my body craves at that moment. Maybe its the substances that are blocking me from accomplishment. Maybe if I let the thoughts happen then they would lead me to better things and a better life.

What is a better life though you may ask. I wish I fuckin knew, Life always had a next step for me. And then after I got college and my career sorted out I had no fucking clue what was next. And I still don't. I have some ideas, maybe id go back to school, maybe id meet someone special, maybe id finally stick to a routine like I always wanted.

I have been able to stick to a routine before, but not for very long.I don't know why my brain connects having a good solid routine in life with success but it does. and when my thoughts are at their worst, its normally surrounding my inability to stick to a routine. It never sticks for long. I don't know why, maybe the hint of anorexia I was suffering with at the time gave me something to live for.

Its weird how sometimes the things that you are living for are the things that are killing you. Jobs, hobbies, relationships, habits, etc. Being anorexic gave me something to think about, something to put my time into, something to accomplish. Once I saw the numbers on the scale go down and saw the side by side Instagram pictures getting more and more drastic in differences, it was hard to stop. Hard to not feel guilty about every single thing I ate. And for someone like me, guilt turns into extreme self hatred. Even if the 200 calorie serving of pirogies was all I ate that day, I still wanted to vomit at the thought of my fat self ingesting them.

But I failed at being anorexic too. I did it for awhile, lost a good amount of weight, and then something happened. I don't remember exactly what it was. Probably a break up of some sort or major life change. And thats the pattern with me. I get SOME motivation or SOME success

Once 1 little tiny thing happens I immediately shut down and go back to square one. heres what square 1 looks like for me: no routine, no goals, no real plan other than when I'm working next, eat like shit, no exercise what so ever, no self care, no hygienic care, lots of drinking or smoking weed to fill the time and calm the racing thoughts. just floating by. I am surviving. And somedays I don't even want to do that.

Ive read a lot online about BPD. And I think I've come to the conclusion that it will be this way forever. well parts of it. some I hope will go away. but the ones I hate the most will stay. forever. my happiness will forever be in cycles. my happiness will forever be influenced by the bullshit my brain is manufacturing. my happiness will forever be dependant on the relationships I have with people (or lack of). my happiness will forever have a cloud of deep depression and self hatred lingering over it. and this isn't any normal depression. this is deep depression. you can feel the pain and unhappiness deep inside of you. as if it is a part of you that you can never get rid of. like an ugly huge hate filled scar but instead of the world seeing it, only you do. it takes your soul, your will to live, your hopes and dreams, your relationships, your sanity, everything. It will stop at nothing to ruin everything in your life. and you are expected to keep it all under control, to contain yourself and your emotions, to carry on even when every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just give up. it turns you into a completely different person. I used to be someone so completely different.

I used to be a use perfectionist. and at heart I still am. I have high expectations and rules I believe everyone should follow. I will never live up to the expectations in my head. I never have and I never will. because even if I have the most wonderful day anyone could ever imagine; I follow every rule, every expectation and every plan, it will never be enough. I will not follow it strictly enough, I will do it in the wrong order, I could have done better, etc. I will never be enough for myself. And you'd think I would at least try, but I don't. because the pressure to be what my brain wants of me is so great it may kill me.

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shouldwesplitit · 6 years

Text

The Libertarian’s House

Like any good New Years Resolution-making person, I want to work on conquering some fears in 2018. Some fears will probably never go away, like the fear that I'll accidentally shave off my labia when trimming the hedges, but there are some things it would definitely be useful for me to not be afraid of. Like driving. And sex.

The key to conquering my fear of driving, it turns out, has just been to drive. Pretty simple. So I'm hoping the same principle will apply to my fear of sex.

Which, incidentally, I've decided to rechristen as a fear of intimacy, because that sounds more normal and adult in a reassuring boring way, like divorce and taxes.

I decided to use the libertarian for this experiment because I found him objectively attractive and hypothetically that should translate to wanting to have sex with him. He also owned his own house, gave me free weed, and told me embarrassing gossip about his Republican campaign candidate which I could theoretically compile and then release to the press like a sexy spy.

A lot of my fear of ~intimacy~ comes from the idea that I'll feel obligated to have sex I won't want to have, aka my whole relationship with Phil. But after Serena nicely explained to me that dinner doesn't mean I have to have sex with someone, and I watched a bunch of adorable Planned Parenthood consent videos as part of a volunteer training program, I figured there was only a partial chance that I would freeze up and let someone stick stuff in my vagina because Society.

Ideally I would be exploring my sexuality with someone I was in love with, but people I'm in love with are in short supply these days, and it doesn't appear that anyone else in the universe is interested in love BEFORE sex, so here we are.

Sex prep is time-consuming. First I had to go buy something cute to stuff my boobs in, because getting winter-fat in Maine has bumped me back up to a C-cup and my everyday bra is turning gray. I bought a two-pack of lace bralettes at TJ Maxx and had to sew the bands tighter because they only had a large. I had thought bralettes were only for small boobs, but these were actually really comfortable and it didn't seem like my boobs would flop out of them every time I tied my shoes, which is what normally happens when I try to wear cute bras.

I shaved off the thick fur coat that had sprouted on my legs, which made it look like a hedgehog had exploded in the bathtub, and tried to make my vagina presentable. I don't understand how anyone gets hyped about a vagina, as they are objectively gross - but penises are too, otherwise I would feel real awkward about it.

You have to be a little more careful about sex makeup, because someone will potentially be very close to your face and you don't want them realizing your eyelashes look like spiderlegs because you were too lazy to take off all your old mascara. I put on leggings and a shirt that was cute but not so cute it would make my parents realize I was lying about going to dinner with Sarah.

"You can't fool us. You're going on a date," my mom announced as I was putting on my boots.

I try not to tell my parents when I'm going on a date because they'll start asking about the guy constantly, and I'll have to come up with an excuse that isn't "I'm afraid of intimacy and can't seem to connect emotionally with any guy these days", and "I just wasn't that into him" sounds fake after the fifth time. So I made up something really embarrassing about how Sarah was bringing some cute guys from her work to dinner, which wasn't that great of a replacement, because now I would have to explain how I just wasn't that into the guys from dinner.

In the car on the way to Portland, I tried to give myself a cute pep talk like girls on TV do, only in real life it made me sound pathetic instead of adorable, so I stopped. I parked way too far away from his house by accident, greeted him at the door, and immediately ran away again under the guise of reparking my car. He was a little confused but went with it.

He showed me his room, which was very clean and adult-looking, like an AirBnB room. There was a giant mirror facing his bed like the one in Patrick Bateman's apartment. I spent so much time petting his sweet cat that I forgot I should probably be making eye contact with him sometimes.

He opted to make breakfast for dinner, which was probably a way of being more chill about the fact that we were having dinner together on Valentines Day. He had a second cat that was very fat, and I kept making jokes about how fat the cat was, which I couldn't seem to stop even though I was worried I was hurting the libertarian's feelings. I got quickly drunk on some really good mead and befriended his roommate and roommate's girlfriend, who I had a lot more fun talking to than the libertarian. I have a bad habit of liking my date's friends more than the date himself and I wish there was a mechanism for ditching the date and keeping the friends.

We then all went to his bedroom and smoked some weed. I could tell he was a little annoyed that the roomie and girl were hanging around for so long, but I was fine with it. I did some poses in front of the mirror of what I imagined the libertarian to do while admiring his muscles, which the roommate greatly enjoyed. I was bummed when they finally picked up on the libertarian's cues and left.

The makeouts started out pretty good. I wasn't turned on exactly, but the sheer physical closeness was so nice after months of only cuddling with my rabbit. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but earlier when brushing my teeth I'd run the brush over my lips to remove dry skin and accidentally ripped a scab off a chapped part, and I kept running my tongue over it to make sure it wasn't bleeding again, which he probably thought was a come-on.

Making out is best when I can get into a focused state, like when I'm doing a body scan meditation, and pay attention to what is touching where, instead of spacing out and thinking about random things, which happens if I'm not careful. Turns out my boobs did flop quite easily out of the bralette, which was annoying, because there's no subtle way to stuff a boob back in with your shirt off, but it's also very distracting to have half a boob dangling outside your bra before the boobs have been invited to the party.

Turns out I didn't even need to worry about whether or not I'd be able to say no to sex, because apparently he had herpes and was having an outbreak that made sex impossible. I was kind of relieved. He offered to eat me out, which I didn't want, so I had to awkwardly over-explain that I didn't think I liked that even though I hadn't had it in a long time, which of course made him want to do it more. It's so much easier to come up with an excuse other than "I'm not comfortable with that right now", which sounds so pathetic and lame to me for some reason. But then if the excuse is something they think they can fix, you have to do it all over again.

He started poking around my vagina, which wasn't wet, a combination of overenthusiastic cleaning earlier and not being that turned on. At one point he was stroking it through my panties and asked if that felt good. I was so surprised that vague over-panties stroking was something worth asking that question about that my automatic "yeah" came out extremely sarcastic-sounding, so he paused altogether and looked at me in bemusement. "What?" I said, for lack of anything else. He shrugged. "That was a weird answer."

We cuddled in bed for a while, which was mostly good except I folded my arms too close to my body at the beginning and then felt too awkward to shift around even though it was uncomfortable. When I was almost asleep he started making out with me again, so I drowsily tried to get back into the spirit of things, only this time the kisses were much spittier for some reason and it was kind of grossing me out.

He offered to let me sleep over, but I made something up about my parents needing the car and drove home still somewhat high. Luckily there was no one on the road, and I went five under the speed limit the whole way. When I got home, I ate some meatballs and went to bed.

Not sure if I'll see him again. Probably not, since he's anti gun control and the Florida thing makes me feel somewhat anti-him. Also, it wasn't a particularly hot experience. But it also wasn't a bad one, and parts of it felt nice, and at no point was it terrifying, just occasionally awkward, which I can deal with. So, with some admittedly low standards, I'll call it a success.

#would not date again #probably #might argue with him about gun control over text first

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dm-of-elemental-evil · 6 years

Text

NaNoWriMo Day 4

The way Sorry talked about that night afterwards, you would think we were expert burglars robbing a great baron of an oppressive monarchy. I’d like to think we were, but I believe we bumbled our way through to success.

I went to the beach to meet with Pendleton while the others gathered our supplies. Bawbbe came with me, claiming that I needed to be protected. He certainly looked the part of bodyguard, with his imposing onyx scythe that he took from the late Wolfheim’s corpse, but I didn’t think I needed any help with the upcoming meeting.

Despite the impressive crowd, it was obvious which one was Pendleton. He was as fat, if not fatter, as the last time I saw him, and his silver suit positively bulged at the seams. Light brown hair lay plastered against his scalp, slicked back and oiled to the point that it reflected the sun like a mirror. His pant legs were rolled up and his large pink toes were buried in the sand as a half dozen men of similar proportions sat around him in wicker chairs, discussing business opportunities throughout the city in hushed whispers. I shifted my tunic, an old nervous habit, and was suddenly reassured by Bawbbe’s presence behind me.

“My, is that my dear Alethia?” Pendleton had turned to face me, his jowls parting like theater curtains to reveal an almost predatory smile. “Darling, it has truly been such a long time!” He hobbled across the sand to me, arms outstretched to embrace me. Bawbbe stepped forward, freezing Pendleton in his tracks. “I see you took my advice and hired on some muscle. Quite… a lot… of muscle…” A single bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he looked the barbarian up and down.

“Indeed, Pendleton, it has been quite some time since we last saw each other. I found myself passing through town and thought that we were long overdue for a reunion. Fitting that we see each other on the beach once again.” I flashed him my most winning smile.

“Well, as luck would have it, there is an event at the manse later this week. I don’t suppose you’ll be in town long enough to stop by for a moment or two?”

At this point, the other men around Pendleton had grown silent, scowling up at me from their seats. “Darling, I would love to. I believe I remember the way. Should I bring anything?”

Pendleton patted his suit jacket, then reached into an inner pocket and presented a dark cocoa-colored slip of paper, inlaid with silver and bearing an inscription.

Pendleton Fortram’s Birthday Spectacular

Come show your adoration for the most popular man in Sunburst

And get Drunk

24th Drand, 852 AG, Good for a single Plus One

No Spice

I smiled back at Pendleton, said “I’ll see you there, Pendleton,” winked, then turned to leave.

The rest of the preparations went by smoothly. Sexy crafted expert replicas of the invitation that I had received and Spicy made fancy clothes for everyone who would be entering the party. Bawbbe and I visited an alchemist in the Craftsman’s Corridor where Bawbbe acquired a strange orb that didn’t seem capable of breaking. He has so eloquently dubbed it the destro-ball, after its ability to annihilate anything that it’s thrown at. It seems to be carved with hundreds of miniscule runes, but I can’t seem to translate any of them and Elron took his leave from us soon after we met Sorry.

On the subject of translations, Wolfram returned shortly before the heist with a partial one for the writing on the sphere that he found in the Brother Peaks’ cavern, and the name of a scholar in Oheila that we could consult on our way to Bawbbe’s tribe. He had been gone for several days, and said very little about what he was doing during that time. I stole a sliver of a medallion that Wolfram stowed in his pack, so perhaps it will tell me more about what happened. Wolfram took on a disguise as well. Without his armor and freshly shaven, he looked positively regal, and he took on the name Regis von Clyde. He had an invitation as well, with Bawbbe and Emuswa being our plus ones and bodyguards. Once inside, it would be my responsibility to distract Pendleton long enough to get his key to the vault beneath the kitchen. The assistance of the BBB’s spiked truffles would make it easier to pull that off. Meanwhile Bawbbe and Emuswa would make their way through the kitchens with Sly’s transportation cart. Sorry would use Pendleton’s key to open a way through the traps in the vault. Everything was planned and accounted for.

“Invitations,” declared the gruff guardsman at the front gate of the Fortram estate. Wolfram pulled two out of the pocket of his suit and handed them over.

“For myself and the Lady Alethia, and our bodyguards.”

He looked them over for a dozen heartbeats, making an obvious show of glancing over our clothing and at Bawbbe and Emuswa. “Weapons wif the man to the right when ye go in, upstairs off limits. We catch ye wif spice, yer arse meets my boot.” With that, he stepped aside and gestured for us to head inside. One last glance back to the ornate black and gold wagon that brought us here and a quick word of reassurance to Bawbbe that we would get his scythe back when we left, and then we were inside.

The gardens that dominated the front of the house were a pleasant distraction from the rest of the desert in the city. An impressive variety of flora from throughout the world surrounded a labyrinth of pebble paths. A wide avenue cut through the center to the large double doors that gave way to the main building of the estate. Thus far, most everyone looked like I remembered from almost eight years prior, when I had first visited. The garden had certainly expanded to include a more unique collection of shrubs, trees, flowers, and the like, but the estate looked nearly unchanged by the passage of time.

Just outside the door, a pair of guards stood beside a table littered with small tabs of paper and a rack bearing a dozen or so rapiers and short swords. Noble weapons. They were dwarfed by Bawbbe’s scythe, and Wolfram couldn’t help but grin as one of the guards nearly cut his friend’s arm off trying to handle the unwieldy rock.

Despite the coolness of the desert night, the air inside the house was hot and heavy with the smoke of halfling pipe weed and the smell of roasted camel, bison, cactus, and an assortment of exotic fruits arranged on dozens of tables around the main room. Several scores of people mingled across the floor, steel drums and harps and pan flutes playing from the open roofed garden in the center of the property. The stairs up to the second floor, where most of the bed chambers, supply closets, and offices that the Fortram family used to conduct the day-to-day business of their personal trade empire. Scattered throughout the crowd in servant’s attire, a few members of the BBB could be seen with silver platters of truffles, sharing what would certainly be a gift that would keep on giving. In the central garden, a single bird seemed to be different from the dozens that decorated the trees, hopping across the branches with a peculiar wooden wing.

Bawbbe and Emuswa immediately separated, making their way discretely to the recessed doors between the two main staircases that led to the kitchens while Wolfram and I navigated the crowd to reach the open hallways that reached to the dining room at the back of the mansion. Each door that we passed was guarded under lock and key, but not even halfway down I was able to hear Pendleton’s voice rising over the cacophony of music and merrymaking.

“Darling Alethia!” His arms were spread as we entered the room, his cheeks already red from drinking and dancing. “It is so good to see you! I was beginning to wonder if you would make it after all.” He hopped down from the dais and strode across the dance floor to us, extending a hand to Wolfram. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Pendleton Fortram, son of the great Lord Belton Fortram and heir to the estate you find yourself in. And you are…?”

My heart caught in my throat as I realized that Wolfram probably didn’t have any decent experience crafting lies, being a paladin of Cordelia. “Baron Regis von Clyde, at your service. My father in Oheila regrets that he could not come himself, but I happened to be visiting the city for a bit of a vacation so I figured I would stop by. I understand my father Devon typically does business with your father, but I’m sure you’ll be taking over the bulk of the family business here shortly and we will work closely together in the coming years. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, a baron?” Pendleton cleared his throat. “How distinguished. I look forward to getting to know you better. Are you here with dear Alethia, um…”

“Romantically?” I scoffed. “Pendleton, no, Regis is a friend of mine. We met two or three years ago when I was in Oheila and we hit it off. It was but a chance encounter that we should both end up here in Sunburst and attending this lovely party of yours. Regis, I’m sure you’ve got some business contacts to catch up with on behalf of your father, yes? I’d much like to spend the night chatting with Pendleton after everything I’ve missed since I last came here.”

“Certainly. I hope you both have a wonderful night. Alethia, should you need anything, feel free to let me know.” With that Wolfram excused himself and made his way to a table.

“Trufflesh, Lord Pendleton?”

“Mmm yes, don’t mind if I do. I’ll take a few, as a matter of fact. Dearest Alethia, perhaps we should retire upstairs where we can hear each other a bit better. The noise hear will make casual conversation all but impossible. Shall we?”

I smiled and took his arm. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Along the way, I caught a glimpse of Peregrin in a tree chirping at a rather large cockatiel with her brother sitting beneath the tree and keeping an eye on the situation. Surprisingly, Bawbbe was nowhere to be seen, but Wolfram seemed to be mingling with the other guests rather successfully. And amongst them all, Sorry and her brigands delivering truffles to unsuspecting nobles.

Pendleton led me up to his room, a large four-post canopy bed dominating the center of the room with a personal privy to one side and a large closet holding countless articles of clothing to the other. An armoire, a dresser, and a desk made up the rest of the functional necessities, with the rest of the walls more or less covered in paintings of Pendleton and the rest of his family. They have properties and dealings across Sunrise, including the northern slope of the Firmament and on the outskirts of the numerous dwarven cities. A family as large as the Fortrams allows them to manage all of these responsibilities independently from each other, with it all managed and consolidated in Sunburst. On the walk up, Pendleton had eaten a handful of the truffles, unconsciously wiping the chocolate stains on the side of his pant leg.

We spent close to half a bell sitting on the side of his bed chatting about the city and how it has changed in the eight years since we last saw each other. Once I got him started talking about the entrepreneurship of his family, I knew it would take a physical force to get him to stop.

Thankfully, a physical force was well along the way.

A look of panic crossed his face, and I pretended like I hadn’t heard the churning of his stomach. “Dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me for just a moment.” Before I could reply, he stood up and quickly strode to the privy. As soon as the door closed, I jumped to his bedside tables and began to search through the drawers for his key. Once I slipped it out from under the secret panel in one of the drawers, I tiptoed out the door and got Peregrin’s attention. She flapped up to the balcony and took the key in one claw, then swooped down to the kitchens where Bawbbe, Sorry, Wolfram, and Emuswa were hopefully waiting.

I found out this morning that the heist was a success. I waited another bell in Pendleton’s room, helping myself to various curios and knick knacks that were lying around before giving him a meek excuse and making my way out of the party. Peregrin had apparently stirred the birds into a frenzy and led them in attacking the guests and the guards to cover for the rest of the party taking the Grand Egg out of the building, but the true crime of the night was held in the truffles. Nearly every single guest had sampled them, and they were terrifyingly potent. It does not bear describing, but suffice to say I had to choose my steps carefully as I left the estate.

What I didn’t expect was for the Grand Egg to be just that. Sorry had described an egg-shaped opal, but had completely neglected the fact that it was nearly as tall as her and weighed more than Bawbbe. But she swears that she will be able to provide us with an airship to return to Oheila and Bawbbe’s tribe. No more than a few weeks remain before we get to meet this mysterious daughter of his.

*** *** ***

The World Trees

According to the majority of scholars across Oheila and Sunrise, the World Trees have existed since the first Advent and the creation of the world. However, this is not entirely true. The gods themselves are not responsible for creating the world, as whatever created the world also brought the gods into being. In the beginning, though, there was Lobsileef the Creator. They are widely attributed with the origin of the world as we know it, though they are actually the progenitor of the rest of the pantheon. Lobsileef is largely uninterested in the state of the world, unlike their children.

The World Trees were devised by Juutibara, firstborn of Lobsileef, when the planet was still in a primordial state. There were very few areas where the first humans were capable of surviving at the time until the Heavenly brought the first seed of a World Tree to a lone sage. He planted it on what would become the continent of Oheila, and the first forest sprang around it. With the canopy of the forest protecting them, the first humans and elves flourished. The Sage was granted six more seeds, and began to travel the earth to sow them. Eiliftstein’s Roots tore out of the ground to surround Glaufstell’s World Tree, and the Black Iron Peaks molded around the twin molten trees that were planted there. One more World Tree was planted on Sunrise before the Sage travelled to the dangerous continent of Qur’vela north of Oheila.

The final two seeds were planted there, but despite the life-giving nature of the trees, the hostile wildlife flourished and prevented the vast majority of humanity from settling. Afterwards, the Sage returned to the Crimson Wastes, seeking a similar climate to the primordial earth that he had grown up in, and settled into his immortality.

The World Trees went largely undisturbed over the next tens of thousands of years. A routine cycle of destruction and growth ensured that humanity never overstepped their bounds, and once they received the guidance of the gods, the worship of the World Trees largely fell out of practice. Several tribes of elves remain devoted across the world, and many of the true locations of the World Trees have been written out of history and shrouded with magic. One of the trees on Qur’vela is encircled by a maze of shifting earth, while the Black Iron World Trees are under the constant watchful gaze of the dwarves in the east and the lizardfolk in the west.

Early in the year 852 After Gate, nearly a two thousand years after the fall of the Veluth Empire and almost a millennium after the realms of Meristopheles and Juutibara were sealed from the rest of the Abyss, Sandrelle, God of Chaos, began to pursue his own goals in earnest. Two decades prior, he had planted a seed of his own in the mind of a young cleric named Wolfheim, resulting in terrible mental scarring and a malleable tool for Sandrelle to mold into a champion. He felt the presence of an immensely powerful being in the background of the Abyss and the Hallowed Planes and sought to create a warrior that could protect him should that being attack.

Sandrelle paid dearly for his manipulations. The orc tribes that he had corrupted began to poison the World Tree of Glaufstell by using its own polluted and tortured seed to embed the tree with spears of venom. The poisoning began to draw the attention of a certain enterprising young wizard, and although Sandrelle fully intended to bring Wolfheim into contact with the tribes in order to hone his strength, he severely underestimated the extent to which Elron’s companions would interfere. In particular, a dedicated druid named Peregrin stood directly in Wolfheim’s path, and once she received the gifts from the World Tree, there was little Sandrelle could do to salvage his plans. The animosity culminated in a cavern under the Brother Peaks, resulting in Sandrelle severing his connection to Wolfheim, a horrific transformation brought on by one of the carnage circlets that the orc shamans owned, and Peregrin and her allies ending the cleric’s life.

*** *** ***

The wind feels nice this high up. We posed as a maintenance crew on the north tower Sky Dock and arranged for controlled explosions to cause a panic and drive the passengers off of a luxury cruise vessel as it was beginning to leave. The BBB commandeered a rescue boat that took us onto the airship and gave all of the unsuspecting passengers a way off. A few stubborn crew members got tossed over with slow-fall safety devices, but it was just a matter of minutes before we had full control of the S.C.V. Grande Shrike.

The ship itself was truly beautiful, and easily worth more gold than any of us would ever see in our lives. The majority of the hull was sculpted redwood with panels of gold flake steel forming a protective shell that replicated the look of the ocean waves at sunset. It had six decks in total, each devoted to a different leisure activity. The entirety of the bottom deck held supplies for ship maintenance, food, drink, and a massive dining hall that dominated the central portion of the ship. Above that was a small casino, complete with several craps and blackjack tables, now vacant of dealers and employees but still fully stocked with a variety of alcohol behind the bar. Next was a salon that included an enchanted massage table and several saunas and hot tubs. Finally there was a selection of shuffleboards, table sports, and a small library. The remaining two decks held a wide variety of suites and rooms that we all took our picks from.

Topside was a veritable work of art. The rigging for the main balloon was a complex weave that reminded me of a spider’s web. The balloon itself was a deep crimson leather protected by a silvery chain mesh, while the engines on either side of the rear of the ship roared with arcane energies as we soared across the ocean. The emerald waters below us twinkled in the fading sunlight as Sunburst faded over the horizon behind us. Wolfram and Emuswa don’t seem to be enjoying the flight, while Peregrin is in her element soaring through the air alongside us in her falcon form.

Sorry says we should be arriving in Oheila in just a few weeks. Until then, we can enjoy the view.

*** *** ***

#nanowrimo #Ascendant

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trubbull · 7 years

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Hey baby. I see that you’re still having a rough time and I know you know I’m supporting you but that it’s hard to feel it right now. I know how depression can be, where all the colour just starts leaking out of the world and things that made you happy don’t really make you feel anything anymore and you keep doing them out of habit instead of any real joy. I know how hard that is to do, to keep going when you don’t feel anything, to struggle against the tide of apathy. (1)

I’m not sure what I can say because I know that when I’m in that space in my head there’s nothing anyone can say that makes it better. That people cheering you on just makes the pressure worse, makes the pain that much sharper. It’s hard I get that it is so fucking hard. I wish I could say something that would instantly make you feel better. That would just take everything bad and fling it all away but I can’t because that’s not how life or depression works.

I can say that I’m scared, I’m scared to give you any advice because I’m scared it won’t be the right advice for you, I’m scared that you’ll see me trying to reach you and that you’ll still think it would be better if you were gone. So I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do, all I can feel is this fear and to beg you not to hurt yourself.

I know I’m being the selfish one here, I really am, I know you’re in pain and yet I’m the one demanding that you stay in pain because I don’t want you to go anywhere. I can’t really help you and yet I’m demanding all this from you so I’m sorry too. I really am. I feel useless just offering to “be here for you” when I know that in the middle of those terrible storms that’s not enough.

I know you are trying, I know how hard that is, I want you to talk to a doctor about it, I really do. Please consider medication. It’s not weak to get therapy, it’s not weak to go on medication, it really can help, it’s not an instant cure but it sets you on the right path and I want you to be better, I want you to be happy, I want you to be here. I’m sorry to ask this but please keep trying. Nap, take a week off, go get high and do nothing for a year. Take a deep breath and just keep breathing.

I’m not going to hurt myself, Danny… Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to do it because i’m a fucking coward and amidst all the pain I already feel, I don’t see the point in harming myself further. Maybe that’s part of it, too, that I’m just… Used to the pain now and I wish it wasn’t that way.

But I can’t go to a doctor. Not since I got kicked out. I’m unemployed and I can’t hold a job, and now that I’ve been disowned, I’m no longer insured, so I have no medical insurance, so I absolutely cannot afford to go to a doctor, or even a therapist. I was seeing both before all this shit happened, and now is the time that I need those things the most and I just can’t reach them.

I have one bottle of my anti-depressants left… But I’m scared to take them. I’m scared of getting better, and then running out before I can get more. And then it’ll be right back to square one and then I won’t have any saving graces.

I know it’s not weak to ask for help… My family has never understood my depression, has always contended that I was ‘making it up’ or ‘acting out for attention’ or just ‘excuses for my laziness.’ None of them believed me so I went out of my own way to try to get help, to see a doctor, to see a therapist, and I felt better because of it. But now I can’t even help myself to get better.

I’m trying to sleep, but I just can’t anymore. I sleep for an hour or two and then I’m awake for twelve more despite how tired I am. I’m so sad I just can’t sleep because my brain won’t stop for even a second. I’m fat and i’m ugly and I’m stupid and I have no talent and no one will ever love me and even if someone did, i’m such badly damaged goods that I will never be able to love them back.

I would take a week off but I can’t ruin my GPA any more than it’s already ruined because of my depression. I have to go to class whether i’m capable of doing it or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. My parents will be even more disappointed in me than they already are. They already disowned me and I don’t know if I can deal with even more rejection on top of that.

If I could run off and live in a camper trailer and smoke weed all day with you I’d do it in a heartbeat but neither of us can do that. I wouldn’t want to make you sacrifice everything to do that for me.

But don’t worry about me… I’m not going anywhere. Whether I want to or not, I’m still here and I’m still breathing.

#letters from danny #thank you so much...#these really help #anonymous #trubbull post #trubbull answers

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ctznpain · 7 years

Text

oil balls, red hijabs & cunk

i woke up late because of the assholes living above me. i usually go to bed late and wake up late, but it's constantly reinforced by the people around me that that's a bad habit and that i should try to wake up early. it's unjustifiable unless you've got a job working the nightshift as something - i guess it's acceptable then, right? as long as you're somehow contributing to society with your "stupid" sleep pattern, then it's okay! so, last night i decided to try and un-"bad" this bad habit by going to bed early. the aforementioned assholes-living-above-me, were having a warm-up party before going out on the town.

did i sleep? yeah, i slept. but i still felt fucked up in the morning, waking up thinking angrily about the rituals people go through when they "go out". dressing up in clothes reserved only for such occasions; dousing themselves in strong-smelling liquids that smell like nothing that occurs in nature; (until recently, i'd reserve the following for women, but i believe it applies to men now too) putting paint on their faces to hide their faces and "improve" their appearance to an unsustainable standard; getting intoxicated for an array of reasons, not least of which is to make it easier to communicate with other people - something that should come naturally to any human, but simply isn't these days.

i got up, ate five apples and took my medication. i'm feeling bad about my body, because that's what i've been doing for the last half year; eating a load of garbage, and then feeling bad about the state of my physique. i told myself that i'd just take it easy with the food today - i didn't have any big plans anyway.

i can't remember much of what happened between noon and 2 o'clock in the afternoon. and since it would be bad manners to start watching pornography with my mother around, i decided to take a trip to the supermarket and buy some pears and hummus. but before leaving, i got into a conversation on the wechat, the chinese analogue to line. someone asked me a favour and wondered if i knew anybody that could get them LSD in japan. so, i asked the one guy i knew who might make that possible. we started talking about weed and i decided that instead of taking the usual mundane trip to the supermarket, i ought to take a few puffs off of a spliff i'd been smoking for the last month or so (that's how long a joint lasts me). i intended to smoke the whole thing, because there wasn't that much left, but i after exiting my street, it had already extinguished itself and i took that as an omen that i had smoked enough for the purpose i was smoking it.

i knew that on the way to the supermarket, i'd pass a stall that was selling seasonal dutch treats called oliebollen, which literally translates to "oil balls". unappetising, agreed - but these are apparently the precursor to the donut and are prepared in a similar way by deep-frying dough and dusting it with sugar. there's one in particular that i love, called an amandelspijsbol, which has an almond paste filling with some marinated cherries. i always feel guilty after eating one, and always tell myself that it was the last one. that is until i get within a 500m proximity of this stall. "it'll be gone soon, so i might as well take full advantage of it," i tell myself. "i'll just pay better attention to what i eat after it shuts shop for the year," i say. i passed a family getting out of a car, where i saw the eldest son standing in a strange, slumped posture with a perturbed expression on his face. i estimated that he's at that awkward age where everything's stupid and he can't decide whether to have childish thoughts or adult thoughts.

when the oliebollen stall came into my field of view, i noticed that it was closed and lamented the fact briefly before telling my unwilling-to-accept self that it was better for me that they were closed today, because by the time i passed it, i was totally in the mood for eating something that was fried in fat and covered in sugar.

i crossed the road and saw a middle-aged guy with a round head and a mouthful or rotting teeth just shuffling around on the same spot with a big grin on his face. we made eye-contact and i thought to myself, "he's stoned too!". but what if he wasn't...what if he was wired on crack or something that "isn't okay"? i amused myself with a few mental scenarios that extrapolated on that idea while i continued in the direction of the supermarket. i'd noticed it plenty of times before, but forgot almost as quickly as i noticed - this part of town has an awful lot of middle-aged middle-eastern guys just standing in the middle of the street in the middle of doing nothing! i wanna know what the hell their stories are, because they're either really interesting, or really fucking boring. and a small part of me fears that i'll be one of them soon in some other country.

after passing a shop that deals in wigs, hair extensions, weaves and hair-care products for women of african descent - that, among all of the standard wigs it had displayed, had something like a bowl-cut/mohawk painted by a graffiti artist that made me wonder, "who the fuck would wear something like that?!" - i finally made it to the supermarket.

i figured i'd just be spending a few euros on pears and hummus. i spent about 15 euros on pears and hummus. i also thought it'd be a good idea to buy: a stack of blank paper, a block of knock-off post-it notes, and 32 AAA batteries. naturally, when i got home i could do nothing but declare, "fu~~~ck! i don't need any of this!!"

two fat turkish kids asked me what the time was, which never happens. i thought something was up, but they actually just wanted to know what time it was. it reminded me a bit of this one time when i was sitting out by a cafe and this shady fellow came up to me asking me what the time was and just walked off uninterested as i looked at my wristwatch.

later at the checkout, i decided to ask one of the girls who was working there a question that came to my mind when i first walked in, namely, are they required to wear a red hijab when working at this supermarket as part of their uniform. this may require some background information. my neighbourhood is home to a large islamic community, and as such, there are many women who wear a cloth that covers their hair; something, i might add, i have no problem with. it's just that this time, i noticed that all of the girls at the supermarket who were working there and wearing a hijab were wearing the same one. so, i asked this one girl, and she reacted very defensively, retorting, "why wouldn't i want to wear one?!" i was taken aback by her attitude, but then i realised that she thought i was attacking her religion, which wasn't the case. i just wanted to know if she's required to wear a red one, because, ironically, i do have a problem with people telling others what to wear. i figured i'd better just keep quiet, because this would never have happened if i was not stoned. and that's what i found regrettable; that the socio-political environment i'm living in now discourages me from talking to people who react defensively when asked something that could be misunderstood as an attack on their identity. it could have just been a misunderstanding, or maybe it's just her, but this is a wider problem that affects everybody. i don't really feel like i'm allowed to talk to strangers; which is abnormal in a world that's the most populated with humans its ever been before. it's always a different setting, but the end is the same: we can not talk, because you're a threat.

i went back home, not feeling too bad about the incident. i understood her position. i just wondered if it could've been navigated a little better. i think people often give themselves that impression when they think about a situation retrospectively; it could have gone better. sure, it could have gone better, but it didn't. and even if you take every lesson you can learn from this one incident to heart, there's no guarantee that you can use those lessons to make the next situation go better. then again, there are those who seem to think, and demonstrate quite well, that there are ways to make people react and behave the way that you want them to. maybe they have learned lessons and applied them.

the thoughts just made me crave an oil ball.

i got home and found it empty, which usually just makes me think of one thing first: this is an opportunity for me to masturbate. so, i threw on Bouncy Ba-Dunk-a-Dunk Butts #10 and looked forward to what usually followed the commencement of a pornography viewing. i had to stop after 15 minutes. it just felt like work, so i just watched a comedy mockumentary about christmas called Cunk on Christmas 2016. that was pretty fucking funny.

fuggem.

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