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#my story

“But it’s my story,” I say with a shrug. “Why would I turn it into something it isn’t? It’s me. It’s who I am.”

-Colet Abedi, Wild

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“What?” Jonathan’s dry, toneless voice was a sign of mild irritation, his unexpected question snapped Edward out of an oblivious state of silent musing and right back into the reality in which he was staring at the other man long enough for him to start feeling uncomfortable.

“No, no… It’s nothing,” Riddler cleared his throat and looked away, now painfully aware he had been quiet all that time, and ‘quiet’ wasn’t exactly what suited his character. It also wasn’t his thing to feel embarrassed but this…'view’ caught him slightly unprepared. “It’s just… I’ve known you for three years, two months and seventeen days, and I’ve never really seen you in a business suit.”

Jonathan’s ever-analyzing eyes returned to examining his new look in a mirror, and Edward couldn’t help but watch the man fix his tie with those long, slim fingers of his.

This light gray, almost silver color fit Scarecrow’s cold gaze so well. The white shirt with silver pins made the man look fancier than ever. Something about this outfit, or about Jonathan in this outfit – to be precise, mesmerized Edward completely, pulling him like a magnet.

“I used to wear suits back in the days, when I was teaching at the University.”

“You mean that one, tasteless rag in the color of mud? The one you have worn for every single disputation of your uninspired students?” Edward laughed at the memory of that nightmarish piece of fashion. “I’ve dug out some of your photos from back then and I tell you, those checked blazers had only made you look older than you already were.”

“Are you admitting, you’ve been searching for my old pictures on the internet?” Edward could swear, he caught a glimpse of a smirk in Jonathan’s reflection in the mirror. “How flattering.”

“It was just for research!” Riddler felt his face getting significantly hotter. “Anyway, where did you even get this fine suit from?”

“It was a gift,” Scarecrow shrugged, not looking at him, and Edward suddenly experienced this strange, unpleasant pang of uncertainty piercing through his brain.

“A gift from whom…?” He hated the way he sounded right there but Jon smirked some more and took his precious time before turning to face him with the answer.

“Actually…from you, Edward.”

He did not understand and Crane had to know that as he moved away from the mirror and approached Edward at his desk. This damn suit had miraculously added so much grace to Scarecrow’s bony figure that even the way the man walked seemed elegant by now. Or perhaps it was all in Riddler’s head? He gulped as his eyes lingered on Jonathan’s flawlessly tailored trousers, wrapped around the man’s slender legs – not too loose, not too tight, simply perfect.

“I borrowed your share from our latest heist since you weren’t needing it,” Jon explained quite nonchalantly for someone, who was admitting thievery. “I bought some chemicals for my experiments, a few books, and this suit – I thought you’d like it.”

“Well…” Riddler looked up, letting his gaze wander from Jonathan’s thighs, to his crotch and then up to the man’s unreadable face. “I must say, I’m impressed by your shopping choices.”

“Oh, I can see that.” Scarecrow’s bony fingers slid into Riddler’s hair, causing a small shiver that Edward enjoyed perhaps too greatly. “Go ahead, touch it. Feel the material, look how soft it is.”

He didn’t have to ask twice, Edward’s eager hands were already on it – fingers stroking Jonathan’s right knee for a short moment, then moving up to his inner thigh.

Scarecrow didn’t let on whether he enjoyed the teasing or not, however, Riddler knew better than to stop there.

From his sitting position, he could easily view the reaction of Jonathan’s cock, trapped under the man’s expensive trousers and underwear. Edward smirked to himself, seeing how his capable fingers worked their magic. He buried his face into Scarecrow’s thigh, and into the soothing softness of the light gray cotton.

“Don’t take it off,” he murmured, voice muffled by the closeness of Crane’s body.

“You gonna leave stains,” Crane protested softly and pulled at Riddler’s hair in playful roughness, making him look up, and right into those piercing, analytic eyes of the scientist. “It is my best suit after all.”

Edward let out a short, sarcastic laugh, then stuck out his tongue, slowly and theatrically licking at the bulge in Jon’s new, fancy trousers.

“But I paid for it,” he reminded as he paused the teasing. “So I can do with it, whatever I want.”

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send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic        

Come on, Harls. We ain’t got all night.” It’s spoken through his teeth, resounding in the large hall.

“No.” Crossing her arms and glaring back, she’s staring him down, tapping her lone heel against the polished marble – it’s slippery by now.

He rolls his eyes, big gestures, all growls – oh, he’s the big boss and she’s being difficult, but she’s not giving in tonight.

He could go off on his own if he wants to, but they both know he won’t, he’s all about keeping up appearances tonight. The tabloids would love more gossip, and Harley’s grin widens - as much as he loves reading anything about himself, indulging in news stories and articles until the moment they get inevitably get something wrong, he does not appreciate more gossip. Last time she did an interview in a magazine for shits and giggles, he was put off for a week. 

She knows what she looks like in her big, fluffy red dress, layers and layers of sparkling tulle, red lips, hair in curls. He’s not about to leave her like this on the top of the grand staircase in Gotham’s most elite art museum, she’s fuckin’ Cinderella tonight.

Leaning to the side, raising her eyebrows, she gives him a suggestive look, hitching the dress up higher across her thighs, revealing milky white legs and her foot. She won’t think twice about flashing in front of all the bound hostages.

“I’m not movin’ another inch, Puddin’.”

His gaze darkens, eyes narrowing. She matches his red outfit to the point. He’s already got matching blood on his shoes, and he’s eager to get on with the night.

She huffs and leans against the banister, stretching herself out like a cat, red fingernails tapping against the gold paint. Their audience is watching their every movement, their voices muffled. “But I guess ya would rather wait for the next pretty guy to help me out, would ya?”

Giving her a look, he picks up her red stiletto from where she lost it while kicking a guard in the face. Then he makes his way up to her, taking his time.

He reaches the final step, and she yelps when he suddenly kneels, grabbing her bare foot with a force that makes her giggle, helping her slip into the shoe. He ties the sparkly straps with surprisingly skilled fingers, sending a shiver straight up her spine.  His hand lingers only momentarily on her ankle, fingers smooth and cold and she wants him to grab it and completely sweep her off her feet. But tonight they’ve got business to attend to.

“Thank you, Puddin’.”

When he straightens up, he holds out his bent arm for her to take. Together they stride down the staircase, towards their anticipating audience.

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Just as Emmy closed the oven, baked cheesecake in hand, the door opened. Avery was the only person outside of Emmy’s family who had a spare key, and she sometimes just let herslf in. Emmy usually didn’t mind, aside from the occasional scare she got from coming into the kitchen and seeing someone rifling around in her fridge. The two were sort of like sisters, but with less arguments and more sending memes back and forth as a way of communicating. Emmy waved, and Avery covered her nose with her shirt.

    “Hey! That took a long time to make, and I for one think it smells amazing!” She huffed indignantly, smacking Avery on the shoulder.

    “No, don’t worry, it smells great! I’ve just been working at the bakery all day, I’m sort of sick of the smell of sweets. Speaking of sick, how’s Dimitri doing?”

Emmy rolled her eyes. You know the stereotype about how men blow colds way out of proportion? Her stepdad was like that, but twenty times worse. He had been sitting in bed all week with a ‘fever’ of 99.6 and the smallest cough imaginable. Her mom had been working almost 24/7 at the ER lately, so Emmy pretty much had the house to herself. Of course, until Dimitri called her from his bedroom asking for more water at all hours of the night.

    “He’s still a drama queen, as usual. I’m not sure why he thinks he’s dying or something. Whatever, at least this weekend I get to go see my dad.” She wedged the cheesecake in an open space in their fridge to let it cool. “You want anything?” She held the fridge door open and waited for Avery to get a snack out before getting one herself.

    “So, why did you want to come over? I mean, if you just wanted to hang out, that’s totally fine, but it sounded like you had something to tell me?” Emmy questioned, once the two girls had sat down in her room.

    “Yeah, there is something I want to talk about, but you have to promise not to flip out.”

    “Ok, what is it?”

    “Did I not say you had to promise not to flip out?”

    “Jeez! Ok, I promise not to flip out. There, now what is it?”

Avery sighed, then opened her mouth to speak, but closed it almost instantly.

    “You know what it’s probably nothing I should just go-” she was speaking so quickly that it was hard to understand what she was saying.

    “No,” Emmy cut her off, spinning around and around in her swivel chair, “I promised I wouldn’t get mad. You said you would tell me, and according to the rules of best friendhood that we made up in the 2nd grade, we can’t lie to each other. Spill.”

Avery once again let out a long, dramatic sigh,

    “I think it’s better to show you than to tell you.”

    “… I don’t like where this is going, but-”

Avery opened her mouth and a pair of sharp fangs popped out where her canines would be. Emmy raised an eyebrow. “Ok, cool party trick. Now what are you so worked up about?”

    “Oh my god.”


    “You are so oblivious! I’m a freaking vampire!”

    “Yeah, ok. And I’m Bella Swan.”

    “Shut the actual hell up.”

Emmy rolled her eyes and cracked another bad joke (which I will spare you).

“Can you please be serious right now? I’m not joking!”

    “Ok, sorry. Prove it, Edward.”

Avery rolled her eyes at the literary nickname- both girls loved to read but despised Twilight with a burning passion.

    “What do you want me to do? I mean, what more proof do you want?” Avery pointed to her elongated teeth.

    “Well… hmm.” Emmy spun in her chair again, “Oh! Is it true that vampires can’t see themselves in mirrors?”

    “Sort of. Mirrors used to be made with silver which was a ‘pure metal’ or whatever. So now that mirrors aren’t made of silver, I can see myself.”

Emmy pulled out her phone. After some aggressive typing and a few minutes of scrolling, she yelped,

    “Mirrors stopped being made with silver in… the 1930’s!”

    “And that does us any good… how?”

    “It’s time to go antique shopping.”

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I can’t love you

I hate you

All of you

Your arms

Your legs

Your stomach

Your fat

I can’t love you

This person I see

The mirrors don’t lie

They tell me the truth

That they can’t love

A person like me

Fat and ugly

The mirrors

They are honest

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I can definitely see how agoraphobia develops. This is not to say that I am becoming agoraphobic… but this pandemic has helped me to see how and why someone might develop a fear of going outside. There were some days early on, before more information was available, when it seemed like all you had to do to be infected was step outside your front door. I would have a major anxiety attack after returning home from any outing because I had to use the communal elevator in my apartment building and I constantly see (from my balcony) people walking around without masks. What sacres me the most in all of this is that while I can take precautions to protect myself and my family, there is absolutely nothing I can do about the people who can’t be bothered to care about the world around them.

I don’t understand why it’s so hard for people to care about each other. To me it doesn’t seem that hard. Wearing a mask and keeping a safe distance from other people is the absolute very least I can do. Researchers have proven that a large percentage of people infected with the virus will never know they had it and can still spread it to others. It is truly not about you, it is about the world around you. And I know that humans are selfish… I just always secretly hope that they’ll be better. I should know better by now, but I keep hoping. 

I don’t know that I’ve ever known someone who was agoraphobic. I’ve heard stories over the years and I know that their fears are very real and rooted in something that they see as very reasonable. I don’t want to make light of the condition or make it seem like I’m using the term in a joking way. When I told my mom that I can understand how agoraphobia develops, she said she actually had that fear for me coming out of this because my anxiety has been so high. 

I am happy to report that I have begun to venture out on some occasions, and I’m doing better with not having an anxiety attack every time. I even went into a store last week because the pharmacy drive thru was closed. I try to sit outside for a little while every day on our balcony, and even though the space is small, the fresh air helps. I’m actually in a much better place mentally than I was when I had initially queued this post and started thinking about this idea. I know that those who suffer from true agoraphobia aren’t as lucky.


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Mother always says that my mental health got so awful after my father abandoned the family. I never answer, I even sometimes nod. I dunno.

It was hard that he left but I’ve been dealing with mental issues since I have memory. I didn’t know back then (who would know tho?), I thought everything was “normal”. But I was deeply miserable as a kid, teen, young adult… I have very few good memories and rarely include my family.

The truth is that my father made the only good thing that has made for me in my whole life. My abusive mother changed a bit without him. She was (and is) abusive but many things on our fucked up dinamic changed back then. I don’t know how many years of that marriage I would survived.

After he left I discovered my sexuality and had my first real relationship, with an (awful) girl. I opened to the world for the first time. It went all wrong but I grew up a lot those days and, even if I regret that relation, I feel that I won’t exist without it. Idk. Nonsense.

I’ve been depressed since I was a toddler mother. And I think you know, somewhere inside you, you know.

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Por qué me seguís dedicando canciones, poesía que con tan solo leerla me da un poco de calosfríos por lo profundo que dice…

Es tu método para que regresemos?

Solo debes entender que ya no se puede, que el hecho de que me busques por redes que ni yo sabía que existian, o que marques a mi móvil desde el teléfono de tu casa, que te crees perfiles falsos, que compres infinidad de chips para localizarme, o esas palabras que me has dicho que prácticamente te convertirás en mi sombra, si me aterran y bastante.

Si tu objetivo es aferrarte para llegar hasta mí nuevamente, no lo lograrás, tus amenazas no las tomaré, tus canciones no las escucharé, tus llamadas las rechazaré.

Vivo aterrada cuando me dices que no te importa si terminas encerrado con tal de ser feliz, a que mierda te refieres?

Vendrás por mí?

Me asesinarás?

Abusarás de mí?

Me torturarás?

Déjame en paz, tan sólo quiero hacer mi vida lejos de la tuya, sé que leerás esto algún día y para ese día espero ya contar con más protección para que no puedas ni acercarte a mí.

Todo lo que me dices viene de una personalidad pero lo que ya haces es completamente lo contrario.

Me causas inseguridad cuando camino sola, miedo y pesadillas en las noches, me siento observada cada minuto de mi vida…😭😭😭😭😭

No puedo decir nada aún porque sé que vendrías a lastimar a los míos 😭!!

Pero desde el fondo de mi corazón quiero dedicarte unas palabras: F U C K Y O U!!

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My mind is in chaos right now. Everything seems to be falling apart. Why is it that the good ones are the ones who suffers all the time? It’s frustratingly unfair. 

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Thank anon! I’m really happy that you like my story! My day started out a little rough but thankfully it got much better. I hope whoever you are you’ve had a good day! ❤️

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Today I mentioned slightly, a traumatic event that happened in my life, which opened up a conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have but I soon found out I could. My eyes may have threathened to fill with angry tears but I was able to continue. Two years ago I would of fallen into depression and cried my eyes out, it was such a relief to know I came to point where that didn’t happen anymore. However I’m still angry, and will always be angry. 

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“Diego! What the heck are you doing?” Aw dang, it’s my history teacher Mr. Rogers. He is coming a bit closer, taking a step from the dark. As he is in view, you can see his stubbly beard and his blue eyes that suggest that you should fear him, his tanned skin glows from the streetlights, but there are many scars on his hands from I don’t know what. His huge arm muscles begin to tense as he gets a better view of me. He approaches me and he looks down on me, his chest puffed out. Mr. Rogers furrows his brows and glares at me. He is a very scary man. I try not to bring too much attention to myself when I’m sitting in his class, I’ve seen how he deals with the other kids. I’m honestly surprised that he even knew my name and who I am- this is not good. I gulp and look up to Mr. Rogers, I can almost feel his eyes burning into me. “What are you doing here at this time of the night? And all by yourself?” 

Ah, this is the dreaded question, I hoped he wouldn’t ask me this. “Um, I, um, I-I-I don’t kn-kn-know,” I stutter. 

“Where are your parents?” He questions.

“In their graves, dead.” I reply.

He growls, he must think that I’m joking, “Don’t joke around with me, boy. Do I look like your friend?”

“Well, you kind of look like my one friend who has a beard and he’s a white guy like you too,” I joke. Wrong move.

“Tell me, where are your parents? No jokes, is that clear?” He says firmly.

“Okay, my parents are dead. I have foster parents,” I say miserably. I don’t really like talking about my dead parents.

His brows then turn into a worried look. Mr. Roger’s eyes almost seem to soften a bit. “Are you meant to be out here?”

I look down at my feet, “No, I’m not.”

Mr. Roger looks like he changed his mind about telling me off, “I’ll let you off this time, just don’t let me see you here again.” He winks and then he walks away.

I look at him confused, I think I know what he meant, he doesn’t want to see me here again but he’s not telling me not to go out at night. Mr. Roger turns around to face me again and this time, I didn’t see death in his eyes, I saw kindness.

I go back home after that small encounter. I enter through the front door, trying to avoid the creaking of the door but failed, miserably. “Whaaat?! Diego!” Screeches a very screechy voice. There’s some flip flopping on the ground from a pair of slippers and I stand next to the door, scared. A shadow of a woman appears in the hallway. One slipper steps into view and then the other does as well. Mrs. Smith is frowning at me and her greasy blonde hair is a tangled mess. She has gigantic black bags under her eyes that reminds me of zombie eyes.

“What are you doing Diego?” She slurred, she’s obviously still drunk… 

“I’m just standing by the door,” I say simply.

“Have you been out and about?” She asked drunkenly.

“N-n-no,” I tremble.

“I don’t believe you for one moment,” she glares at me and walks off.

I thought I was let off scotch-free. Oh, how I was sadly mistaken. She comes back again cracking a long, leather object, here comes the belt… How I wish this never happened.

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Always know what you deserve.

Be a great girlfriend. That is one thing I will always love about myself is my ability to love someone fully and support someone for who they are and what they want to do.

Now…lets not twist this though..

it’s great to do that for someone you love but realize when they don’t give a fuck to do anything for you

Watch how they treat you

Watch the gifts they give you (if they even give you any)

The signs were all there for me to show me he never cared, and that he never loved me…

Now I did know this, I knew this for a long time and always always said it to him. I know why he kept me. Because he was such a fucking loser and mess that he figured he can’t get anyone else. Plus I did everything for him, why give that up. The second some girl gives him attention though. Game over he runs with it, start his narcissist process on her and boom, he found his new supply. I also was no longer dealing with his dumb bullshit anymore, and it showed. I was no longer the one he gets to use and mentally abuse.

What I actually realized is… he didn’t set me free at all. I set myself free. I’ve been manifesting this to end for so long I just didn’t have the ability to do it on my own, or without a reason (so I thought) the moment he said this girls name I knew what was going to happen. My intuition is sooo strong holy hell, it called literally everything. I will forever listen to it now. Haha but anyway, I knew it… and I dug deeper to see who this girl was…

Valentine’s Day he brought her up and I got a bit pissed cause I knew, I was very close to calling him out omg I had her up on my phone and stopped myself. I stopped myself because my body, mind and soul told me to. It wasn’t worth fighting for, sorry, he wasn’t worth fighting for.

Why would I ever fight for someone to stay in my life? Pshh, no no they want me in their life, trust and behold they won’t do shit to risk me out of their life. Actually all women need to hear that again…

If they want you in their life, they won’t do anything to risk you out of their life.

Guess what, someone will want you and believe me they will be a million times better than the person who didn’t.

I’m seeing it now, and I’m ok. I’m good. I have shit to say which is why I’m on here in the first place. But I’m over it. Maybe one day we can talk like civil humans. But he is a manipulative narcissist sooo I probably will never be able to speak to someone like that again, knowing his shit or not. Regardless of the outcome I’m ok with it. This is why the restraining order is being dropped. I have no energy anymore. I don’t want any of my time in my life wasted on fighting this fight. There is no point. The way I win is ending it all. So that’s what I’m here doing. Release and let all the good flow in.

Side note: honestly I feel like my luck while with him was horrible, nothing ever went right. The second, not joking, the second he left my life I’ve received nothing but good and amazing things. I am so lucky and blessed I have the universe looking out for me.

Blessed be 🌙🖤

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I feel bad. Bad to have lost this baby. Certainly this baby was not wanted, and then we are not even in a relationship, but I still feel guilty.

Why did I have this miscarriage? I just feel like I killed this baby. Our baby. The only thing left of you.

I think I need your support, that you are there with me. I tried, when I told you it was like a “help” call. You were able to reassure me, and you told me that you were there for me. But where are you ?

I didn’t even get a message from you asking how it was going.

It must be selfish, but will I have to endure it all by myself? Morally and physically? Physically, this is absolutely wrong. I am in pain. I don’t know if it is my psychic pain that turns into physical pain, but my body is also enduring this loss.

I did not think that the loss of this baby affects me so much. I am young, single, and have absolutely no stability. But this child was our child. The result of two suffering souls. Two souls who no longer believe in love, but two souls full of hope.

I would love it so much if you were there, close to me, reassuring myself that it would be better, that you are there, and that there are two of us facing this situation. But reality makes me alone, and I suffer.

I need you. Speak to me. I am waiting for you.

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