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vldkeith · 3 years

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klancemas prompt #4: wish list

“A Wii?!” Keith snorts, pointing mockingly down at the crumpled, torn piece of paper in front of him. “You really put a Wii on your Christmas list?”

“It was, like, 2010!” Lance defends, but he’s grinning bright and wide. “Everyone wanted a Wii. It had the coolest family games.”

Keith shakes his head. “I didn’t want a Wii. Look—not even a game console on my list!”

Lance consults the second piece of paper in front of them, yellowed and softened with age. He narrows his eyes, trying to read the childish, scrawled handwriting on it. Suddenly, he pulls his head back up and shoves the paper in Keith’s face, grinning madly. “That says ‘Nintendo DS’ right there, Keith! Look—” Lance brings the paper closer to his eyes again. “You even wrote what color you wanted it! Red!”

“The DS doesn’t count,” Keith says with the air of someone who knows a lot about something that they definitely don’t actually know a lot about. “It’s, like, portable. That makes it different from a home console.”

“You’re so pretentious.” Lance shakes his head, then drops a kiss onto Keith’s cheek, causing him to roll his eyes. “What else did you want…?”

Keith looks on fondly as Lance continues to scan his ten-year-old Christmas wish list, from back when his dad was still alive and he had someone to write a wish list for. In fairness, Lance had given him his own as well, which is exceptionally entertaining given child-Lance’s apparent tendency to pick the weirdest shit to put on his list right next to the most generic shit; the item sitting below the Wii, for example, is a Sky Dancer—the little doll-things that, when a string is pulled at their base, launch into the sky and “fly” down. Keith would hazard to guess that Lance didn’t get that one, because he can only imagine the hell a hyperactive-child-Lance with a flying toy could raise.

If he’s being honest, Keith’s list isn’t much better, though. He’s pretty sure a motorcycle is written on there somewhere, but he’s not going to point it out until Lance finds it for himself.

“How were you so edgy even as a ten-year-old?” Lance bemoans, shooting Keith an amused look. “’Black and red heelys.’” Lance quirks an eyebrow at Keith. “Heelys?!”

“They’re cool, shut up! I never got them, anyway,” Keith says, sounding disappointed. Lance chuckles, leaning back against Keith’s side.

“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas, then.”

“I’m gonna get you a blue iDog.”

“Hey, I’d actually love that,” Lance points out. He nuzzles into Keith then, giving him a lazy, content smile. Keith can’t help but smile back. This—just sitting here, curled up on a plush couch looking through their childhood Christmas lists—makes Keith so utterly, ridiculously happy that he feels like it’s not allowed. But the best part is that it is, he is allowed to enjoy little moments like this, to look back on his childhood with some fondness instead of complete trauma. He credits a lot of that to Lance; he’s the one who urged them to get their old Christmas lists, and he’s the one working hard to keep things light right now. Keith will be forever grateful.

“I love you,” Keith says abruptly, craning his neck to look around and at Lance, who startles a bit but then pushes happily into him again.

“I love you too, cheesy,” he replies, and then reaches around to grab Keith’s hand, caressing it slightly. “And I love seeing your lame childhood wants.”

“As if yours are any better,” Keith retorts. Nestling back against Lance, though, he has to admit: if he were to make a Christmas list today, there’d probably only be one thing on it. And it’s no surprise what that might be.

“Aww, babe, you wanted Yu-Gi-Oh cards? Embarrassing.”

Yeah, no surprise at all.

a/n: check the notes for a link to my ko-fi if you'd like to support me/my work this december! thank you :)

#klancemas #klancemas 2020 #monthly klance #klance #klance fanfiction #renfic #this might be shit but if it is don't tell me gfksjhgksf

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sserpente · 4 years

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24 little kinks | Door 1 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: It’s that wonderful time of the year again! Oh, I’m looking forward to mulled wine, biscuits, Christmas songs and decorations... I received all of your requests and my lovelies, I think you’ll be in for a treat. Here’s to the first “door” of my Christmas special. Enjoy, everyone! ♥

“Loki?”

You were leaning against him on the sofa, in midst of your dimly lit living room. A blanket was draped over the both of you, keeping you from freezing. Winter had knocked on the doors sooner than you would have liked, still, when you looked out of the window and lost yourself in the countless white snowflakes fluttering to the ground, you felt yourself slipping into a cheerful Christmas mood.

It was the first time you would be spending the holidays not only with a boyfriend but also none other than Loki himself. Up to this day, after so many months of spending time together, saving each other’s life on missions and giving up sleep night after night to talk for hours on end, you wondered just what you had done to catch the God of Mischief’s attention—how he, out of all people within the nine realms, had fallen for a young mortal woman such as yourself.

You smiled at remembering how gauche and downright timid he had acted around you as soon as he had realised he was developing romantic feelings for you. Loki had been torn between his dominance and superiority and gentle and respectful courting. And while you had been wondering how a powerful and intelligent god such as him could possibly take an interest in you, he had been worried you would reject him because of his past actions in New York.

Here you were now, cuddling on the sofa and watching Christmas films together. There were a lot of things you wanted to introduce the Norse God to. From taking him sledding and ice skating (both at which he was exceptionally good and skilful) all the way to baking biscuits and mince pies and the infamous mistletoe, your heart warmed at the thought of taking his mind off things.

The Avengers had accepted him as part of the team solely because they had not wished to draw Thor’s wrath upon them but even the God of Thunder did not treat Loki like the brother he should. Too many things had changed and Loki was lonely, haunted by his own demons and ghosts of the past.

You were lucky, beyond lucky to have been blessed with this wonderful man. Loki was so much more than he let on. It had taken him months to open up to you but when he did, you got to see his vulnerable heart. He was good. Loki was good, deeply misunderstood and alone. Christmas was the perfect time to show him you were with him and that all hell would have to break loose to separate you two.

The bright light of a Christmassy ad interrupting the film reflected on your faces, making Loki even paler than he normally was. It was an ad for an advent calendar. You had explained to him the concept and even bought him a chocolate calendar all to himself. Loki was confused at first he couldn’t simply open all of the little doors at once but then begun to like the idea.

Only the advent calendar in the ad was a little different; very different, in fact. The mischievous smile spreading on your lips spoke volumes. This advent calendar… contained sex toys—one for each day all the way until Christmas. It was expensive. Two hundred dollars would make your wallet cry but if you simply considered it an early Christmas present for the both of you, surely it could live with that.

Eventually, Loki hummed in response. He had grown so fond of those Christmas movies with a happy ending guarantee the ads made him a little grumpy. He usually never paid any attention to them but you would make sure that today he would.

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

“I hardly need… toys to satisfy your needs, neither do you need any to satisfy mine. You are not… unchallenged when we are in bed together, are you, sweet one? Because I can ensure you, I can change that in a heartbeat…” His cool lips brushed against your neck, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps on your sensitive skin.

“No… of course not… but experimenting with sex toys can be a lot of fun?”

You almost giggled to yourself despite your growing excitement. You had never actually taken Loki to a sex shop. That should be really interesting; and besides, you had been imagining him tying you up and blindfolding you countless times already. The God of Mischief made no secret out of his dominance, hunger and godly stamina in bed and he had not just once forced you into so many orgasms you had nearly passed out from all the breath-taking pleasure. So why not take it up a notch?

“You intend to buy an advent calendar full of… sex toys for us?” He repeated with raised eyebrows. You could tell he was beginning to like the idea—and what he could do to you, how he could tease you with all the things in this… naughty advent calendar.

You could practically feel him slowly changing his mind, arousal radiating off of him and making you squirm a little in joyful anticipation.

Finally, he sighed, an amused but cheeky smirk playing on his lips. “Very well. Where do we acquire this calendar?”

Loki's expression was unreadable when you entered the sex shop. From the outside, it looked like a regular store. No toy advertising or obscene pictures whatsoever. When you stepped inside, however, the both of you were greeted by an almost naked harlequin wearing a leather harness and crotchless black panties. The smallest of frowns formed on his forehead, yet you did not fail to notice how his blue eyes widened a little upon seeing the naughty excuse for underwear. You knew without asking he was imagining you wearing those pieces of fabric instead of the lifeless doll before you.

“So? Where do we get the calendar?”

“They should be close by, I'll ask a clerk. You can have a look around in the meantime, if you like. Perhaps you'll find something you like.” You winked at him, excitement flooding your veins. Those were going to be twenty-four really interesting days. You honestly couldn't wait.

“Excuse me...” Loki sighed when you turned away from him, instead directing his attention to the shelf before him. He found the same kind of underwear the harlequin was wearing, along with other naughty lingerie in various colours and accessories... a package titled “nipple stickers” among them. Tilting his head intrigued, he reached for them. They were round and green, glittering, and he quickly figured out what they were for. He grinned to himself, then at you once you returned to him.

“Your grin looks promising. What have you... oh. Oh, I like those. Should we get them?”

“I might be on the verge of changing my mind about this advent calendar idea of yours.” He grabbed another package--two green pairs of crotchless panties.

“I expect you to wear those for me on Christmas Eve.”

“Do you now?” You bit your lower lip. You knew very well about the impact you made on Loki’s loins and you loved teasing him until he pounced on you like a predator. Still, most of the time, Loki was in charge. You trusted him unconditionally—and you believed that turned him on more than anything else. Besides, your trust was always rewarded—with countless orgasms and so much pleasure you had forgotten your own name before, Loki’s on your lips as you came again and again and again...

Loki glanced down at you with both amusement and lust sparkling in his blue eyes, making you blink. He knew where your thoughts had trailed off to.

“T-the calendars are over there.” Swallowing thickly, you led him there, knowing that if you weren’t out in public, he would have ripped your clothes off of your body already.

“That is a lot of money, is it not?” He said when you picked one up. It was rather heavy, about have as big as you.

“I have got the feeling it's gonna be worth it.”

Once again, Loki tilted his head, his gaze focusing on the shelf above the calendars. He frowned yet again.

“What is a... cock ring?”

You giggled to yourself. He'd find out soon enough for sure.

The 1st of December couldn’t come fast enough. Your purchases lay hidden in a plain black plastic bag behind the door and they remained there until you had decorated your flat for the festive season. On Saturday night, you finally unpacked it, the mere thought of it already wetting your knickers. You displayed it on the desk, grateful for the fact you were no longer living in the compound with the other Avengers who could accidentally bump into your room unannounced and thus spotting your naughty purchase. It wasn’t a secret you were dating Loki after all. They weren’t exactly fond of it but you couldn’t care less. Loki was amazing.

The God of Mischief was up before you on Sunday morning. He woke you with chaste kisses all over your face, making you giggle when your eyes fluttered open to lock with his. He could be so gentle and vulnerable and sweet all at the same time your heart regularly skipped a beat in the mornings.

“Good morning, my sweet…” His sleepy, velvety and a little rough voice sent pleasant shivers up and down your spine… and tingles right between your legs. His tone was suggestive. He could barely wait but neither could you. You had not read which toys the calendar contained. All you knew was that it was intended for sexy times for couples.

You giggled at him, burying your face in your pillow. “Go on then, open the first door.” He heaved himself out of bed all the while you tried your best to wake up properly before he returned with the first box. There were twenty-four in total, some of them a lot bigger than others. You couldn’t wait to find out what was inside all of them.

“Admit it. You’re about as excited about this as me.”

“I admit it,” he said with a mischievous wink. “I am.” And with that, he gently opened the box in his hands. It was rather small but the content did not disappoint. It was condoms. Three condoms wrapped in festive red paper with green stripes. The black letters on it read Gingerbread. Those were gingerbread flavoured condoms. A wicked grin spread on your lips. It was time for breakfast anyway.

“What are those?” Loki asked with genuine interest, wondering what naughty things you could do with them as he returned to you and laid back down.

“You remember when I told you about how we prevent pregnancy here on Earth?”

“Condoms and pills, mainly.” He concluded. You nodded.

“Those aren’t normal condoms though…” One of your hands wandered under the covers, reaching for Loki’s already semi-hard cock and giving it a few teasing strokes, eliciting a stifled moan from him. “They’re gingerbread flavoured.”

He smirked when realisation hit him. “You mean to ravish me for breakfast then, I presume? Oh, I do like the idea of opening one of these… naughty boxes every day now.”

Hungrily, you ripped one of the festively packaged condoms open with your teeth. The smell wasn’t the most enticing, the taste, however, indeed promising.

And even though Loki was a little suspicious of you rolling a thin piece of latex over his erect member, he quickly grew fond of the idea as he watched you freeing him from his trousers as if you were slowly unwrapping a present and then made him lean back to ‘enjoy the show’. You would show him now spending more than two-hundred dollars on an advent calendar was paying off—it was paying off in this very moment.

The God of Mischief hissed when your fingertips came in contact with his hard length. You licked your lips in joyful anticipation, ready to devour and pamper him. Taking your time, you wrapped your lips around his tip, your tongue darting out to taste his slit. Instantly, the flavour of gingerbread sent your taste buds to heaven. It felt like digging into a particularly delicious meal.

Inch by inch, you slid him into your mouth, taking as much as you could without gagging and causing Loki to throw his head back in pure bliss. He soon grabbed a fistful of your hair to control your movements along with your own hungry licking, your innocent eyes meeting his in such a depraved manner he gnashed his teeth not to spurt his cum into that questionable condom instantly.

Moaning with relish and by that, teasing him with gentle vibrations, you suckled on the tip and circled him slowly. You could tell he was getting close. Again and again, Loki would buck his hips up to thrust into your mouth, deeper each time until he started guiding your head to get to the pace he wanted. His breathing quickened—he came undone the moment your eyes met again, your pupils wide from arousal and desire.

Twitching and jerking inside your mouth, he released himself into the gingerbread flavoured condom with an animalistic groan, his fingers buried in your hair. Surely, his seed would taste even better than your first advent calendar surprise… but with Loki, there was always an encore anyway.

Panting a little, you pulled away from him, removing the condom before he softened and tossing it out of bed carelessly. There would be enough time to clean up later. Then, you crawled back up to him, practically lying down on his chest and sighing when he wrapped an arm around your naked waist. For a few peaceful seconds, you simply listened to each other’s heartbeat, bathing in the afterglow.

“Don’t forget to open your chocolate advent calendar too.” You mused after a while, your voice all high-pitched because his hand sneaked between your legs in just that moment.

Loki smirked. “Oh, I will not. But I believe at first, it is your turn. You are positively dripping for me, my sweet (Y/N).”

A/N: Door 2 will be opened tomorrow, on December 2nd!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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my-wayward-son · 5 years

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2 months on T-------------------> 7 months on T

I’m late with this post. Again. Because I’m doing really shitty. Again.

First, let me address the obvious: yes, I’ve lost weight. (Well, if you wanna get technical, I weigh the exact same thing as when I started, which I probably shouldn’t). But beyond that, I don’t want to talk about it. That change is probably 25% due to testosterone and the tendency it has to aid in the development of lean muscle, and 75% due to other factors.

All the previous changes I’ve noted in these posts are still happening/happening more, such as still more body hair growing/thickening. There’s really nothing new to report, except that I pass better when I have on glasses and teenage boy clothes (as opposed to professional clothes), but still get a lot of gender neutral and she/her designations mixed in with the he/hims.

I had a dream last night about correcting my dad (his typical naming convention for me is Laura, I mean, Laur, she, I mean, Laur...) . So he’s trying when he’s in front of me, but it’s obvious he isn’t trying when he’s talking to my mom without me present. I’m torn between being upset about it and letting it go. My dad was diagnosed with Aspergers as an adult and he struggles with shifting his perspective. This is something else I don’t want to talk about, but just know that my far-from-NT-yet-decidedly-allistic ass has a hard time reconciling it.

But anyhow, the transition is going great, and I have no reason to be upset about anything, but I’m upset about everything, and the rest is going under the cut because it’s going to be full of triggers (suicide and ED stuff).

For my whole life I never understood why anyone would want one of those dolls that you can customize to look exactly like you. My thought was always, ‘what’s so special about me? I kind of suck.’ I thought so little of myself and my live, even as a little kid, that I would rather pick the princess or the American Girl or whatever with the most interesting story and change myself to match. Like I’d beg my mom for an outfit the same color as the character’s, or wear sunglasses with the lenses popped out, or only style my hair the same way as the character in order to adapt into that character.

Of course all those phases were just that, phases. They were highly tied to the media I consumed, and as I aged, that media changed. So I was always editing myself to match my current obsession. I never gave thought to what I was actually like, deep inside. Like it didn’t matter what my actual personality was. I hardly even thought about it until the end of high school, and then a series of traumas knocked me down a few pegs, and that sense of self didn’t come back to the surface until mid 2017.

In mid 2017, I went to a 2-week dance convention. At that time I was living as female, had basically given up on the idea of transitioning, and was just trying to push through as a painfully shy 24-year-old who worked full time and danced part time with a local ballet company. At the convention, I studied various styles of dance, realized I was extremely untrained in every field but ballet, and spent the entire thing on the verge of tears because I was with students over 10 years my junior in most of the classes. It was an “all ages” program, but literally all the other adults were in professional level classes for all styles. I was only in the professional level class for ballet. I couldn’t wait for the convention to end. I hated every second of it. I had a chronic foot injury that made dancing painful (but not dangerous), but I’d always pushed through it because I loved it. Now I could barely stand to go to class, even back with my regular company. So I made arrangements to retire.

I retired from professional dance in May 2018 and had foot surgery in June 2018. I could dance again, if I wanted to, but I’m not ready yet. Eventually I might go back as a recreational adult dancer, just taking class from time to time. But I don’t know.

I still love ballet, but as of a year ago, ballet was the one thing hanging over me that I hated. I hated the obligation; I hated the way it tore up my body; I hated the way it made me exhausted and ate up all my spare time. However, I was damn productive. I wrote so many fics and drew so many pictures, and I went to therapy at least every other week, and sometimes to PT. I was at the studio approximately 20 hours a week, on top of working 40 hours a week. But I guess I was so busy and tied to my obligations that I quite literally couldn’t fall apart.

My uncle died (suicide, marking the 4th attempt and 2nd success in my family) and my granddad died (heart condition), so I had good reason to fall apart. I was freaked out and sad for a while, but I was also fine. I was a robot. When I look back, I realize that the last time I was happy was prior to the 4th of July 2017. I call that the “Wonder Woman Moment.” I did a photo shoot for a ballet personal training/nutrition service that dressed me up in WW-esque dancewear. We blasted Patty Smythe and had a ball. Even though it was a really feminine thing, it was so much fun, and I had no worries. It was July 1st 2017. Before my uncle died, and before my granddad died and before I went to the dance convention. That’s my last happy memory.

After unpacking some acute issues with grief and anxiety, my therapist started talking to me about my issues with gender ID. By November 2017 I was thinking about transitioning (I had thought about it before, but never felt it was feasible). By December, I’d decided it felt right. I sought out a doctor in January 2018 and had my first appointment in February. I told my mom on Superbowl Sunday. Then a month later at my Oscar party, she basically washed her hands of me.

I love film crit and the Academy Awards almost as much as I love fanfiction and ballet and coffee and all the other good things. I’ve been on the edge of my seat waiting for the 2019 noms to drop. I know a few of them just from the grapevine, but I haven’t looked them up yet. I’m still working from my early prediction spreadsheet, even though the actual noms are just a few clicks away. I’m scared of the feelings that’s going to bring up.

One year ago, all I could think about was getting through the next 6 months and reaching a series of milestones: my company’s production of Alice in Wonderland. Moving to a new apartment. My company’s production of Water for Chocolate (an original contemporary ballet choreographed on me and 14 other dancers). Starting testosterone. Retiring from ballet. Foot surgery. I thought my life would be so much better.

And in a way, it is. I have the confidence to do random shit, like walk into Autozone and talk to the workers about what is wrong with my car, then help them fix it. A year ago, I would have panic attacks over things like that. But a year ago, my mom loved me. A year ago, I thought I’d have my current job forever. A year ago, I thought once I got on T, my eating disorder behaviors would go away.

I’ve gained personal confidence, but lost so much else. Lost my family. Gained a new one, but still, I lost my relationship with my biological mother and father. Lost my job satisfaction, which makes me worry that at some point I will have to interview for a new job and integrate with a new company, which is frightening in the extreme. T has changed my body shape in the way I like, but it’s not magic. I’m still afraid of eating, and stress doesn’t help. I’ve also had health complications that add pressure and make me feel run down. Some is my own damn fault (Hi, I’m Laur and I abuse OTC medications like a rebellious teenager, which is apparently not advisable when also on several prescriptions). Some is a fluke. But feeling like shit while also mentally feeling like shit has destroyed me. I hate my life. I hate everything. I don’t see the value in anything.

I know there’s a Spider-Man: Far from Home trailer out there. I haven’t seen it. I don’t know what to expect. I want to see it. But I also don’t want time to move forward. I like the MCU as it is (I like it pre-Infinity War, actually, but nobody asked me, so I won’t belabor you with my opinion).

And that’s a good metaphor for my life right now. It’s a mess. I can’t picture anything far in the future, so the light from my proverbial headlights is dim and dull. I’m afraid of moving forward, so my tires are spinning in place, kicking up mud and dust. I’m incapable of shifting side to side, so when I do roll ahead a few inches, I hit every obstacle in the path. If I just changed the lightbulbs, twiddled the steering wheel, took a breath and let myself move, I’d probably be fine. But somehow that seems like the most impossible choice.

I could slam the car into one of the cave walls, triggering a rockslide and killing myself. If I did that, I know it would hurt a lot of people in my life, but it would also fulfill all of my hopes and dreams. Peace. Calmness. Stillness. Not having to deal with a world that insists on moving forward with the passage of time.

The most compelling reason is that I can’t find a reason not to. I wish I was an undergraduate student again, because I want to get a degree in philosophy. I don’t know why living is so highly valued. I can’t figure out what makes this “will to live” the correct way of thinking and the desire to die the wrong way of thinking. Right and wrong are subjective. They don’t exist, really. There is not value behind things and thoughts and actions. They just are. What’s to say that a lack of serotonin or whatever in a depressed brain is really not normal? The non-depressed brain may have an excess. Normal is relative. Averages don’t mean correct. Just because most people in the class chose answer B doesn’t mean that it is the right answer to the question. Just because most Americans are a little overweight doesn’t mean that that’s the healthiest body type.

Sometimes I really want to try to get well and forge ahead and get my life together. Sometimes I want to say fuck it and take all the pills in the house and lay down and drift away. I can’t decide which is better because neither is better, they both are just choices. I can’t use other people’s reasoning to back up either one, for they are slanted for reasons I cannot understand. They have a bias toward life. I have to choose what I really want most, and I just don’t know. I truly don’t. My wants and desires-the deep ones in the core of my being- have been so long ignored, given up for what a character would do, or what my mom would do, that as an adult, I hardly know how to access the decision-making skills that most children have already mastered. I’m a fucking goldfish; when I’m upset, I’m only upset, and I’ve always been upset. When I’m happy, I’m only happy and I’ve always been happy. I don’t know how to take a step back and see both at the same time. I can’t hold contradictory truths at once. I’m not wise. I’m set up to fail because there are cracks in my foundation.

As long as I continue to not decide, I don’t take action. I’m stuck in a holding pattern of “I don’t know,” and “what’s going to get me through the next 5 minutes,” and “just fuck it all, it doesn’t matter.”

I’ve never, ever, in my life imagined myself as an elderly person. I’ve thought of myself as a middle-aged adult, but never past 40 or so. Sometimes I see myself as a woman, sometimes as a man, sometimes an NB person. But that’s not what matters. I don’t see myself living to old age. Mortality is comfort. The fact that this life doesn’t go on forever is one thing that honestly makes it seem ok to keep living. But by definition, it also makes it seem like a good choice to die when things go wrong. Because I will in the end.

I see my life as a project, and I’ve always had this dilemma with projects: if I make a mistake, what point is too ruined to salvage? What factors make it more worthwhile to backtrack and fix the mistakes vs. just throwing it away. Fixing the mistakes shoes dedication and perseverance, but it’s frustrating. Hot. Angry. Uncomfortable. Embarrassing to show youthful ineptitude to the world. Throwing it away is quick. Easy. Zen. Brings immediate cool relief with grace and style. But it’s selfish. So fucking selfish.

If you’ve read this far, please proceed to pour water into your ears and shake vigorously. This was not meant to be imprinted on your brain. This is for me to sort out my thoughts, which are, and shall always be, unable to be ordered.

#laur talks #trans #suicide tw #mental health tw #philosophy #death tw #family issues #eating disorders tw #ed tw #maybe do not read below the cut

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