#Sometimes when I’m around people I feel like I’m inflicting myself on them

[sleepydrabbles]

I see a lot about making space when you lose someone for grief but acknowledging that it’ll lead you to someone better suited for you, but I don’t see a lot about how that goes for the other person, too. Human relationships are a two-way conduit. Sometimes it’s better for the other person as well.

#I’m thinking about this a lot lately #sometimes people aren’t totally bad #but something happens and you know you can’t hang out the same way #and as much as it’s important to recognize cases where someone else is totally in the wrong #I think it’s also important to recognize that you’re making space in their life for someone else #and that can also be a good thing #for them #and for you #Sometimes when I’m around people I feel like I’m inflicting myself on them #these people aren’t bad people #but sometimes they won’t pull away #even if they need to #and pulling away first will mean they’ll find better people #does it hurt? #absolutely #but I’d rather hurt because someone set a boundary with me #than hurt because they suffered in silence next to me without saying anything #even though we could both tell something was off #sometimes when something happens you can sense it was a long time coming #and that’s it’s own kind of scary

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 18

Finally some good news for our sweet Frankie and his girl, stuck in this nightmare The Last of Us universe that I so cruelly created for them!

Happy Frankie Friday!

Chapter 19

Series Master List

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings have their own post.

Life in the QZ is strange. It’s like living in limbo, it feels like you’re waiting for something but you don’t know what. A return to normal life? Or for this to feel normal? But at the same time there’s an ever present knot of fear in the pit of your belly, that the infection will spread inside the walls, or that the infected will get inside. Sometimes you forget about the knot but then something happens, a loud noise, someone shouting, a gun firing in the distance, and the fear returns. Having Frankie close helps, you always feel safe with him next to you. But you both work, mandatory for all inhabitants in the QZ if you want to eat. So most of the time he’s not by your side and you bite back the fear and try to get on it with. 

The first week you try to figure out your role in this new setting, how to talk to people about everyday things while you, and everyone around you, has gone through a type of trauma you couldn’t have even imagined only a few months ago. Your new co-workers all seem to handle the situation differently, some say nothing unless they have to, others never stop talking about what life was like before the outbreak. The worst ones complain about everything, the food, the work, the accommodation, until your supervisor tells them to shut the fuck up and docks their rations cards for the day. You didn’t even know that was a thing so you keep your head down and do your job. You’ve thankfully been put on kitchen duty, your skill as a cook the one thing that was deemed useful in the QZ. You spend your days inventing new ways of combining beans and rice, the two dry goods staples that there seems to be no shortage of, into new dishes for the FEDRA soldiers, including Frankie. 

Frankie has patrols and guard duty most days. He doesn’t tell you much about what he does, saying it’s all routine. Until one evening when he comes back late and there’s blood on his uniform and a bright cut on his cheek, his hands shaking as he unbuttons the shirt. You’re standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him struggle with it, so you gently push his hands away and slip the buttons from their holes, your fingers staining red with blood. 

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, looking up at him as he looks down at your hands. 

He shakes his head, “You don’t need to hear it, cariño,” he says but you know that’s not how it works anymore. 

“You need to talk to me, Frankie, you can’t keep all the bad stuff inside just to protect me.” You push the shirt off his shoulders and drop it in the sink, filling it up with cold water, letting the t-shirt go the same way as he pulls it over his head. 

“I see some pretty grim stuff out there, I don’t want you to know how bad it gets,” he sighs as you gently push him down on the toilet seat, taking out the first aid kit. 

“You may want to protect me, but the people in the kitchen don’t care, they talk about all the stuff they’ve seen or what they’ve heard about from other soldiers,” you say, “I hear about the grim stuff every day.” 

Frankie seems to scan your face for a minute while you clean out the cut on his cheek, when you’re done he gently takes your hand and presses his lips to your palm. 

“I had to learn how to push the grim shit to the back of my mind when I was in the military,” he says, still holding on to your hand. “I made myself indifferent to the pain and suffering I saw others go through, just so that I could get on with the mission. Indifferent to the pain and suffering I inflicted. I don’t want you to have to do the same, cariño.” 

“If I ask you to tell me about the stuff you go through, I’m doing it to help you, I’m not going to be indifferent to that, Frankie,” You slip your fingers between his and make him stand up, unbuttoning his cargo pants and pushing them down. They’ve got dark mud stains along one side and you pick them up and dump them in the laundry basket. “I want to know what you go through, because I love you and I want to help you, so you don’t have to carry it all on your own. That’s kinda part of the whole ‘wife’ thing you asked me to be.” 

You see his mouth quirk up in a small smile as you poke his chest, “Get in the shower, Morales, and tell me about your day.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Atta boy.” 

The second week of your time in the QZ sees your routine start to crystalize; get up, quick shower, breakfast with Frankie if your schedules match up, otherwise you head over to the big kitchen you work in and have breakfast there. You always stop by the service center first and scan the notice board that contains lists of people in this QZ and any updated lists of inhabitants of other QZ’s. So far none of your friend’s names have appeared on any lists. Only Benny and Hannah so far and Frankie hasn’t been able to get through to him yet, he only had a short message from Ben saying Hannaha and him were ok.

Once you’re done with breakfast you spend the rest of the day preparing and planning meals for the soldiers. The kitchen is in an old high school building, the large school kitchen ideal for preparing meals for big groups. The cafeteria now serves as a mess hall for soldiers rather than high schoolers and it’s bizarre seeing the high school banners and colors hanging on the walls over rows of men and women in army fatigues. You usually have the early shift and then you’re done by mid-afternoon, free to do what you want within the confines of the QZ. When Frankie’s shift ends around the same time he’ll meet you in the high school gym. He’s started training you, as he promised in his note for you, teaching you basic fight techniques and how to get away if someone grabs you. It’s exhausting, Frankie is not going easy on you, making you drip with sweat as he encourages you to punch his flat palms harder. Trying to break free of his grip is even harder, his weight and length makes it easy for him to just pin you down. But he makes you practice a few basic moves over and over until you are able to throw him off balance and break free most of the time. At the end of your second week in the QZ your body is aching, your knuckles are raw, but the bruise on Frankie’s jaw from is proof that you’d managed to learn something useful at least. 

On Monday afternoon of your third week you leave the kitchen and head for home. Frankie’s got a late shift and won’t be home until dinner time. You drop off an application for some clothes that you need at the donation center and take a new route home. You weren’t familiar with the city before the outbreak and Frankie had tasked you with learning your way around all the streets. He’d said it was a safety precaution in case something, anything, happened and you needed to move swiftly through the city. You hoped you’d never need the skill but you still took different routes home every day, wandering aimlessly, mapping the streets in your head. 

Today you come to a small square where some people have set up makeshift stalls, really just blankets on the ground, to sell anything they didn’t need. People would barter or trade for ration cards, the inofficial currency of the QZ. After a few miserable rainy days, the weather was nice again and it seemed to have brought out more people than usual, making you have to weave and dodge around the crowd as you make your way across the marketplace. You don’t notice the dark haired man crouching down by one of the blankets, talking to the owner selling an assortment of shoes. But he seems to sense you, maybe he catches a glimpse of your hair from the corner of his eyes, and he stands up, staring at your back as you weave past the last of the people. 

You hear your name called, a tentative tone to it, questioning if it’s really you and you turn, looking back at the crowd of people. At first you don’t see him, but then he steps forward, looking like he doesn’t trust his eyes. 

“Pope!” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you take a step towards him and it makes him spring into action. In a few quick steps he’s on you, his arms thrown around you, hugging you tight as you wind your arms around his neck, holding onto him as you feel tears start to well up in your eyes. 

“Pope, you’re alive!” you sob, your heart feels like it’s about to explode with relief and happiness, “You’re actually alive!”

“I am, and so are you, hermana, I can’t believe it,” Pope’s laughing into your ear as he hugs you tighter, “I can’t fucking believe it!” 

He pulls back, his arms still tight around your waist and looks down at your tear stained face. “Frankie?” he asks, his smile giving way to a pensive look and you beam at him through your tears, nodding. 

“He’s alive, he’s here too!” 

Pope blows out a loud sigh of relief and hugs you tight again, “Thank fucking god, I would’ve killed him otherwise.” 

“I’ve got so many questions,” you say, still buried against his shoulder, and he pulls back again, “what happened after you left the cabin?” 

Pope sighs, loosening his grip on you but his hands still holding on to your shoulders, shaking his head. “It’s a long story, so much shit went wrong.” He suddenly grips you harder, his eyes wide with fear, “Lucía? Is she with you, please, fuck, please tell me she’s with you!”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, you don’t know how to get the words past your lips, but he sees your face and understands, without words he understands exactly. He drops his hands and steps past you, walking away from the market, and from behind you see him raise a fist to his mouth. You follow him, further away from the crowd, and when he stops you stand in front of him. He drops his fist, his eyes wide, staring towards the sky and you can see  tears collecting in his thick lashes. When he drops his gaze down to his boots tears drip down and you reach out and hug him, folding your arms around his neck, one hand on the back of his head. He doesn’t sob the way Frankie does, he trembles under you, shaking, but no sounds come from him, just his ragged breath. 

“How?” he asks eventually, lifting his head from where he’d dropped it on your shoulder. 

“We got to her house Monday afternoon, they’d been evacuated by soldiers, taken to Franklin. So we followed but…” you hesitate, the memory of the pile of dead bodies on the side of the road floats up to the forefront of your mind. Lucía’s mom with bullet holes, Lucía’s dress, Frankie’s voice when he thought she was alive, and the inhuman scream from her as she tried to attack him. The gunshot. 

“It was a nightmare, Santi,” you whisper. “They’d killed all the evacuees, they were all on the side of the road, shot.”

“I heard rumors about them executing people who weren’t infected, but even children…” 

“They were infected, or at least some of them were,” you interrupt him. “Lucía was infected, she…” you draw a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut at the memory. “She was infected when we got there, we thought she was alive but then…Santi…” you look at him, dreading telling him the worst part of Frankie’s trauma. “She…Frankie had to…” you can’t bring yourself to say it, but he understands, his dark eyes reflecting your pain. 

He wraps his arms around you again and together you stand still, holding each other up as the images from that day swirl in your head again, and Pope begins to understand what kind of state Frankie will be in when he finally sees  his best friend again. 

Pope puts his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk to your apartment, not talking much, he tells you where he’s living and skirts your question about what he’s working with. It raises a twinge of suspicion in you but you drop it. A lot of stories will need to be told to cover all the time that’s passed since you last saw Pope in your old apartment back home, and you’d rather have Frankie with you for that. He’s not home yet when you unlock the apartment door, he’s not due for another half an hour, so you point Pope to the couch and start dinner. 

“I have news about Benny and Hannah,” you say as you pull out a pot to boil rice. “They’re in the Arlington QZ, Frankie had a message from him a couple of days ago.” 

“Oh shit, really?” Pope says, sitting up straight on the couch, “are they ok?” 

“We don’t know anything except that they’re there and the soldier who told me hadn’t heard anything about Benny having a brother so we think Will isn’t with him.” 

“A soldier from the New York QZ told me recently about a guy who sounded very much like Will, but I haven’t been able to verify it. I’ve been asking around every chance I get.” 

“How would Will end up in New York though? That’s hours away even if you could drive the whole way.” You look over at Pope who just shakes his head, and shrugs. 

“I have no idea why he would be there, but that’s the only lead I have.”

A key in the front door draws your attention and Pope stands up, he’s directly in line of sight of the door and he’s grinning when the door swings open. Frankie’s got his eyes on a note in his hand as he walks through the door. 

“Cariño, they’re turning off the water tomor-” He stops dead in his tracks as he spots Pope. 

“Cada día eres más feo,”  Pope grins at Frankie’s stunned face before taking two steps and grabbing hold of his jacket, pulling him in for a bear hug. Frankie stumbles into him, hugging him back, still dazed. 

“Pope..how?” He pulls back from the hug staring at his friend, his face splitting into a grin as he claps Pope’s shoulders, “Where the fuck did you come from, pendejo?!”

“I ran into your girl on the street, she told me you guys just got here and invited me over.” Pope’s grin is as wide as Frankie’s and he’s grabbed hold of the other man’s face, looking at him like he can’t believe he’s real. 

“Fuck, you make it sound like you just dropped by for a fucking house warming,” Frankie says, pulling him in for another hug, “It’s fucking good to see you, hermano.” He lets go of Pope and, still grinning, kicks off his boots as Pope walks back to the living room. You’re leaning on the kitchen counter with a smile, looking at the two men reunite. Frankie comes over to you for a kiss before turning back to Pope. 

“Where have you been, how did you end up here?” he asks, sinking down on the couch and Pope joins him, grabbing hold of Frankie’s shoulder. You grab three glasses and a bottle of whiskey Frankie had found while on patrol, you’d been meaning to use it to trade with but this was better use. 

“Frankie,” Pope says, his voice suddenly serious as he looks at the other man, “I heard…about Lucía.” 

Frankie gives a short nod and drops his eyes, looking at his hands for a second before he grabs one of the glasses, you can see his hands start to tremble. 

“I can’t talk about it,” he says, before downing the whiskey, grasping hard at the empty glass as he looks up at you, seeking your support. 

“I get it, man, I’m…” Pope drifts off, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Fuck.” He draws a deep breath and accepts the glass of whiskey from you, you refill Frankie’s and then your own. 

“So you guys go to the cabin?” Pope asks, looking over at you. 

“Yeah, we got there early Sunday evening, we saw your note and left for Lucía’s place early Monday morning.” you say, sitting down next to Frankie on the couch. “After…” you glance over at Frankie who’s dropped his gaze back to his hands, “after we went back to the cabin. And we stayed there until a few weeks ago, hoping any of you guys would turn up but no one did. We survived on Denny’s supplies but when they ran out we had to head out and find more. Things went bad and we got attacked by looters, they took the supplies we had left and held us prisoner at their farm.” You shudder at the memory, still too fresh in your mind. “Frankie got us out, killed them, but our supplies were lost so we had no choice but to come here.” 

“I tried getting back to the cabin but I was injured,” Pope says, pulling up his shirt and showing a fresh scar on his right side. “I was on the bike, just as I was getting into Lucía’s town some fucking hillbilly took a shot at me. I crashed the bike, managed to kill the guy when he came after me, but then I lost consciousness. Next thing I know I woke up with a rifle against my chest, nearly got shot again.” Pope takes a sip of his whiskey, shaking his head at the memory. “It was a military convoy going through town collecting evacuees, probably the same one that picked up Lucía. They were killing anyone infected or injured but I told them I was Special Ops and they patched me up.” He looks over at Frankie’s who’s lifted his eyes and is looking at Pope as he tells his story. 

“Frankie, if I’d known…they told me they were taking the whole town to the QZ, so I went with them…I…” 

“It would’ve been too late,” Frankie shakes his head, “It wouldn’t have made any difference. I know how she got infected and it would’ve been too late even if you’d gotten there before the soldiers.” 

You look over at Frankie, he’d never said anything about how she got infected before and as he sees your questioning look he takes your hand. 

“It was the fucking pancakes, the box mix. FEDRA has information about the infection starting in the food supply, in cereal products like pancake mix. Her mom always used the fucking box mix even though I told her it was shit.” His shoulders sag and he takes another long sip of the whiskey. 

“Fuck…” you breath, trying to process the information. 

“I’d heard rumors about that too,” Pope says, “that’s what people are saying but FEDRA has never confirmed it.” 

“Why do you think they serve only beans and rice to the soldiers?” Frankie says, looking over at Pope, “I’ve got fucking beans and rice coming out of my ears.” 

“What happened after you got to the QZ, Pope?” you ask. 

“It wasn’t set up like it is now, they had a temporary set up, blocked off streets with barricades while they set up a fence.” Pope shoves his hand through his thick hair, his eyes suddenly very tired, “I don’t remember much, I got septicemia, I was out of it for the better part of a month, they didn't have enough antibiotics, most of the supplies got destroyed in the outbreak. The major hospital here caught fire and burnt almost clean to the ground.” He leans back against the couch and sighs, “It’s not been good in here, by the time I was back on my feet the wall had gone up, FEDRA had taken control and they control who leaves the QZ, and who comes in. You’re not allowed to leave unless you’re being transferred to another QZ.” He looks over at Frankie, still in his uniform, “And you’re working for them, Fish?” 

“Yeah, it was the only way we could get in,” Frankie says, “And it comes with benefits, but I’m starting to see some sides of FEDRA I don’t like.” 

You nod next to Frankie, you’d heard the stories too by now. The staff in the kitchen would complain loudly about the food, the work they had to do, the accommodation, but never about FEDRA so that the supervisors could hear. But at breaks, and in whispered conversations in the dry good storage, you were told about the injustices in the system FEDRA had put in place. From small things like docking rations when you turned up late to work, to things that made your skin crawl, FEDRA soldiers abusing their power by demanding services from women in the QZ, especially those who didn’t have family to protect them. One of the women in the kitchen had looked at you with envy, “You'll be protected, your guy´s one of the officers, just make sure you know where he gets any extras he comes home with.” You’d told Frankie about the conversation and his eyebrows had furrowed, a dark look in his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ve stayed away from them,” Pope says, “I gave them a fake name when they put me in the hospital.” You raise your eyebrows in a questioning look and he chuckles, “Some habits die hard, I try to stay under cover when I can.” 

“So that’s why I haven’t seen your name on any of the lists of residents!” you exclaim, reaching over and slapping his arm, “We’ve been looking every day for you, pendejo!” 

“You teaching her the bad words now, hermano?” Pope smiles and bats your hand away. “She definitely picked that one up from you, I’m sure,” Frankie retorts with a grin and you can’t help but feel happiness bubble up inside you as you see his smile, having Pope back was a god send, especially for Frankie.

“I’m gonna plate dinner, you guys wanna keep up with the whiskey or switch to water?” 

“Water,” Frankie immediately says, “I have an early shift tomorrow.”  

Dinner stretches on late into the night, despite Frankie needing to get up early the next day. You talk about your friends, about memories from before the outbreak, all three feeling the need for a break from the grim reality you now live in. Halfway through dinner Pope notices the ring on your left hand ring finger and grins big.  “Congratulations,” he smiles and points to your hand and you grin as you look down at it. 

“Thanks, Frankie decided to be a romantic despite the world ending.” 

“Good job, Fish, told you she’d say ‘yes’.” 

“You knew?” you ask with a surprised look on your face. 

“Of course! I helped him pick the ring. Although, the one I suggested had much bigger diamonds, just so you know.” 

Frankie gives him a friendly slap on the arm, “Shut up, you know why I picked this one and not your fake looking iceberg.” 

“Why did you pick this one? I meant to ask you but I forgot with everything that happened.” You hold up your hand so that you can look at the thin gold band, three small diamonds in a row.

“Three diamonds, one for you, one for me, one for Lucía,” Frankie says, his voice low. “And room for more diamonds if we have kids together.” 

“Frankie…” you whisper, taking his hand and pulling it to your heart. He gives you a small smile and Pope slaps his back. 

“Go on, Fish, kiss her, I won’t look.” 

That makes Frankie chuckle and he pulls you onto this lap, making the old chair creak under your combined weight as he holds you close for a long kiss, tangling his fingers in your hair until Pope clears his throat and pours more whiskey, calling for a toast. 

In the end Frankie tells Pope to crash on the couch rather than walk home, the curfew is about to go into effect anyway. Frankie gives him the spare blanket as he pulls his sweater off, you disappear into the bathroom for a quick shower. 

“I’m really happy she found you, man,” Frankie says, putting his hand on Pope’s shoulder, “It’s a fucking weight off my chest seeing you in one piece.” 

Pope grabs Frankie and pulls him in for a hug, grabbing hold of the back of his neck to hold him tight. “Same, man, it’s good to see you. And I went through fucking hell leaving her at your apartment, Fish, but she wouldn’t leave you behind. And the relief when I saw her today, you have no idea. And then you too.” 

“Yeah,” Frankie mumbles, his arms tight around Pope, “she’s been my rock, she never gives up on me. Even when I’m about to give up on myself.” 

Pope pulls back, looking at his friend’s dark eyes, “Shit got dark, I almost walked away, after Lucía…” Frankie shakes his head, dropping his eyes from Pope’s steady gaze. “I knew I had to keep her safe, but then, when I got her somewhere safe, I was gonna leave, let her get on with her life without my broken ass. But she never gave up on me.” 

“If you’d walked out on her, I would’ve tracked you down and slapped your sorry ass,” Pope’s voice is gentle despite his words as he pulls Frankie’s head against his so that their foreheads are touching. “I know the shit you’ve already gone through, Frankie, before all this, and I can see the shit you’re dealing with now. But you’ve got her, and you’ve got me, and I’m not fucking giving up on you this time either.” 

Frankie gives a small nod, and Pope lets go of his neck.

“Better get some sleep, hermano, early start,” he says, picking up the blanket and shaking it out over the couch. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning, Pope,” Frankie says, giving the man’s shoulder a final squeeze before he heads into the bedroom. You join him a few minutes later after saying good night to Pope too. Curling up next to Frankie, his arms wrapping around you, you grab his cheeks between your palms, pressing a kiss to his soft lips. 

“I’m never giving up on you either, Frankie.” 

Early next morning Frankie drags himself out of bed and you follow him, getting breakfast ready for the three of you as he’s in the shower. Santi is sitting bleary eyed on the couch, rubbing the crust out of his eyes. 

“How’d you sleep? Not sure how comfortable that couch is,” you say to him as you get the coffee going. Thank god for endless coffee shops, at least there’s plenty of coffee to go around for now. 

“Between the whiskey, good food and finally knowing you guys are safe, I slept like a baby,” he yawns. “I was thinking though, we should try to get a message to Benny, see how things are in Arlington. Maybe it’s worth transferring there, team up with Benny and we could all go back to our old apartments, if they’re inside the QZ.” 

“From what I hear, it’s not too hard to get a transfer, the difficult part is actually getting to the QZ,” you say, pouring milk into Santi’s coffee and handing it to him as he comes into the kitchen. 

“You shouldn’t be using your rations on me, hermana, I’ll pay you back,” he says but accepts the coffee gratefully. You pour another mug for yourself and Frankie before you pull out the powdered eggs and tinned ham .

“Don’t be silly, Pope, you know it doesn’t work like that, we’re family, now more than ever.” 

“I’m grateful anyway, you know that.” He hooks an arm around your shoulder, giving you a squeeze, before he sits down at the small table. Frankie ambles into the kitchen, pushing his fingers through his damp hair and grabs his coffee too before pulling out a frying pan to cook the ham while you deal with the “eggs”. Before long you’re all sitting down for breakfast. 

“Pope thinks we should try to talk to Benny and see how things are in Arlington and maybe get a transfer.” You say to Frankie and he nods. 

“I was thinking the same thing, we have a good chance of getting a transfer there as it’s our hometown. The trick is actually getting there in one piece, I’m not risking your life again, cariño,” Frankie puts his hand on your leg, but Pope shakes his head. 

“I heard FEDRA does convoys with supplies between cities, you’re military, you’d get a lift with that, both you and her, no problem.”

“And you? How’d you get transport?” You ask, giving Pope a worried look, “you’re not even here under your real name.” 

“I’ve made a few connections, a couple of people owe me big favors,” he grins, “I’m sure I can get a seat on a convoy.” 

“Always making deals, always have a way, you don’t change, Pope,” Frankie says, looking at his friend who raises his coffee mug in mock salute. 

“You know it, Frankie!”

“When do you think you can arrange for a radio call with Benny?” you ask Frankie. He’s the one who has the best chance at getting a radio call approved, with his rank in FEDRA. 

“In a couple of days probably, I’ll put in the request today. I’ll try to schedule it for an afternoon that you’re not working, all three of us should be there.” Frankie looks over at Pope, “What are you doing for work? You’re not in FEDRA, but you’ve got to eat, right?” 

Pope waves his hand in a vague gesture, “A bit of this and that, I do those daily jobs they’re always looking for people to do.” 

“The stuff no one else wants to do?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, “I hear they’re really nasty jobs, burning bodies, sewage details, that kinda stuff.” 

“Better me than some poor civvie,” Pope says with a shrug, “I’ve seen much worse, I can handle it.” 

“Santi…” you say, shaking your head, “you could do a lot better than that, FEDRA will take you any day, you could patrol with Frankie.” 

“And have Fish give me orders?” Pope chuckles, giving a mock salute at Frankie, who grins. “No, no offense, Fish, but I don’t think FEDRA is the way to go for me. There's a bit more to be done on the private side.” He drains his mug and pushes back from the table, getting to his feet, “Besides, I’m staying with a woman who’s good enough to share her rations when I bring home useful stuff.” 

“What do you mean ‘bring home useful stuff’?” Frankie asks, looking up at Pope who’s got a sly grin. 

“You know, stuff ration cards don’t cover, or stuff that’s hard to find. You know me, I always had a nose for finding useful things.” 

“Pope, man, are you going outside the wall?” Frankie says, standing up and looking at his friend with knotted eyebrows. 

“Never, too risky,” Pope says immediately and you both know he’s lying through his teeth with how fast his reply is. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, gonna go see if I can pick up a job today. Let me know when the radio call with Benny comes through, ok?” 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come find you as soon as I know,” Frankie says and Pope pulls him in for a hug.  “Mantente a salvo, hermano.” 

“Tú también.” Frankie claps Pope’s back before the younger man heads out the door. 

“He’s definitely lying about not going outside of the wall,” you say to Frankie after Pope has left. 

“Yeah, he’s a world class liar but not good enough for his friends,” Frankie shakes his head. “FEDRA puts people who got outside the wall in lock up, repeat offenders are locked up for good, transferred to a prison near San Antonio. I hope he’s fucking careful, both for his sake and for ours.” 

“I just hope he doesn’t get himself infected,” you say, “I hate that I have to worry about him too now, not just you.” 

Frankie takes your hand, taking the dirty dishes from you and putting them on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “Pope’s a big boy, he can handle himself, and he doesn’t need you worrying about him.” He leans down and puts his forehead against yours, looking at you so that all you can see are his warm, brown eyes. “Don’t worry, cariño lindo.” 

“I can’t help it, I know what you face some days, and it scares me.” 

“I’m better trained than almost everyone in FEDRA, and I’m extra careful, and do you know why?” 

You shake your head gently, Frankie’s hands coming up to cup your cheeks, running his thumbs over the soft skin. 

“Because I have you to come home too. Every decision I make when I’m out on patrol is based on you, coming home to you, that’s my priority, everything else comes second.” Frankie brushes his lips over yours, “Hermosa….” his warm breath ghosting over your skin, “Every morning I leave your warm body in our bed, and every second of every day it’s the one thing that keeps me going, knowing that I get to come home and crawl into bed next to you.” He presses his plush lips against yours and you feel yourself melt into him as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“You’re gonna be late,” you mumble into his mouth and he tilts his head, slipping his tongue in between your lips. 

He is late that morning but only five minutes and when his C.O. asks why he says he was stopped by civilians asking for directions. And it turns out it’s lucky he’s late because everyone else has already gone down to check out their guns from weapons storage when the radio call comes in from Arlington QZ and he gets sent up to answer it. 

“Franklin QZ, Captain Morales here. Go ahead Arlington, over.” 

“Fuck me! Catfish! Is that you?!” Benny’s shocked voice comes over the radio, forgetting all radio commands. 

“Benny!” Frankie yells down the microphone. “Yeah, it’s me! So good to hear your voice, man! How are you?!” 

“I’m good, Fish! I couldn’t believe it when I heard you both made it to Franklin! I’ve been worried fucking sick about you and the rest of the guys!”

“I’ve got even better news, pal,” Frankie laughs, “Pope’s here too! Ran into him out of the blue and he’s been here the whole time, got here a few days after the outbreak.” 

“No fucking way! That’s awesome” Benny laughs down the radio channel but Frankie swallows, he knows he needs to ask about Will and he braces himself for bad news. 

“Benny, I’ve got to ask, is Will with you?” The silence that follows is telling and Frankie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his knuckles into the eyelids. 

“No,” Benny’s voice comes back after a long pause, “I haven’t heard from him since the outbreak. I was meant to have dinner with him and Hannah that night, but then shit started popping off and when he didn’t come home Hannah and I got really worried. She stayed behind at their house, and I took the car to go look for him at the office. I tried getting to it but there were infected everywhere, and…” The line goes quiet for so long Frankie starts to think the connection’s been lost before Benny’s voice finally comes through the static. “The building was on fire, that restaurant by the entrance, something must’ve made it catch, because it was blazing. If he was still in the building…or in the street…” 

“Pope said he’d spoken to a soldier from the New York QZ who mentioned a guy who sounded like Will,” Frankie says, just to give Ben some semblance of hope. 

“I’ve asked everyone, Fish, every QZ we’re in touch with, no one has heard of William Miller.” Even through the crackling line Frankie can hear Benny’s deep sigh, “I’m not giving up but…Hannah’s grieving him, she doesn’t think he made it, and the more time that passes…” Benny’s voice drops off. 

“I’m really sorry, Ben, I really am, man, but I’ll keep asking here too, ok?” 

“Frankie, when Ingrid told me about you guys being in quarantine she said it was only you and your girl…?” 

Frankie was expecting Benny to ask but he still feels his throat close up as the memory of his daughter surges to the surface and he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He shakes his head, his eyes on his hands, before he remembers the other man can’t see him. 

“She didn’t make it,” he presses out between his teeth and the tension in his voice lets Benny know, through the patchy radio line and miles that separate them, how fragile Frankie is. He’s quiet on the other end when Frankie lets go of the button, pressing it down on his end to speak but he can’t find the words, opening his mouth to say something but closing it again. Finally, after what feels like minutes he just breathes out a low Fuck over the airwaves. 

“Yeah,” Frankie’s voice comes through, low and tight, and the silence stretches between them again untill Frankie shakes his head to clear it, “Listen, Benny, I’ve got to go, what’s the message for HQ?” 

“Sorry, man, didn’t mean to keep you,” Benny says, picking up a folder at his end. “There’s a convoy coming through, ETA Monday next week. Three transfers, agreed upon supplies and ammo, all accounted for.” 

“Ok, got it, I’ll pass it on.” Frankie responds, jotting down the information on the pad next to the microphone. “Listen, we were talking about applying for a transfer over to Arlington, all three of us, what do you think?” 

“Yeah, absolutely man, put me down as a reference on the application, I’ll get it through. I don’t think Arlington is in any better state than Franklin but at least we’ll be in the same QZ.” 

“Ok, good, we’ll get that done. I’ve gotta sign off now, Benny. Fucking great hearing your voice though, man.”

“Same, Fish, really fucking same, stay safe, all of you.” 

Benny hesitates, Frankie can hear it in his voice, years of knowing Benny and he can all but see the look on the younger man’s face. “I’m really sorry about Lucía, I loved- love her.” 

“Thanks, Benny,” Frankie pushes his nails into his palms again. “I’ll talk to you soon, man, ok?” 

“Yeah, talk to you soon and see you soon, gonna be good, man.” 

Frankie signs off and leans back in his chair, taking a moment to shove the memories of Lucía into the back of his mind before he goes on duty. He hears steps in the corridor and looks up, his C.O. looking in through the door. 

“Everything ok, Morales?”

“Yes, sir, just gonna pass this message from Arlington to HQ.” 

“Good, sign out your gun when you’re done and join Johnsson in the training yard.” 

“Yes, sir”. 

He pushes up out of the chair and gets to work, forcing his mind into soldier mode for the rest of the day.

Chapter 19

A note on how Pope greets Frankie: "Cada día eres más feo" (Every day you're uglier). It's what Frankie says to Pope when they greet each other in Triple Frontier (so it felt fitting to use here), except Pedro says something along the lines of "Ca´día más feo"if I'm hearing it correctly. I had to ask the latino husband and he says it's basically just sloppy Spanish, dropping half the words and mashing the rest together. So I went with the grammatically correct version, husband approved. 😅

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction

[elodieunderglass]

Hi!

I have enjoyed your posts about salsify and would very much like to inflict salsify seeds on my nearest and dearest for them to grow. Do you have any recommended suppliers of seeds? I am in the UK.

Thank you!

In reference to this post about there being food plants you rarely find in shops, because they don’t meet the needs of supermarket supply chains, like white salsify, a plant that bleeds red sticky latex when bruised.

Seed buying season usually starts around December, unless you’re planning a bulk order as part of a collective, so many of these places won’t have their final 2023 collections up. Here are the companies I like best and why.

MoreVeg: https://moreveg.co.uk/epages/bd0b9b93-06b9-4b49-9efb-f179fdacfbdd.mobile/?ObjectPath=/Shops/bd0b9b93-06b9-4b49-9efb-f179fdacfbdd SALSIFY: SOMETIMES, CHECK BACK IF IT ISN’T THERE.

What I like about MoreVeg is that she

1. Only sells a small amount for a cheaper price, I.e. 3 pumpkin seeds, because let’s be real, you aren’t really growing more than 3 pumpkins of the same type at the same time: you want lots of different ones. So, like, while other people sell you an absurd amount of runner bean seeds, like 324 or something wild, she puts 20 in a packet, because that’s what a normal person would want.

2. She writes a little handwritten note in the packet and it makes me feel like she really remembers me every year 🥹

3. She carries some lines I like, like she GETS having weird decorative pumpkins in a way that most British people don’t.

4. She does cheaper collections of useful things, like green manure collections, pollinator-friendly bloom collections, meadow flowers for cutting collections, “carrots of all colors,” all nicely portioned and cheaper.

5. I personally don’t care hugely about everything being heirloom, so it’s nice that she has a mixture.

RealSeeds: https://www.realseeds.co.uk SALSIFY: check back if not there!

The real MVPs. You guys know how I love and value graunchy 1990s websites, right? I love and value the RealSeeds website. From their Art Nouveau paper packets (plastic free!) to the way that they throttled orders during the COVID seed rush to keep staff safe, everything they do is extremely thoughtful and ethical. (Lots of people see the title and think they’re associated with RareSeeds, the USA-based Mennonite heirloom seed people, but they’re not: this is a UK-based band of unproblematic heirloom seed fanatics.) They’re in the business of supplying, preserving, testing and promoting rare heirloom seeds, and do not carry ANY hybrids.

1. Probably the best and funniest part of their business model is how they constantly try to convince you to stop buying seeds from them, because you should really save and grow your own seeds, instead of buying them. I love businesses that try to talk you out of participating in capitalism.

2. This is where I got my Glass Gem popping corn from (and I did indeed save my own seeds to plant the following year!) As nowhere else in the UK carries them.

3. As you may have gathered, I’m a big fan of using The Best Plant For The Job (Rather Than Killing Myself Having All My Plants Be Unproblematic.) so I am not HUGELY concerned about using hybrids for some of my favourite reliable plants - like for example the Summer Ball F1 hybrid courgette, which meets all of my needs so perfectly that I’m just NOT going to wrestle with trying to get all those properties I like in an heirloom that will make my life harder. I’m just not. I already have a day job in saving the world, not everything has to be perfect. However, I really support RealSeeds, so I do my best to buy as much as possible from them - while also putting them out of business, by saving my own seed where it makes sense.

4. All of their listings are so brilliantly and awesomely written and formatted in EXACTLY the style I like, like, please read these: https://www.realseeds.co.uk/otherbeans.html

5. They do a lot of interesting work trying to source heirlooms from around the world and select strains that can produce in the UK’s environment. Glass Gem, for example, is one of the only “Indian corns” you can grow in the UK, and RealSeeds selected the other! They also carry things like edamame, rainbow quinoa, and a particularly productive strain of amaranth - food plants from around the world that don’t mind settling in the UK. I also love how whenever the staff eat something like “a particularly tasty squash they’ve never seen before” in their travels abroad, they find the grower and ask respectfully to trade seeds.

Victoriana Nursery wouldn’t normally stand out in this crowd on seeds, they just don’t have the selection, I see their big strength as being in fruit trees and fruit bushes: but have a great collection of offbeat herbs for natural remedies: https://www.victoriananursery.co.uk SALSIFY: YES

Raid their catalogue for things like dyer’s chamomile (which makes a yellow dye) bergamot (for making your own Earl Grey?) and the original Marsh Mallowroot (a distinctive herb whose flavor is obvious if you think about it!)

King’s Seeds UK in association with Suffolk Herbs: https://www.kingsseeds.com SALSIFY: YES

Our allotment community goes in on a yearly seed order: bulk seed orders that meet a minimum order threshold can get up to 50% discount on seeds. The committee are very keen on pressing the paper catalogues into your hands, with bulk order forms already tucked inside. I got the 50% bulk discount this year, which worked out okay.

1. Their selection is very no-nonsense and the varieties are all the kind of very productive, market-garden old reliables - not very bold or sexy. Honestly? If you mean to be serious about growing food, that’s what the bulk of your land should prioritise. It’s fun to mess around the edges with black tomatoes and purple carrots and experiments in growing heirloom quinoa, and you should DEFINITELY do all of that!!! but if you mean to be serious and have enough vegetables to make chutneys or preserves, open up a catalogue like this one and look for high reliability and disease resistance.

[bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls]

My partners and I are having a baby in May, and I'm excited to be a mom, but I also keep returning to your story "Checking In" over and over. It feels like a chapter of my life is closing and I know that a new one is starting and it'll have its joys too (including erotic ones!) but I can't help but be sad to see part of me go, or at least some of the dreams that have animated the last 7 or 8 years of my life (sexual and otherwise).

I think you said one time that you don't fuck with mothers because they usually have something in their life more important than you, and that speaks to me. My own mom told me that once you have a child, they're the only thing that matters, and while I think that kind of ego auto-annihilation is probably maladjusted (and maybe explains why I felt like she resented me sometimes when I was a child) I do feel the possibility of worshipping at someone's feet with a truly clear mind is being foreclosed upon, at least for a long time.

I'll be 52 when they turn 18, and I remind myself that hey, I find 52 year old women hot all the time, but 34 year olds aren't even exactly in huge demand now. It's not like my sexuality will disappear between now and then either, but it's hard to imagine what it'll be like. Having an hour alone with my vibrator interrupted by a crying infant I have to go nurse has a weirdly erotic frisson of its own, but I imagine it'll be challenging for a good while.

I told my therapist a version of this but I guess I wanted you to know it, too. I've sent you asks before and through your replies felt closer to, if not my God, then at least something I could pretend was for a little while. It's not like I'll stop cumming to your ouevre, either. I guess I just want you to know that although we only ever had cursory interactions, they mattered a lot to me, and will still matter a lot to me even though my relationship to it feels like it's exchanging a feeling of absurd aspiration for a tinge of wistful regret. Maybe that's selfish, I don't know, but it felt worth saying. Thank you for existing.

First, that was beautiful. My heart somehow managed to make the sound “Awwwwwwwww”. Seriously. I’m actually worried. But until the ambulance gets here…

Second, I am touched like Beyoncé singing to a little blind girl… I mean, that a young lady in your condition keeps re-reading “Checking In”, well, that’s just hot. But more importantly, I’m not happy if the words can’t reach you wherever you are. I like that they keep finding their way to you —and you, to them— even when you wind up in the cultural primordial soup of procreation.

Think about how deep you’ve gone! Months of your life, taken by a creature that doesn’t acknowledge your humanity; your body reshaping itself against your will; your organs playing God between your legs. And from here, beyond the horizon of fear and pain and relief, lurks eighteen long years of servitude and struggle and half-completed, clumsily rendered “I ❤️ yuo mOm” cards scrawled on construction paper. You’re in the thick of it. And presumably, of you.

To reach you there? That’s high praise indeed. Thank you, kiddo.

RE: sad to see part of me go

You’re simultaneously tugging at my heartstrings and making me envious of whoever has the joy of putting you through this most exquisitely human of tortures. I am totally jelly.

So much is being inflicted upon you, so many choices are being made that you can never take back… and people on the street will congratulate you. They’ll infantilize you, and frighten you, and shame you, and tell you smiling lies, and touch you like your body no longer belongs to you. You will become both less and more than human for a few months, and then WHAM, back down into the dirt of life, only now all the rules have changed and something really smells around here.

(A fun example of how you can be both catered to and disregarded all at once: note how much effort I’ve put into this response.)

All of which I’ve said so that I can say this: go, my dear child? Are you kidding? That part of your life isn’t going anywhere. It’s in everything you do. It’s who you are. You’re just modulating your relationship with it.

RE: something in their lives more important than you

It’s just better for everyone. Sometimes sad and disappointing, yeah… but better. I like clarity rather than confusion, and while keeping a girl perpetually suspended between dueling interests sounds like something I’d enjoy, it’s really not in this case.

RE: truly clear mind

Do you need that with someone? I mean, really need it? You obviously want it, we know that. But being pregnant at all suggests you might not need it.

That’s okay, y’know. Having a mostly clear mind? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to be spotless and sublime. I know I seem perfect to a certain kind of girl because I am, in fact, perfect for a certain kind of girl… but I represent precisely one way to push all those buttons of yours. Maybe someone else can’t push them exactly the way I would, and maybe you’ll always wonder if it’s somehow… less. Maybe it will be less, but you’ve gained enough elsewhere to soothe the burn of loss. Life is full of trade-offs… make the most of the trades you make.

RE: 52

I won’t bullshit you and tell you that life for a highly sexual fifty-two year old girl isn’t tricky. Our cultural cult of youth marches on, and pauses for no woman. But it won’t be exactly the way you picture it. After all, there will always be cruel, possessive 75 year old men with viagra prescriptions and amended wills ready to give you a whole new perspective on your oldest desire.

RE: challenging for a while

Yup, it’ll be a challenge. But you can do it, soldier. It’s your goddamned job. And good girls do their jobs. If you do yours the best you can, as thoughtfully as you can, then I suspect you’re gonna be okay.

RE: if not my God, at least something I could pretend was

It’s important to remember that the aspect of me that owns women is extremely possessive and proscriptive, but the aspect that inhabits your imagination is really relaxed about that whole “no other gods before him” thing. He’s happy just to own a little plot of land between your ears, a place to set up housekeeping… a hearth to keep the fire burning.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. You can lose your faith, but only when you stop dreaming.

RE: they mattered a lot to me, and will still matter a lot

There goes that heart thing again. I feel like it’s definitely not supposed to do that. Someone would have, y’know… mentioned it. “My heart just made a sound like a Pentatonix made of wheezing banshees leading a funeral dirge” feels like something people would talk about if it came up. Y’know, in passing.

Bless you, sweet person. I’m proud of you for bravely taking such a difficult path.

And you’re welcome.

#asks

[enruiinas]

I’m still on my Law novel feels BS, so I thought I’d sit down and sort through a few of my favorite lines/things I feel are most integral to my understanding of Law as a character (and therefore my portrayal of him).

Long, rambly post with many feels and spoilers from the Law novel ahead. Like, direct quotes from the entire thing so… read at your own risk if you haven’t read it.

♡ “And if White Lead Disease had never existed, maybe my parents, my sister Lami and I would be running a hospital by now. For a moment, the scene I imagine dazzles me. Oh yes, what happiness that would be. But at the same time, I know that I will never be able to find this lost world. I must no longer lean toward the past, but move toward the future.”

There is a part of Law that has always and will always think of the “what if”s and how things might have gone differently in every aspect of his life. He wonders what it would have been like if his family survived and he’d had a normal childhood. He wonders what would have happened if Cora-san had lived, what might have happened if he’d given his missive to any other marine besides Vergo, and if it would have been better if Cora had never met him. These are a few of the darker places he goes when he’s left to his own devices or there’s no one around to keep his thoughts from spiraling. It’s stated again and again throughout the novel how seriously Law takes his duty as the leader of the squad, captain of the crew, how much it means to him that people follow and learn from him, etc. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi need him as a leader role in their lives in pursuit of their own meaning and ambitions- but he NEEDS to be needed in a leader capacity just as much. Knowing people depend on him and need him to keep moving forward gives him the means to keep those “what if” thoughts at arms’ length. Yes, it’s nice to envision the might have beens, but he knows it would be entirely too easy to lose himself in them if he didn’t have a reason to push through and keep moving forward.

Along those same lines…

♡ “I can’t lose, I don’t have the right.”

He’s put himself in the position to lead them- as much for their sake as his. Now he’s committed and this is what he reminds himself when things get hard or they’re facing difficult obstacles. He’s been saved by the kindness of people and handed his life back twice - first in Cora-san’s sacrifice to find a cure and free him, and again after Wolf finds him in the cave following his extraction of the White Lead Disease from his body. Does he sometimes still experience survivor guilt after everything he’s been through? Absolutely. But he’s been given his life and knows he can’t disgrace his late benefactor by letting it go to waste. He has to live make sure his death meant something by living to the fullest extent he can.

♡ “I thought I had nothing more to hope for from anyone, the way Cora acted towards me prompted me to give them a second chance to people and to believe in the human again.”

♡ “Aah… the more I think about it, the more I tell myself that in fact, this world is not that bad.”

These two quotes come up early in Law’s stay with Wolf and pretty quickly following his savior’s death. In the few short months they had together, Cora-san managed to instill such powerful ideas and hopes in a kid that was hellbent on burning the world down.

Law absolutely knows that the world is far from perfect. He’s seen horrible things and was for a very long time a hurt little boy very much afraid of the pain and misery “bad adults” could inflict on children. He was afraid of their disapproval and their resentment. But Corazon taught him to love again and to open up to seeing the good in people again.

This was one of the things where the depth the novel provided really took me by surprise. Prior to reading it, I liked to think about the similarities between Law and Robin and how the latter had come to see good in people again but Law hadn’t quite made it there yet. But that’s not true at all. I didn’t realize how big of an affect the 3 years on Swallow Island and the company of his friends really impacted him.

This fell apart a little as I was writing it because this post is getting pretty long on my phone (I’ll probably edit this part later), but my takeaway from this part is for all his stoic demeanor, Law does see and value the kindness in people and is motivated by hope and good things. The novel even states that his goals when he sets out include:

♡ “Enemies to beat, countries to save, an immense sea on which to travel with his crew…”

For a kid so determined on insisting he’s “not a good person”, umm. Yes, he is. And I think everyone who really knows him would refute that claim of his.

♡ I didn’t save the exact quote, but it’s important to me to note that Law really enjoyed the three years on Swallow Island. He cherished the time spent with Wolf and the OG3, loved their meals together, loved their little makeshift family. He loved the people of Pleasure Town and the work he did in the clinic, and a part of him knows it would have been easier to stay there than you’d think before he learns to pursue his goals and the concept of “true freedom”. (This was another ‘wow’ moment for me because I’d always leaned into unresolved angst and inner turmoil. Prior to the novel I would have said -did say, even, in plotting with @clownquixote- that Law would never want to go back to North Blue because too much bad happened there. But I can absolutely see him looking forward to going back and seeing Wolf again someday now, even if it’s not to stay.)

Lastly, two random lines I don’t have to elaborate upon a lot but that are super important:

♡ “I suddenly have the impression of seizing this ‘joy of the doctor’ that my parents looked for more than anything in the world, they who taught me everything.”

Combined with Law’s insistence to Wolf that he would only ever use his DF to be the best doctor he could be, he takes his profession as a doctor very seriously. It is essential to who he is, even more so than being a pirate or the Captain of the Heart pirates.

♡ “It’s not that I have a heart of stone, but I don’t want my feelings to be a brake on my progress.” // ♡ “Then I turn around so that none of those in the room can see how silly happiness makes me look.”

Law does feel things. I would even venture to say he feels things A LOT and more deeply than most- good or bad. He just knows how to take all of those feelings and convert them into what he needs to keep moving forward and being the other thing he loves being: a leader to those who needed one. And also, he is a dork and will hide happiness just as much as he would hide his tears.

—-

Oops I had to edit to add this: despite all the progress I didn’t know he made and the insight he gained on Swallow Island, I have strong thoughts on what the things he saw unfold at Marineford and time alone on Punk Hazard did to him. I rambled last night that he needs people around him to keep him from spiraling and NOT having them around for a while certainly resulted in steps backwards in many aspects. Maybe he’s lost sight of the good things again temporarily besides his own crew but no, I don’t think the part of him that sees the good in people/the world (or wants to) is gone.

Click here to return to the headcanon masterlist on Carrd.

#♡ // musings ; #♡ // headcanons ; #law novel spoilers #tw: long post #this got out of hand but I really loved the novel and I have A LOT of feels okay #just important things to keep in mind for my thoughts on/portrayal of Mr. Scary I’m Not a Good Person Surgeon of Death #can try to sum this up in context/spoiler-free brief highlights if anyone wants to know but hasn’t read

[wearethepoemspoetry]

we are the poems

i have a love-hate relationship with bukowski.

sometimes i worship his words and especially his line breaks. i get so insecure about my own that i’ll spend years editing one poem. i’ll come back a decade later just to change one tiny word, just one awkward line break.

i can’t write a new poem; there’s nothing left in me that’s inspired anymore.

and who else do i have to blame for that when i don’t answer my phone or even leave my room, let alone live my life, or love, or do anything in this life that’s considered worthwhile?

so it’s like a goddamn epiphany when i go back to a poem i wrote in a time i did all of those things, and i become inspired enough just to press the return button on my computer.

i used to get fucked up like bukowski, but all that got me was fat and more depressed, and maybe he didn’t care if he was a fat drunk, but i do.

and i am envious of how bukowski never cared that he was somewhat of a man whore, as if anybody actually cares if a man sleeps around. but i still care what people think about me even though slut-shaming has gone by the wayside. and even worse, i know i could never live that way. i’ve always given my heart away far easier than i’ve given away my body.

i was always so careless with my heart, and protective of my body, and i should have been the opposite. if i had been, maybe my heart wouldn’t be so bruised that i don’t allow myself to let anybody near me. maybe if i allowed the aching near my heart, or any feeling, for god’s sakes, i’d still have some words to write that just might be worthwhile.

and maybe i hate myself just a little bit for refusing to let anything in when i know it means i can’t let anything out.

i despise how egotistical bukowski is; it’s so obvious in his posthumous works. but he always thought he was a genius, would walk around wasted, yelling at his women how nobody could see his genius but him. even when he calls himself a drunk bum, it’s like he feigns self-pity, and is somehow proud that he’s some drunk bum, because his genius allows him to be. and if bums get paid like him, then i’d be a bum any day of the week.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them. and god knows i’d never use an ampersand. it would go against my tendency to never abbreviate, as if i’m still that blonde english major that never fit in because they all thought i was dumb, so i clung to the MLA format like a religion. but i do use lowercases, especially the lowercase “i” sometimes, not because i saw other poets do it and thought it looked cool. but because sometimes i don’t feel like an I. usually i feel like an i. so weak and insignificant and hopeless and desperate, that i’m not even worth using the proper format of the noun because i’m not a whole person, and i haven’t been for a long time.

(sometimes i wonder if i ever was, but i save that self-inflicted dread for when i get as wasted as bukowski.)

i don’t think bukowski ever knew what it felt like to be an i instead of an I. i don’t think most people ever know, and i’m grateful they don’t, but sometimes i wish somebody would understand how i feel.

and i’m sure there are people out there that do, but i’m not willing to try and find them anymore, just to relate to somebody.

it’s easier to be alone, to confine my heart in a cage, my body in my bed, binge watching tv instead of the constant reading and writing i used to do. not when words can shatter my insides as easily as swords can shred my skin.

not when i obsess about line breaks in my poems for over a decade, just hoping one day, one poem will be good enough, as if one word, one line break will make all the difference.

music destroys me, too. one of my favorite singers wrote a ten-minute song about losing her virginity with this exquisite metaphor about a scarf. i heard it and immediately opened up the poem i wrote about losing mine. six insignificant lines that nobody could care about but me.

nobody has ever read those lines.

bukowski says in one of his poems that he only wrote his poetry for himself, but i don’t believe that. he wouldn’t have tried for decades to get published if he didn’t really care. and i don’t blame him for saying it. i say it too, even though it’s so obvious that i care so much i’ll go as far as to write a multi-page poem about this jerk i love/hate because i know he would never find my poetry worthwhile.

it’s this curse we were given at birth, i think, to compose these words and feel self-pity and hate ourselves if we don’t write flawlessly, and even if we swear we’re geniuses, most of us never believe it. (that’s why we yell it so loudly.)

we’re always lacking, we’re always inadequate, beauty should come from these words, but we don’t see beauty or love, or even the truth we desperately seek.

this curse envelopes us and we see nothing but deficiencies, and pain, and for some of us, uncapitalized nouns

because we are the poems we are writing.

and if we don’t scream about our genius, how nobody sees it but us, if our neighbors don’t hear our pretentious bellowing about how god is in our words, maybe nobody will believe he was ever there, so we have to pretend he is.

god is never in my words, and if he were here, he’d laugh at my feigned pretension, because it’s not fooling anybody. but the truth is, i really just want to fool myself.

but these words are mine, so they can be nothing more than a failure, and maybe that’s why i say that i just do this for me, that i don’t care if anyone ever reads my poems or finds them only mediocre or even just somewhat honest, but doesn’t think they’re all that wonderful.

and slurred screaming as loud as bukowski may have worked for him, but i see right through me, so it doesn’t work for me.

because i’m a woman because i’m blonde becayse i’m young because i’m dumb because i’m past fooling myself

like i fooled myself with the boys i loved and pretended they loved me back.

but i can never fool myself about feeling like an i.

so that’s what i’ll call myself in this poem. because that’s all i am, and also, because fuck bukowski.

#poeticstories #original poetry #original poem #poetry #poems #original poets on tumblr #charles bukowski #poetry of mine #autobiographical #free verse #new poets club #new poets on tumblr #new poets society #poems and poetry #poemsdaily #poets on tumblr #poemsociety #depressing poem #poetry of the day #poetry of tumblr #poems and quotes #new poets community #new poets corner #poetsandwriters #new poetry #poetry on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poet #sad poetry

[pigsflyinginspace]

Sometimes, I think about pulling my eyes out. About how easy it would be to slip my fingers under my eyelid, my thumb pressed to my wet tear duct, and pull the oddly unround thing out of my head.

Sometimes, I think about whether it would hurt. If I would scream out in pain, or if I would just sit there silently, sobbing in prayer. Would the tears be blood? Or clear and hazy like sweat? Would they taste of iron and copper? Of death? Or of salt—death?

Sometimes, I think about if I could stick my finger in the hole I’ve made. If I would touch flesh or if it would go straight to my brain. Would my eye be hanging by strings of flesh still attached to my head? Or flop about, slimy and warm in my free hand?

Sometimes, I sit and think, with my glasses off. I’ll run a lazy finger around my eye socket and think of the force it would require to wrench out the flesh within from my skull. I’ll feel my eye fluttering around under the soft, thin skin of my eyelid and wonder with a perverse satisfaction of the horror it would cause others to see. To hear them as they cry for help on my behalf, or if they would even care.

I wonder, sometimes, what it’s like to care. To feel grief about death of loved ones. To be happy and smiling like it’s natural. I worry, sometimes, that I’m not doing it right. That I’m not giving the right reaction. That I’m thinking too much about pulling my fingernails off and that they can see it. That they can see the dirt.

...

There’s a relief in pain. A detachment of sorts. Something I know I can feel. I find it in the nails of my fingers and toes. In the scratching of my scalp. In the raised bumps of mosquito bite. In the skin on my hands. In the ideation of it. In the self-mutilation of it. In the blood of it all.

There’s a wheezing in my chest for it, sometimes.

...

Sometimes, it makes me think if that thing about carrots and fingers is true. About whether I could stick a finger in my mouth at the joint and bite it clean off with the same force it would take to bite off part of a carrot. Would it hurt? Would I cry? Have I already torn out my eye? Was there a pop when I bit it in two? Which one did I choose? Did the flesh grind between my teeth before I bit it? Did it feel good? Did I feel anything?

...

There are boundaries, I think sometimes.

I can never do it to other people. Only myself. They don’t know the logic or the thoughts. They don’t need the pain like me. But no one can inflict it on me. I am the inflictor and the receiver. I am judge, jury, and executioner for me and me alone.

...

I don’t think I’m well, sometimes. I don’t think I function like I’m supposed to. I think I may be malfunctioning—or at least I have been, for a while.

I believe some may call this condition apathy, or depression, or some other third thing I don’t know the name of.

I don’t know where it comes from. What the root is. I don’t know who planted the seed, but I wish sometimes that they had never planted it at all. That they never carefully tilled the soil of my soul. That they never gingerly touched and caressed the dirt in their hands until there was a hole big enough to fit the seed. That they never poured water down the hole and covered it back up with the mangled dirt until it was like a small ant hill. That they never walked away and left it there. That they never left the dirt torn up and tilled and never bothered to come back. I wish sometimes that they checked on the seed and saw the rapid pace at which the plant grew until it had eaten up the garden it was laid in. That they saw the little house by the garden and how it, too, was eaten by the monstrous plant until only a single room survived. That they saw the little girl, happy and content, watching Dragon Tales in that little house by the garden, who now sits in the single functioning room thinking—sometimes—about what it would be like to be eaten by that plant just like everything else. That they would know. That they would come back and save that little girl.

That little girl thinks, sometimes, about gauging her eyes out and how it would feel. She thinks about carrots and fingers. About biting fingernails and pulling out toenails. About scabs and mosquito bites, and hangnails and dead skin, and scratching at her scalp. About where her feelings went. How they left her.

That little girl thinks, sometimes.

...

Sometimes, I think about that little girl.

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #mental health #mentally fucked #these are my feelings please enjoy them #there's nothing healthy about any of this #there's a garden in my heart and it hates me #text #i was sitting at dinner with my family touching my eyeball thinking about this idea

[butwhatifidothis]

I was NOT expecting the “reveal” to be THAT BAD

HOLY SHIT that was a MAJOR YIKES

A nonnie:

BRRRRROOOO WTF THE CHEATING I WAS IM JUST…Speechless. Absolutely speechless. It honestly feels extra insidious that (spoiler?) they technically are taking advantage of B’s naivete/lack of emotional awareness? Shiiiit man that’s awful. If I were writing this (a lot of things would be different) but you know at least let people have a chapter of B being fucking pissed and letting HER newly-formed emotions actually fucking mattering for a change! Have E (and I) apologizing or like I giving B the Childhood Ribbons and saying “sowee i was a home wrecker” or SOMETHING!

I don’t plan on ever reading the actual fic, I feel like I’d turn to literal stone (or wish to be stoned) so at most my indirect consumption via spork proxy every 6 months or so is good enough to develop immunity to BS. Godspeed, my friend. Godspeed.

I'm not sure anyone was ready ☠️

Cuz like, most people just thought "Ficleth will understand that Woobiegard was oh so lonely and not mind it at all" cuz, like, that's the go-to for the fic and also the typical "reaction" to cheating when a writer doesn't want to acknowledge their character cheated.

But, like. This is just blatant manipulation, and also outright gaslighting. Ficleth very clearly says "I can't describe myself well, but the way you two act around each other - and likely have been acting around each other for all the time I've been gone - makes me uncomfortable and hurt, and I don't like it." And Woobiegard and Ficgrid's response is to deny it despite the fact that it's literally true, and Ficlain's is to say "that's just jealousy (and definitely not betrayal)!! I feel the same way about Ficgrid and whether or not she actually loves me, but I've since internalized these feelings of mine as completely my fault and completely negative due to the trauma my abusive older brother inflicted onto me when I was a child :) You should do that too!! Because you love Woobiegard so much!!"

Like, Ficlain's reasoning is so clearly one that is springing up as a destructive trauma response to shit completely unrelated to this that I come >< close to not blaming him (he's still shitty for saying it tho, def not off the hook), but the other two? They have no excuse. Don't think there's much more that's more manipulative than "oh, my lover is doubting my faithfulness to them? I'll just kiss them in the middle of them saying so!! That'll be enough to prove my love (and not, like, breaking off the affair I'm having)!"

It's just so unbelievably scummy. Ficleth's feelings are just completely irrelevant - her hurt and betrayal aren't soothed, they're written off entirely. And not even by Woobiegard; she couldn't even muster up the nuts to be the asshole to say that Ficleth's feelings aren't that big a deal. Ficlain does - the other person being cheated on. And he does so with what is worryingly close to genuine abuse victim reasoning. Like, just, look at this:

“I admit it. Sometimes I worry if I come first to Ingrid. I’m not blind. I’ve seen how much she cares about Woobiegard, and you’ve seen how much Woobiegard cares for Ingrid. But every time I have those thoughts, I think about my brother. We could have been a family, but all that jealousy ate him up inside until he threw away his humanity for an evil old spear. I have to recognize those feelings aren’t true, and trust those two people I love, just like you will. That’s the hardest lesson to learn about being human.”

And how that basically translates to this:

"Sometimes I doubt if my lover actually loves me. They often don't really act like they do, and that hurts me. But that doesn't matter. They might hurt me, but if I react too badly then I'll be the one to ruin everything the same way my abuser ruined things, and I have to remember that. My feelings of hurt aren't real, and I have to ignore them if I want this relationship to work out - it's on me to do this, not them. I love them so I have to overlook this, because I know they love me too and that there's a good reason they're doing this to me. That's what it means to be in love."

In just about any other story, unless it's explicitly exploring the mindset of abuse victims, a character who reveals to be thinking that way would be gotten the fuck out of whatever relationship they're in. And the same goes for Ficleth; her revealing feeling betrayed by her lover would've been at least the actual focus of the scene in just about any other story. But nope - Ficlain is peachy keen as he is right now, and Ficleth's only issue is that she thought her silly little feelings of betrayal and hurt were real! And once that's settled the story just moves right along - no apology from the cheaters, or even any admission of guilt, they get off completely scot-free. I'm, just. Completely baffled that that was how the cheating was "resolved"

#ask #anon #o captain my captain #and spoiler alert Woobiegard and Ficgrid don't stop doing this shit even after this lmao so hooray!! #this scene filled to the brim with blatant emotional manipulation was completely unnecessary!! #as it changed nothing of the cheaters' actions!! #and if anything it makes them look even worse as characters!! wowie guys what an amazing scene this was!!

[ruang-siar]

I wonder how people put up with themselves.

These days, particularly the days once I’ve realized that I haven’t been living as myself, I find it odd to be me. To live as myself. It feels like I’m just walking around, breathing, eating, reading, interacting with others while wearing a suit I don’t even recognize as me. It starts weighing on me, the height of this suit. It feels like I’m drowning inside, not knowing what to do. Not being able to identify which one is actually me, and which version of me should be the one bearing the suit that is my very own skin. 

My heart aches from time to time. One day, it ached nearly for eight hours non-stop. I was afraid I’d die. I didn’t. To be fair, I think it’s been aching for a while now. A couple of years, maybe. It has always been hurting. I don’t know, I have just started noticing. I keep track of when it stings, it happens regularly. Sometimes I feel it when I get out of the train, clock out of the office, wake up in the morning, and mostly when I do nothing. They seep in, dragging me down. It’s almost like I’m melting on the floor. Like a quicksand people don’t want to look at, because they know it will suck them down as well if they pay even just a glance. It’s not a very nice feeling. But I think I’ve always felt like this. Again, I have just started noticing.

Sometimes I want to call my friends up, text something in the group chat about how I feel. But really, even as I think of the idea of doing that, my stomach starts tightening and my lips curving into a thin smile. Then some parts of my brain begin to remind me that I shouldn’t be bothering people, that I might not be hurting as much: I am only wanting the attention and I am secretly, shamefully, deeply, desperately loving the attention. I don’t mind inflicting some pain, exaggerating my pain, and/or acting like a batshit crazy person suffering through pain that I might or might not (I really don’t know/can’t tell) be experiencing.

Even in therapy, I think there are times when I lie through my bare teeth: to make myself interesting, to make my therapist think I am worth treating, to make my therapist think that it is not a waste of time (that I am NOT a waste of time), that I can be fixed, that I am going through a legit process. I don’t think I have. Yes, I am smarter now. But I think I have always been this smart in manipulating my emotions and memories. I can make myself hurt and stop hurting. But my heart always aches, and I still have problems accepting that there are people who want to be friends with me (and look at me as myself). 

I have huge, huge hesitation telling people about how I feel because I think it would make me appear like an attention seeker. I hate being an attention seeker, because people don’t approve of them and I want to be approved by people. Sometimes I type things on someone’s chatroom, or type something and hit the tweet button as a faceless voice in the back of my mind sneers, throwing little chuckles that indicate that once again, I do things only to get someone to perceive my being. I want everything to be hurt, because people don’t particularly pay attention if I’m not hurting. I only know to ask for attention through hurting, because people will never even look at my way if I’m not hurting. Sometimes I cry out of genuineness, then I cry harder, imagining painful things in my head to make it sound more upsetting once I’ve realized I can get more attention through this. All while my other voice is cursing, belittling, and shaming me for consciously putting all of this act. 

I’ve been internally breaking into pieces for the past week. If you ask me, I don’t really know what’s going on. Are these things real or am I just quadrupling the sensation in my head to make myself simultaneously feel hurt and better at the same time, because at least I’m interesting and I can make people care about me this way, I don’t know. This is not ideal, though. Because sometimes I can feel my chest hurting a little too much than what I can bear, and there is literally nothing I can do about it. Even as I’m typing this, my fingers feel weird. Again, I think I’ve just been living inside a skinsuit that is not really me. Not that I know which one is me anyway.

I wonder how people put up with themselves. I don’t. I can’t. I never know how.

[crybabydev]

When I was in middle school I had this teacher who I adored, she would have favorite students and they’d all eat lunch with her and gossip, I wanted to be a part of their group so badly. One day in class everyone was talking about anxiety, this was like 2010 or something so maybe a little bit before we had such wide exposure of mental health in schools and social media like we do now, anyway the teacher starts going on this rant about how people that are paranoid that they’re getting gossiped about are actually totally full of themselves for thinking everyone is talking about them all the time. That was the first time I believed that my insecurities were all my fault, that I was just begging for attention anytime I wanted my feelings validated. It went so much further than that as well, I would secretly wish that I’d suddenly get some type of illness or maybe break a leg or something so that I’d have a reason for people to be nice to me. The wounds I had weren’t visible. There was no proof on my body of the pain my mother was inflicting on me, both mentally and physically. There was no way for anyone to know how badly I needed help. So hearing that speaking up was just an attention grab wound up being so damaging to me as a person. It’s like I keep all of my thoughts and feelings inside, they fly around like a fucking tornado, but there’s something stopping me from opening my mouth. All the times I’ve been invalidated, never learning how to communicate my feelings after I bring up an issue I have, feeling like I’m so much trouble that this will definitely be the last straw for them that makes them leave me. To say I was struggling with anxiety would be such an understatement, I would be sitting at a table in math class with such a strong panic it felt like I was going to die. I don’t mean it felt like my heart was going to give out or anything, though that sometimes accompanies it, I mean I felt like I was going to die. If you’ve ever been in an unsafe situation like a car wreck or a bear encounter or something you know the feeling, you don’t know when or how but you know it’s going to happen soon and you’ve just got to DO SOMETHING about it. But there’s nothing to do. Whatever intrusive thought your anxiety hijacks, like a friend being mad at you or being insecure about your body, is now impending doom. My brain would convince me that this would ruin my life, I’d never be worth anything. Everybody hates me, I’m such a burden and horrifying to look at, how could I subject these people to having to be around me? I’m a terrible person. I’ll have to find my way through life BEING a terrible person and DO terrible things. I knew what those people looked like, my mother had them around constantly. That life was abusing drugs and alcohol and leaving your babies with strangers, finding yourself in strange houses with strange men. Waking up and not knowing where you are. I did not want that. That life is not worth living. I started to think about killing myself. It felt like all of these reasons were piling up. Why don’t I say cute and funny things? Why can’t I focus on my schoolwork? Why can’t I breathe when someone is looking at me and I don’t know why? It was all boiling over until it felt like everything. Existing felt like just another thing I wasn’t doing correctly, another thing in the rule book everybody else got and I never did. I still feel like that sometimes, when my doctor doesn’t fill my meds or I’m just overly hormonal. And every time it happens I tell myself I can never go back to living like that. Sitting in a room all alone and feeling so extremely hated. I still struggle with wanting bad things to happen to me, but now it’s more like I just want to know for 100% that I didn’t deserve all of the bad things that ALREADY happened to me. Now that I know more about my mental health, now that I’m older and more logical, I still need reassurance that that little girl didn’t deserve to be beaten down in so many ways. Because I’m still her, and a part of me still feels unworthy of life.

#mentalheathawareness #small rant #online diary

[tmbgender]

crushing and self worth issues

I have this feeling about you, im not sure what it is. it’s completely indescribable. i’ve tried for days to find the right words for it but i can’t fit all of these complicated, intense, conflicting emotions into writing. I listen to corny love songs and think of you. i listen to your playlist just to feel closer to you. I don’t know what I feel about you. almost definitely a crush, yes but it feels so much deeper and complex than that. I feel like you’re a closer friend than almost anyone i’ve met. I love you like a brother but i get butterflies when i see you typing. if i ever dare to contemplate where i would be without you here i cry. if i could erase all the terrible things that have happened to me, but there’s the smallest chance that i never would’ve met you, i wouldn’t dare it. i feel like we’re meant to be together in any way, shape or form. i don’t care if it’s romantic, i don’t care if it’s platonic, i just want it to be you. it feels like how minecraft music makes you feel. it feels like how faded memories of when me and my brother were friends feels. nostalgic, happy, but with a sort of bitter-sweetness. knowing it can never be attained.

i’m left wondering if i’m doomed to be alone forever, in an endless loop of finding someone and losing them again. I want to trust you, i want to trust your friendship but i feel broken. something in me just can’t bring myself to trust that feeling another time. i long for you. i feel like i need you. i can’t handle all these feelings sometimes and i break down. do i need you or do i need to be loved? do i need to learn to love myself? what i need is to stop relying on other people for happiness but when there’s only two people in your life that claim to care about you, the fear of losing them consumes your every thought. the loneliness of never having had a sleepover with a close group of friends. the pain of seeing other people having fun with their groups and significant others. every waking moment i spend thinking about this and wondering if there’s something wrong with me for not having those relationships. why can everyone else have those friendships but not me? what’s wrong with me? why do i have to suffer through hearing about my ‘friends’ parties and gatherings and simple bowling outings knowing i likely never crossed their minds? i cant keep doing this, it’s too much sometimes.

when i’m talking to you i feel okay. i feel stable. i feel like the world was just crashing down around me but time stopped and i’m safe. but time has to start again eventually and i dread the day when you’ll realize that i’m not good enough and leave. someday you’ll see how hard it is to care about me and you’ll cut me off for your own mental health. and i can’t even be angry or sad about it because i don’t know how to fix myself. i’m a broken plate that can’t fix itself but whenever someone tries i cut them. i don’t want to hurt them, i don’t want to be broken, i just want to be fixed and right and useful to someone again. but pieces of me kept getting thrown out and they’re right to do it.

i deserve this, i deserve pain and hatred and anger and sadness and everything that’s wrong with me, i’ve somehow inflicted it all on myself.

#teemdd originals #vent post #long post #tw depressing thoughts #save

[thelandscapingemployeetrap]

Becoming Aligned with Your Higher Calling & Evolving Consciously

Do you feel like you’re unworthy and things won’t work the way you want them to be just because you’re now in your 40s with clear physical signs of aging? I recently turned 39, just a year away from turning 40, and it’s no doubt noticed that my gray hairs keep on popping out these days. And as we age, we tend to think that we’re not really successful just because we’re getting old. Well, let me tell you this – yes, we’re getting old, but that in and of itself is a gift!

  Join me today as I tell you why and encourage you to live your golden years in peace, overcoming your past, and helping people do good things!

    “You are so much more; you are so infinite. Therefore, a couple of gray hairs on your head shouldn’t have you stumped for too long, because if you’re too stumped and upset about it, then that just means that you’re just resisting evolution. Evolution is evolution. Embrace it. It’s awesome. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  – Keith Kalfas

    Why do you have to listen to today's episode.

02:54 – “You can go into depression, but sometimes, unless you have a real serious problem, you don’t have to stay there.”

 When bad things happen, we unconsciously stay there, clinging to these old identities, allowing us to not face the next chapter of our life.

  05:12 – “Maybe I'm a late bloomer, but it's not easy for a guy in his 20s to perceive himself as a mature, masculine man.”

 Gray hairs can also be a wonderful thing, letting people recognize you as an adult and not just some kid. I once had a client who referred to me as a kid, and I almost got mad at him, but then I realized maybe he did because I perceived and carried myself like a kid.

  10:08 – “When you become an old man, those are supposed to be your golden years, where you have projects that are passion projects, or maybe you're retired, but you are doing and living life on your terms, and you're healthy, and you're vibrant.”

 Your old man years should be your golden years. Live your life in bliss. You wouldn’t want to grow up as a bitter old man. Consciousness is not bound by space and time.

  15:57 – “You’re so trapped in the past and why things might not work that you can’t even let go of that bullshit for a second to just wake the fuck up and realize that you are crushing it right now.”

 Feeling unworthy is like bad programming; you start thinking, and it flows, and you feel it. Don’t sell out on your life, on your dreams. Come from a space of conscious choice and know that you’re worthy.

  19:40 – “When you’re at peace, and you transmit peace, others around you will feel calmer, and their day will be calmer.”

 People can’t move towards real wealth because they don’t have themselves figured out. Success in the industry starts from your success from within. Be at peace.

  26:53 – “Somebody else’s negative behavior doesn’t have to affect you.”

 Just because it feels comfortable doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Sometimes, a season of discomfort might be what’s necessary for you to evolve and move on. You can and you will.

    Key Takeaways 

“Anything that has to be forced, if you’re trying to force yourself to be perfect, it’s a really, really long, hard, painful road, that it comes with a lot of self-inflicted punishment and unnecessary suffering that you don’t deserve.”

  “If you let go and let God, and realize you’re in your late 30s, everything’s gonna be okay, because this is going to be the best chapter of your life now, and it’s gonna get even better. Why would you want to not go into that?”

  “The highest level of worthiness you can be is what you give and what you contribute.”

  “You have to accept that if you have fingers and toes and breath in your lungs, and you have health, and you can get up, and you can shower and bathe yourself, and have friendships and a marriage and a relationship with yourself, and you can just do all the things without being totally inhibited, you have a form of amazing wealth.”

  Connect with Keith  

Facebook

Instagram 

YouTube

LinkedIn

Resources/People Mentioned:

  My Website: Official Site Keith Kalfas

My Podcast Page: The UNTRAPPED Podcast

 Jocko Willink: YouTube podcast

Tony Robbins: Website

James Clear’s book: Atomic Habits

Eckhart Tolle: Website

Dr. David R. Hawkin’s book: Power vs Force 

Get a Free Trial of JOBBER Software & save 20% off your first 6 months. Grow Your Business With Jobber (getjobber.com) 

Want to go to the GIE+EXPO 2022? Go to keithkalfas.com/events and click on the Equip Expo link. Use the promo code “Keith50” to save 50% off your tickets.

{lease leave us a well-written, positive 5-star review if you liked the show. You may click here

  Check out this episode!

#Landscaping #windowcleaning

[freekymonstr]

If this is a topic you are not comfortable answering for I will totally understand, and I don’t want to cause a trigger for anyone else who might read it either. If you are alright with doing an ask on this: How would the droids be with self harm?

tw

————-

I have a very unhealthy perspective on making mistakes, and I feel the need to punish myself for inconveniencing people. I don’t have the guts to actually c/ut myself, but I do mark up my wrist with scratches from my thumbnail - I’m actively working on this compulsion with someone I trust, and hope it’s something I one day don’t feel the urge to do. :)

Before I start I want to say I'm proud of you for working towards healing and finding someone you trust to help with this process. It'll be a long one and sometimes difficult, but it's more than possible.

Don't get discouraged if, after you feel you've healed, you have the urge or end up doing it again. Healing isn't linear and while it may seem like you ruined your hard work from the past, please believe me that you didn't. I only say this because I've seen too many people give up when they were so, so close to making it through. One tiny setback does not negate everything you've done prior, please remember this.

You will come out of this feeling alive in a new way and the world will look and feel much different. It doesn't seem like something that will have such a drastic change in your life, but it does. Everything will be a little brighter, the grass a little greener, the sky a little bluer. I'm excited. I can't for you to get there <3

-

Since this post is already getting a bit long (sorry) I'll go ahead and put the droid stuff under a read more

Alpha would find it counterproductive no matter the severity. Humans couldn't just be fixed like robots can. Why cause yourself harm over a simple mistake? But he'd come to realize that maybe you two weren't so different. Rather, maybe robots; who he'd previously held to be superior to humans; weren't so different from their creators. The apple never falls far from the tree. Alpha found his own hypocrisy laughable as someone who essentially did the same thing to himself over mistakes and failures, or took his grievances out on the others. The various scars or marks from previous injuries were still visible on his synthetic skin. "This isn't healthy," he'd grumble, but he would still take you to the bathroom to put medicine on it. He may argue that it was simply to prevent any possibility of infection as that could get bad very quick and he didn't want to deal with it. If he were to really think about it though he was yet again closing the distance between the human race and himself. "If you feel a need to do this again in the future, for whatever idiotic reason, come find me instead."

Beta knew what that felt like. He knew the anger and disappointment in yourself at any failure or mistake. They knew the feeling of knowing nothing else to do except take it out on yourself. Alpha never helped but he didn't blame him. He struggled with his own problems as well. Beta would take you to get it cleaned up, quiet and gentle as ever, until finally he'd ask, "Do you have anything else you could do instead?" If you didn't know, or maybe hadn't thought about it, they would do their best to offer solutions. "If you're at home you could hit a pillow instead, or maybe keep a little toy with you? We have lots of things around here that several of us use to destress. Let's go find one you like to keep with you."

The first time Bing saw any semblance of an injury he'd be anxious, main goal to fix you up, but secondary being finding out what had happened. "Did you do this to yourself?" They'd ask, analyzing the wounds while cleaning them. Certainly inflicted by a human being, angle and trajectory indicating by the self. "Sorry. That was, like, a really invasive and uncool thing to ask." His otherwise silence was uncharacteristic, deep in thought, clearly worried over you. "If you ever need to talk or anything or just, like, I don't know- get the energy out- I'm always here, bro. Just shoot me a message or come find me, okay? I don't wanna see you hurting, even if it's up here," he'd give a small smile and poke you in the forehead.

Upsilon, like Beta, was well aware the self hatred an individual was capable of. Always holding himself to a standard impossibly high, even for a robot, he took his shortcomings harshly. It was normal for him to be quiet, but this wouldn't be the comfortable silence you were used to as he cleaned up the wounds. When all was said and done he'd lean back in his chair. "This is a common occurance, I assume?" He'd ask. His irritation would not be out of malice, but that he hadn't realized sooner how you felt and that you were struggling. "Just... Be careful, please." As you'd be leaving, he'd get your attention. "And next time you feel the need to do something like that, come to me instead."

Delta would worry about you often, especially if he noticed you were feeling a bit off that day. There weren't many things he felt he could do to help other than be there for you, so he tried his best to do so. "I know you probably don't like this. I'm not exactly happy about it either." He'd say after finding out. "I don't mean that I'm, like, mad at you or anything. I'm just," a sigh. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help. But... From now on you let me know, okay? We'll go do something, or if you want we can just chill at the house together."

Gamma would be quick to notice when something's wrong, whether it's a difference in the way you're standing or carry yourself, or even subtly covering or touching what had been done. "Lemme see," he'd demand and hold his hand out. She wouldn't act like it was a big deal, no need to make you feel any worse about it than you probably already did. "Okay, let's get you cleaned up." It would be quick but careful, and topped off with a colorful bandaid should it be needed. "You wanna go get some ice cream or something? Ooh, or Starbucks. Or... Anything, actually. Let's just go somewhere."

#asks #anon #oc: droids #gamma or beta would probably be the best in this situation #gamma especially because of her purpose #at least imo bc i prefer ppl being nonchalant about it and not acting like im gonna explode 💀

[strongismyvibe]

Lets talk about confidence.

First off, what is confidence? I ask this because all of us have different opinions about what is and what isn't.

A year ago, I probably would've said that confidence is the ability to be present and surround yourself in a crowd of strangers. That didn't mean you had to look or feel like you were part of that crowd, but as long as you made yourself "look" confident, then that was what confident meant to me.

But, is that really confidence?

I guess it's up to who you are at this present moment.

In essence, yes. Being able to socialize and feel comfortable doing so is confidence. But, what about inner confidence? Does that qualify?

NO!

I think people forget that there is never one way to look at something.

I am so thankful to have grown up in Miami. It is a true melting pot of cultures and diverse minds. There is so much you can learn by just listening to what others are saying. In my early twenties I used my natural ability to socialize with others as a means of further educating myself. Some may call if networking, other May call it mentoring. Of course, facts are always disputable, but the knowledge that I gained about subjects I probably would have never come across, made me want to socialize more to learn more.

Personally, I am a BEAST at social confidence. I am comfortable being around any crowd and I don't really care about what people think about me in a social setting. For me, you either like me or you don't. It's just who I am as a person.

A weakness I know I possess in life is that I view everyone as an equal. No matter who you are (black, white, rich, poor), everyone has the same worth in my eyes- that's until you prove me wrong of coarse. As a child, I was taught that we are all the same in God's eye. That's why I call my love of people a weakness. I don't see myself as a religious person by any means but I do listen, and when I believe something is correct then I live by that truth.

But, over time, I've learned (sometimes in pretty ugly ways) that we are definitely not the same to the eye of the beholder and that we shouldn't try to prove to these individuals that people can change, and that people are good, because somehow, they've lost themselves and their own self confidence.

This is why I personally feel like I lack inner confidence.

My lack of inner confidence probably stems from the cultural ideology I grew up with. The ideology of what a woman was and their "role" in society. Growing up in with a Hispanic background in the United States definitely confused me while growing up. History books were teaching me to be one thing while my family was grooming me to be another. In my family, women were viewed as housewives and child eaters (mothers), being successful was an accomplishment we all strived for but it was the priority for living a "secure life."

When I broke out of that bubble (sometime in my early 20s), I realized that my family wasn't the only one holding me back from being who I am or strive to be. There are also people (strangers) in this world who could inflict as much insecurity as the one I had built during my childhood.

Let’s dissect this a little better…

Although all people are equal in my eyes, I have realized that not all people are well intentioned. I've been around my fair share of these individuals who are broken. I've learned that a good clue to finding out if someone is healthy for you or not is when I am hurting because of something they said to me. I’m not implying someone is bad or malicious because they hurt people but maybe the timing of the connection we currently hold with them is not a good fit.

Hence, the reason for the lack of inner confidence. This is when "I'm not good enough" takes over and you begin to lose confidence in yourself. When you actually believe that what this broken soul is telling you about yourself could actually be true.

Don’t fall into that trap…there’s no good that comes out of trying to fix stupid.

But, on a positive note, I believe some of these people are not aware of their actions as well as the impact they make on the lives of those who care about them.

We all got Shit. But, Shit either decomposes into fertilizer (which can make beautiful things grow) or flushed down a toilet (with a new start, cleaner water). This is why I believe that even those hurting from a troubled past or from some type of trauma can heal and be happy.

Back to confidence…

I, like those "lost souls", was not aware of how I was around certain people. The realization of my lack of inner confidence happened from a conversation I had with a good friend of mine, sometime last year. She noticed that whenever we would meet up, I always had a remark about how awful I looked or how fat I felt.

Her words shocked me because I felt "seen". Someone had called me out for calling myself out.

After she said that, I decided to do some soul searching and realized that she in fact was right! I was setting a precedent for myself whenever I was around her (or anyone I couldn’t physically match). I couldn't compete with her incredible figure and natural beauty. My social confidence was no match to her inner confidence.

I am grateful to her for waking me up that day. I, myself, wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I was bringing myself down in an effort to bring myself up.

Does that make sense?

I guess in layman’s terms…I was bringing myself down first. It was a heavy layer no one could break through. I was used to carrying this layer. Considering myself ugly was easier than fearing what others thought about me.

After I realized what I was doing, this challenged me to build a more positive image of myself and motivated me to pursue the challenge. If someone got close to breaking open that layer of “self loathing” then clearly the wall was crumbling. I needed to figure out how to build reinforcements or a new layer

I decided to build a new layer. A stronger layer. One I called “inner confidence”.

I am extremely grateful that someone called me out on my self-confidence and gave me the motivation to push past that disability and live a truer and more fulfilling life.

This video show the first time I showed the world part of my stomach after almost 5 years of hiding behind my clothes. I know this is only the beginning and it was the first time in a long time that I didn't care what anyone thought of my body or about me.

#self confidence #health & fitness #exercise #self love #self worth

[genshinlover101]

Hey hope your having a good day!

I just saw that requests are open so I got an idea.

What about Lisa rejecting fem or gn reader?

Idk why I just wanna hurt myself today 💀

Lisa Rejecting You

Character: Lisa x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: Thank you! I hope you’re having a good day as well <3 

Sometimes I feel I wanna hurt myself too when it comes to angst writings :,)

• You didn’t know whether you liked Lisa for who she was or the idea of dating Lisa. Maybe it was because you were a bit touch starved, but Lisa’s constant flirty quips drove you crazy. You found yourself craving her affection more and more.

• Maybe it was all the pet names she threw on you. Or the way she stroked your shoulder to get your attention when you were reading a book. Or perhaps the way she smiled and greeted you as you entered the library. Whatever it was, it was all so lovely. 

• But of course, deep down inside you knew you weren’t special. After all, her personality was what attracted you, but also what made you fear confessing to her. She was one of Mondstadt’s infamous suitors, powerful, beautiful, and kind. What makes you a better candidate for her than anyone else?

• You’ve witnessed firsthand the way she treated others. You knew you weren’t anything special. But you felt you had an upper hand because you visited her daily and it made you feel superior to the rest of her ‘cuties’.

You followed Lisa around everywhere, and although you weren’t officially employed by the Library of the Knights of Favonius, it sure felt like it. You would arrive every day at 10:00 am and leave by 5:00 pm just to spend time with your beloved Lisa. She sure didn’t mind because not only were you cute but you helped around the place. She’s tried to dismiss you before, worried you were too involved with the library, but you insisted.

Today, however, you stayed extra late. The clock struck 8:00 pm and Lisa was still working on processing some late book return fees, you stayed because she looked particularly stressed out today. You thought if you left she would have no one to watch over the books.

You sat in silence as you read the second book in a trilogy. Occasionally people would come in and disturb you by asking for directions, but nothing too big. Until you felt two hands rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck.

It was Lisa. Her body weight draped around you, you could even feel her chest pressed against your upper back. “Go home cutie, it’s getting late.” She whispered in your ear, yawing slightly at her own exhaustion.

“Oh no I certainly couldn’t do that,” You denied. “Who’s gonna help you out if I’m not around?” You faked your calm demeanor even if your heart was beating a mile a minute. Although you couldn’t suppress your blushes, your ears feeling hot as the blood rushed to them. 

“Why’re you so nervous darling? Maybe you have a bit of a crush on lil ol’ me?” she said taking note of it. You hesitated before you gave a rash reply. You could deny it and continue to live contently by Lisa’s side as her friend. Or you could confirm her suspicions and be free of this wretched feeling of never-ending curiosity of ‘what if’ scenarios. “Ah~ you’re always so silent around me. Loosen up a bit, I’m starting to feel a little lonely here.”

She let you free, untangling herself from your neck as she was on the verge of walking away. You grasped her wrist before she could leave, whipping her back into your position. Looking up at her from your chair you decided you would end your cycle of self-inflicted pain. “Miss Lisa... I like you,” you blurted out loudly.

Her eyes widened, surprise was not an emotion Lisa displayed very often. But to hear her little helper confess to her was something that undoubtably took her by a surprise. “I’m sorry?” she pardoned. “Did I hear that correctly? You like me?” She asked. You gave a firm nod of approval, was she really this shocked? you thought.

“I’m sorry little one,” She averted her eyes to avoid your hungry gaze. “Did I lead you on perhaps? I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings. I’ve just never thought of you like that.” You could tell Lisa had recycled these lines over and over again for every confession she’s ever received. You weren’t special to her, you just invaded her space unlike the rest of her suitors, making yourself only temporarily feel special.

“I see...” You looked away, releasing her wrist from your iron grip. The boost of confidence you had no where to be found. “I’m sorry, I’ll get going now.” You gathered your belongings as Lisa watched you awkwardly. Her stance was small and timid, as if she felt guilty for rejecting you. You made a mental vow that you wouldn’t distance yourself no matter how awkward the atmosphere was. Regardless of how Lisa felt about you, she was still amazing, intelligent, and everything a woman should be in your eyes.

You made your way to the door, opening it slightly. “Miss Lisa,” You wanted to say one thing before dismissing yourself for the day. “they say when someone confesses to another, they’ll be on that person’s mind for the rest of the day. And that’s enough for me, I’m happy knowing I’ll be on your mind for the remainder of today. See you tomorrow,” You gave her a reassuring smile before making your way out. 

“I look forward to it darling,” She said with a small smile, happy that nothing will change between you two.

#lisa x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #lisa minci

[late-to-the-party-81]

I thought I would have a go at @syntheticavenger ‘s 8k Spooky Challenge, where you have to write a 800 word spooky story, featuring any avenger actor.

So here’s my entry, enjoy

Mine

A/N: This is a dark fic and is rated Mature. It features stalking/kidnap and inferred r*pe. Please heed the warnings. Not suitable for minors.

Pairing: Demon!Nat x Fem!Reader

Word count: 796

Song prompt: #1 Crush by Garbage

Солнышко – Little Sun

Любимая – Darling/beloved

Зайка - Bunny

———————

The thing about being a demon, Nat thought, was that you soon stopped really caring about the humans around you. They were play things, entertainment. She couldn’t remember exactly when she had become a demon. The days, and years, all started to blur when you had no mortal concerns.

She was faster, stronger, more resilient. She aged slower. She remembers that for the first few years she was like a child with a new toy, testing out how far she could push herself and what she could do. Her powers were good for making people cry before she ripped them to shreds.

But, she had to admit, she was starting to get bored. Bored of the monotony, bored of hiding herself 24/7. Then, everything changed. She met you.

The first time Nat saw you she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth was dry and was barely conscious to everyone who was bumping into her and grumbling. Nothing mattered except you.

She knew in that moment she would die for you. Lay her life on the line to protect you. In fact, she thought she was dying at this moment due to the physical distance between you. You shone like the sun, were so beautiful it made her want to cry. If you were hers the only tears you were spill would be for her, the only pain that which she inflicted sweetly on you. If…..no, when. There was no doubt in her mind. If she hadn’t already sold her soul she’d have done so in an instant. You would give her life meaning again.

So she watched you, learnt your routines, followed you. Sometimes she insinuated herself close to you, to see if you noticed her, to see if you felt this pull as well. You would only be able to ignore her for so long.

But demons are not known for their patience. Every time she saw you, and saw no echoing burning in your eyes it felt like her heart, and organ she had little use for now, was being squeezed, being stabbed. It burned, but she welcomed it. In her mind this pain proved that she loved you, that you were meant to be together. She would make you see.

——————

You came-to groggily. You looked so sweet and innocent as you roused to consciousness. Nat had made sure you would be comfortable, dressing you in fluffy pyjamas, with nice fuzzy socks. She’d even braided your hair as you slept, to keep it off your face. She stroked your brow and spoke to you softly.

“That’s it, солнышко, wake-up for me now.”

Your eyes fluttered open, soft and relaxed for a moment, until your brain told you that you weren’t where you expected to be. Then your eyes went wide and you lurched backwards across the bed.

“Who are you, where am I?” Your voice was soft, but trembled.

“Oh, my любимая, it’s me, your Natalia. I’ve brought you home. To be with me.”

“I…I…I don’t know you.” Your voice was a whisper as you curled up on yourself.

“Oh зайка, you will. Because you are mine.” She smiled at you, the hint of a fang and a forked tongue peaking below her top lip, a flash of red in her eyes, and she crawled, naked, across the bed, caging you in with her body. She breathed in deeply, your scent intoxicating.

“I’m going to look after you, make you feel so good.” Her tongue snaked out and she licked up your neck, causing a whimper to escape you.

“I..c..can look after myself…”

Nat chuckled, her breath warm in your ear.

“Oh Любимая, you can’t. I’ve been dealing with your problems for weeks. That dipshit who groped you whilst you were at work? I killed him for touching what was mine.” She nuzzled in around your jaw. “I also got you’re a replacement microwave when yours started acting. Same make and model, you didn’t even notice. I’d do anything for you.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, you fear real and present. One of her hands moved to press against your stomach, then glided up, over your chest, to rest at the neckline of the pyjamas.

“You’re going to give everything to me. Say ‘Thank you Mistress….’”

The tears were rolling down your cheeks now, and she licked up each one with her tongue.

“Thank..y..you…M.m.mistress”

“Good зайка …”

The nail on her index finger shifted, elongating into a claw, which she drew down the soft fluffy material, parting it to expose you. Then, with a crick of her neck, red leathery wings burst forth from her back, and a scaly tail wound its way up your leg.

You screamed, but it was swallowed by her mouth, and contained as her wings enclosed you both.

#dark!natasha romanoff x reader #demon!natasha #dark!fic #spooky challenge #natasha romanoff #natasha Romanoff x reader