#kiss kiss (<— lovelessly)

[knifearo]

this year my challenge for everyone is to unlearn the association between love and morality. love is not something that is inherently morally good, and the absence of love is not something that is inherently bad. sex without love isn't morally bankrupt, it's just an action. people without love aren't less kind or less good, they're just people. when we can get past this false (and often unnoticed) dichotomy of good love/evil lovelessness then i think we are going to be able to take leaps and bounds in sex positivity, aro advocacy, certain discussions of mental health...

#and also. not the direct focus. but love doesn't make things good. you can be in love and do terrible terrible things. #people do bad things in the name of love and in despite of love all the time. #but!! imagine a world where people could exist as people and not be demonized. #sex positivity means being cool about All sex. reexamine your internal systems of moral judgement. #this goes for sex workers. for aroallo people. especially aroallo men. for aro people in general who might enjoy sex. #and frankly i think it can easily bleed into discussions about mental health disorders around 'not feeling' certain things #especially demonizing ppl who don't feel as much empathy. i think there's definitely a correlation between that and the emphasis on love. #our support needs to go out to Everybody and i think these things are all structured together in one way or another!! #it might not be immediately obvious but when i tell you it all leads back to amatonormativity..... little bit wild.... large bit wild.... #anyway. horror movie psychopath 'oh he can't feel emotions or love' damn alright. well. let's take a closer look at that. #silly that there's an association between lack of love and Murdering. feel like that might affect some stuff. #love is just an emotion/a feeling it doesn't mean anything about you one way or another #same with empathy. you can feel it all you want but it doesn't inherently change the actions you choose to take #anyway. thesis statement. there is a socially constructed link between love and morality. unlearn that. #kiss kiss (<— lovelessly) #aromantic #aromanticism #arospec #talking #aroace #aspec #sex positivity

[d0ll0rwh0re]

the kind of girl you bury thoughtlessly

in the back of your damned house

pink lament and lace hysteria

she rose from your eyes and to the hell of your city

the kind of girl you burn lovelessly

with the molten iron dagger of your grandpa’s

senseless daze in smack-induced rape

she kissed your throat in attempt to soothe the tension of your veins

the kind of girl you break with no regret

for she is nothing you would like to dream

candle fog and funeral bells of hers

she was made for this, this love decrepit

the kind of girl you garden upon delightfully

dig into her sides and sow in her lips

metamorphosis into this pained mother of thine

she became your lover to smooth over your hide

#💌.my #just some thoughts #please suggest a title for this

[corpseofbunny]

ﾟ｡˚ ୨୧ ⁞ ❛ DO YOU EVEN HAVE A BOYFRIEND? ❜

characters ⁞ lee jinho, feminine reader.

plot ⁞ based off / inspired by my 'tendencies' blurb.

warnings ⁞ she / her pronouns are used, one sided relationship, distant relationship, emotional unavailability, mentions of abuse of power, mean! jinho.

bunni's notes ⁞ reuploaded because my code last time was very weird and breaking the structure, making a really weird, annoying glitch happen. - if you saw my old version, the writing and ending has been rewritten and updated :D

your relationship was doomed from the start.

jinho adored you. you were kind enough to give him benefit of the doubt every single time and stupid enough to not be able to come to the realization that he was using you on your own. when he said jump, you would ask how high.

when you got home from whatever the day had brought you, you were exhausted but always so happy to see him again. a drowsy smile hanging off your puffy lips as you stood on the tip of your toes to reach up and kiss his nose. sticky lip gloss would highlight where you had just kissed jinho and he would grin at you but as you wrapped your arms around his slender waist and buried your head into his chest, his smile would drop and he would lovelessly return the hug. it’s just a shame he didn’t actually like or love you because jinho would’ve been a good boyfriend.

he never held you in bed when you slept together. when he would, he still felt so far away. you would ask him if something was wrong and he shrugged you off. you tried so hard to be a good girlfriend. “she’s a keeper,” was always something you wanted to hear from someone he was close to. “i wish i had a girlfriend like her!” you just wanted some sort of acknowledgement on how hard you trying. it never amounted up to shit though because he may have adored you but not enough to put you on a pedestal or treat you how you deserved to be treated. jinho adored that you let him use you whenever he wanted. jinho adored that you always listened to him. jinho adored that you never questioned his motives. jinho adored the things about you - not you as a whole person.

sadly, your friends didn’t like him very much. “jinho is calling? don’t answer! he’s so mean! what do you see in him?” - “he bosses you around!” - “you need to leave him, all he sees you as is a servant!” - "do you even have a boyfriend?" it was always humiliating to have your relationship thrown on spot. always left hurt, always coming home teary-eyed and falling into jinho's arms. you loved your boyfriend! he must’ve loved you back, right? he wouldn't care for you the way he did, if he didn't right? he would carefully rub your back and let you sob into his neck. his heavy cologne and gentle touch would always calm you down but then suddenly, he stopped. no more performances of his false love were done and he began to get more agitated. angrier, like his fuse was about to blow constantly and you always happened to be in the way. the yelling, shaking you, giving you scary looks but then breaking down in your arms and apologizing over and over again. he wasn't really sorry, though. just another show to make you stay.

you always made him coffee before he got up. you were always careful and paid attention to every detail. when he finally woke up and after a single sip, told you it was dull, you got confused and didn't know what happened. you did everything right, you always did. you made sure of it because you wanted to be a good girlfriend. when he dumped the fresh cup in the sink right in front of you, and told you to make it again, you were so confused. "make it again." just kept running wild in your head. whether it was the constant yelling and half hearted apologies, emotional and mental exhaustion from always trying or the words from your friends engraved in your head unwillingly, you started crying, covering your nose and mouth with a cupped hand as you started looking around the kitchen. you didn't even notice until you saw him staring at you with such a lack of emotion. you hated the way he was looking at you, it was enough to make you wanna vomit. you stopped what you were doing and realized this was gonna continue. a one sided relationship. all the effort relied on you but you couldn't do it anymore. putting the bag of strong scented grounds down on the counter, you sniffled and wiped your nose with your sweater sleeve. your face twitched as tried to find the words to speak but you didn't know how to approach it. you were finally standing up for yourself but you didn't know how; so you just said the first thing that came to mind.

“do you even like me, jinho?”

#— full. #— fandom: how to fight / viral hit. #jinho how to fight #jinho viral hit #lee jinho #244 #244 how to fight #244 viral hit #244 x reader #how to fight x reader #viral hit x reader

[instruth]

I have written several poem variations on this title - I shall now share the original long version of 09 June 2017.

A DESOLATE WALK

The distant times return, riding on a freight train,

projecting images onto the screen of my mind.

My soul weeps and bleeds, wounded by the sharp blade of a painful memory.

I walk past the ruined castle, beyond the broken brick walls -

where once the smiling garden greeted the dawning of day, where sprawling blossoms lined the narrow pathways,

and cheering creepers roofed over

the comfy benches on the sidewalks.

I tip toe to near the edge of a past forgotten recluse, where there still stands that platform of a comforting ritual,

for viewing the distant horizon across the vastness of the sea,

to receive an inspired thought - even stir up a miraculous healing or two.

The hand-carved bench of oak is still there, though now worn and broken,

and oh good heavens! -that weather-designed couch of rock for two,

on which young lovers once reposedly made their pledges in sweet whisperings

and older couples revisited to renew their matrimonial promises with a tender loving kiss.

Alas! These compassionate whisperings and tender promises are no more

They have been replaced, contracted rigidly and guarded lovelessly on paper, no longer freely written on the heart.

Beyond this viewing gallery and below, the deserted shore looks more like a cemetery plot in the shadows,

lined with the scarred trunks of palm trees, exhibited as figures with long scraggy hairs and heads hung low.

A walk down the stone-steps, moist and mossed, leads to the place where once

was a peopled beach, with the scented cooling of fanning palm leaves,

waving and grinning to the assembled crowd.

The pompous and celebrated event too has vanished;

Lifelessness and desolation capture a melancholic scene,

with eerie chantings echoing from the morbid graves.

A faint hope of activity sprouts meagerly on the ground but a closer look reveals it is just an invasion of ants set upon a decaying prey.

Looking up to the castle for consolation only amplifies the cries of the dullards, the insensitive and the selfish.

What a measly task!

What magic is there to recreate the living voice of music - the whispering of a gentle breeze, soothing sound of water tripping over the stones, and the addictive laughter of children at play?

Lifelessness and desolation capture a melancholic scene

Up yonder mountains -

skirted by bare trees with peeled barks,

where no more the singing robins build their nests, ground carpeted by blackened and crumpled foliage -

and overlooking the valleys,

the picture of sloping green meadows comes into view,

spreading out in dotting spots of white, weaving a tapestry of a gentle grazing task,

pleasing to the eyes and easing many a troubled mind.

The deathly silence arouses and stimulates a need to restore life,

through the grace of imagination ... ... ...

presenting as the bowing of the swaying willows beside the brook,

like ballerinas dancing to the symphony of whistling wind,

before a captivated audience of long, wild grass on the opposite bank,

dangling over the glassy water, clapping softly before dipping into the gentle stream,

sending ripples of appreciation across for an encore.

A passing breeze comes to oblige every call for a repeat performance.

Such beauty and bliss, a sanctuary missed.

Evening heralds the cold embrace of a misty night.

The clouded moon tries to hide its solitary frown;

the distant stars blinked weakly in utter confusion.

The night lingers and delays the approach of dawn.

I stumble - many times, but I am not lost for I am still searching.

I persevere, bear the pain and carry my cross. I shall not let it break me. Then I know I will find what I am looking for.

I return to the gallery, peering at the dark horizon,

awaiting the moment of glory to catch a glimpse of the distant flickering glow of dawn, rising from under the far horizon.

From whence the sun will surely rise again.

a memory weaves

a colorful tapestry

in silent prayer

©Johnny J P Lee

11 June 2022

Haibun (prose / haiku 5-7-5)

Arts Credit Christina Chin

Photo: J. P. Lee

#instruth #instruthpoems #poetryportal #13cupsofteareblog #writerscreeds #smittenbypoetry #writtenconsiderstions #acrobat888 #the subservient human

[foxinaflowerfield]

[Sucide, blood, and unhealthy relationships! Stay safe out there!!]

My death will be a suicide. No matter how or when I die, if the heavens kill me or a dear friend is the one to do so. It will be a suicide. How can it be anything but a suicide when I accept it so easily? So happily that with bloodied teeth I smile in my coffin. At the first possible opportunity the breath will leave me in a laugh and I will have died in a tragically beautiful suicide. The fate of the poet, the fool, the son, and of the liar. The artist who tried to hard to love, the son who tried so hard to feel his blood, the fool who thought he was anything but himself, and the liar with lips of poison. Kiss me quickly before my heart stills, and make this a suicide of two, because loneliness scares me. Die beside me, because I loved you lovelessly.

#idfk #poetry? #aromantic romantic #raaaaaah #I hate myself and I think its a little too obvious #what am i doin with my life #kinda ranty

[conclusionsforthought]

we are all dressed up for tonight

whether we are more or less like ourselves, i am not sure.

i kiss you under the disco lights

and now, you are wearing my lipgloss.

and i won't tell the truth, and you won't wait

and i'll say i don't mind.

in the morning still,

there's a cut up wristband on my desk

and i am a mark on your chart.

you'll go home and sleep in your own bed

and make promises we can't keep.

and when you leave, i will do my best to exist lovelessly

and find someone to become when you're not around

and i will convince myself that i have enough,

even when i never quite do.

[mizunetzu]

Mr Mizunetzu’s secret Santa! Kita x reader - cold, cold observations (he loves me so it’s okay)

( @luv-hqs hi HAHA!! I was ur secret Santa >:) Funny story, I accidentally deleted the ask you gave me that had your preferences, but I vaguely remember there being a “Kita” and “angst” LMAO SO I ROLLED WITH THAT TELL ME IF I GOT IT WRONG BUT HEY YALL GET UR FIRST INARIZAKI FIC FROM ME )

⚠️warnings - ANGST? Unintentionally cold Kita baby doesn’t mean it I swear, sad ending

Pronouns - male, he/him

you can find part two here!

——————

“I like you, Kita-kun! Please, please go out with me!”

(Y/n) thrusted himself into a sharp, 90 degree bow, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his hands up into fists, planted firmly against his sides. Kita looked down at him.

“Sure.”

“Wh-“ (Y/n’s) head tossed up, his (h/c)-colored hair whipping back as he did so. “Really?”

Kita nodded. “I like you too, so I don’t see why you’re so surprised. People date people who they like, right?”

A wide smile stretched across (Y/n’s) face, illuminating it just enough to catch the pretty cherry blossom petals fluttering around him. His face shone like the sun, even daring to put the big ball of light to shame. He stood back up, his smile still noticeably big and happy.

“Please take care of me then, Kita-kun.” (Y/n) stepped forward and sheepishly brushed his fingers against Kita’s shoulder.

‘He loves me...’

——

Please take care of me.

It was a simple request. A simple phrase. “Please take care of me,” not in a babied, maternal way, but in the way that (Y/n) hoped him and Kita would be as a lovey-dovey couple you see in romance manga. The kind you see and can’t help but coo at.

“You need to stop flailing your arms around. You’re weakening your spike, (L/n)-kun.”

Kita called out so suddenly, (Y/n) mid-spike, making him sputter and land awkwardly. The ball hit the net with a thud, before landing on the same side of the court it came from. Kita looked at (Y/n) skeptically. It was his normal, straight-laced face, but everyone in the gym could sense the intimidating aura Kita was projecting.

No one wanted to be on the receiving end of that aura, to be cornered by Kita’s judgementful gaze. Yet here (Y/n) was. How unlucky.

“I’m...I’ll do it better next time, Shicchan.”

“Shicchan?”

“W-well...you don’t mind it when I call you that in private, Sh-“

“This isn’t private, (L/n)-kun. We’re in practice.” Kita bore holes into (Y/n’s) skull, who was desperately trying to look anywhere but Kita. Aran scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh-it’s just a nickname dude, plus, you guys are dating, right? So it’s natural that (L/n)-san would call you that.”

“That doesn’t distract from the fact you need to get your spikes over the net, (L/n)-kun. Not on it.” Kita paid Aran no mind, and continued staring down (Y/n) with a heavy, emotionless gaze.

“S-sorry...” (Y/n) shrank back into himself. Everyone who was staring immediately scrambled to look away once Kita looked back. Kita wordlessly walked away.

“Damn, I’m sorry man.” Aran’s eyebrows contorted into a look of pity, while (Y/n) awkwardly chuckled.

“S’fine. He was...probably just having a bad day s’all.” (Y/n) brushed off Kita’s cold judgment faster than Aran expected. He smiled.

“He loves me, so it’s okay.”

——

Today is a good day. (Y/n) hummed as he strolled down the path to practice. In fact, today is a great day. (Y/n) didn’t know why, but it was a great day.

(Y/n) strut into the gym, carrying bag of steamed pork buns he’d bought at the convenience store a few minutes ago. The gyms inhabitants stopped one by one, their focuses shifting from their individual practice to (Y/n) and his bag of food.

Hungry players, especially Atsumu and Osamu, flocked towards (Y/n) with hungry stomachs or a sense of curiousness. Kita caught the ball he was tossing in the air and looked at (Y/n) with blank eyes.

“You’re disrupting practice.” Kita said, not moving an inch from where he was standing. (Y/n’s) smile faltered a bit.

“W-well I just felt like buying the team some food-I feel like we’ve been working hard and we deserve it-“

“You came to practice late to buy food that you could’ve bought after practice?” Kita’s question felt more like a jab at (Y/n’s) chest. Everyone crowding around (Y/n) froze up, a sudden icy-cold shooting down their spines. Kita’s unwanted, scary aura was back.

“I...”

“Why would you do that?” Kita cocked his head to the side. “You’re late to practice-you don’t even have your gym clothes on-and since you have food it’s either we eat it now and can’t practice-because we might get stomachaches-or we eat it after and it gets cold and you waste your money.”

The once bright smile caused by (Y/n’s) ‘good day’ finally cracked. He looked at Kita with embarrassment, trying to play it off with a less cheery, forced smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat closed up and no words came out.

Kita sighed. “Well I don’t want you to waste your money. I guess we’re eating (L/n)-sans steamed buns now.” He turned to the coach. “Is it ok if we take a break from practice? (L/n)-kun brought steamed buns. If we’re lucky we can practice at the end of our practice time once we digest.”

Coach nodded awkwardly. Kita walked up to (Y/n), whose bag of food was being shared and distributed amongst Inarizaki. (Y/n) pressed his lips into a fine line.

“I’m...I’m sorry Shinsuke-kun.” (Y/n’s) happy day was weathered down and left with empty sadness in seconds. He felt so proud and courteous for buying his team a treat purely out of impulse, but now he just felt guilty for disturbing practice.

“It’s alright, I guess.” Kita’s words held no value, as he pecked (Y/n) on the cheek lovelessly. (Y/n) shot him a weak smile, cupping the cheek whom he had kissed gently.

‘He...loves me...so it’s okay.’

‘So it’s okay...’

——

It was such a small gesture. The small act of Kita drawing his hand away when (Y/n) reached out to hold it, him bringing his hand up to lock away in his pocket as they walked through the schools hallways. It was such a small, infinitesimal detail that (Y/n) should’ve brushed off with ease. Y’know, maybe his hand was just cold.

But he couldn’t.

He hesitantly slowed to a stop. “Shin...Kita-kun.”

Kita looked back, a blank look laced with the tiniest amount of confusion weaved inside. “Did something happen?”

“Do you love me?”

Kita dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Of course I do.” It came out his mouth no more than an automated machine would, as he dragged (Y/n) gently to the side of the hallway. “Be careful next time. We’re lucky not much people were around. Someone could’ve heard you.”

‘Heard you?’ (Y/n) furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t angry. No, no he wasn’t angry. He just felt like someone hollowed out his insides.

“Is it so bad if people heard me? That I love you and wanna know if you love me too?”

“Yes.”

Kita had no filter. He announced it like saying ‘The sky is blue’, stating it like a fact he expected (Y/n) to know. And he wasn’t even adorning a stern or intentionally harsh face while he said it. Though, it was the way Kita said it so bluntly and emotionlessly that made it hurt the most.

But now that (Y/n) thought about it, when was the last time Kita smiled because of him?

Has he ever even seen him smile?

Has he ever seen, touched, or heard any sort of proof of his love?

Of Kita Shinsuke’s love?

(Y/n) downcast his face. “I just wanted to hold your hand.”

“You know how people feel about gay relationships. Not even my baa-san knows yet. So what if one of our classmates see-“

“-but the whole team knows-!”

“-and I trust the team. They won’t say a word until we’re sure and ready to tell everyone.”

(Y/n) stayed silent after that. Then, he opened his mouth.

“...Then do you trust me?”

It came out like a cracked, hoarse whisper. Kita, for once, look stunned. His eyebrows raised slightly and his eyes widened, even if it were just a little bit.

“Of course I do.”

Another automated response.

(Y/n) nodded, letting Kita lead them back to the middle of the hallway to walk to practice. (Y/n) gave up on trying to hold Kita’s cold, cold hands, and instead thought solemnly to himself.

‘He...he loves...’

He paused. He looked over at Kita, who was looking straight ahead. He looked back down to his walking feet.

‘Does he love me?’

——

Kita looked around the gym. He saw Atsumu and Osamu yelling at each other about something he couldn’t quite make out, Suna fishing out his phone from his pocket, and Ginjima chatting and peppering a volleyball back and forth with Aran.

But no (Y/n).

Kita tapped Suna on the shoulder, who was zooming in and taking pictures of Osamu’s disgusted face. He hummed in acknowledgement, now trying to zoom in on Atsumu on the ground.

“Have you seen (L/n)-kun today?”

“In class, yeah. At practice, no.” Suna murmured. Kita nodded and thanked him for the info. That meant he was at school today, at least.

Excusing himself from practice, Kita stepped out of the gym. I mean, why wouldn’t he be worried about the whereabouts of his boyfriend? Especially with how odd he’s been acting, Kita couldn’t help but worry just a smidge.

After what seemed like hours of pointless searching, he eventually found a mop of (h/c)-hair sitting on a stone bench under the same cherry tree (Y/n) had confessed to him to. Kita had checked the place on impulse, not actually expecting to see someone there, but it was better than nothing. Kita walked up to the boy sitting with his back faced to him, and without even saying anything, (Y/n) gave a small hum.

“Mm.” Was all he said. His back was slouched, and he was still in his school uniform. His school bag laid pathetically strewn on the grass next to him, and if Kita could see his expression, it was probably unreadable.

“Practice is going on.”

“Mhm.”

“You should be at practice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why aren’t you going to practice?”

“Is everything about practice with you?” (Y/n) lifted his head. His voice was still calm, but it raised in volume ever so slightly. “Practice, practice, practice. What about how I feel?”

Kita opened his mouth to say something, but for the first time, nothing came out. He didn’t know what to do. Was he mad at him? Did he do something wrong?

“I...” (Y/n) choked back his words, letting out a sigh and slumping down on the stone bench once more. He flicked a fallen cherry blossom petal off his shoulder. “Never mind. I don’t feel like going to practice, tell coach th-“

“Is there something wrong?”

Kita question had come out of nowhere. (Y/n) bunched his hands into fists. “...now you notice?” He turned around, red in the face and tears falling freely in unison with the bittersweet cherry blossoms falling mockingly around them. “Tell me, Kita,”

“Do you love me?”

Kita furrowed his eyebrows. “...of course I-“

“”of course I do.” That’s what you always say..! Say something else, dammit! Say you love me!”

(Y/n) abruptly rose from his seat, stepping over the bench and grabbing Kita by the collar. He pulled him closer to his face, shaking him by the shirt with knuckles that almost turned white.

“M-Make me believe that you love me!” (Y/n’s) tears cascaded down his face, flinging in the air as he whipped his head down so suddenly. Small, choked sobs ripped through (Y/n), yet all Kita could do was stare. Stare with his blank, emotionless face. (Y/n) took his silence as his answer. The silence was so loud.

“...I think we should break up.” Kita’s eyes widened.

“Why?”

(Y/n’s) iron clad grip on Kita’s shirt loosened, he stepped back, face feeling raw after crying. “I don’t want to be with someone who can’t tell me they love me. Once you can tell me you love me, and mean it, I’m all ears.”

“(L/n)-kun-“

(Y/n) reached over the bench and pulled his school bag up, dusting off the stupid pink petals that littered around his bag. He slung it over his shoulder numbly, and shot a curt “See you tomorrow.” At Kita.

All Kita could do was stare. With the emotionless face he now wished held more vibrancy.

“...I love you, (Y/n).”

It came out foreign on his lips. It was the first time he’d said those words, hadn’t it? I love you. A cracked whisper, and even then it sounded like it held no value. Kita took one last linger at the now-empty schoolyard, and walked back to practice.

——

When Kita came back to the gym, everyone was sitting in a semi-circle surrounding a whiteboard. Various lineups and positions were drawn hastily on the board, and everyone looked towards the gym door which Kita had come in through. He silently dragged his feet over to the circle of players, and took a seat behind Aran.

“Where were you?” Aran whispered. Kita ignored him, the lump in his throat stinging and bloating his vocal cords up to the point he couldn’t talk.

Every moment, every interaction, every cold, cold observation Kita ever had with (Y/n) flashed before his eyes. The coach’s voice and the squeak of the whiteboard marker melded together as memories of how kind (Y/n) had been played like a dvd in his mind. He’s been so warm. So, so fucking warm. Every piece of warmth (Y/n) shared with him, he took for granted when he told himself he wouldn’t. He wasn’t normally like that. But he’s been so, so cold.

Silent, hot tears blurred Kita’s vision. They fell slowly, and dripped onto the hardwood floor with no meaning whatsoever. He was so cold. He clasped his hands together, shaking, and trying to hush his ragged breathing and sniffles. He felt so cold. Eventually, the coach stopped talking, and one by one players started turning around, asking if Kita was ok.

But he wasn’t. He was so cold.

——————

Kokoro is brokoro in Mr Mizunetzu’s Christmas event

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke #shinsuke kita x reader #haikyuu shinsuke #hq shinsuke #kita x male reader #kita x y/n #kita x you #Kita x m reader #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu boys #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #kita angst #mr Mizunetzu’s secret Santa

[okaybutlikeimagine]

really weird hc but i think steve never cries, like it’s not that he doesn’t want to he just can’t??? he’s filled with emotions and he knows he technically should be crying but he just can’t. But billy on the other hand, if you asked him he’d deny it but he cries all. the. time. when he’s angry. when he’s sad. when he’s stressed. when he’s happy and laughing. he just can’t control it.

This is such an interesting headcanon and I DEFINITELY agree!!!! I think it makes perfect sense!!

Bc the way I think about it, Steve’s life has been a lot more performative than Billy’s has, if that makes any sense? Like, I think of Steve’s parents and I think of the kind of terrible people who had a kid just to 1. Pass down the name and 2. Say they have the “perfect family”. Like, they toted Steve out for parties just like Daisy does in Great Gatsby and then they’d hand him off to the sitter or the nanny or the maid or whatever. They didn’t actually want to raise a kid and understand that kid as a person, they wanted a trophy to say: “See this? This proves our relationship is strong and our marriage was worth it.”

And then, in the background, before Steve would be dragged off to whatever private function he was being forced and dressed to attend, his mom would grab him harshly and tightly around his little shoulders and kneel down to look him right in the eye and say: “You behave yourself, understand? There are going to be very important clients there and if you bother us while we’re working, you’re going to be grounded for a whole week. No, two. No toys, TV, nothing. You hear me?” And just imagine a little Steve, about age 5, blinking owlishly at his mom and nodding his head bc of course he can hear her, she’s right in his face, but the only thing he knows about “clients” is that they make his parents yell at each other and that they’re the reason his parents never read him bedtime stories or tuck him in at night

 And I really don’t know a whole lot about like… the lives of the rich and famous, but I just can’t help but imagine Steve’s parents going to parties with the other “elite” in the area. And I use the term “elite” loosely bc i mean… let’s face it…. They still live in Hawkins. They’re definitely rich but it’s not like they’re rubbing elbows with high society over here. They’re the kind of rich, snobby, stuck up people who think they’re better than the people they share a community with. It’s the reason they’re not home very often: they hate being reminded about the fact that they haven’t moved out of Hawkins.

So they go to lots of rich, stuck up parties. And they hold Steve up like a trophy to their friends about how they have a kid already and “where’s yours, Patricia? Oh, don’t have one yet? Are things alright with you and Greg? Oh, just wondering, because if you don’t have a kid yet, well…. Maybe something’s wrong at home…”

and so Steve, with fresh threats swimming in his mind, stands there and smiles and takes all the cheek pinches and head pats even though he’s only a child and is about to fall asleep on his feet because they’ve been walking around meeting people for hours and the other kids won’t play with him because they think he’s “boring” or “stupid” or “poor” (which doesn’t make sense to him bc he’s the richest kid in his preschool as far as he’s aware. He figures the preschools must be different here.) so he puts on a mask even for the other kids. He pretends he doesn’t like playing in the mud or collecting bugs or making jokes about boogers. He puts aside acting like a kid to act like these kids just so he can play with them. Sometimes it works.

And so I think he learned not to cry at a very young age. Honestly, i dunno if you’ve heard about it, but I’m channeling The Who’s Tommy over here. Like, the whole “kid is threatened not to speak about this thing, that he didn’t see this thing, and that he didn’t hear this thing and thus goes deaf, blind, and mute”. And obviously a little less dramatic than that, but Steve’s always been told not to cry. When he would cry he’d get punished. It’s like a weird Pavlovian effect. Ever since he was a kid he was asked to put on a show for everyone, told not to pout or whine or cry, and now he just…. Can’t. He almost fears it. He hears his parents threats, even now at the age of 18, and smiles and laughs rather than cries. And sometimes he cries… that night that Nancy called him bullshit and told him she didn’t love him he went home and ripped a blanket she had (apparently lovelessly) gifted him and broke his lamp and accidentally sliced his foot on the glass of the lightbulb…. and cried and… and it felt like failure. It was only a couple of tears, hot and angry and rolling slowly down his face and he let his throat catch fire as he held everything else back. He was angry with himself at that point, more than anything. He looked himself in the mirror and heard his father’s words of “A Harrington never cries. Are you a true Harrington?” and sucked it all back in and did whatever he could to take his mind off of it, even though everything he did always ended with him fuming about the words over and over again and caused him to end up punching pillows and angrily drinking all the beer out of the fridge.

But Billy’s different.

Billy is a volcano. A volcano of every single emotion you can think of. He experiences them all violently and viciously and they take over his system until his body physically can’t hold back from crying. We SEE him cry multiple times in the show!!! And i like to think it’s bc rather than be toted around, he’s been locked in. where Steve’s parents drag Steve around to different social functions, Neil locks Billy up so he- and no one else -has to look at him. Steve is forced to be around others and put on a mask and Billy is forced to be alone, with just himself and his thoughts. He doesn’t need to mask himself when he’s alone.

And that’s not to say that Billy doesn’t also put on a show for others- because he most definitely does. I think a lot of what he does is performative bc he feels he needs to and his thought process for it lines up with Steve’s for himself: he’s just not good enough. He wasn’t good enough for his mom to stay, he wasn’t good enough for his dad to love in his mother’s absence, he wasn’t and isn’t good enough for anything. So he puts on a show of this big tough guy and he manipulates people and he calls it entertainment.

And this isn’t to say that he didn’t get yelled at for crying, either! Bc he definitely did. He’s gotten hit a few times for tears in his eyes but it was always followed with being locked in his room and being told that he was “embarrassing to watch”... and in the four walls of his room he cried more. Bc growing up, the one thing he found relief in was being sent to his room or even having his room in the first place: it gave him a space to be alone and let his emotions out. And he never tried to, his body always just did it for him. Bc crying is often a very visceral thing, and also a very natural and very human thing. It releases chemicals in your body to help soothe you and lord KNOWS Billy needs to soothe himself bc once his mom left, no one did it for him. His body realizes the emotions that aren’t being sorted and his mind knows when it’s safe (when he’s alone, when Neil’s turned and walking away, when no one can hear) and it cries. I just imagine Billy on constant vibrate, brimming with emotions and filled to the edge with too many things with everything with all of it and he just cries because there’s so few outlets for him. His body has grown accustomed to taking care of itself in that way. And so when he’s had too much (and the threshold on some days if very small), he rushes to his room and slams the door and as soon as it’s latched he’s near drowning in tears bc he needs release.

And let me tell you- it freaks the fuck out of Steve.

Because like you said, Steve just doesn’t cry. And the first time Billy and Steve have sex, Billy cries as he orgasms and Steve freaks. out. He thinks he did something wrong and he’s fretting over Billy and his heart is racing and he’s fighting with himself about if he should hold Billy’s face or step about 5 feet away from him because holy shit what happened??

And Billy feels like an idiot but there’s no stopping his body because he’s so overwhelmed by feeling so good and it’s been a long time coming for him and Steve and after all of that anger and animosity between each other, it was just too much and he cries. And he punches Steve while he’s crying, trying his best to growl but hiccuping around the words instead as he says: “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m so sorry Billy, holy shit! What do I do?!” 

“Go get me a tissue, you dumbass!”

And he’s sniffling and blows his nose loud and Steve is in awe that Billy is still such a hardass even with tears running down his eyes.

And this happens a LOT. Every time Billy and Steve have sex, Billy tears up after he orgasms. It’s not always full on waterworks like the first time, but his eyes always water as he lays there with Steve, body lit up and hot like a fucking campfire, and he lays there and breathes and a tear rolls down his cheek and Steve has gotten so used to it that he leans over Billy and kisses the tear right at his cheekbone and whispers how beautiful he is. (and that usually makes Billy tear up even more, to which he shoves Steve with whatever strength he has left and tells him to shut his mouth)

The first time they tell each other “I love you” it’s the same thing. Billy whispers “I love you, too” and there go his tears. His chest heaves and he cries into Steve’s collarbone, gripping Steve’s shirt and Steve just kind of chuckles a bit and rubs Billy’s back and maybe cracks a joke about how he’s “such a sap” and Billy tilts his head so he can bite at Steve’s shoulder and make the boy yelp.

And the first time Billy catches Steve about to cry, he sees that the boy is about to run away. Bc he’s taken notice to the fact that Steve doesn’t cry and he hasn’t brought it up more than twice bc Steve is obviously anxious when he talks about it but Billy gets worried for him bc Steve always acts like he’s okay and Billy knows that’s not good. So when he catches Steve’s eyes watering and then Steve turning to lock himself away somewhere, he grabs the boy in the most forceful hug he can manage so that he can’t squirm away and hide himself and he says: “Don’t run away from me. Are you gonna cry?”

“Billy-”

“Then do it. You’re not a robot.”

“Billy stop I-”

“You’re human, you fucking dumbass.”

“Don’t call me-”

“It’s okay.”

And that makes Steve’s chest heave. He sucks so much air in he squeaks and his chest pushes against Billy’s own and Billy grabs tighter and nuzzles his head into Steve’s neck and whispers.

“You’re safe, Pretty Boy.”

And he stands there and he lets Steve cry. Lets himself be whatever physical and mental support Steve needs as he finally, finally let’s his body take over and just cries.

#ask #anonymous #billy hargrove #steve harrington #angst #hurt #comfort #harringrove #sorry this is a little off/weird #I'M feeling a little off/weird #i've been in a really bad headspace recently #but i really wanted to write something and i wrote this really quickly and.... yeah #♥ #sorry this took a billion years to answer #i swear i'm gonna get to all my asks guys #eventually #there are a lot of things going on and they're giving me nervous breakdowns

[merrysithmas]

hey while we're on the topis of internalized homophobia in the goldfinch, do you have any thoughts on whether or not hobie and welty were a couple and how having his mentor be a gay man would have affected theo's own struggle with his sexuality

oooh okay

Well. Hobie and Welty were most DEFINITELY a couple. The scene with Theo comforting a dying Welty was quite macabre. Welty handing off his bloodied ring, gasping and begging Theo to return it to his partner, surrounded by smoke, fire, and falling ash, was so eerie and powerful and morbidly romantic.

That moment, with Theo unknowingly cradling and keeping the ring safe, and then dutifully returning it, was one of the big reasons Theo became so endeared to Hobie. Hobie and his dusty tomes and aching old world -- confronted himself with a little messenger of fate. A person who was the very last contact on this world with the man he loved. To him, Theo was a bookend he could shelve and cherish, in a way. A holder of a memory that to him was precious.

So in a sense it is symbolic in how Theo takes this ring and so "binds" himself to Hobie (a gay man) with a dynamic that is obviously different than a partner, but still very significant.

I've always thought Hobie was Audrey's post-bombing parallel and Mrs Barbour was Larry's. Hobie is the parent that Theo felt safe, comfortable, and loved with. Yet, post-bombing, in a world where Theo cannot cope with moving forward (his repressed homosexuality) or replacing his mother (Hobie) Theo becomes distanced and skittish with him (not answering his letters after Boris suggests he's gay, lying to him for years about the business).

On the other hand, Theo admitted to feeling worthless, thinking he was receiving "hand outs", self-conciousness, and his pining towards the Barbours. Mrs Barbour is like a ghostly cold apparition of his mother (frosty, pale, fair-haired) -- and Theo would do anything to gain some kind of motherly love from her, including lovelessly marry Kitsey. Which straight up was Theo's motivation for continuing his engagement after he and Kitsey had their blowout and (half-hearted, on Theo's part) agreement to continue their relationship. Mrs Barbour mirrors Larry because, like Larry, Mrs Babour (even though she does care for him) is not good for Theo. Her presence in Theo's life is spectre-like almost from the beginning and he copes through her in ineffective ways. However, in this post-bombing world, instead of rejecting the parent who suspends his total wellbeing, like he did unflinchingly with Larry, he embraces her.

At the end of the book Theo comes clean to Hobie in a scene which is definitely one of the most weighty and anticipated in the novel. He becomes distanced from the Barbours once he seeks absolution in Hobie's counsel and by traveling worldwide to buy back his fake antiques/lies. He gives up and lets his post-bombing walls fall, his fortress of lies and fakeness, he embraces his new devotion towards the appreciation of beauty in a nihilist world, and insists his idea that the truth is in the perception of things (like art).

His confession to Hobie gave him strength to get to that tenuous place. It was Hobie who was worried sick when Theo went to Amsterdam, it was Hobie who gave Theo a wink and a nod at the engagement party ("if you need anything") when he saw Theo leave with Boris, it was Hobie to whom Theo returned, crying and utterly alone and broken, just back from Vegas. And it's Hobie that Theo wants to make it up to in the end.

It's no mystery that Hobie, an erudite elegant man with a capacity for great kindness who Theo admires immensely and feels great comfort with, appears when Theo lies to himself (Theo's shellshock-edness after the bombing, returning the ring), is Theo's only solace and comfort post-Vegas where he just split in the most cinematically romantic way possible (a tormented goodbye kiss, a love confession, a runaway taxi) from the boy he loved for two years, is privvy to his disinterest in his own engagement party, and is deceived life-long by Theo. Hobie easily represents Theo's repressed homosexuality and the person/thing beckoning him to good (like Audrey). Once Theo accepts those things, or at least stops trying to fight their existence, his life becomes better.

Theo "links" himself to Hobie with Welty's bloodied ring, a hard-wrung message sent through fire and crumbling walls. Which elementally parallels Theo's drowned peace with Boris in the pool (Theo even mentions in the pool scene that the underwater feeling recalls to him the panicked aftermath of the bombing). That is also the night he and Boris (maybe first) kiss and then have sex, covered in Boris' blood.

Hobie def represents who Theo wants to be, an adult he truly admires and feels beholden to not out of misplaced want (Mrs Barbour) but out of fate (Welty's ring) and genuinely love (his lie confessions and pursuit of absolution). Hobie also happens to be gay and a huge parental figure in Theo's life. He also enthusiastically accepts and loves Boris from their first meeting (Mrs Barbour never meets him, nor do any of the Barbours). Those things are not coincidences.

#ask #sensualthoughtsofstevebuscemi #tgf #the goldfinch

[simsstories923]

Jill returned home and lovelessly kissed her husband hello. Rudick, for his part, had no clue of his wife’s lukewarm feelings towards himself and had consoled himself for her absence by eating junk food and gaining weight. 

Rudick cooked dinner for Jill to “help her feel like herself”, while Jill helped herself to a snack from the fridge. The two had dinner together before going to bed, where Jill told Rudick that she was tired and just wanted to go to bed after a long trip home. Rudick saw that his wife was agitated for some reason, and told her that they could talk in the morning. 

The next morning, Jill woke up to a sickly familiar feeling of nausea. 

#sims 2 stories #riverblossom hills #jamman #rudick #jill

[cheatonme]

DEAD DRIVEN

I'm not sad anymore I'm not mad... I'm dead driven.. I'm lifeless with a purpose, I'm a fucking robot made to kill, designed to destroy carelessly, lovelessly... don't try and kiss me cause I don't want my lips to rust..

#robot #killer #depressing as hell #depressing shit #sorry for this #i don't care

[pacificcocean]

18/11/2019

i don’t ever want to be madly in love again.

i’ve been facing trouble trying to understand that love does not come from hurt, when hurt its all that i’ve known. i still can’t actually see the softness and turn it into passion. For me, all of the tears, the blood, the screaming, the gigantic amount of oxygen stuck in the throat and the insane suffering to gasp for air are my ultimate form of love.

i show people how much i cherish them by letting them ruin me.

by getting through by being silenced, laughed at. lovelessly important.

i don’t ever want to be madly in love again. i want the sunny kisses, and fleeting touches, the cold tip of the nose against my cheek and the tender empty promises of forever, and i want them to feel like love. to keep me alive, to feel my heart beating calmly and know that everything is going to be ok. that i, am going to be ok.

i want to be softly in love.

i don’t want love to drive me mad.

again.

[instruth]

Hi Friends,

I composed my first long imaginary poem many years ago. Some of you may have read it, but you may not know the historical events behind it.

I met a schoolmate from St Joseph’s, Kuching on chat group a few years ago. His name is Andrew Yeo. Through him I met his wife, also from Kuching. Her name is Christina Chin.

She is my fellow Hakka dialect clan whom I later discovered, surprisingly, was a neighbor of my maternal grandparents (also Hakka clans). She and I recollected many pleasant memories of our childhood days. I left Kuching for my studies in Singapore. She married Andrew and moved to Kuala Lumpur.

It was many years of being separated in different countries, with forgotten memories of our childhood days.

Heavens! We could not even recognized each other. We reflected on times gone by, including the now abandoned railway track, along which was a tuck shop canteen operated by Christina’s family, that I frequented often as a child, for local cakes, all kinds of soft drinks, ice ‘kachang’, and ‘kantong’ (local ice delicacies).

It was Christina who helped me join a poetry group on Facebook about five years ago.

I shared my imaginary long poem with her. And she produced two digital arts, based on my poem, that was later published in my poetry book, Poetry By Experience.

I like to share this poem here with my friends, together with Christina’s beautiful digital arts.

I hope you like them.

Enjoy.

DESOLATE WALK - by J. P. Lee

The distant times return, riding on a freight train,

projecting images onto the screen of my mind.

My spirit weeps, my soul thus bleeds,

wounded by the sharp blade of a painful memory.

I walk past the ruined castle, lo beyond the broken brick walls,

where once the smiling garden greeted the dawning of day,

where sprawling blossoms lined the narrow pathways,

and cheering creepers roofing over

the wooden benches on the sidewalks.

I tip toe to near the edge of a past forgotten recluse,

where there still stands that platform with a comforting ritual,

for viewing the distant horizon across the vastness of the sea,

to receive an inspiring thought - even stir up a miraculous healing or two.

The hand-carved bench of oak is still there, though now worn and broken,

and, oh good heavens! - See!

That weather-designed couch of rock for two, on which young lovers once reposedly made their pledges in sweet whisperings;

and older couples revisited to renew their matrimonial promises with a tender loving kiss.

Alas!

These compassionate whisperings and tender promises are no more.

They have been replaced, contracted rigidly and guarded lovelessly on paper, no longer freely written upon the heart.

Beyond this viewing gallery and below, the deserted shore looks more like a cemetery plot in the shadows,

lined with the scarred trunks of palm trees, exhibited as figures with long scraggy hairs and with heads hung low.

A walk down the stone-steps, moist and mossed, leads to the place where once was a peopled beach, with the scented cooling of fanning palm leaves,

waving and grinning to the assembled crowd.

This pompous and celebrated event too has vanished.

Lifelessness and desolation capture a melancholic scene,

with eerie chantings echoing from the morbid graves.

A faint hope of activity sprouts meagerly on the ground but a closer look reveals it is just an invasion of ants set upon a decaying prey.

Looking up to the castle for consolation only amplifies the cries of the dullards,

the insensitive and the selfish,

with a score to settle, for the sinner still has his sins to answer for.

What a measly task!

What magic is there to recreate the living voice of music - the whispering of a gentle breeze, soothing sound of water tripping over the stones, and the addictive laughter of children at play?

Up yonder mountains -

skirted by bare trees with peeled barks, where no more the singing robins build their nests, ground carpeted by blackened and crumpled foliage.

And overlooking the valleys,

the picture of sloping green meadows comes into view,

spreading out in dotting spots of white, weaving a tapestry of a gentle grazing task, pleasing to the eyes and easing many a troubled mind.

The deathly silence arouses and stimulates a need to restore life through the grace of imagination

- presenting as the bowing of the swaying willows beside the brook,

like ballerinas dancing to the symphony of whistling wind,

before a captivated audience of long, wild grass on the opposite bank,

dangling over the glassy water,

clapping softly before dipping into the gentle stream,

sending ripples of appreciation across for an encore.

A passing breeze comes to oblige every call for a repeat performance.

Such beauty and bliss, a sanctuary missed.

Evening heralds the cold embrace of a misty night.

The clouded moon tries to hide its solitary frown;

the distant stars blinked weakly in utter confusion.

The night lingers and delays the approach of dawn.

I stumble - many times,

but I am not lost for I am still searching.

I persevere, bear the pain and carry my cross. I shall not let it break me.

Then I know I will find what I am looking for.

I return to the gallery, peering at the dark horizon,

awaiting the moment of glory to catch a glimpse of the distant flickering glow of dawn,

rising from under the far horizon.

From whence the sun will surely rise again!

a memory weaves

a colorful tapestry

in silent prayer

©Johnny J P Lee

19 February 2021

Haibun (prose / haiku 5-7-5)

Digital Arts Credit, Christina Chin

#instruth #instruthpoems #13cupsofteareblog #gececi 0671 #gir dap #followcb #frankl410 #acrobat888 #warxpunkxmonk #the subservient human #tanou123 #smittenbypoetry #writerscreeds #poetryportal #sarah irura #writtenconsiderstions #angiessong67blog #ambroseharte #a peace follower #down memory lanes #days gone by #a desolate walk #healing of memories #healing hearts #healing