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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 hours

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All In 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: double chapters when I know I shouldn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“We got a suite available, Amalia?” The man, the owner of this casino, Bucky, asks as he approaches the glass counter of the hotel lobby. You barely keep up as your surroundings smear and your head spins. Everything’s happening so fast.

“Mr. Barnes,” the woman on the other side greets as she nears the slim monitor, “I think we should.” She glances at him, then your sister as she blathers drunkenly in his arms, “having a good night?”

“Oh, just some friends in the city for a night,” he lies easily, “she got a bit carried away so we’ll let her sleep it off.”

You chew your lip as you stand just behind him. Your stomach lurches as your eyes wander around the fine decor. It’s all out of your price range. Again, your brain is a beat behind.

“Doll, would you get that?” He asks as the desk agent holds out a small folder.

“Oh, yeah, er,” you rush up to take the room keys, “sorry.”

“No problem, just got my hands full,” he scoffs, “Amalia, have a good night. Hopefully you don’t get anyone too rowdy.”

“Thank you, sir, you too,” she preens after him as he heads off across the lobby.

Once more you’re on his heels as he struts toward the elevators. You catch up to him and force the frog from your throat, “uh, sir, Bucky?” You stammer, “I don’t think... I can afford--”

“Doll, don’t worry about all that. It's on the house,” he stops before the elevator and stares at the golden doors, “I’m not some sort of grifter. I offered, I’m not gonna squeeze ya. What’s the room number?”

“Er, oh,” you open the little folder, “720.”

“Right, hit the button,” he nods before him.

“Sorry,” you cringe again. You’re so behind. It must be so obvious to him how lost you are. Maybe that’s why he noticed you. He feels bad that someone so pathetic could exist.

You press the up button and the doors open. He nods you ahead of him and you step into the box. The walls are transparent and you can see outside along the river. He gets in and comes to stand parallel with you as you avoid looking through the glass.

“Seven,” he says.

You make another mousy noise and tap the button. You recoil, clutching your hands over your chest, and stare at the doors. As the elevator rises, you feel a wave of head rush, and you sway just a little. You gulp and widen your eyes.

“Not a fan of heights?” He asks as the box stops sharply and the doors ding and open.

“Not really,” you mutter.

He waits for you to exit first and you eagerly do. He follows as you look back and forth between the doors, searching out the number to match the folder. 720, right at the end. You fumble and it takes three tries to swipe the card correctly.

Finally, the door opens and you push it inward, holding it as you flatten yourself to the wall to let him through. He enters without hesitation. For a moment, you wonder what it must be like to be so sure and so comfortable in a place like this. To have this be your normal.

You let go of the door and trail him further inside. The room is huge. Not just one room, but two. The front room is closed off by a pair of doors, painted white with fine spirals etched into the wood. You flit ahead of Bucky to slide them open and reveal the bedroom. He takes your sister to the bed and lays her down as she lets out a bubbly belch.

“Sorry,” you apologise on her behalf as you hover in the door.

“She’s her own person,” he stands back, “you need anything, call down to the desk. They’ll be happy to get you whatever. Oh, and, should probably have some water ready for the morning. She’s gonna be feeling this.”

“Right,” you push your lip out then quickly fix your face, “thank you. I...”

“Checkouts at eleven but I’ll tell Amalia to mark you down for a late departure,” he comes towards you slowly.

“Oh, we won’t stay that long,” you assure him and scrape your palms together.

“Ah, you got somewhere to be? Work? Gonna be a long day after tonight.”

“No, I... I don’t...” your eyes drift to the wall. Again, you can’t help but admire the ivory paint and the crystal lamp and tall posts of the bed. “I don’t... have a job.”

“Mm, tough out there,” he says, “just gotta find the right thing, huh?”

You want to fold into nothing. This man, a millionaire at least, who owns this whole place, is telling you you’ll find something one day. Just like your mom does when you melt down over another rejection. Ugh.

“Thanks, yeah,” you take a heavy breath.

“You’re tired,” he surprises you as he caresses your sleeve, “I’m not gonna keep you up. You get some sleep, alright?”

You nod and reach to scratch your neck, shifting away from his reach. He’s so much bigger than you that for a moment your stomach is crawling, as the thought occurs of how much control he really has. Not just because of who he is.

“Good night, doll,” he purrs and brushes by you.

You stay as you are, staring at your sister, muttering to herself. Why does she have to do this? You could be sleeping in your own bed but instead you’re here, burning in shame and pity. You turn as you hear him near the door.

“Night,” you offer up.

He stops and turns back, sending you a wink, “there’s a hot tub in here so... might enjoy the room at least.”

You force a smile though your stress likely makes it more a grimace. He spins and leaves you, the door shutting with a click and releasing you to your self-reproach. You drop your head in your hands and huff. You are leaving the minute your sister wakes up. You never want to see that man again. You just pray he forgets you just as quickly as you want to forget this whole night.

🃏

You hardly sleep. Your sister’s drunken snoring keeps you from relaxing for more than twenty minutes at a time, not to mention how unsettled you are. You hate sleeping in new places but moreso you hate that even on a night out, after all the assurance that you could just enjoy yourself, that you are once more a burden for someone else.

You get up just after six. You rub your forehead as you go out into the front room and look over the amenities. There’s a fancy coffee maker with pods and a mini fridge with a glass door. You take out a bottle of water to leave by the bed for Roxie then return to figure out the coffee. You don’t often have any but your head is pounding.

You sit down and sneer at the bitterness. Did you make it right? You never liked the taste so you can’t tell. You finish the cup if only for the soothing warmth.

At seven, you get up to check on Roxie again. She’s still out like a light. Come on! You want to go.

You rinse the mug in the sink as best you can and return it to the shelf. There’s a knock on the door. You flinch and reluctantly tread down to the hall. You peep through the hole as you fix your clothing. You push down the handle slowly to greet the woman with the cart.

The golden embroidery on her white blouse marks her as an employee and she beams a smile in your direction. It’s too early for that amount of cheer. She has her hands on the cart, angling it towards the door.

“Morning, miss, breakfast, complements of Mr. Barnes,” she declares, “where can I put it?”

“Um,” you back up slowly, “inside... uh, by the table, I guess.”

She rolls the cart in and asks if you need anything else before she leaves. You shake your head. There’s more than enough there for you and Roxie. If she can even stomach any of it. You’ve seen the way she is after her nights out.

You sit and stare at the buffet of food before you. Fresh fruit, waffles, pancakes, french toast, bacon, eggs... everything and more. Just another favour to feel bad for.

As you look over it all, you notice a note, nestled between the glasses beside the pitcher of orange juice. You take it. That must be the bill. You unfold it and read the slanted capitals hand-written across the casino-branded page.

‘Good Morning, Doll,

Enjoy breakfast on me.

B. Barnes’

Under his name, is a sharp zigzag of the same black ink, a post script below.

‘PS. If you’re still looking for a job, call me.’

You nearly drop the paper. What? You stare at the digits of his phone number and slowly lower your hand to your lap. This can’t be real. Could you really work at a casino? Would you be a dealer? Or maybe you’d be more suited to a cleaner, somewhere you can be out of the way.

A long groan interrupts your inner turmoil. You fold the paper and tuck it away. It’s something. You’ll have to just figure out later what.

“Coffee,” Roxie grumbles as she appears in the doorframe, gripping her skull.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you get up and go to the machine. You grab a random pod and shove it into the top.

“Where... how’d we get here?” She sits heavily and reaches for a piece of bacon.

“Um, you... you were really drunk so...”

“How the hell did you get us a room? Wait. Did we win? Blackjack?” She bites into the greasy strip and moans. “Or... I didn’t sleep with that guy, did I?”

“Erm,” you frown, thinking for a moment before you realise she must mean that Sam guy. “No...”

You don’t explain. You don’t know how. Oh yeah, you were such a disaster that the owner noticed and didn’t kick us out. Actually, he let us stay in an overpriced suite because... you don’t know.

“He must be loaded if he’s handing out hotel rooms,” she scoffs as she continues on in her assumption. You don’t correct her. It doesn’t matter. “Coffee,” she snaps her fingers as the grind quiets.

You bring her the mug and she adds too many packets of sugar before she tastes it. You hide the paper in your cardigan pocket and search for your purse. You fish your watch out of it and put it around your wrist checking the time.

“We should head out before nine,” you say.

“Why?” She scoffs. “Ugh, what’s the bath like in this place? I could use a soak.”

“Mom’s going to be worried.”

“Nah, she knows I’ll get you back,” she waves you off and stands.

She walks slowly, rubbing her temples as she sips from the cup, and examines the hotel room. She dips into the bathroom and the light flicks on. You hear her turning the faucet and shifting things around.

You play with the zipper of your purse. You reach inside and pull out your phone. You get up to grab the key folder and enter the wifi code into your outdated model. It takes far too long to connect. You type into the search of your browser, ‘Bucky Barnes’.

Almost at once, an image of the very man who carried Roxie into this room appears. It’s familiar. You tap it and it opens up a local news story. That makes sense. He’s younger, his hair is shorter. You remember when the casino changed hands and was renovated all those years ago. It was big news.

Hm. Not just rich, famous, at least to a degree. It means he has a lot more going on than two disorderly girls at his casino. He’ll forget. You just hope you can too.

Roxie comes back in a robe and put her mug on the table, “make me another. I’m gonna try those jets.”

She spins away and you stare at her empty cup. How can she not care about anything? Does she not realise that she ruined the night? That she made a fool of both of you? No, she just sees shiny things and forgets all about her own behaviour.

Well, you’re not like her. You don’t like being a burden or asking for things or living on someone else’s affection. You look down and feel along your pocket, the slip of paper firm through the fabric. You could clean a few hotel toilets for a buck. It’s not like you have much else going on.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #casino au #series #all in #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days

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Something more

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Rating: General Audiences

Warning: fluff

Category:F/M

Fandom: SEVENTEEN (SVT) (boyband)

Relationships: !high school student Jeonghan x ! High school f reader

Summary: being rivals was just a cover up for true feelings

Trope: academic rivals

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Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the second installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

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I never thought I'd end up here—with Yoon Jeonghan, of all people. From the beginning, we were always at each other's throats, and it seemed as if the universe found some cosmic joke in pitting us against one another. If he said black, I’d say white. It was almost like a dance, one we’d been perfecting for years.

The history class bell had just rung, and I was collecting my books when I heard that all too familiar voice.

“Well, look who’s struggling again. Need help with basic history, y/n?” Jeonghan sneered, his smirk evident even before I looked up.

"Very original, Jeonghan," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "But I don't need help from someone who can't tell the difference between the Renaissance and the Enlightenment."

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Oh, someone’s been studying. Keep it up, y/n, and maybe someday you'll reach my level."

I gathered my things without another word, refusing to let him get under my skin. If only he knew what I was going through... but he couldn’t and wouldn’t, because he was Yoon Jeonghan.

Days went by, our interactions filled with the same biting remarks and cold stares, until one late afternoon. I had stayed back to finish an extra credit assignment, my eyes drooping and my head heavy with exhaustion. Suddenly, a shadow fell across my desk.

“Burning the midnight oil, are we?” Jeonghan’s voice was softer this time, almost concerned.

“What do you want?” I snapped, not in the mood for another round of his mockery.

“Relax, y/n. I was just passing by.” He hesitated before adding, “You don’t look so good. Everything okay?”

My walls momentarily crumbled, and before I could catch myself, I blurted out, “Not that it's any of your business, but no, it's not.”

Jeonghan took a seat beside me, crossing his arms. “Try me.”

Despite every instinct telling me not to, I found myself spilling everything—my parents’ recent separation, the pressure of college applications, the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed. To my surprise, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer any snide comments. He just listened.

After I finished, he sighed. “That’s tough, y/n. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I replied bitterly. “We just... fight all the time.”

“I know and... I’m sorry.” His sincerity was a new look on him, and for the first time, his eyes didn’t seem so antagonistic.

Weeks passed, and we fell into an unexpected rhythm. Our arguments turned into discussions, barbs transformed into jokes. Our classmates noticed and whispered, but I didn’t care. Neither did he.

One crisp autumn day, as we walked out of the library together, our fingers brushed accidentally. I pulled away, but he gently grabbed my hand.

“You know,” he said, staring at our intertwined fingers, “I never really hated you. I just didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Same here,” I admitted. “Well, except for the history quips.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “So, what do we do now?”

I took a deep breath, feeling lighter than I had in months. “We try. We see where this... thing between us goes.”

Jeonghan smiled, that familiar smirk taking a softer edge. “I’d like that.”

And with that, the tides turned. From enemies to tentative friends, and maybe—just maybe—something even more.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Thank You For Reading! 🩵🩶

-Prettygirl-gabi🎀

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sldlovescartoons · 5 hours

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As time went on Essek looked more and more forward to his meetings with Caleb. As it was he could only drop his disguises in very rural west and south areas and with the Nein and the whole thing got more exhausting all the time. Plus, Caleb was making such quick progress with his studies, chatting only got more interesting with each visit.

He was also pretty sure it was normal to miss one’s partner, but such romantic thoughts flustered him too much to think on so early in the afternoon. That train of thought was for once Caleb and him have gone through a whole bottle of wine.

“Professor Widogast?” Knocking on the door with his most neutral accent. He was Halsunn Deeproot today, a forest elf who did magical research. One of his partner’s favorite aliases.

“Ah, come in, Deeproot!”

And so he went in, senses immediately assaulted by the smell of cooking meats and veggies. Ah, so they were eating in tonight. Appreciated, since their latest separation had been especially long. The drow dropped his disguise as he drifted into the kitchen to the grin on of ridiculous human partner.

“Awh, putting Halsunn away already? But he’s such a looker.”

“Don’t tease me, young man, I’m of no mood for it.” He complained with no malice as he finally reached his destination and got to give Caleb a peck on the lips, getting a quick glance at whatever he was cooking before it was covered with a lid. “That looks… different.”

Caleb and Essek were not cooks, but they had been gradually improving now that they had to fend for themselves as full adults. That said, the list of things either of them could cook consistently good was short. Both could do the easiest of soups and some stews, Caleb knew how to do basics roasts and sides and he knew some very simple baking. This didn’t stop either of them from trying something more complex, wizard hubris and all. Whatever his ginger had in that deep pan wasn’t one of the roasts the human whipped out when he had the coin and wanted to impress. There was twine and toothpicks. The drow really hoped that he wasn’t going to spend his first night of this visit choking down something inedible, but it would be fair turnaround for those awful plum cookies Essek had made two visits back.

“Don’t worry, I practiced this one a bit. I wanted to do something nice to surprise you. Do you know what a few days ago was?”

Fucks sake, he’d forgotten something. What did he miss? An anniversary, surely, but he couldn’t…

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“Don’t worry, I forgot too, until it’d passed. Four days ago was the third anniversary of the day we met. It’s not something most people remember, or even celebrate, so don’t worry, it’s just- I remembered and wanted to make you a little treat.” Caleb glanced at some sand dials he had set up. The drow noticed more covered pots. Steaming something, maybe?

“You don’t have to go so out of the way.”

“I want to, though, and I will.”

“But of course.”

“Now-“ Another, slightly longer kiss and a soft smile with blue eyes that took his thoughts away more often than not. “Why don’t you go wash up a bit, hm? You smell like a beast of burden. Dinner should be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Bold words from the man who smells like ox mating season.” Essek was eternally glad that his complexion was too dark for blushes to show at the teasing. Also hypocritical since the cologne Caleb smothered himself instead of bathing regularly smelt like animal musk and the vague concept of a forest. “But yes, I think I will.”

He tended to take long bathes whenever he had the luxury of time to do so, so by the time he was clean and had his hair done (he would sooner die then have Caleb seen him without his curl cream in.) dinner was being put on the table.

“Just in time, darling.”

“Well time is one of my specialties.” The statement was something of a flirt or inside joke now-a-days, and got the soft smile he was looking for as a response. He gave him a quick peck on the lips and looked down at Dinner. “Caleb, did you make a roulade?”

“I did.” And he looked so proud of himself, too, but Essek kept looking and as further realization came to him. “But that’s not all, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

The meat roulades, sliced not too thick, not too thin, was served with rice and what was distinctly Xhorasian steamed veggies.

“This meal is very xhorasian inspired.”

“I figured you might be a bit home sick and the market in Rosohna was just a teleport away.” They sat down to eat, Essek much slower as he tried to process this gift.

“You went through all that trouble…”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, so don’t worry about it and eat up, Liebling.”

And so Essek took his first bite (with chopsticks, even!!! Caleb was using a fork but he’d remembered Essek’s utensil preference, the darling man), a fair chunk of meat, filling, and rice.

And promptly burst into tears.

“Oh Schiess, is it that bad? I practiced the technique, but this is the first time with the marinade-“ Caleb, his darling starshine Caleb, started to lean over and fuss. The drow shook his head quickly to try and assure him, to try and get himself together. But he was having a hard time because-

Because Caleb had made *rat*. Giant Rat, had to be. Now in his den, they had mostly livestock and great beasts, their days of having to eating rats like the common folk was centuries past, but one couldn’t deny themselves a little comfort food every once in a while, could they? And what was more comforting and simple to creature of the Underdark than some well cooked rat? This rat dish reminded him starkly of something that his mother had ordered the chefs make when he’d recovered from an awful fever in his… twelfth year, maybe? Something hardy and comforting after he’d been sweating and puking for days to bring him back to health. A rare kindness from his mother and warm memory- and there the tears went again. Lights above, he was a mess.

“Wh- Where did you source the rat? It tastes fresh.” Essek was doing his level best to act like there weren’t thick crocodile tears on his face. His partner blinked at him in open bewilderment.

“I… killed it this morning, down in an abandoned part of the academy. I used the silver it earned me to buy the veggies. Is- is this because of the rat? It’s the most exotic meat I could find short notice-“ A Fresh Hunt!!! It was like Caleb had read his primary school journals from before he found out he didn’t like people and such.

“And you used plum wine in- in the marinade, yes?” He pushed forward, adamant to ignore the crying that was happening. Gods, it had been far too long since he had something that tasted like *home*. “Goes well with the nut and date filling- really cuts the gaminess of the- the rat.”

“So, we are ignoring the tears. Ja, alright.” Caleb seemed to resign himself to this reality quickly. This wasn’t the first time Essek had clammed up about something because feeling were embarrassing, and he knew he’d be told eventually. “Yes, I got recommended a good brand to use by Yasha and Beauregard, so we gave them to thank for that. Do you enjoy the bits of pan fried mushroom in the rice?”

“Yes.” Even though they were slightly over, a bit tough, just the thought was so sweet and so homey.

He had such a wonderful partner.

#critical role #cr2 #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #critical role fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #shadowgast fanfic #fluffy #Let Essek Be a Drow That Eats Weird Shit #Essek food agenda continued #cr2 fanfiction

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eliplague · 22 hours

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Penny for my thoughts | The Sunshine Court (Part 1 maybe)

Just finished The Sunshine Court so I need to get some of my thoughts out of my head because there’s just too many. (Spoiler warning read at your own discretion)

1. Expect the Jean and Niel parallels post ‘cause it’s COMING

2. Never in a million years would I have ever known how much I needed to see Jean getting adopted by lesbians, thank you Nora for opening my eyes.

3. Renee and Jean friendship had me MELTING INTO A PUDDLE, I need everyone to know how dear that friendship is to me and how close I hold it to my heart.

4. Jean giving up information through freudian slip every damn time had me wanting to slap him upside the head, but I knew he wouldn’t have said anything other wise. Necessary evils and whatnot (If you get it you get it).

5. I still cannot decide if Jean holding into his ruined belongings is more of a self sabotage situation to remind himself he should be submitting or a “I know we ruined each other closely beyond repair, but you are still the only familiar thing to me”. Could be a little bit of both but I’m leaning more towards the first one.

6. LOVED all the representation in the book and how fast Jean was to accept it, my boy really dgaf.

7. My prediction that TSC was going to have to be cut into two books was correct and I’m glad Nora decided to do it that way. Like I said in THIS post, Jean has to deal with his trauma on the first book to make way for Jerejean to blossom, in my opinion, it was the best course of action.

8. Cat and Laila my beloved. Cat is my favorite character and I loved her the moment she was introduced, Laila being the handler to Cat’s chaos made me super warm inside.

9. Barkbark Von Barkestein is an incredible name and when I adopt a dog I will be naming it this.

10. I KNEW Grayson was going to make an appearance the moment his name kept coming up, even though it was coming I still had to stop breathing some fresh air when he inevitably did, because the seething rage I felt can only be compared to the Drake scene (as Jean so graciously did)

11. I’m so damn curious about Jeremy’s past I feel like I’m about to implode (hehe) from curiosity. Nora had me running mental laps trying to theorize why his family hates him so much. At first I thought it could be because he’s gay but then he mentioned Exy… 👀 the plot thickens

There’s so much more I want to talk about but I don’t trust myself to write an eloquent enough paragraph right now. I’m drunk on excitement and exhaustion from reading the whole book in one sitting. Did I procrastinate on some assignments because of it? Perhaps but that’s for future Eli to figure out.

#the sunshine court #jeremy knox #jean moreau #catalina alvarez #nora sakavic #niel josten #renee walker #barkbark von barkenstein

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emilymk20 · 2 days

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TW: $u!c!d3 $h 4n4

…

This is my note that I’ve had written out for a while 🙃 Fair warning, it is really long. I don’t know, maybe it could help somebody, whether it helps them keep going or just helps them relate. Much love 🫶🏻🖤

This is so cliche, but I feel obligated to leave some kind of explanation. I am absolutely positive there has always been something wrong with me. Normal people don’t want to die at eleven years old. One thing I was always good at was covering it up; I almost wish my struggle was more visible, but I know that people always just want to help and truthfully help is the last thing I want. More reason why there’s probably something wrong because who thinks like that? The one thing that I am losing is empathy. It was always empathy that made me “better.” I didn’t want to make anyone waste their time worrying and I didn’t want to be seen for what I am so I started eating more, I stopped cutting myself, I didn’t take the pills, I didn’t cry, I didn’t let myself feel anything. In a way that made me hold on; the idea that I didn’t want anyone to have to find my body, I didn’t want anybody to mourn me, I didn’t want anyone to think that they could have helped me, and I definitely didn’t want anyone to think that the decision I made was their fault. I don’t expect anyone to understand it, but nothing happened to make me feel this way. Some awful things have happened in the midst of it, but there’s no root cause or trigger; I apply blame to nothing and nobody except myself and the operations of my own brain.

I’m tired. It’s so difficult to explain, but I think I’ve felt so deeply for so long, I have nothing left to feel. I feel like a shell of a person. I’ve noticed a recent trend in the past three years that I’ve never experienced before in the impulsively of my emotional rollercoaster. I’ll spend days, weeks, sometimes months feeling so proud of myself and hopeful, motivated more than ever before to better myself, happy where I am, and then in a matter of minutes it all slips away from me. I push everyone away and I can’t help but stop trying. I won’t eat or I’ll eat until I’m sick from it, I’ll cut myself because that’s the only thing that can make me feel, I won’t sleep at all or I’ll sleep all day, I won’t clean, I won’t shower, I won’t even get up to use the restroom. It’s as if I go completely brain dead, but my thoughts still won’t stop racing. Then, once I can come to terms with it all and maybe find a solution, the mania hits again and it all doesn’t matter anymore because I feel like I’m on top of the world. I don’t eat because it feels good to be hungry or I’ll eat a lot because “I deserve it,” I don’t sleep because that seems like so much valuable time going to waste, or I’ll sleep a lot because it’s a form of self care and if my body is that tired I should let it, and I’ll cut myself still because it’s empowering and I find it almost pretty. Nothing tangible ever changes, just the unbearable fluctuation of my head. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to hide it, because to everyone on the outside, that is my normal.

I constantly feel like I’m watching myself glued to a tightrope. I can pull myself down to my lowest, feeling all that tension, and then suddenly skyrocket to my full potential. Well, I have to fall back down at some point, and I always do. The only thing is that I’m stuck. I’m stuck in my head in that cycle and the only way out is to fall off. Sure, there’s ways to get make it bearable, I mean there has to be some diagnosis for all this to explain it, but would I really want to spend my life maintaining symptoms? Would I really want to spend my whole life fighting? No. I don’t even want to spend the present fighting. I know from the outsider’s perspective I just seem lazy, and trust me, I feel that way too.

I can’t even begin to describe how exhausting it is. What I think about often is how humans are awake during the day, but you can always take a break when nighttime comes to sleep. I’m hyper aware of everything that takes my energy that I don’t have control over. My brain never stops thinking, my blood never stops pumping, my body never stops breathing…I know these are things that regular people don’t think about, but with every breath I take it feels like a loss. I just want nothing more than real rest and peace of mind. I don’t understand why things bother me when everyone else wouldn’t even have these thoughts pass their mind. Why am I so introspective and aware? Ignorance truly is bliss.

It seems really crazy, maybe because I am crazy, but the higher points of my life are more painful than the lows have been. There’s something so comforting about losing my drive, letting myself slow down, watching myself rot away and fall further from reality; it’s almost my ideal, but not quite. I just want true rest. I really wish I had the option to completely start over. I romanticize my childhood so much; bittersweet nostalgia is my biggest downfall. I was so clueless then; so full of joy. I wish that I could put my finger on what happened and when it all went wrong. I don’t know why I long for that life so much now; I love being independent and having the freedom to make my own decisions as an adult, but maybe it’s the immanence of responsibility always pushing me down. I miss the days before it started looming over me. I don’t feel as though I was ready to be on my own, I don’t think I ever learned how to handle that freedom because all I’ve done is abuse it. There are irreparable decisions that I’ve made for the specific purpose of digging myself deeper in a hole because I feel like that’s what I deserve. You can say that’s not true all you want, but it’s a little too late to still be invalidating my feelings so allow me.

My self hatred is so deep rooted, I can feel it in every nerve of my body. I’m embarrassed by myself. Truly, if I was somebody else, I wouldn’t even speak to me. I am undesirable in every aspect; I harbor so much jealousy, I’m a deadbeat, it’s probably been a decade since I’ve made a “good decision,” I’m annoying, I talk way too much, I have a huge ego (which is interesting because obviously I don’t like myself all that much), I have too much baggage, I’m ugly, I’m insecure, I have no room to consider anyone else in life, and I don’t care. To my core, I wish I could be anyone but me. I don’t know how to describe the gravity of me wishing I was dead. It doesn’t even seem like that big of a deal to me anymore because in all honesty I feel like I’ve been slowly slipping away anyways. Death is not a stranger to me; I feel like I’ve been hanging out on the front porch of the end for far too long, and I just can’t wait to step through that door. When I was little, it was always, “I want to die, but I guess I can wait until after _______…” There was still some hope back then. Now it seems that my hope has run out for me and I just don’t care anymore. I am sorry, but I have exhausted every option for me, and I believe that it’s time for me to regain control at least for a final moment.

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