Listening to metal and crying myself to sleep 💅

Libra | INTP/INTJ | writer | unorganized blog | Black Clover & Stranger Things & Final Fantasy 15 fan

[julius-pookiechrono]

The genderbent Marx we could’ve had

wasnt able to do anything for his birthday which I'm super depressed about but i had a sort of old sketch panel of female Marx and i decided to polish it as quick as possible and just use this for his birthday.

if you guys dont already know, i explained in one of my old posts that my biggest dilemma and secret of my main JuliMarx fic was that i couldnt decide if i wanted to genderbend him or not, so i went 200k+ words writing the story without elaborating on his pronouns because i couldnt decide. Hence why i title this ‘the genderbent Marx we COULD have had’ which we dont have because i finally caved and referred to him as a male 😭😭😭😭 it was fun while it lasted 😭😂

but anyways, happy birthday to my sweet baby Marx 💗💗💗 you're my inspiration and current work ethic/will to live honestly dont know what i’d do without you 🥲😂 writing you was and is so fun and emotional and drawing you puts me through a rollercoaster of feelings 😭😭😭😭😭

which speaking of

lord have mercy i could not keep a straight face while drawing this i mean GOT DAMN I LOVE MY MEN BUT LIKE NIHAO FINE SHYTTTT 😍😍😍😍😍😍

ps: please dominate me —sincerely, me and your hubby Julius

double ps: thanks guys for your support,💗💗 I’m still gonna try as hard as I can to follow through with my Halloween art plans but I DID accidentally delete my near-finished Halloween project and I’m scrambling 😭

[jno1]

This is what I’m living for nowadays

please bless us more o great and might Julius Pookiechrono 🛐🛐🛐

[jno1]

I don’t feel human

[jno1]

you leave a bad taste in my mouth.

hm, do you ever think about those analogies of ‘eating the disgusting food’ to be saved, or instead eating the pretty looking food that’s tastes disgusting?

You looked real fucking nice at first. Rose colored glasses, unfortunately, was what I was using to look at you, and little did I know maggots were crawling beneath your skin.

decay and vomit from every word. A lie behind every action.

you looked so, so fucking perfect at first. You were what I’d really wanted. A ‘someone.’

it was only a matter of time before the rosey eyed effect wore off, and I realized that the ‘pretty’ looking person before me was going to be the one that was anything and everything but.

I regret you.

’you’ should have never happened to me.

I suppose I was like a fly to a Venus fly trap. I fell for the lies behind all those good words. I walked into this trap. You are disgusting.

Lies crawl out of you like bugs from a dead carcass. I’m stuck watching you rot and taint others with your rotten ‘honey’ as others with the same, oh-so innocent glasses, taste you.

like flies to a trap.

soon enough they’ll come out ‘dead.’

Lying bitch.

[jno1]

every new person is just another learning process

a way to help me adapt and understand these social norms. How much is too much? When do I stop? When do I start? When do I open my mouth and how long should I keep it shut for? it’s like a test. Adapting to the other person. Learning what a relationship is supposed to be like.

Now that I think about it I don’t think I’ve ever gone into a conversation with someone, for as long as I can remember, without learning them and trying to figure out when and when not to stop.

these relationships don’t even feel like actual relationships. They’re just me trying to figure you out, and priding in myself when it seems like I’ve done or said something right.

Maybe the problem was back then I always wanted to do so and say so much. It’s been a process of containing myself, letting little bits and pieces of myself out with every sliver of opportunity you all give me…

now I’ve learned how to be normal. How to hold it in. Now it’s just amusing. Like a multi-choice game or something. There’s the right option, and the wrong option. I’m less inclined to doing the wrong option nowadays because it’s interesting being in what a ‘normal’ friendship is supposed to be like.

I don’t know how you all last. Maybe it’s just me.

maybe you’re all the same as me; little liars trying to keep your ‘muchness’ to yourselves since that’s what the next person is doing.

huh.

[jno1]

Item: A Fancy Mirror Rarity: ✦ Uncommon

Which video game character do you most identify with (and why, if you like)?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Joker (p5) ig

[jno1]

is it at all possible to get some… mild form of trauma from a dream you had?

it was so clear. I hate it. i remember only bits and pieces but all the pieces i remember are so clear.

i dont know why but they were chasing me. I dont know who they were but i was running away from them in this… distorted version of my own neighborhood because i just sort of knew they were going to kill me.

but they werent the problem.

they were chasing me. That one guy— i dont think he was human but his skin was pure black and i dont remember his eyes. He was extremely tall and wore a bright red suit. I saw him gaining up behind me so i ran down this weird rendition of a sidewalk i know when i’m stopped by dark thorny gates and nowhere to go but over, or up the stairs.

The stairway to that apartment.

a man welcomed me. I told him i was being chased and for some reason i was safe there. he was overweight, grey haired, white and somewhere in his 50’s and for the love of god i dont remember his fucking face. Its like i couldnt see it.

that goddamn face.

but yet i remember thinking it was sweet. I remember thinking he had an innocent, kind face.

he offered me food and then a bath. I remember the bath vividly. It was up a short set of stairs and in this small rectangle room that wasnt quite a bathroom but had an old fashioned tub in it. He had it already going with some sort of scents and bubbles; completely hospitable.

i remember him being in the room with me right beside me while i bathed, completely naked, and i didnt find it weird at the time.

but that was when the …. The voice of her. I dont know her fucking name for fucks sake i cant remember her name or her face but i remember her blonde hair. She was one of the people trying to kill me. She burst through that front door. Demanded where i was. And when i gathered my stuff and clothes to hurry for a quick escape i remember that fucking man. i dont recall if i asked him why he was helping me or not but i remember him mentioning he wanted something in return.

the bed was made. I remember that fucking bed i can still picture it in my head just fine.

i remember standing between them, at a stalemate for whatever reason with that girl, maybe anywhere from 17 to 21 years old. Her blonde hair.

i remember understanding with this sickness in my stomach what he meant, and what he was alluding to and i was terrified, and for whatever reason that girl was knelt on the ground like she was having trouble getting up.

i ran.

i ran. I ran out of there. I escaped between there and knowingly left that girl to pay that ‘price.’ I abandoned her.

i was so fucking scared. I was so scared. I left her i knew she wasn't gonna be able to escape so i ditched her and left her knowing what he was about to do to her. With the bed right there. Perfectly made.

i could scream just thinking about it. I could scream just thinking about what came after.

many hours later. For some reason i was reunited with tge people who were priginally chasing me and for some reason i was on their side now, like for some reason i wasnt the actual problem anymore. I remember telling them that girl was dead or something which is why i ran to them,

but i didnt tell them i abandoned her. I didnt tell them what actually happened. I didnt tell them the full story because i was terrified they’d try to kill me for it. That i would be alone and have no where to go.

one of the people in the group was this guy i know in real life. I’ll call him J for the sake of this story.

fast forward and its nighttime the next day. Police sirens were outside that man’s apartment and someone was informing us that that girls dead body was found in his apartment exactly 17 hours after her death.

SHE WAS DEAD FOR 17 HOURS IN HIS APARTMENT AND THAT MAN STILL WALKED OUT OF THAT BUILDING, TOWARD US, TOWARD ME, TO ACT LIKE HE WAS SO CONFUSED ABOUT EVERYTHING

i cant describe what i felt, that murderer, that rapist, roaming free outside his house and wandering toward us, ME, like HE DIDNT JUST KILL HER, like he didnt just brutally rape her before killing her.

i’m so horrified. I was horrified then because the police werent arresting him or finding him suspicious. Because he stepped toward us and as soon as we made eye contact i felt utter horror. I remember stepping backward. I didnt say anything but i saw J right next to me and stepped behind him, pressing myself against him for some sort of protection. i remember him backing away for a second to look at me in confusion, which was when he finally seemed to understand something, and he then shielded me behind him.

it was the one piece of comfort i had in that but i dont even know if i can call it comfort when in that very same second i was drowning in guilt.

i dont remember who but someone said that a forensics test was done on a strange object found on the bed in his apartment. A long one. And her……. That girls…….. her dna was found—- i cant fucking do this

out of all the dreams i had to have why cant i forget this one? Why cant i forget the guilt?

why does it seem so real? Why does it actually feel like i just let a girl get brutally raped and killed because i ran away?

I cant forget the image of that bed. I cant forget it. I can't forget the sheer mortification i felt. I cant forget that disgusting feeling etched into my stomach when i first and finally understand what that man had intended on doing to me.

i didnt see it as a choice then. I knew that with the two of us girls there, someone was going to be grabbed. Thats why i ran— what was i supposed to do??? I had to run, I had to run to live but why do i feel so much fucking guilt?

why does it feel so real?

[jno1]

I just realized

tumblr has basically become more of my diary than my actual diary

mainly because I know if I used my actual diary my mom would check it and yk…. We all know we don’t want that

[jno1]

look i have a pretty rough relationship with the piano

the only reasons why i ever said i hated it was because of the people around me, and not the piano itself. (Aka: mom. Dad. Teacher.)

but just this last lesson my piano teacher (who is Very hard to please) was praising me like… a lot, holy shit. Stopped my mom after to talk to her abt me privately for a minute after lessons.

told me i was bringing one of the piano pieces i was doing to life, and “taking the notes off of the page.”

i thought that felt really good. He’s not usually the nicest person, or very encouraging. Makes more rude comments than anything but hearing him say that felt… pretty nice.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Leon Kennedy finishing a night at Freddy’s,,

[jno1]

when I think of my old self, I inevitably think of you. You were the main plot line of that chapter in my life.

I’m not mad that you’re happy, or that you moved on. Honestly, I’m not really mad at all. Not anymore. Just tired. Mournful, maybe.

you basically tossed me away like a crumpled piece of paper after you were done using me to console you.

worse part is I don’t even think you were trying to ‘use’ me in that sense. You genuinely were just too shallow-minded to consider me, or search for a deep connection the same way I wanted to have one with you, especially with everything that happened.

you were just inconsiderate. I genuinely believe you just didn’t think of me, and that’s why you went about life perfectly fine without wondering about me.

Maybe I’m jealous.

you had someone there for you in your darkest time. But after you were done with me, you just tossed me away and left me to fend for myself.

I’m just so heartbroken that a young girl, just as young as you had to go through the same shit and much more, for so much longer because, unlike you who had friends, not just me, I didn’t have anyone. There was no one there for me. Literally no one.

I had to spend years working through my own shit by myself because, there wasn’t a ‘me’ there for me. Someone who tried so desperately to help me.

no one even knew.

I was just as young as you were. That little kid didn’t deserve to go through that shit. Not alone. Not wondering what she did wrong, or why you never asked about me, or went to see me, when my house was just across from yours. When my number was saved in your phone.

I never really thought a whole lot about my younger self until recently. I knew she went through her own hell but I never stood back and thought about it from a distance like this.

it really is just so far away.

but I still think about it sometimes; whenever I’m standing in the same spot you were just five years ago, only now I’m not about to collapse from anxiety.

I almost feel like I can still see her. Her form. The shadow of her memory just across from where I’m standing.

I can still remember what she was thinking in those moments.

[jno1]

am I the problem?

why does it feel like everybody keeps leaving?

am I doing something without realizing?

I can’t keep anyone around. Doesn’t matter if I try for them. It just seems like they get bored or sick of me and don’t want me anymore.

[jno1]

letter to G. The words I never told you.

its weird.

i dont exactly hate myself

Honestly for the most part, i’m going through the motions outwardly of living a normal. I seem normal. I do normal things. Everyday life.

but every now and then i’ll catch myself living normally— or rather, She catches me living normally. my younger self.

Sometimes i’ll be in the middle of washing dishes, or cooking, or playing video games, whatever. And i’ll just really thinking about myself. My current self. My current situation, and how i’m feeling in that moment.

normal. Basically…. Completely fine.

like I wasn’t ready to end myself four, five years ago over how much anxiety I felt.

I remember that day. March 15th, 2021. Clearly.

it was sunny. Mom was cooking something downstairs and there I was in my room, on that sunny spring day, sitting on my bed and texting you, begging you like I was begging for my own life to be spared, not to run away with that bitch.

begging you not to do it. Not to get lost. Not to run away. You using her birthday party as an excuse to escape together, and she almost convinced you to.

I remember how badly I shook as the voices that echoed downstairs continued to chatter. Occasional laughter. Light speech. The sound of pans sizzling and the exhaust fan running sounding faintly downstairs.

shaking. the anxiety hurt so much I could hardly move. My limbs weighed of lead. I was so, so young, and maybe, just maybe, if it’s even possible, I could’ve died that day just from the anxiety. That soul-sinking desperation for your life because I was terrified you’d either kill your self or get killed trying to run away. I was so terrified. I can’t even begin to articulate just how in shambles I was. my chest hurt so much. The anxiety wasn’t just uncomfortable; it hurt. It hurt from the second I woke to the moment I fell asleep. For months. Years. But that day will forever stick with me.

I can never forget just what I felt. Can anxiety kill a person? My heart felt like it might fail me. I was so young, and I hardly ate, and the anxiety compressed me so much that I could barely even move. But yet even with my shaking fingers I texted you so much begging you not to do it. Begging you. I was so terrified. Terrified you’d leave. Terrified you’d die, terrified of thinking of you missing poster, terrified of thinking of the sullen looks on my parents faces and the anxiousness in yours’.

that was long before I ended up in your shoes after you left them for me.

long before you recovered from your depression at the cost of mine.

before I understood why you wanted to do it.

those were long months. Months of hardly being able to move. Months of my heart aching so much, and yet feeling so inconsolably numb. Alone. Fighting for your life while I forsook myself. I really did love you, by the way. I look back on it now, and I realize that you really must’ve been precious to me in order for me to put myself through that hell, and grit my teeth and tank it all completely alone. No shoulder of my own to lean on because I was the one you were supposed to lean on.

I think one of my better moments through it all, even though I can hardly remember it and how we got there, was that time you and I were sitting down on my bed that evening. We were both crying for some reason. But you held my hand and rested your head on my shoulder, and I remember feeling that hole in my heart feeling just a little less gaping when you did that.

I felt like maybe I really was helping. Maybe you did appreciate me, and I was proving myself to be a valuable, helpful person to you.

I think we were crying because my mom was asking us both a bit more about that bitch and why she (lied) wanted to kill herself. Depression sure was popular for attention seeking to her and in turn, it made us both even worse.

I wonder. Were you faking it too? I didn’t think you were. Maybe you weren’t. I don’t exactly know anymore. Maybe things were hard, but I wonder just to what extent.

did you have anxiety? Could you still walk? Were you lonely at all?

I remember another instance. Another evening where i’d barely eaten anything that day too. I was probably a skeleton, and I got on my hands and knees to pick up the vacuum. No one was there, but they were near me, you know?

I just remember feeling so weak. Like I wouldn’t be able to move. Like I’d collapse. So I just sat there for a minute. Listening to the sounds of the life around me as everyone else went about their lives, completely fine. Completely unaware of the fact that their little girl, their little sister, was so weak she could hardly even bring herself to crawl.

I can’t believe I lived through that.

I can’t believe I live my life nowadays without anxiety. Barely any.

I just can’t believe it.

my poor younger self.

how could anyone her age go through that? It’s just not fair. It’s not fair. She was too young to be thinking about things like that. Saving someone’s life. Going above and beyond, doing everything she possibly could to make sure her friend wouldn’t die, because the fear was so real. The thought of not having her friend exist in her life anymore was too debilitating.

she was so scared.

she was so strong. Stronger than I am now. I can’t believe she made it through years of that. Months of the worst, and the things that followed.

she was so fucking strong. That frail, skeletal girl with willpower so strong, she still got up and picked up that fucking vacuum. She still got out of her bed and came downstairs after trying to convince her friend not to run away. She still came downstairs. She walked. She barely talked, but she still did. She did what she fucking could and she smiled to keep it all together.

to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing.

she got up that fucking day. She got up the day after that too. She woke up with so much anxiety she could hardly breathe sometimes, but she kept fucking going.

she was such a strong girl. No one knew it at the time, but she didn’t need anyone to know it. She didn’t want anyone to know it. In the end, as long as her friend was alive, she would do anything. She would stay as strong as possible so she could carry the weight of another person’s life.

as long as you were still alive, she’d keep going.

sometimes I wonder where that strength went. Sometimes I wonder if I should be proud of my younger self or pity her.

she was so pathetic. Desperate. Weak. Yet had a willpower like none other.

that’s why I catch myself these days. Living daily life normally, like the people at the time who were so unaware of my struggles. Completely fine. And then the shadow of my younger self lingers at the edge of my mind.

“Five years ago, you were so weak with anxiety you could hardly move, and yet you didn’t cry. You couldn’t. You were so desperate that you kept going. And no here you are today, living without any remnant of that inconsolable pain.”

and I start to cry.

just a little.

I think about her and for some reason the tears start coming. Not exactly for any particular reason, just that there’s such… a distance between the me of then and the me of now. That I’m okay now. That she wasn’t then. That she hurt so much. That she kept going so far, she made it to a today where she doesn’t feel that pain anymore.

sure I still have my problems. But… there’s still such a difference.

I almost feel like the memory of my younger self is just this embodiment of a little girl that never got closure. That me and her are two different people, and that that little girl is still stuck where she was; trapped in endless anxiety and fear. Maybe that’s why it hurts. Because in my head, I’ve separated us. We’re not the same people. She’s a fragment of me stuck in the past, and right now I’m just regular me.

but I know she was me and that’s why it hurts. Because even though we’re separated, I still feel part of what she felt. Part of what old me ‘still’ feels. It’s not like she ever really grew out of it into current me. Like she’s stuck where she’s at.

I guess that’s why I cried a little. Because she’s still there. We never really recovered, or resolved anything; time just kept going and going that eventually I had to leave my old self behind. We didn’t keep going together to heal the wounds that were formed. The wounds just aged into scars. Who knows. Maybe they’re still ‘infected.’

I guess I’m a little mad at you.

maybe less, nowadays, but I still am. A little.

you know, when you try that fucking hard for someone, unconditionally going 110% out of your way to worry about them, think about them and trying to keep them alive, you’d think they’d stick around.

You were never really a deep friend, you didn’t try for me like I tried for you. Hell, you didn’t even do the bare minimum. After all was said and done. When weeks turned into months of me trying to stay friends and keep our friendship alive and you barely even meeting me quarter way.

it was so unfair. After everything we went through, you just move on, make new friends without me, have all these new interests and things— I’m not mad that you had them, obviously that’s great for you but— you treated me like I wasn’t even important to you. Like I was so temporary. You never texted me first. Came over to my house on your own. You never asked me how my day was.

And then we just went no contact.

Weeks turned into years.

not because we fought or anything; just because I stopped texting you to see if you’d text me first. See if you’d really be interested enough in me or care enough about me to send a text as simple as ‘hey.’ But you didn’t.

I realized you didn’t care enough to say hello, which is why I tested you by not reaching out first anymore, which is when it proved that you didn’t care.

you never cared enough about me to even reach out once.

that’s why I’m mad.

my poor old self went through all that shit for you. Just you. No one else. Because I loved you and cared about you so much. You were my best friend— my whole world. The thought of you dying was enough that I told you I’d kill myself too if you went through and did it.

you didn’t even know that I had depression after everything that happened. That the anxiety turned into a world of other problems after you got better.

you weren’t a shoulder for me.

you never encouraged me.

You never asked.

you didn’t even know.

I’m not even really sure what to say anymore.

I guess there really isn’t anything to say. I don’t know what I wanted to say in the first place; I guess I just wanted to tell you my thoughts and feelings; thoughts and feeling that you’ll never know. Yet again.

Thought and feeling of the younger self that ruined herself for you so you’d live. That fragment of misery embodied, that memory of her, haunting me in my daily life as I live like five years ago is far way, but never truly gone.

the difference between then and now is stark.

but I suppose the one thing that me and my old self have in common is that….. you still haven’t reached out.

[residentevilweirdo]

Can you write a fluff angst where the reader and Leon are classmates, and the reader finds an interest so she decides to tease him constantly which made him so annoyed that he snapped but then both of them face a heartfelt confession? 👀

Teasing. (Leon Kennedy)

Summary: Leon gets tired of your constant teasing, so he decides to confront you about it.

Note: this was incredibly fun to write, never been more identified with a request! Lol, thanks for your request hope you like it 💞🫂 by the way I didn't add a lot of fluff because I didn't know how 🙈 sorry!

When you first joined the academy, you were not hoping to be the only girl in the class. That was a detail that bothered you more than you expected during the first weeks. It was not exactly that the others treated you badly, but there was always that subtle pressure in the air, that unspoken challenge every time you stepped into a training room. Every exercise felt like a test you had to pass twice. Every mistake felt like proof someone was secretly waiting for. It forced you to work harder, speak louder, and stand firmer than everyone else just so they would stop seeing you as the girl in the class and start seeing you as just another cadet.

At least that was how you saw it.

Most of them eventually stopped making comments, but those first days had been exhausting. The jokes about strength, the mock encouragements, the occasional whispers when they thought you were not listening. You learned quickly that the easiest way to survive the environment was to be sharper than them, quicker with your tongue, quicker with your reactions. If they wanted to make jokes, you would simply make better ones.

Except there was one person who never tried.

Leon Kennedy.

Leon had never mocked you. Not even once. Not even in a lighthearted way like some of the others did. From the beginning he treated you normally, as if your presence there was not unusual at all. He spoke to you with the same polite tone he used with everyone else, offered help when you needed it, and sometimes even defended you in conversations you were not part of. Someone had once mentioned to you that he had shut down a stupid comment during shooting practice by pointing out that your accuracy score was higher than half the class.

You had not heard it yourself.

But you believed it.

Leon was the sweetest boy you had ever met. A genuine gentleman without even trying to appear like one. He always held doors open, apologized if he accidentally bumped into someone, and somehow managed to look slightly embarrassed every time someone thanked him for it.

He was also unfairly handsome.

Not in the obvious way some of the other cadets tried to be. Leon was not the tallest, and he was definitely not the one with the most intimidating muscles in the room. But there was something about him that drew attention anyway. Maybe it was the soft blue color of his eyes, clear and bright like an open sky. Maybe it was the way his hair refused to stay in place no matter how many times he pushed it back during training. Or maybe it was simply the quiet kindness in his expression that made people trust him instantly.

Whatever it was, you noticed it.

And that was exactly the problem.

You did not want to become the cliché of the only girl in the class falling for the first nice guy she met. You were here to prove yourself, not to get distracted.

So you did what you always did when you were unsure how to handle your feelings.

You hid behind teasing.

You had always enjoyed teasing people. Small comments with double meanings, playful remarks that made others uncomfortable in a harmless way. It was childish humor sometimes, the kind that made people groan or roll their eyes, but it always kept things light.

And Leon, unfortunately for him, was the perfect victim.

Because Leon blushed.

The first time you noticed it was almost magical. A faint pink color spreading slowly across his cheeks, then creeping toward the tips of his ears like a quiet signal betraying every emotion he tried to hide.

After that moment you never stopped.

Every opportunity became irresistible.

Like the time he approached you during practice and asked if you could help him rehearse the handcuff technique.

You looked at him calmly while several classmates watched nearby.

“Sure,” you said casually. “But I might like it too much.”

The reaction was immediate.

The room exploded with laughter.

Leon froze like someone had just poured boiling water over him. His entire face turned red so quickly it almost impressed you. Someone behind him whistled while another cadet clapped his shoulder.

“Oh Kennedy!”

“Careful man!”

“Dangerous territory!”

Leon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“Forget it,” he murmured before leaving the classroom entirely.

It took him several minutes before his skin returned to its usual pale color.

Then there was the takedown practice incident.

He managed to grab your arm faster than expected and flip you onto the mat successfully. For a moment he actually looked proud of himself.

You stared up at him with exaggerated surprise.

“Wow Kennedy,” you said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I didn’t know you had such eager hands.”

The class erupted again.

Leon stumbled backward immediately as if touching you had suddenly become illegal.

Another cadet nearly fell over laughing.

Your favorite moment, however, happened in the library.

You were reading through your notes quietly when Leon sat beside you with a stack of books, clearly hoping for a peaceful study session.

You glanced sideways at him.

“Careful Kennedy,” you whispered.

He looked confused.

“Why?”

“People might think we’re a couple.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“Oh.”

You leaned closer with a thoughtful expression.

“We should probably make out just in case.”

Leon’s pencil slipped right out of his hand.

He spent the next ten minutes staring at the same page of his textbook without reading a single line.

It became a pattern.

You teased him.

Leon blushed.

Everyone laughed.

But slowly something started changing.

Leon was beginning to get tired of it.

Not because he hated you.

But because he did not understand why you treated him differently.

Eventually he decided to ask.

That opportunity appeared one afternoon after class.

You were alone in the classroom, just like usual, gathering your messy pile of notebooks while the rest of the cadets rushed out the door. Leon waited until the hallway noise faded before walking toward you.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked carefully.

You looked up immediately and smirked.

“Sure you want to talk?” you replied lightly. “I know a much more interesting and universal language.”

Leon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously before forcing himself to stand his ground.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe we should.”

You froze mid-movement.

“What?”

“I said maybe we should.”

For the first time since you met him, Leon looked determined instead of shy.

“Why are you teasing me all the time?” he asked.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You think I wouldn’t kiss you?” Leon continued, now clearly rambling as nerves took over. “I’m still a man you know. And I could kiss you whenever I want. Well maybe not whenever I want. Obviously only if you wanted to too. Consent is very important and I would never just randomly ki…”

He stopped talking when your lips pressed against his.

Leon’s eyes widened immediately in shock.

Then slowly they closed.

He kissed you back.

His hands hesitated awkwardly in the air for a moment before finally settling around your waist. The kiss deepened naturally, months of tension suddenly releasing between the two of you.

Leon stumbled slightly backward until his back pressed against the classroom wall.

If anyone had walked into the room right then you both probably would have earned detention for an entire month.

At first his hands stayed stiff at your sides.

Then he remembered every teasing comment you had ever made about him, about his hands, so he slid them down to your hips.

Your reaction was not rejection, so he grew braver.

Your fingers tangled into his hair while his grip tightened slightly.

The kiss grew heavier, longer, breathless.

Leon was only still functioning because the anger that pushed him to confront you had not fully disappeared yet.

Maybe he was still angry.

Maybe that was why his hands were squeezing your thighs so hard, but you didn't protest..

So he kept going and so did you.

All until someone took you out of your bubble.

"Oh man I thought it was a joke" said a completely horrified cadet standing at the doorframe.

[jno1]

i’m shameless for this i know

[jno1]

Bro Kingsglaive is absolutely goated

and getting to secretly make crepes w my friend and make hot chocolate before having movie night was honestly such an experience I love ffxv

[jno1]

When you can’t have therapy let alone a hug, a girl’s next best option is either ranch or mayonnaise

Literally my two Shaylas rn and idk if it’s cuz it’s that time of the month or what but especially ranch is so good rn

[jno1]

How to destroy your relationship with your kid 101:

“you have to remember that I’M the parent—“

okay we’re done. The conversation is over with. This isn’t about improving our relationship anymore, or me trying as KINDLY as fucking possible to make you understand how to repair our relationship, or be a better mom to me. if thats going to be the saying you abuse as soon as i try to so much as insert an opinion that you MAY NOT like, we’re done.

I swear to God as soon as i move out of your fucking house i’m breaking every single rule you ever enforced on me. Hell yeah i’ll dress like a slut everywhere i go. Fuck yeah i’m drinking alcohol and yeah i might even mingle a bit with men. i just cant wait for the day you cant control me anymore, when you realize your ‘opinion’ that you considered LAW, doesnt actually matter, let alone affect me anymore. I can’t wait for the day you see my instagram wearing all those ‘slutty’ halterneck dresses i dreamed of wearing. Wearing tight sweater dresses that make my ass look amazing since all you let me wear are A-lines when you suddenly remember i have a figure.

cant wait to try rum and tequila, wear all those gaudy sequins you hate so much wear a corset so tight it takes me from 24 to a 21. All those push up bras that make simple shirts look hot and flirty instead of being forced to dress in baggy button up shirts when you want me to look ‘nice.’

wear all kinds of perfume, maybe earl gray scented one since you hate perfume so much, and i want to smell like my favorite tea.

finally learn to kiss someone and see if i can get myself a hot boyfriend.

hold hands with a boy because you won’t even allow that and hug him any time I want.

wear bright or ‘dark’ lipstick since you hate it every time i use something that even remotely changes the shade of my lips to look darker.

fake lashes. Charms. Those tacky mini bags everyone’s carrying around nowadays. Mini skirts, body glitter, lace bras and shirts, matching sets, everything that would make me feel like i can actually fucking appreciate my body for how fucking good it looks instead of feeling like i’m being targeted and purposefully suppressed among the rest of my sisters just because youre jealous and projecting onto me.

i’m sorry you don't look like you did in your twenties anymore but subconsciously trying to make me look ugly is not how you fucking cope with it. Because i feel like shit. I’ve been feeling like shit. I felt like shit ever since last year, when i asked you MONTHS in advance to go shopping for formal dresses, and you decided to hastily go ‘last minute’ because you couldnt take time out if your empty, stay at home trad wife schedule to take me fucking shopping for something i considered special.

i felt like shit ever since we walked out of that store with NOTHING, and you fucking SCREAMING at me in the car because YOU felt guilty about it, YOU could SEE how heartbroken i felt and YOU couldn't fucking cope with it. Because you knew you were in the wrong, but you're so unused to a fact like that being so blatantly shoved in your face that you handled it by screaming nonsense at me, For something that was your fault.

you could have fucking taken me earlier. We werent busy. We had time. It didnt have to be rushed BUT EVEN NOW A WHOLE ASS YEAR LATER I JUST WANT TO SCREAM AND CRY BECAUSE I HATED THAT SO MUCH I HATED YOU YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE SHIT AND YOU NEVER EVEN APOLOGIZED. EVERYTHING ALWAYS ABOUT YOU YOU YOU YOURE ALWAYS THE VICTIM WOE IS YOU OH YOURE LIFE AS MY MOTHER IS APPARENTLY SO FUCKING HARD FOR YOU, AS YOU CLEARLY TOLD ME BEFORE, EVEN THOUGH I DONT COME TO YOU FOR ANYTHING.

i dont tell you my problems. I dont lament to you, i dont tell you when i’m hurt or when i’m mad or when i’m sad, in fact, every day basically the only thing i’m asking you is what you— or basically I am making for dinner. I dont come to you for advice. I don’t ask you for help. I never told you i was depressed or that i was planning on killing myself until three years later. three years later, after i handled it all myself.

our relationship is this fucking bland and you’re so self absorbed that you think its normal.

that should really say something about yourself. I’m your fifth kid. You’ve been a parent for 32 years. I’m your fifth run at parenting and things are so emotionally, and relationally shitty.

like i get it, youre a self absorbed sociopath, but you should be using your lack of empathy for more logical and reasonable thinking, not for thinking about all the things you want and what you dont want.

i really cant wait to get away from you.

i want to dress the way i want. I’m so done being jealous of other mothers and their daughters and how good of a relationship they seem to have. I’m so sick of seeing other moms excited to shop for their daughters when you clearly dont even want to. I’m so sick of feeling like i’m being put down every time i find an item of clothing i like that even just properly appreciates my body, and you somehow finding a problem with it.

i hate falling in love with a dress or a style and you judging me for it, and suddenly changing your standards to make it so that I dont get it.

it pisses me off so much. We have the money for so many things and you’re leeching of your husbands income for everything for yourself— hell literally everybody seems to get thought of, you buy your son expensive shit at the drop of a hat but if i like something cheap, you put it off.

its like youre so deadset on making me feel like an ugly bitch when i know i’m not— i’m not but you try so hard to COVER me and put me down like you need to hide me for some fucking reason.

i’m so fucking pissed. I’m so sick of this. I’m pissed. I’m ready to scream at you i want to rip my fucking hair out. I hate that as soon as i care about normal things after getting over my own shit, that i’m being dismissed. goddamn i tried. I tried to fucking get it through to your skull too but its like my words went in one ear and out the other. Youre not shopping for me, youre shopping for you. Heres another special occasion coming up a whole year later and youre not even asking me if i like it. You just get it and call it a day.

i wish i had a mom that made me feel feminine . That made me feel like i was pretty or that my feelings and opinions mattered. Or like my preferences were things she actually considered. I wish i had a mom that remembered what i liked.

i wish i had a mom that would stop forcing me to do things i dont like just because she’s my parent. I wish i had a mon that actually seemed like she valued me. I wish i had a mom that actually empathized for me. I wish i had a mom that wouldnt make fun of me and my pain and my problems as soon as the situation was finished. I wish I had a mom I could actually talk to and who would actually listen to me. I wish I had a mom that made me want to be like her when I become one, singers of wanting to be everything she isn’t.

I hardly even feel like I have a mom. She’s just someone living in the same house as me. Someone who just cooks now and then and forces me around. I wish I had a mom that wouldn’t call me over-dramatic or ask me why I’m even crying when I’m trying to get a point across. I wish I had a mom who didn’t say backhanded things to me and talk crap about me behind my back.

goddamn I’m so pissed. I hate you I hate you so fucking much I hate that I’m even pushed to the point of saying I hate you. For years you’ve been putting me down, forcing me around and doing whatever little things you want and I’m getting so fucking sick of it. I’m so sick of just sucking it up and taking it all. I’m a human being. I don’t care how much you might not like it but if you fucking do it again I’m not just going to bend over backwards and take it anymore. There’s only so much you can make me do. I’m not a doll or a toy. I’m a human being and your child. Me as a person and my feelings should matter so much fucking more to you than they do now.

[jno1]

you know it’s messed up when your mom doesn’t believe in ‘therapy’

even more so when you seek her for comfort she starts ‘giving her opinion’ instead of listening to you and hugging you

deep down I bet that woman knows as soon as I’m with a therapist she’s gonna be exposed for how abnormal of a parent she really is

…Would she change? absolutely not. If you know my mother that’s not even a question.

the bible describes people like her; fools who double down on their ideals even when you smack the truth and shut down their arguments right to their face. Take a look at good ol’ Proverbs, mom.