Creation in Progress

"... Literature is but a refuge for the voiceless. A home for the unsheltered heart."

[starrboobookitty]

Dear Ultimatum

We always knew this day would come.

That one day it would be over.

That we would be over.

But still we held out for a miracle.

Or maybe I did.

But no, we did.

We held on to this like our bodies were intertwined from the chest, claiming it wasn't our hearts.

We thought it was our heads.

Our emotions filling up rooms that everyone else left.

Filling spaces.

Filling time.

Between our thighs.

Holding onto our sex... No.

Our beds.

No.

Our hearts.

Holding onto our love.

We were too selfish.

No, they call it too young

.

Too broken.

But nothing felt broken when I was with you.

Still nothing feels broken when I'm with you.

But I'm not.

It's all lies.

We can do this.

But no, we cant.

You had more time, I had more heart.

No.

You had more heart I had more time.

When you took yours away, somehow you took mine.

My heart was never the issue.

It was my mind.

I do comprehend that certain things they need to end... But things weren't us because we weren't a thing.

We were privilege.

They couldn't see but we could feel.

And somehow now it's reversed but still feels like you're here. Between my thighs.

On my neck.

In my life.

In my fucking head.

And you.....

....you can escape because you've learnt

.... but me.

No.

I've never been this burnt.

I've never been this... Hurt.

You managed to bypass all my security and insecurities to make yourself secure in my surety. But bonds. No bones.

No lines.

No things.

They are meant to be broken.

They are meant to be bent.

I just don't believe that this is all it took for us to be barely "just friends".

And if I could go back to the day I met you, I wouldn't have just stayed home.

I would've told you to stay and make a home out of me.

And you would've left but I wouldn't feel like this. No. I wouldn't think like this.

The feelings are normal - or so I'm told but what could possibly be normal about this. You there. Me here.

What happened to the empire? What happened to our world?

Plans. No, lies. No, plans that were lies. But no plans that were plans before the were lies.

What ever we call them.

Can we have them back?

Can we just be humans that do things.

Can I have some normal back.

Why did you wreck my normal?

Why did you ruin my mind?

[starrboobookitty]

If anyone ever asks you what high functioning depression looks like on an “okay” day, show them this. In order for some of us to do the things we need to do, we have to motivate ourselves with ridiculous to-do lists. But hey, a step is a step no matter how small.

[starrboobookitty]

It still hurts so much. It’s Christmas but my depression didn’t get the memo cause it’s working overtime. It hurts so much. They never tell you. There is no break from this mental illness.

[shefromhouston]

I deserve to see things play out beautifully in my favor.

[starrboobookitty]

Have you not been in the mood for being alive? Like you’re just not in the mood.

[hereliesmybrokenheart]

“Maybe it is because I can’t seem to love myself, people never want to love me.”

— Late night thoughts #56

[starrboobookitty]

I woke up today feeling like I was watching someone else moved as I moved. Like this was not my body. This was not my mind to be in. This was not my life to live.

And I convinced myself that the day would be fine. That I would be fine. That the depression can hide for now and no one would have to know. I skipped my session with the psychologist yesterday. No one would be the wiser that I’m not okay. I feel alone. No one would have to see my broken heart. It could just be my hormones. I wouldn’t have to explain that I can’t sleep peacefully at night. It’s probably my fault.

But I’m not okay.

And it does hurt.

And I feel like I can’t breathe.

This dip is hitting me so hard.

Send help.

[starrboobookitty]

I don’t know How to tell people how much I’m hurting😞

[starrboobookitty]

And that’s the thing about depression, it doesn’t really sneak up on you but you feel unprepared every single time.



[starrboobookitty]

I don’t know how to ask God for permission to leave Ziglag.

[starrboobookitty]

I’d like to do it too, y’know.

I’d like to dream of love. To dream of something so pure that maybe I’ve only seen once before. I’d love to dream of affection that’s shared between lovers.

I’d never realized how much I’ve never really dreamed of love. Of taking care of someone until the sting of death steals it away. I’d never realized that I had never really dreamed of loving someone the way they talk about it on Tv.

I’ve dreamed of having someone love me. Someone serve me. submit to me. Care for me. Run their fingers through my hair. Things I’ve never had.

But I’d never dreamed of that self-sacrificial love that cause you to die to yourself in so many ways. That causes you to wonder if that person found it easy to breathe today. To wonder if they’ve eaten. To wonder if their heart is happy here. If this love, this relationship, this ‘me’ serves them...grows them. If my version of loving them actually loves them.

I want to dream like that. I want to dream of a love that is so beyond me that I know it can’t be me loving them out my own strength but out of something much higher than myself.

I want to dream of a love beyond all understanding.

I want to dream of a love much like how I believe He first loved me.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Best sterek smut to ever be written? ❤️

OOO yes. - Anastasia

Make a Sentence by badwolfbadwolf

(1/1 I 2,189)

Stiles never feels more like a wrung out slut than when Derek has him spread out and gasping for it, dripping wet and moaning into the pillows. The rough words roll over him, ghosting along the peaks and valleys of bone and sinew, lodging in the base of his skull and the tip of his uncomfortably hard and untouched cock.

“Fuck, Stiles. You’re so tight. So wet. So desperate for me.”

 A nip of sharp teeth along Stiles’ jaw stings pleasantly.

 "You’re mine, aren’t you, baby? Tell me. Tell me you’re my dirty little slut who spreads his legs any time I want.“

Happy Birthday, Mr. Hale by mikkimouse

(1/1 I 4,800)

He expected some level of chaos to greet him. He did not expect to see Stiles standing shirtless in the living room, wearing a sparkly tiara on his head and a pink tutu over his jeans, holding Mia’s tea set in one hand and a plastic sword in the other.

Stiles flushed, pink splotching his cheeks and spreading halfway down his pale, toned chest. Derek wanted to bite it, wanted to pinch those puffy nipples and tease them with his tongue, wanted to shove Stiles up against the wall and make him flush everywhere.

(Or: Derek is a single dad celebrating his 30th birthday. Stiles is the college student who babysits for him. Smut ensues.)

DELETE ME by trilliath

(1/1 I 5,284)

Stiles is trying very hard to finish his final paper for his Advanced Human Sexuality course with Professor Derek Hale, but he has a major problem. He can’t stop thinking about banging his professor instead of actually writing his paper about sexual taboos like… students banging their professors.

Lydia’s advice to write down his thoughts is helpful… but dangerous in the hands of sleep-deprived Stiles when he forgets to remember two very important words before turning in his paper: DELETE ME

The Alexandrian Solution by Bexless

(1/1 I 5,317)

“I accept your body!” Stiles says hurriedly. “I accept you. Sexually.”

There is a pause. Derek says, “Thanks.”

Shadows and Soda Cans by vampireisthenewblack

(1/1 I 5,392)

What so many of Stiles’ friends forget, is that while he’s only human, he notices things they don’t. They’ve got all these supernatural senses, they read fear and deception and arousal and dominance, but they don’t look with their eyes. They rely too much on that other stuff, and don’t see what’s right in front of them.

[The one where Stiles knows Derek creeps into his bedroom at night and decides to give him a show.]

I Wanna Take a Ride On Your by Sheepnamedpig

(1/1 I 21,407)

Stiles is…endowed.Derek…likes it.

In Any Version of Reality by alisvolatpropiis

(7/7 I 39,583)

Standing next to not-Derek – whoa, holding not-Derek’s hand? – is someone who looks remarkably like Stiles. Is Stiles, a slightly-altered replica, just like this guy both is and isn’t Derek.

It’s not like looking into a mirror – one, because looking into a mirror actually makes some kind of sense, and two, because not-Stiles looks older too, mid twenties maybe. And the tips of his short, spiky hair are dark purple, and he’s got a lip ring and he’s shirtless and covered in tattoos and what the holy hell?

“Time travel?“ He’s sufficiently freaked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his dad laughing.

“Not exactly,” not-Derek says, and shit, even his voice sounds exactly the same, disconcertingly gentle. He gestures behind him, and Stiles looks over his shoulder, where behind him, scattered across the porch and in the front yard, are more…Dereks and more Stileses.

Fourteen total, including the two at the door, he notes distantly, eyes feeling like they’re about to pop out of his head from bulging so hard.

Seven other Dereks. Seven other Stileses.

Seven Derek and Stiles pairs.

[starrboobookitty]

Sleep addled brain Revelations

It's about 4:48am. 

And my brain is muddled with the aching need to sleep - having been up since about 23h00 after startling awake - and the aching need for food which I refuse it. 

At this time of the day, there should be no place in my mind for Tumblr posts but alas, here we are. 

My revelation: Sometimes I am just a little girl, trying to heal and waiting for someone to save her. But, I've already met the Saviour  I just need to give him room to do what he does - and save me. - A long (almost nonsensical)  thread. 

I've never truly noticed the ability of the brain to replace on addition with another. I have heard my psychologist friends speak about the impossibility of actually ridding yourself of an addiction and just replacing it with a more socially acceptable one, but I'd always think to myself "when you've met the creator you'll think a whole lot differently". 

But now, as I sit at my work desk, contemplating why sleep evades me (and having submitted my 2020 prayers to God), I realise that have been substituting one addiction for another. 

I used to love smoking. I used to love the pull of smoke into your lungs, the way the smoke smoothly took the space that your throat usually allows for oxygen and fills your lungs. I loved the almost scrappy feeling of having it contained in your chest, as you held it within for just enough time to give you a lekker head rush. I used to love the relaxing feeling of the toxins filling your brain and forcing it to chill tf out. 

But then, when I came to Christ, I could't do that - or so I was instructed. Me being me - I just hid it for a while until I really decided that maybe it was time to quit and find healthier ways of calming down. 

So I dove into my faith head first and went with it. I did everything. I served, I hosted a bible study as a leader, I cut off all the things and people I needed to and patiently waited for it to help in my day to day life. 

But it didn't. 

In retrospect, I was just trying to replace the rush - conjure a similar feeling with things I told were healthy. None of it was healthy. None of it helped. Because all of it came from an insane place of seeking social approval and fitting into a community. Even worse - it came from a place of chasing a high. 

But what I now know is that addictions have roots. They have anchors in the soil of your heart and flesh, and with time and sentimentality they grow even deeper and stronger. This is why people easily relapse in my unprofessional opinion. Because you can cut off a tree, but if the roots are in tact, it can grow back. 

Addiction trees grow back softly, quietly, slowly and then all at once. And like fools, we go back and sit in their shade, and take naps and all that wonderful stuff we see TV.  The worst part is that by the time we realise, its almost always in throes of the addiction - whether in its original form or a substituted version. 

For me, realisation came in the throes of a panic attack induced depression. Cause my brain sometimes thinks its Kevin Hart. And I realise now, with my sleep addled brain that I replaced my addictions instead of getting to the root of them. I didn't seek the root and and understand the intentions of the addiction I previously had - smoking being the most PG of course. 

My addictions roots were just painful memories and unsaid notes and unwritten books with nowhere to go where they could feel at home. Trying to bury them even deeper made them even sadder. Doesn't the saying go "Pain is the only emotion that demands to be felt."? Well, then, my addictions demand to be heard, seen, experienced and ultimately dealt with. 

In 2019, I played myself by trying to be everything I'm not to try and discover who I am. But my identity in Christ should not be linked to a facade. That would be to dishonour the sacrifice the God has made. 

My revelation: Sometimes I am just a little girl, trying to heal and waiting for someone to save her. But, I've already met the Saviour. I just need to give him room to do what he does - and save me. 

[starrboobookitty]

Does anyone else feel like their drowning in anxiety and depression?

No? Me neither.

Asking for a friend. 😞

[starrboobookitty]

Why does adulting hurt so much?

[starrboobookitty]

Hurts.

“It hurts.” She whispered, shoulders slumped, eyes cast down and hands folded. Slowly - shamefully, she lifted her tear filled eyes to meet his gaze. “It hurts so much.”

“What... what hurts?” He asked gently, careful to keep his tone steady.

“I don’t know. Everything. The nothingness. Both. None. I don’t know. I just know it hurts and I don’t know how to fix it.” She whimpered, eyes turning back to her lap.

He reached out, and brought her head up to look into those eyes and said “Maybe it’s trying to fix you.”

And maybe it was.

[starrboobookitty]

Meet my Ex

I keep thinking that there is nothing good to say about my ex. How could there be? It's over...right? 

What good would it do me to talk about how their eyes glistened in excitement at the thought of cake or ice cream. Or how their hips swayed effortlessly when music came on and how scratchy they'd sound when they'd sing. 

There was something about - let's call them Sky. Sky. There was something about sky that made my skin tingle in excitement every time Sky got a new idea. Sky always thought of ways to be bad... the kind of lover that your mother warns you about everyday. But I swear something about Sky's eyes would draw you. 

imagine the soft sound of music as the snake sways out of the basket, lifting its body into the air in a soft smooth pattern. It's drawn to the music. Drawn to the vibrations that echo under its skin, whispers of life and celebration like the caress of an ovulating lover - expectant and needy. The need to move to please the charmer rife under its scales. The opposite of its nature when it comes to this kind of crowd. But still, the throb of life streamlines away any sense and the snake dances to the tune. And suddenly it stops. Icy blood comes to a standstill as the lid forces its body down back - back where it's told it belongs. Back to the still blackness of the basket where its only company Is the body that betrayed it. Imagine. The question on the snakes mind being how is it I'm still here? And when he calls again, by force or by fire, the snake will dance. 

Well, sometimes Sky was the snake.

Sometimes Sky was the charmer. 

Every part of us was a synchronised effort of thinly veiled desperation and longing built off of insecurities that we would only share when our minds were dancing to the rhythm of Mary Jane's drums. When we decided we would work, we worked. 

it was life changing and passionate and filled with the kind of love that I'd only read about. I could feel the DNA in my skin changing, my beliefs shifting. My view of the world was open, waiting - willing. I was willing to lose everything to have Sky's view of the world. The openness and the close way Sky guarded their mind. 

There was even something about the way Sky woke with passion burning in their loins. Setting fire to everything in Sky's path was just the effect of being close to Sky. It was nothing intentional. it was just a beautiful Polaroid byproduct of their existence. Everything Sky did was with the excellence of an expert...even when sky was clueless. Between Sky sex appeal and natural influential charisma, I was constantly and consistently left in awe. 

There was no where I'd rather be. 

But then, just like with the snake and the charmer. Someone had to leave and someone had to let go. I still don't know which one I am. I still sit in absolute wonderment about when where and how it ended. It was one day we were fine and the slowly but all at once - like a car crash through the eyes of its victims - we just weren't. 

The lid forced one of us down. But I couldn't the one shut out anymore. I couldn't go back to the dark. I wouldn't be left alone with my thoughts. That would be unfair. We were good together. We needed each other. We thought we could work. But I knew when I crossed the border, we would be over. 

maybe not immediately. 

But I knew. 

And then slowly - just slowly - It ended. 

And in all ways, so did i.