When Will The Last Time I Ever Mourn Us Be?

A war I didn't sign up for.

We're teenage girls, me and my friends. In every sense of the word.

We've got one who loves k-dramas, Tom Holland and makes great almond cake, we've got a tiny one who's sarcasm mutes me every time (to her great delight) and loves anime, we've got one who's the light and laughter of any party, who's soft safety and recently was diagnosed with depression, and we've got a childish and dreaming one who's beautiful, stunning. Everyone tells her. It frightens her.

I haven't seen my friends in a while.

No one's fault, just life. School, tests, a pandemic. So imagine my happiness! Our excitement! When a friend's friend invited us to a party, and we found time to meet up beforehand, to talk! Laugh! Eat pizza!

My friends came. And we laughed. I told them I've never been to a party, that I was pretty nervous. Soft And Safe grinned at me, told me it was fine, the boys that invited us were nice. And guess what? She had kissed one of them!! A drunken make-out, wasn't that cool??!

Then she stopped. Her smile slipped a little

Well, not that cool. She started, sitting there beside my bed.

Not all of it.

And sentence for sentence, Soft And Safe, who I grew up with, who I'd known like the other girls since I was ten, new in town and was adopted into their little group, hesitantly told me a story I'll never forget. Because it taught me life.

Because the boy she made out with was nice.

Until he asked her to kiss him on the cheek for a picture and she felt too uncomfortable and drunk to say no.

Until, when they were kissing alone in a room, he kept trying to put his hand under her shirt, even when she pushed it away.

Until he pulled her onto his lap, crotch pushed uncomfortably against her jeans, and held her waist down.

Until he barked at the girl checking up on Soft And Safe to get out.

Until he put his hand into her pants, and answered "everything is fine, relax", when she told him she didn't like that.

Until he pushed her over the sink.

Until, when she said she didn't want that and that they should go back downstairs, he got back claps and fist bumps from the other boys.

She got her best friend, whom she had rejected a week earlier, call her a slut. He said he could never see her the same way again.

We thought it wouldn't happen to us. But as we sat there in my room, staring at her forced smile, eyes frantic, we realised how she had done everything right.

And it had still happened.

It had happened to me three weeks earlier, at my gym.

And we realised

It wouldn't stop. We wouldn't grow out of it.

Being a woman would be a war we hadn't signed up for.

We went to the party. I saw him. I didn't deck him like I had planned. Because everyone would think I'm the one out of line.

german words i wish existed in english

a messy and incomplete list

nachvollziehen (v.) -- to understand, but less empathetic. i.e. i see the steps that brought you to that conclusion, but i don't understand you.

doch (interj.) -- you're wrong and really it's the opposite of what you said. often said with a healthy dose of sass. i.e. "this isn't a good movie." "doch. (it is)"

frech (adj.) -- somewhere between naughty and sassy and silly. when you're being a bit of a brat, you're being frech.

dreist (adj.) -- audacious, but far more colloquial. when you have the goddamn audacity, you are dreist. i.e. to park that far over the line is dreist as hell

heimat (n.) -- home, but stronger. a home is wherever you have built a life, but heimat is where your roots are. heimat is where you feel pangs of nostalgia when you go to visit your family for christmas and see the shop at the corner.

weltschmerz (n.) -- literally 'world-pain'. the world sucks and sometimes you just sit and feel the pain of it all. that's weltschmerz.

existenzberechtigung (n.) -- the right to exist, often in a comedic context. i.e. pineapple on pizza has absolutely no existenzberechtigung.

fernweh (n.) -- literally 'far-ache'. the opposite of homesickness, the desire to go far away. i guess wanderlust is similar, but that is also a german word, and this is more painful and visceral

schweigen (v./n.) -- the act of not speaking. silence, but more deliberate. the palpable feeling that people are withholding their voice.

verschlimmbesserung (n.) -- when an update with the intention of making something better actually just made it worse. looking at you @staff

I have … a tip.

If you’re writing something that involves an aspect of life that you have not experienced, you obviously have to do research on it. You have to find other examples of it in order to accurately incorporate it into your story realistically.

But don’t just look at professional write ups. Don’t stop at wikepedia or webMD. Look up first person accounts.

I wrote a fic once where a character has frequent seizures. Naturally, I was all over the wikipedia page for seizures, the related pages, other medical websites, etc.

But I also looked at Yahoo asks where people where asking more obscure questions, sometimes asked by people who were experiencing seizures, sometimes answered by people who have had seizures.

I looked to YouTube. Found a few individual videos of people detailing how their seizures usually played out. So found a few channels that were mostly dedicated to displaying the daily habits of someone who was epileptic.

I looked at blogs and articles written by people who have had seizures regularly for as long as they can remember. But I also read the frantic posts from people who were newly diagnosed or had only had one and were worried about another.

When I wrote that fic, I got a comment from someone saying that I had touched upon aspects of movement disorders that they had never seen portrayed in media and that they had found representation in my art that they just never had before. And I think it’s because of the details. The little things.

The wiki page for seizures tells you the technicalities of it all, the terminology. It tells you what can cause them and what the symptoms are. It tells you how to deal with them, how to prevent them.

But it doesn’t tell you how some people with seizures are wary of holding sharp objects or hot liquids. It doesn’t tell you how epileptics feel when they’ve just found out that they’re prone to fits. It doesn’t tell you how their friends and family react to the news.

This applies to any and all writing. And any and all subjects. Disabilities. Sexualities. Ethnicities. Cultures. Professions. Hobbies. Traumas. If you haven’t experienced something first hand, talk to people that have. Listen to people that have. Don’t stop at the scholarly sources. They don’t always have all that you need.

Ada Limón, “To Be Made Whole”, On Being with Krista Tippett

If someone would ask what my biggest need is I'd say touch. By Lord, please, pplesse I need to be touched. Right now. And if they raise their eyebrows and eyes flicker to my chest I will commit arseny. I need fingers pressing against my elbow as you pass. I need a hand at my back. The quiet presence of my friend appearing behind me. I can lean back. They have me. They gave me.

I need eyes. Eyes that meet mine and mean something. I need love. And by God isn't that a way to simple word. I want my friend to watch me turn away with a small smile before they continue their conversation. I want to elicit a warm feeling in a chest. I want someone to hug me and not as a goodbye.I need care. I need sustenance. Require it. Need your hand on my arm and need you to say hey, it's okay. How about a little walk before we continue this work, hm?

i love how editing makes you notice tiny things you hadn't before

like i've watched this show too many time to count now but somehow i'm only now picking up on these bits from the charles vs night nurse scene in ep4

when the night nurse throws crystal away, niko immediately runs over and helps her up

then when they get back to the group, niko stands in front of her, mirroring charles standing in front of edwin

protective niko <333

@januaryhoney // @naynawrites on Instagram // @sunflorally // @geloyconcepcion on Instagram // @lucidloving // @petrichara

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

Sometimes I think I'm holding back out of habit. Like I should've broken a long time ago. What does that make my current state, hm?

*covered in blood* i will.... *trembling* CHOOSE TO BE KIND... *in pain* i will be... NICE to others... *wanting to kill* i will see good in EVERYONE *yelding a knife* i will NOT be like those who hurt me... *screaming* i will be BETTER than who i was...