rib heart

let me be your cigarette

you can put me right between your teeth
and smoke me when you’re stressed
or when you simply miss the taste of my breath

inhale me right in and make a home
for me in your lungs rather than your rib cage,
a heart is never enough for love nowadays — they say

so darling won’t you light me up
and never quit me, show me how far
you’d go for me

for all i seek is to be something
that you’re addicted to

with no promises made,
no pretty lies and dying forevers

only a cigarette that’s enough
to put you in the grave one day

while knowing that, yet trusting that it won’t
while knowing that, yet not caring if it will

how beautiful a love like that could be?

so baby let me be your cigarette,
one you smoke day after day

inhale me all in
till i eventually take all your breath away

—  f-s-z 

anonymous asked:

what is splitting?

Splitting is defined as a rapid change of emotions, but that’s not very specific. Despite the fact that splitting is an almost universal symptom for BPD individuals nobody really has put out the best description for it. I remember being very confused when I first heard of it and even more confused when my google searches came up without any real answer to what exactly splitting is. Truly the best way to define splitting is to describe it, but it tends to manifest itself in many ways, so I’ll do my best to cover them all.

Rage Split: A sudden anger that courses through the body sometimes without warning. Your chest will tighten and your vision may tunnel. A burning, aching feeling usually blossoms in my rib cage, like my heart is trying to break out and attack. Generally the primary emotion felt is anger. I become downright infuriated at someone or something for what could be no reason at all. This kind of split usually causes me to act impulsively, say things, I shouldn’t say, and lash out violently. It’s almost like catharsis in that it’s a release of emotions, or just this one overwhelming emotion. Sometimes I can’t really remember what I did or said during the split and looking back the memory is usually a blur.

Preparation Split: This is a split that usually isn’t acted on. Usually a scenario is imagined in the head of what somebody might say to you and how you’d respond. You start to gear up for this situation as if it’s actually going to happen. You begin to hate this person in question, despite the fact that what they ‘did/said’ was purely in your head. Then when the time comes and nothing happens you feel almost disappointed. Most importantly however the feelings of imagined anger and betrayal linger.

Isolation split: This is a split brought on by an extreme fear of abandonment and usually blindsides you unexpectedly out of nowhere. You could be at home, in school, at work, or even with friends and have the overwhelming feeling that everybody hates you. Not only that, but you have the desire to prove yourself wrong so you do the most rational (or in this case irrational) thing you can think of in an effort to get somebody to notice you: you cut yourself off. Now, for some borderlines this is just straight up cutting people out of your life aggressively and for no reason and then wondering why nobody is checking up on them. For others this might be withdrawing casually from social groups and conversations, desperately hoping for somebody to notice and ask if their okay. In both cases the borderline is either noticed, which brings on a sort of euphoria, or is unnoticed and will rage split on themselves (self harm, suicide attempts, risky behaviors, etc). 

Those are the main ones that I come across, but here are some little ones!

Sadness split: A sudden feeling that the world had gone cold and empty and that nothing will bring you joy, ever. This could be mistaken as a symptom for depression, but usually these little splits resolve themselves within a matter of days or even hours.

Apathy split: The borderline no longer feels any emotion whatsoever. For borderlines this is a little bit of heaven that quickly turns into hell. We’re so used to experiencing everything at once that we don’t know how to cope with this new numbness, so we try to force ourselves into experiencing something. This may include self harm, dangerous/illegal activities, etc.

Silent split: Like a rage split in that it is anger fueled, but normally the impulsive behaviors are controlled. This is more common in quiet borderlines.

Euphoria split: This is a sudden ‘Everything is good and wonderful! Nothing will ever make me sad again!’ kind of emotion that results from getting the desired attention we crave. Borderlines will then become so wrapped up in this feeling that they neglect their real responsibilities, convinced that they will be okay and not having the permanence to remember the consequences of their actions.

Okay, I think that just about covers it. Just ask if you have any more questions!

wild heart - olicity - pt. 1

title: ribs are a cage (of a wild heart)
ship: felicity/oliver
chapter rating: teen / pg-13
overall rating: explicit / nc-17
chapter warning(s): explicit violence
word count: 13,200
summary: Two years ago, Felicity Smoak nearly died in a fire that stole the lives of two of her friends and their entire family. Still recovering, her life changes even more when she’s bitten by a strange animal in the woods. Before she knows it, she’s got a feud with the full moon; a boy she thought she loved and lost is not-so-dead; and her sleepy town is being terrorized by a bloodthirsty monster. [ teen wolf au ]

dedication: for @latinasmoak


preview:

Felicity frowned. “What’re you doing here so late? We have school tomorrow.”

Sara lit up. “I heard something on my scanner—”

“You mean your dad’s old scanner that you stole and keep in your room and listen to even though he’s told you not to like a million times?”

“Yeah, that one.” She nodded. “Anyway, there’s a body in the woods. So, I guess that whole serial killer thing wasn’t totally off the mark.”

“A body?” Felicity’s gaze jumped past her toward the treeline. “Who was it? Do they know?”

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “The whole force was called in and they’re bringing in State police to check it out, too. Right now, nobody’s allowed to get too close. So, I thought… we should go see for ourselves.”

“What?” Felicity’s voice squeaked. “You want to go into the dark, creepy woods at night so we can find a dead body? Have you ever watched a horror movie!? Rhetorical, I already know you have because we have a monthly ‘scare Felicity’ movie-thon.”

“That’s what you call it, I just call it ’fun.’”

read: ffnet | ao3
please try to leave a review!

there are times when i feel everything, and times when i feel nothing.

when i feel everything, it’s as though a candle tipped over in my lungs and set fire to it all, like i am choking on smoke from the inside. like someone hugged me gently but every one of my ribs cracked from the weight of the emotion. it’s like the ocean inside of my heart started leaking, and now my bones are heavy with water. do you know what it feels like to feel everything? it’s heart aching, ribs breaking, weary from the hurt and the happiness.

but feeling nothing, that’s so much more terrifying. because everything is gone. and in place of it, is this emptiness that disintegrates the very essence of what you are made of. feeling nothing is like feeling everything, except you don’t notice the pain. you don’t notice the joy. you don’t notice anything because you don’t feel anything.

Handwriting 2/2

I said I would write a Steve POV for this and then kind of forgot? Well, I finally remembered, so here it is!

I just reblogged part one, but you can find it here.

4200 words, watch for the cut!


When he was growing up, writing on the skin was a difficult prospect. He’d been taught that it was rude to write anywhere that might show up in an embarrassing place for his soulmate. Arms, hands, even lower legs and the tops of the feet were out, but writing anywhere that was covered by clothing was lewd and shameful. What if his soulmate had taken her shirt off one night and found his name written on her chest or thighs? The very idea had been enough to make his teenage-self flush in shameful arousal and had led to more than one embarrassing situation.

The compromise had been the bottom of the feet. His mom wrote his name for him the first, spelled out in flowing letters from his heel to the bottom of his toes on his left foot. It had tickled and she’d only been able to write a letter at a time so he could stop and giggle. She’d ended up sitting on him so he couldn’t accidentally wiggle out of her grip half-way through, and when she’d finished he had to sit with his foot on the window sill to let the ink dry.

“Now your solemate will know your name,” his mom had teased, tickling his opposite foot until he was shrieking with laughter. He didn’t get the pun until many years later when he’d learned to spell.

He’d checked his opposite foot every few minutes those first couple of days, waiting for another name to appear. Everyone knew that soul ink didn’t start manifesting until after soulmates had touched skin-to-skin, so playing tag at school took on a new context that Steve had found a little cruel. Mostly it was the boys chasing after the girls, while the girls tried to escape. Steve had never been very good at running anyways, so he’d ended up helping the girls hide while he’d misdirected the boys’ efforts around the playground.

Still, he continued to check his right foot every night, and when the ink started to fade, he’d trace over the letters again and again.

By the time he made it to high school, writing his name on his foot had become a habit as much as combing his hair or tying his shoes. By then, his classmates had started flouting the rules – names would appear in small writing on palms or wrists, and Steve had once seen Mary Lewis edge up her skirt so she could write on the inside of her thigh, right there in class. Anyone who was caught with visible ink got lines or cleaning duty, but that didn’t stop them. Bucky ended up in detention for a whole month when he’d taken a paint brush to write “HELLO SWEET THING” all the way up his left forearm in thick, tall letters.  

A few of his classmates paired off and used their soul ink to pass notes back and forth in class, and Steve would feel the bottom of his foot tingling whenever he caught one of them at it.

After his mom died, he’d covered his entire chest in ink – doodles, words, meaningless slashes of thick lines over his ribs and across his heart. No one wrote back, but Bucky had walked into the room and caught him at it one day. It was a private thing, and almost as bad as someone catching him touching himself like that, but Steve had just forced himself to straighten up and let his shirt hang open so Bucky could see the ruin he’d made of his skin. Bucky hadn’t said a thing, just set his fingertips on the messy scrawl of ‘Where are you?’ and then pulled Steve’s shirt closed and did up the buttons.

~*~

The USO tour had been a different kind of thing. He’d been in the dressing room with the girls every night, and once they’d gotten used to him, they hadn’t been shy about taking their clothes off with him hiding behind a dressing screen trying to get into or out of his tights.

Some of the girls had a lot of ink. Lisa’s torso was painted from just under the line of her ribs to the crease of her hipbones, and Annabel had a permanent tattoo on the sole of her left foot. The other girls had called her brave and giggled with her when she’d shown them all, and Steve should have looked away because ink was private, but he’d been so stunned by the very idea of a permanent tattoo (on a dame no less) that he’d just stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

“You’re such a boy, Steve Rogers,” she’d said, nudging his hip with her tattooed foot. “I just got tired of writing it over and over, so I figured this was better.”

“Who would even do that for you?” he’d babbled to the laughter of the girls around him.

“I did it, silly,” Annabel had said, and then had given him a sly look and asked, “You want one?”

Steve had turned about seven shades of red and got himself out of the dressing room as fast as he could without hurting anyone.

It hadn’t taken long for the girls to find out that he was an artist. By the end of the tour he’d been writing and drawing on them by request, all the while aware that his mother would have had a heart attack if she’d caught him putting ink on a lady who wasn’t his soulmate. She’d have gone apoplectic if she’d walked into that one hotel room in Minnesota with Steve sprawled on a squeaky bed in nothing but his shorts with six girls drawing on his skin.

~*~

The Army was another brand of different. They didn’t have ink just lying around, but that wasn’t about stop the guys from writing lewd messages on themselves. After better than a year with the choir girls, Steve had lost all of his shyness about ink, and their early attempts to shock him with their writing had only escalated when he hadn’t responded with the shock they’d expected.

The Howling Commandos used charcoal mostly, or campfire ash. If one of the guys fell asleep on watch, whoever found him would scrawl all over his face and then kick his ass awake. Steve mostly turned a blind eye to it, even that time that they’d found a stash of Nazi liquor and gotten rip-roaring drunk. Dum Dum had come up with the bright idea to strip naked and write Suck It on his cock with the fountain pen they’d found in the base commander’s desk. Dum Dum had been sore and itchy for days afterward and Steve hadn’t felt a bit of pity for him.

He hadn’t found it quite as funny when Bucky had wrestled him to the ground and wrote I won’t give away my sniper’s nest in the goddamned field like a fucking idiot all over his chest.

“Don’t blaspheme on my skin, Buck,” Steve had tried to protest, but his soulmate could be a person of faith, but he’d just gotten another goddamn fucking idiot for his efforts, and really, he’d deserved it.

~*~

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anonymous asked:

If you're that much of a whiny sensitive baby because some stranger called you Princess I weep for this snowflake generation. seriously. Get a grip.

Well, teapot, ever hear of the kettle and why you called it black? You waste our time sending us an ask whining about, what you perceive as, whining. When in reality the other anon has an actual issue while you’re just an entitled puss riddled prick that thinks they shouldn’t have to hear about anyone elses. If that’s your only grievance then, please, fucking unfollow us and get the fuck out. Not sure how you ended up here when you have no room in that empty rib cage where your heart should be. -Abby

youtube

Apparently you can see her heart beat through her ribs. Can you spot it?