anakin⁵⁸

I have been fourteen for fourteen years now, swallowed whole by the kitchen light. It flickers. My eyes go absent over the plate set before me. Somewhere in the brain, a misfire. Neurons stumble through the dark, reaching for language, for warning. They flicker. Nourishment can be fatal to one who was taught to survive on wanting. The voices suspect poisoning when my stomach turns. They distrust the nourishment they once had to beg for. They flinch from the very thing they were denied. I long to hunger the way others do, but everything I consume consumes me in return. Everything I love learns how to devour me. There are crumbs on the plate still. The light, the neurons, the small electric animal of memory—they flicker still. Still, the plate remains. Still, the light asks me to stay. Still, somewhere beneath the old alarms and their tired hymns, a small and starving thing opens its mouth.

not the thread, nor the needle. - sidney crosby/kris letang/nathan mackinnon - 18+ (2.2k)

“It hurts,” Nate whines, voice tight like he’s on the edge of tears. Sid feels a pull in his gut and guilt sharp in his chest. “Kris, it hurts.” “It’s going to,” Kris responds, disinterested. “It’s a stab wound, Nate.”