#had to take a quick break to write an email to my therapist

[whovianderson]

(TW) A very overly personal discussion of Mulder’s suicidality in Redux

Despite Mulder ending up faking his suicide, I immediately picked up on the implication that he was close to killing himself before the phone rang.

(Side note, but I’m virulently opposed to how they used this for shock value. Suicide should not be written as a cliffhanger. It is a serious issue that ruins lives, my family’s included, and not a writing device.)

Anyway, I don’t think this attempt is in character for Mulder.

Namely, he would never do that to Scully. A huge part of the reason he’s distressed at all is because he feels responsible for Scully dying. If he killed himself, Scully would know that, and would subsequently blame herself. He would effectively be making her feel responsible for his death in the way that he feels responsible for hers. Maybe I’m biased by my experiences, but he has to know that he’d be hurting her more if he did this. That’s why I was so relieved to discover that there was never a moment that Scully thought he did kill himself, because I know the horrifying emotions she would be experiencing in that position. This storyline reminded me of what it’s like to experience those emotions. It also made me think about what the people I love feel when they are suicidal, which in itself was distressing.

I’m aware that this is a very sensitive topic, and I hope this doesn’t come across badly. I know (from my own personal experience) that when one is in such a state, one doesn’t have the capacity to think of other people. I am by no means blaming Mulder, or anyone else who deals with mental illness as I do, for its effects on others. Mental illness is not a choice, and therefore can’t be blameworthy. Neither can one rationalise with mental illness, because it doesn’t make sense, so I’m not going to try.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that from Mulder’s entire characterisation so far, his love for Scully transcends everything. He has proven time and time again that he cares about her more than he cares about himself. I don’t think he would risk putting her in a position where she could feel any guilt for his death, when such guilt is literally why he wants to die. She is dying already. He wouldn’t want to infuse her last moments with guilt in that way.

I don’t deny the fact that Mulder’s entire life has been turned on its head, and that’s had a huge impact on his mental state. I’ve written about this in other posts, but the strategies he developed to cope with his trauma and grief have suddenly been taken away from him. On top of this, the fact that he indulged in those coping strategies for so long has fatally harmed the person he loves most. It would be enough to make anyone feel this way.

I know firsthand what it’s like to hold yourself responsible for someone else’s life, what it feels like to believe that you are killing somebody. I can’t begin to describe how awful it is. To this day, I feel so guilty about not being able to fix other people’s struggles that it drives me to some very, very dark places to try and reverse the roles. So trust me, I understand where Mulder is coming from, and this episode is yet another way he is an extremely relatable character to me.

Perhaps I am being contrived for the sake of relating to Mulder, perhaps I am in denial. It’s hard to say. Overall, as a fandom, I think we need to treat all interpretations of this scene with respect - particularly because it’s such a difficult subject for so many of us.

Sorry, that was very self-indulgent. I just needed to write my thoughts out in order to be able to continue to enjoy the show that has brought me so much joy.

I’ve already started watching Redux II, and it has helped me so much! Mulder had found a productive way to help Scully, one that isn’t self-destructive. That’s what I aspire to achieve on my healing journey. He was also so happy to see Scully when he visited her in hospital, which made me emotional. He’s decided to savour the time he has left with her instead, because being present for the people you love is the most important thing, even if you can’t save them.

I’m so, so grateful for The X-Files. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have been able to watch the show because of this. Instead, the inclusion of this plot line has enabled me to challenge my biggest trigger, and rewarded me with the continued enjoyment of something I love with my whole heart. Recovery is possible, and this has shown me that I’m now one step closer!

#I had a whole breakthrough with my mental health while writing this post lmao #had to take a quick break to write an email to my therapist #tw suicide #tw discussion of suicide #whoops I trauma dumped again #pip watches txf for the first time and goes insane #5x01 #redux #the x-files

[gandrewheadcannons]

I wanted to share some writing I had done earlier this summer with you all! If you like it let me know if I should continue? It’s meant to be a story focusing around the beginning of their time in Washington and into the podcast. I’ve left it at a really weird stop but that’s all I had so far.

Title: Undetermined

Pairing: Garrett Watts/Andrew Siwicki

Tags: Mention of prescription medicine, mention of Jeffree/Shane/Ryland, unfinished

Evening is dimly creeping through the half-opened windowpane casting a glow across the built-in table connected to the cramped inner wall of Andrew's microscopic kitchenette. His studio apartment in LA sat cramped in-between Hollywood and Calabasas, a mediocre waypoint for his work for the last few years. He clicks the viewfinder and focuses on the bright oranges and yellows that dance teasingly across the glittering tabletop; catching flicks of sliver and reflecting them back to the lens. A mug of dark roast with just an edge of too much cream is left forgotten in the corner of the frame. It feels cinematic and lonely all at once. The cafe style booth he sits in causes his back to ache, the rest of the kitchen a sterile and unforgiving white, but he misses capturing the day to day beauty the world had to offer. He imagines the reel being played back with a layered sound of twinkling windchimes, quiet laughter and a piano reverb with cuts of the morning sunrise on a hike and steam off the top of a ceramic mug. A familiar face with flecks of blonde in the beard, strong jawed and a roguish smile weaving in and out of the frame, turning back to laugh at something the cameraman said.

“-with a mandate like this.” Garrett is brushing his teeth through Facetime. Andrew catches the corner of his bamboo toothbrush flashing in and out of the lens. He must have laid his Iphone flat on the countertop because when Andrew really looks he can see the bottom of the mirror and a bunch of bright light.

“I know. It sucks. Couldn’t get honey the other day, man. Fucking honey. It’s not like the bees are going anywhere.” He laughs but it doesn’t feel funny. The minimal supply he had was dwindling thin. He was beginning to ration his meals and he wasn’t sure how much toilet paper was left under the bathroom sink. It was all very apocalyptic without any of the zombies or scientists swooping in with immediate remedies.

“Ah dude.” Garrett spits and there’s a tapping sound like he’s hitting his toothbrush on the edge of the porcelain sink before he fully pops into frame. He looks relaxed, sandy hair flopped to one side and beard properly scruffy though they’d only been locked down about a week and a half now. “I know. I can’t handle it anymore. I miss people.” Andrew hums at that. He doesn’t really. He misses the occasional gathering, sure, but he hadn’t quite placed his anxiety surrounding the idea of seeing others since they’d released the Jeffree series. "What was it that bothered you most about taking part in this?" His therapist had asked him. "I missed the fun," he’d answered. "What was the fun?" She’d pressed deeper. "Garrett," Andrew had been quick to reply. "And like. Everyone else too." He'd added when she hadn't said anything. "I miss it not feeling work." She had let him talk about that instead.

"Some people." He tacks on to Garrett who hums easily. He doesn’t think he misses many of the people he’d spent most of 2019 with, his life a mixed cocktail of Ambien, Adderall and Lexapro without any feelings of relaxation manifesting. His psychiatrist had discouraged upping his doses anymore and by early January she began urging him to begin seeking new opportunities to “work on his environment”. He hadn’t quite figured out the avenue to take to do just that.

"Well, some people." Garrett agrees and he's already back out on his couch. "I don't know how many more times I can watch Winter Soldier before I freak out." Garrett sighs. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Same as you and every other person." He turns his camera off. He needs the break from the screen.

"I miss you." Garrett is easy like that. He isn't ashamed to tell people how he feels in every moment. It was something to be admired and yet Andrew just felt envy at it. When Garrett had begun to slip away from him, melting like honeydew sweet and sour into a depth of a place where Andrew couldn't quite find him, he'd only managed to grab him back out by Garrett's honesty. Doesn't know if they'd be having this conversation if Garrett hadn't used that honesty like an anchor and letting Andrew catch him last minute with it.

"I can come over." Andrew offers. He hates being confined in these walls anyways. It was hollow and dark. The email from Shane still sat open on his Mac across the room on his bed. Thinking of extending the break, can't really decide. Want to get quarantined together? I have a few video ideas we could maybe mess around with or just film some day to day footage until creativity strikes us it reads. His skin itches for the company but the image of their guest room makes him uneasy. Doesn't know if he could withstand being there with very little to fill his hands with, editing complete and no real ideas on the table for the time being.

"I can come to you." Garrett offers like he was inconveniencing Andrew who had offered anyways.

"If you touch your car right now I am going to freak out Garrett Watts." Andrew admonishes. "The second they open up the garages and mechanics again I'm making you take that thing there, burn it and we get a new one." He's opening a duffle now and throwing in his travel toiletries and a few pairs of underwear.

"Oh come on Andrew it's not so bad." Garrett laughs as if Andrew wasn't still reeling from the aftermath phone call of Garrett nearly wrecking on the 101 barreling top speeds until he reached a secluded patch of grass to slow his Pirus down onto. By the time Andrew heard the story Garrett was okay; Michael had gone to pick him up and Garrett was sending pictures of little Star Wars figurines that Michael kept mounted on his dashboard. His heart didn’t calm until he had managed to get his hands on Garrett in person though, sneaking out for an afternoon to grab some coffee with Garrett before heading back to Shane’s to finish editing. His shins still feel heavy with the weight of Garrett’s calf as he’d pressed their knees together until the table while they’d talked – the weight reminding him of how alive and okay Garrett really was.

"Oh yeah a car that dies out randomly is really great." Andrew throws in a box of protein bars and a Gatorade into his bag. He hesitates before grabbing a stitched bear made from gray yarn, green buttons for eyes luring him in. "I'll be over soon." He doesn't know how well the conversation will hold up over Facetime as he's moving.

"Okay cool Andrew." Garrett's eyes are soft. "See you soon. My dad is actually calling."

"Tell him I said hi. See you soon." He so easily could tack on endearment, babe at the tip of his tongue burning hot. Garrett's ending the call before Andrew even has the chance.

**

The half opened can of frosting is across from, the only lights on are the ones twinkling from some intricate set up Garrett had on a shelf. Garrett’s on the third loop of the home screen on Prime, humming thoughtfully whenever he pauses on a summary to read but then continuing to scroll before picking one. He’s slumped down low, long legs kicked out on the coffee table while Andrew is curled up in a ball against his side. Once, Caleb had pointed out that if people didn’t know them they’d get the impression that they were dating. Garrett and Andrew had awkwardly laughed at that comment, tinged with humiliation at how their relationship was being interpreted. They tried to be better then, not letting themselves fall so in sync when other people were around.

Andrew loved it like this though, when it was just him and Garrett, so he could press his cheek into Garrett’s bicep and not have to question why it felt so right. In his left hand his phone illuminated with another message from Shane. Opening it he read a message about how much they all missed him and wanted him there during this time. Apparently Ryland was looking for someone to help film a video he had planned. He quickly shut the screen off and pulled back from Garrett some, his stomach in a sudden tangle of knots.

“Good?” Garrett asked him looking down. His crew neck was for Spokane and looked a little like the Taco Bell logo from when they were younger. He’d paired it with a pair of sweat shorts for the night as they were both supposed to be going to bed soon. Andrew picked at his own Adidas track pants, imagining a loose thread to busy his hands.

“You ever just. Feel like you gotta get out?” He tilts his head to the side and watches Garrett pause what he’s doing with his Playstation controller and set it carefully on his coffee table.

“In what way?” He asks thoughtfully, turning so his chest was open to Andrew. Their knees bumped and Andrew felt like a little boy when he wished he could crawl and hide in the empty space of Garrett’s lap.

“Like okay. Say you just really loved what you used to do. You basically achieved your dream job. You have all these amazing people, you like your boss, things are going really great and you’re making a lot of money.”

“You buy yourself a really good vacuum.” Garrett plays along teasingly causing them both to laugh.

“You get yourself those stackable containers for your meal prepped lunches.” Andrew plays back. “But then…” He runs his tongue inside his teeth then outside methodically. He searches his brain to try to figure out what to say to Garrett to

“Then?” He drums his fingers on Andrew’s knees to get him back to the present.

#gandrew #gw #as #my writing

[shelovescontrol91]

Between a starring role in Cinderella, live performances, and a forthcoming album, it would appear things are business as usual for Camila Cabello. But there’s a difference: Before the pandemic her work was leaving her drained, anxious, and insecure. Now she’s found a way to be a pop star on her own terms, and everything—from the music to her relationship with her body—has fallen into place.

By mid-September, Camila Cabello was feeling burnt out. In the span of three days she had performed at the MTV Video Music Awards, attended the Met gala with boyfriend Shawn Mendes, and shot the first-ever global cover for Glamour. So when she finally returned home to Miami, rest wasn’t just desired—it was essential.

But rehearsals for New York’s Global Citizen Festival loomed. Before jumping back into pop star mode, Cabello put on a yellow bikini and headed to the beach for two hours of blissfully uninterrupted downtime. She sank into a chair and cracked open a book, her favorite pastime. The salty air enveloped her; waves crashed in the distance. This is why she lives in Miami, her hometown, as opposed to a showbiz hub like Los Angeles: more privacy.

Or so she thought. Somehow the paparazzi found out where she was for those 120 minutes. She didn’t see them at first, but there they were, snapping away.

“I didn’t consent to those pictures,” she tells me over Zoom, camera off as she drives in Miami. (At one point she says to someone on the road, “Why are you honking at me, bro?”) “I got my period on the beach. I’m in a bikini and on my period, so I don’t know if I have a fucking period stain and that’s going to be everywhere. I didn’t sign up for anybody to be taking pictures of me in a bikini.”

Cabello has developed methods for dealing with invasive situations like this. She’s had to. The 24-year-old—born in Cuba, raised in Miami—has been in the public eye since 2012, when she competed on The X-Factor. She auditioned as a solo artist but was later matched with four other girls to form the pop group Fifth Harmony. They released two albums before Cabello embarked on her own—and achieved mind-boggling fame. Her singles “Havana” and “Señorita” (with Mendes) topped the charts worldwide. She’s earned three Grammy nominations, become a face of L’Oréal, and tried her hand at not just acting but starring in a feature film: this year’s Cinderella remake on Amazon Prime. Her third studio album, Familia, is due out later this year.

By all accounts it’s a lot. Careerwise it’s the closest things have felt to prepandemic times, when she was working constantly, arguably to an exhausting degree. As COVID-19 shutdowns went into effect last March, Cabello was able to realize just how tired she was.

“I by no means am trying to complain,” she says, “but it was such a thing of, ‘I have to get onstage tomorrow and I’m performing at this big thing,’ or whatever. ‘I want to do a good job. How do I do that when I feel nervous?’ I did this without being like, ‘Am I even happy right now? Do I even feel healthy?’ I didn’t have the space to ask myself those questions. I’m still working a ton now, but after quarantine I’m able to be like, ‘You know what? Right now I’m just not happy. I need to change something.’”

Therapy helped her see the changes she needed to make. Cabello tells me she’d experimented with therapy before the pandemic, but it was always situation focused—quick fixes to help her tackle the next performance or songwriting session. But with time at home, she dug deeper: “Because I wasn’t stressed about all the things I needed to do the next day, I was able to slow down and have enough stability to look at my stuff.”

Cabello doesn’t expand on what that “stuff” is. She does, however, explain why she decided to switch therapists as her internal work continued. “I wasn’t feeling like I was progressing in the areas I wanted to progress,” she says. “But when I switched, I found I was able to apply what they said in a way that benefited my mental health.”

One lesson she’s learned is the power of saying no. Two hit albums under her belt give Cabello the freedom to do things her way. Now she always has one day off a week, minimum. And when time came to start work on Familia, she forwent the standard pop music factory for a more intimate approach. The new album was made with just a handful of collaborators she could be open with. If Cabello was feeling anxious or nervous in a session, she had the space to address it. As a result, she says, it’s her best work yet.

“It’s the most grounded and calm I’ve ever been making an album,” she says. “I worked with people I wanted to have dinner with, and I was like, ‘I’m not going to write every single day for months, but write a few days a week and have time to gather experiences and be a human being.’”

Shawn Mendes is one of the people she’s gathering experiences with. The two singers confirmed their relationship in September 2019, and they’ve been tabloid magnets ever since. Everything from their laughably slow pandemic walks to their kissing style is dissected with a fine-tooth comb. A clip of them getting ready for the Met gala went instantly viral.

Cabello tells me she and Mendes try to avoid the social media chatter about their relationship, but it inevitably seeps in. “When stuff that’s negative is out there, it’s going to get to you,” she says. “So yeah, that’s very, very challenging. I feel like it’s another thing therapy has been really helpful for.”

Mendes goes to therapy too. While Cabello says she and Mendes haven’t done couples therapy—though she’d be open to it—they very much work on their mental health together.

“For better, for worse, we’re very transparent with each other. I think that’s why we can trust each other so much, because it’s a very 3D human relationship,” she says. “I’ll be venting or ranting about something, and he’ll be like, ‘Have you talked to X about it?’ And I’ll be like, ‘No. I’ve got to do a session.’ And he’ll do the same thing to me. I think even just the language of being like, ‘Hey, I’m sorry that I’ve been distant with you or snappy with you. I’m just struggling and I’m feeling kind of anxious.’ That level of transparency really helps a lot.”

Mendes echoes Cabello’s thoughts. “Camila and I give each other an extreme amount of patience and understanding,” he tells me via email. “I think the truth is that when you’re struggling with mental health, it turns you sometimes into the version of yourself that you don’t like to be—and kind of loving and accepting your person through that, and being there for them through that, is life-changing. We give each other so much space and understanding and patience.”

A behind-the-scenes VMAs story perfectly illustrates this. When Cabello was nervous meeting new people at an after-party, she caught herself leaning on a habit she’s trying to break. Mendes helped her through it.

“I have this pattern of eating a lot when I’m anxious or uncomfortable,” she says. “It’s a comfort thing for me. I’ll just kind of become unconscious and zombie-eat a lot, and then I’ll feel sick. I’ve told Shawn about that. So at the VMAs party, I was like, ‘I’m doing it.’ And he was like, ‘It’s okay. You’re doing it. That’s okay. Let’s just take a breath and not do that.’ It’s really good for me to be able to talk about my patterns with someone.”

Food and body image are two things that have really been on Cabello’s mind this year. A July TikTok she posted shutting down body-shamers racked up 4.8 million likes. “Being at war with your body is so last season,” she says in the video, which she posted after photos of her running in Los Angeles made the rounds online.

That mantra is true, sure, but it’s easier said than done. Even Cabello has difficulty following it. She braced herself for what she might feel when those aforementioned bikini pics went live: “I need to work out. I need to eat better.” “Not that those things are bad,” she says. “But maybe I wouldn’t think about them as much if there weren’t people taking pictures of me.”

It’s not just the paparazzi who ignite moments of self-doubt. Cabello tells me about a time she was exercising with her trainer, Jenna Willis—who’s great, she says—and feeling insecure. “She’s the same height as me, and I was kind of comparing myself to her, because she is a lot skinnier than I am,” she recalls. “I was just like, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been working out and I look better, right? I look better, right?’”

It’s Willis who helped silence those voices in Cabello’s head, reminding her that how she feels is more important than appearances; that life is about balance and enjoying food. These are health philosophies we’ve all heard—but when you’re Camila Cabello and millions are picking apart your beach photos, it’s hard to tune out the noise. Now when she’s feeling down on herself, she just turns her phone off and goes outside.

“When I’m having negative thoughts about my body, that’s actually when I’ll want to binge-eat cookies, and then I have a stomachache,” she says. “It’s this weird psychology: The more I love my body, the more I actually want to take care of it…. As long as I’m healthy and working out and feel good, that’s the best I can do. There’s no point in trying to have another kind of body.”

By this point in our conversation, Cabello’s made it to her destination. When I ask if she’ll have time to chill and decompress, she says, “To be honest, not yet, but I will after this weekend.” There’s a calmness in her voice when she says this—a stillness, a readiness. She seems perfectly prepared for what lies ahead: album promo, performances, and undoubtedly more scrutiny about her body, her relationship, her everything. But she’ll be fine, because just around the corner is a day off. That’s nonnegotiable.

“It’s important to be on top of not just what’s making you sad or anxious, but also what’s giving you joy,” she says. “I want to be happy and enjoy my life. That’s kind of it.”

#camila cabello #shawn mendes #shawmila

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

@trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @cursebreaker29 @sjmships @starrynightsbooks @lovemollywho @januarystears @perseusannabeth @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #feyre archeron #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhys #rhys #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

[ashandboneca]

Racism, abuse, and why I don’t consider myself a part of the ‘community’

I’d like to talk about the event that pushed me away from the idea of a pagan community, and forced me inwards to further develop my own practice - and about the events of the last few years in regards to continued abuses in the pagan community. About 6 years ago, I started to look into the Norse pantheon. I had worked with Thor in the past, and about 6 or 7 prior to that I did an experiment where I worked with the Aesir for a month. At that point in my life, I didn't connect with them. I don't know why I didn't, I partially blame the terrible book I had for guidance, and the fact that the person who initially agreed to guide me flaked out. However, this time around I endeavoured to learn as much as I could from a reputable source, because the last time I had no idea what I was doing. I approached my friend, who is a practicing forn sidr heathen, and they agreed to teach me what they knew. We spent a number of sessions discussing cosmology and theology. I felt confident going forward, armed with book recommendations and a passion to learn further. I wrote a bit about my experiences openly on my previous blog with Odinn. Interactions with him were not sought after, but something that merely happened. When gods or spirits or ancestors come calling, you answer in some way out of respect. I wrote more about my experiences, and different techniques I utilized to connect with him. None of them were specifically Heathen - but I don't soley identify as Heathen, so I figured if that was an issue, Odinn wouldn't have shown up in the first place.

Some time later, my friend had messaged me to let me know they had gotten some hate mail about me via Witchvox (which no longer exists, but used to be a connection board for finding pagans and witches in your area, as well as open groups, etc). I was initially gobsmacked. Why the hell is someone emailing her in regards to something I did? Wouldn't have been more productive to email or message me to resolve whatever issue? I found it who it was. This person was, at that time, a member of a well recognized organization locally who put on events and rituals - an organization whose first mandate is "We hold that each one of us has their own path to follow to truth and spirit." To be honest, I had never really interacted with this person beyond being paid to do so in my former job at a pagan bookshop. We attended a few of the same events, but never really interacted. There was no real beef. I wasn't particularly fond of said person, but I had no real issues with them - so this came sort of out of left field. I sat on it for a bit.  I did not reply to the sender. Instead, I decided to post the initial email on my previous blog. Inevitably, someone is going to disagree with how you practice or what you do, even if you're not doing anything wrong. The  point I think is important to underline is that you do not need to stand for other people trying to tear you down, assert some kind of moral superiority over you, or telling you how and when you should be practicing, unless your practice is appropriative - in which case you should be taking a long, hard look at yourself. As heathenry is an open tradition, I had no concerns. I also think transparency is very important, and when people behave badly they often do so to gain something from it. Whether it is attention, drama, or they feel they are in a safe space to do so due to anonymity.  So, by posting the email (albeit in edited format - I removed all identifying information about said person, because I wanted to focus on the behaviour, not the person), I felt I was addressing something that more people should have been addressing. Afterwards, my friend received a few more emails about how I was 'pissing on their ancestors' and etc. My friend told them, in no uncertain terms, that the emails were unwelcome, the issue was none of their business, and to fuck off. I also got a few emails, a few messages on Witchvox, a few comments, and a lovely comment from a sockpuppet account here on tumblr, as well as finding out my writing was posted to be mocked because I wasn't 'heathen' enough - with screenshots! I did not respond to anything, just kept record of everything in case it was needed. I disagree with the idea of bringing in some third party who is uninvolved to do one's dirty work. If someone has an issue with how someone else is practicing, they need to question whether it's something to address. Bringing in someone uninvolved is both cowardly and childish. They did not ask to be involved, and I'm not sure what involving another person serves to carry a point. Fight your own battles, or say nothing.

There were a few other instances. A series of screencaps of this person’s continued racist, sexist, and abusive behaviour was provided to a few of us. A known leader was accused of racism and verbal abuse by other members of the community with credible evidence. This leader had a pattern of setting up multiple Facebook accounts and when one was found they would set up a new one with a new name. They talked at length about their feelings on immigration, POC in the Heathen community, and interfaith. They advocated violence and celebrated terrorist acts. Some really troubling, disgusting stuff.

We did what we thought was right - we emailed the organization to tell them and offer proof via said screencaps. In the response, we were told, and I am not bullshitting, that this person was a valued member of the community, that they are 'proud' of their heritage (uh, so am I, but I don't run my mouth off about diversity being white genocide), and that we could essentially go pound sand. I quote "own personal outlook on (their) culture and (their) path. (They are) entitled to (their) own practice as much as anyone of us are, and (they) cares deeply for (their) culture.  (They) makes a significant contribution to the Pagan community with (their) efforts through (group). (They are) a hard worker and has accomplished a great many things in (their) time on the board, a commitment that is not to be taken lightly. (They) fulfill (their) duties as a board member admirably."

Do I agree with their hot take on this? No. I think if someone comes to you with an accusation of that kind of wrongdoing, you have a duty to do some manner of preliminary investigation, because if you are in a position where you are teaching people and have authority, those students need to feel safe. You need to determine if the accusations have any truth, and if they are found to be false, feel free to stand behind and assert your belief in the accused. I truly believe the harasser/abuser showed their group the email, and they spun it in some way to discredit us.

Complicity via ignorance is still complicity - it's enough to tarnish an organization's good name. In the working world, business owners have been hung out to dry because of their racist, homophobic, or sexist employee's actions. The whole Kenny Klein situation happened for years because people excused his behaviour and allowed other people to be abused.  We are all finger-wagging and clucking when people try to bring up this behaviour  - don't be starting drama, oh that's just how (name) is, oh that's just rumours. Look, everyone - assholes, creeps, criminals, and predators exist in every faith, every organization. We are so quick to sweep it under the rug, so rushed to prevent judgement, that we always forget that one important fact. While I think it's important not to jump on every bad thing you hear about people, I do think it's important to have an open and frank discussion about proper behaviour while in a position of power. Especially if proof of misdeeds are being offered.

This group, and their lack of action, stood complicit in this person's bad behaviour. If they made the choice to stand behind a racist, bigoted person who spends their time trying to harass people online (I am not the only one, I have been told - there have been multiple people, including some of their own family members), that is their choice. They have made that choice, and they have chosen to accept any repercussions going along with it. They chose to stand behind an abuser.

Sarah Lawless, back in 2018, named a number of known abusers in the wider PNW community. The flack she received for being brave to stand up and call that shit out was disgusting.

Abusers are coddled and protected in pagan communities. They are viewed as elders, as productive members of the community,  as local heroes. While I have been fortunate to encounter very little sexual harassment in the pagan community, I have suffered other abuses and harassment that has shown me that, just like the priests and cardinals in the Vatican, pagans protect and believe only those in their clique. And there are cliques in the community, have no doubt about that.

Sarah pointed out that the ideal community is a fantasy - I agree. Stories I have heard from others about their own experiences in the 'safe and welcoming' pagan community would break your heart. One person I spoke with said 'it's scary to even fathom trying to approach anyone, because it's hard to know who to trust, who might lure you in and take advantange of you'. That is a sad statement, and one I know too well. I have a tendency to keep abuse like this close to the chest because I have been burned by people in the past. There is no spiritual support for people who get abused - no chaplains, no pastoral care, no therapists.

These were people who were putting everything on the line to be heard, and the vitriol and hatred and lies I had seen made my blood boil. This is precisely why people do not come forward. They could put everything on the line - in Sarah's case, the safety of her partner at the time and children - and people will still find a way to claim the survivors are lying. Why? What do the survivors get out of lying about their abuse? What person would come forward, knowing they will be attacked, confronted, slandered, and encounter more abuse, if they weren't telling the truth? Why would any survivor put themselves through that unless there is truth? The most stalwart defenders claim 'they couldn't have done it, I've never seen them do anything to me!' Humans are complicated and complex beings, with many facets and many faces. The face you see may not be the same face others see. The John Doe you know and the John Doe I know may be the same person, but very different relationships. 

It comes down to this: You can't 'believe survivors' if you're supporting abusers.

You can't support survivors if you're sheltering abusers.

You can't help survivors if you're siding with abusers.

You can't call it a safe community if you don't protect it's members.

Standing up for myself and others lost me “friends” who ditched me about the ‘drama’, and my community.  Something needs to change. It is inevitable that change will befall the community, and those denizens had better wise up quickly. There are a lot of young, vulnerable people looking for guidance and safety, and the community better fucking step up and prove they are willing to protect their members, or they have become no better than the Christian groups who continue to enable their abuse. We need willing leaders to push forward to make the community better. We need dedicated, smart, and savvy people to navigate a new and better future for paganism, because it's got a death rattle going on and it needs the kiss of a new life.

Burn the whole of the modern pagan community down. Burn down the groups that perpetuate abuse, that enable abusers, and grow something better and safe from the ashes. Dismantle the sexist, enabling, racist, oversexed community with it's abusive elders, cleanse it with fire, and create a place where people can come together without having to fear predators.

The only I have learned from watching my and other’s experiences is that we shouldn't call out wrongdoing in the community, because I have gotten abuse hurled at me for it and I have seen others who have done the same get more and worse abuse. People get mad, they accuse those who come forward of 'causing drama' or 'rocking the boat'.

That is a terrible lesson. A witch is sovereign unto themselves.

Bitches, this boat is rocking. Grab on, or drown.

This is my own story. I have posted links for further review down below.

Further reading:

Dealing With Toxic People in the Pagan Community

Sarah Lawless’ post about her suffered abuse, via the Wayback Machine

Abuse, the Pagan Community, and Our Commitments

Abuse Within Paganism - a taboo topic?

A Crisis of Faith

Authenticity and Racism in Contempory Paganism

This is not a new issue - via livejournal, 2006

Cultural Appropriation in Neopaganism

#Ash and Bone #ashandbone.ca #witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #heathenry #The Crooked Path #tw abuse #tw racism #pagan #paganism #yes i wrote a whole damn paper

[paintdface]

moths to a flame: one

“i know you don’t like to think of it as a celebration, but i couldn’t help myself.” he shrugs his stocky shoulders. calloused hands reach for the crystal and holds it in the air. “because if anything, we can celebrate that night bringing us together. i’m happy you’re in my life.”

reader x din djarin horror/thriller modern au.

tw: blood, kidnap, hospital mention, some mentions of nsfw content. 

word count: 3.4k.

A/N: i hope you enjoy this story as much as i enjoy writing it. i would love to hear what you think of it! a pinterest board for this story is here. the preface to this part is here. the header is by @/packsparadise. 

… twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

your eyes fly open beneath the surface of the water. everything above is obscured by the bath water. you can barely make out the tiles on the walls or the color of your shower curtain. you wait a few more seconds to see how long you can stay underwater before you spring to life. bath water sloshes over the sides with a quiet splash. you gasp for air like the way you did years ago on that godforsaken road. this time you don’t feel the icy air fill your lungs and you’re grateful. gripping the sides of the tub, you fix your gaze on the dripping faucet, feeling your heart race in your chest. your ex-therapist told you to focus on something when you felt this way— when you felt like your heart was going to leap out of your chest. 

that was the only good thing they ever taught you.

sinking back into the water, you let the bath water sit at your chin. it’s cold now. cold and still. you’ve been in the bath so long your fingers are pruny. a foot peeks out of the water, painted toes curl around the shower valve to turn on the hot water. you welcome the feeling of warmth again. 

your gaze drifts from the faucet to the phone resting on top of the bathroom counter. although it was turned off, you kept it close just in case. you dreaded the inevitable moment you’d turn it back on. you would be greeted with missed calls, texts and emails. some from the few friends you have left, some from reporters, some from family and one from him. from the man who saved you on the worst night of your life. 

you said he didn’t have to keep in contact with him even though you wanted him to. you understood that he had a life of his own; one that didn’t involve sticking around for you when you needed comfort. but, he insisted. he said he wanted to keep track of you. he wanted to make sure you were safe. after all this time he cared.

once the water runs cold again, you finally rise from the basin. water drips off your skin, the droplets echoing in the empty bathroom. you grab the towel from the rack and wrap it around your body before stepping out. the bathroom mirror is foggy making your face look distorted. your features are no longer visible. you only see a silhouette and hair—  not the slope of your nose, not the mascara smudged around your sleepless eyes, not the scars littering your skin. reaching forward, you wipe at the mirror until familiar pieces of you are revealed.

you’re grateful you recognize yourself today.

reluctantly, you grab your phone before exiting the bathroom. instead of getting dressed you collapse on to the unmade bed. your finger holds down the on button of your phone and you place it face down on your chest. it only takes a few seconds for it to begin buzzing. notifications light up the screen. 

“shit.” 

you could turn it off. you could ignore the prying questions and condolences. you could run away. yet, you turn it back on and look.

the date lights up the screen. the anniversary of the day you were saved. it should be a day for celebration. after all, you survived. but the way exhaustion clings to your limbs and sleep is heavy on your eyes puts you in no mood to celebrate. 

combing through the endless messages, you skim the sentences and delete almost half. emails from curious journalists make you roll your eyes.

sent at 8:03: hi my name is amy daniels from the new york times and i was wondering if i could get a comment about the anniversary…

delete.

sent at 10:36: good morning, i am the producer of a nightly news talk show at cnn and i wanted to know if you would be interested…

delete. 

sent at 11:17: this is jose ramos from realtruecrimefans.com messaging you again about your thoughts on your kidnapper, riley williams, current whereabouts… 

your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of his name. you try to avoid thinking about him. you avoid saying his name. the last time you said his name is when you wrote about him in your memoir. his name wasn’t worth the energy it took to say his name.

riley williams was dead. at least to you he’s dead. no one has seen or heard from him since you ran away. the police searched for weeks to no avail. search parties went out at night combing through the woods to search for him. it didn’t take long for the media to pick up a story of a beautiful girl gone missing and found in the woods after breaking free. for weeks after your escape, his picture was everywhere. it was a nation wide manhunt. it continued once you wrote your memoir titled “forty-seven days in hell: my personal journey” and everyone wanted to be the one to put him in jail. 

yet, no one found him. he was gone. 

a few deep breaths later and you’re continuing to weed out messages. everything felt like bullshit. even the texts from the few friends you had left lacked genuineness. you sent back half-assed replies and listened to the voicemails, but never called anyone back. there was only one person you wanted to hear from today. 

din. 

you scroll until you see his name. he texted you early this morning. he texted you when he knew you would be asleep. 

din: hey, darling. hope you slept well. call me if you need anything.

you smile. something you loved about din is he never pushed your boundaries. he gave you your space, but knew if you needed him, he’d be there. even though he didn’t live in the city, he always came. he was always there when you wanted him. 

you hit the call button and listen. it only takes a few rings before you hear the low, steady tone of his soothing voice.

“hey, you’re up.”

“i am… are you surprised?” 

the sound of his muffled laughter chimes on the other end. “maybe a little,” he pauses for a moment. “how are you holding up?” you can tell he’s nervous to ask because he’s not sure what the answer will be.

you sigh. rolling over on to your stomach, you shrug like he can see you. “i’m okay.” you’re not sure what to say. deep down you’re not fine, but you crave normalcy. you want to feel normal. “it just feels… weird. today should be like any other day, but it’s not.” your confession surprises you.

“we can make it normal.” the sound of ‘we’ makes your heart flutter. “i was planning on coming to the city for business. we can meet for dinner?”

you know he’s probably not coming to the city for work, but he’s coming for you. every year since he saved you he came into the city on the anniversary. he’d meet you for dinner at the same restaurant, at the same table and you two would act normal when you really weren’t. 

“i’d love that. same place?”

“same place at seven.” you can hear movement on the other end. the sound of grogu barking in the background makes you happy. you miss him. “hey, darling?”

“yes?”

“if you need me to come earlier, i will. just say the word and i’m there.”

your eyes flutter shut. god, he was the only one you ever wanted. the only one who treated you like a person. “i will.” but you know you won’t. “i’ll see you then.”

“i’ll see you then. take care of yourself, darling.” and then the line goes cold and the familiar beep tells you he hung up. 

—

shaky hands reach for the heat pouring out of the vents. your hugging the heat and the door; both for warmth and for a quick escape in case your hero turns out to be a villain. you’ve already learned your lesson about trusting people. the only sound filling the truck’s cabin is the engine revving as the driver tears through the roads, your teeth chattering and the dog at your neck happily panting. 

it’s only until he finally says something. “what’s your name?”

“d-darling.”

he quickly glances away from the road and in your direction. “what kind of name is darling?”

“my name. that’s my name.”  you hate how bitter you sound. you should be grateful. 

“okay…” he clears his throat and continues driving for awhile before finally breaking the silence again. “what happened to you? who took you? who did this to you?” he sounded concerned and calm, yet there was a hint of anger lacing his words. 

you’re reluctant to say anything, but you knew you should get used to telling your tale. you’d have to say it a hundred more times: to police, to journalists, to your family. “he said his name was riley,” you shudder at the name. hopefully, you’ll never have to say his name again. “we met at a bar and i thought he was nice, but he— he—” you can’t get the words out. the sound of sobs cut through your words. everything was catching up to you. the gravity of the situation weighed you down, tying you to earth. tethering you to this smelly truck with a big eyed dog and a pair of mysterious brown eyes. “please just get me out of here!”

you can hear him swallow hard. “it’s okay. just stay calm. we’re almost at the main roads.” he glances over at you. you can barely make out his face in the dark, but you still see those beautiful brown eyes. something to cling to— another beacon of hope. “there’s a police station a few miles out. i know the captain. he’ll help you.” 

shaking, your arms wrap around you, like you’re protecting yourself. no matter how tight you hug yourself you can’t stop trembling. your feet are numb, your eyes are heavy, your head hurts and the emptiness in your stomach catches up with you. weakly you utter, “wh-what’s your name?” “din. my name is din.”

despite your better judgement your eyes begin to flutter and your body goes numb. it gets harder to breathe, but you’re too tired to care. it’s easier to give in to the darkness. you’ve done enough; there’s no more fight left. 

“din.” it’s the last thing you say before your eyes flutter shut and pass out. you don’t wake again until you’re in a hospital bed. you scream his name until a nurse runs in and you demand to see the man that saved you. you pull at the i.v. needle in your arm, thrash in the scratchy sheets and rip at the oxygen at your nose until they sedate you.

hours later you’re awake and he’s at your bedside. he doesn’t leave until visiting hours are over. he’ll keep coming back until you ask him not to— which is never.

—

it takes you a long time to peel yourself off of the bed. your silhouette is imprinted on the bed from lying there in a wet towel for so long. the white cotton towel falls at your feet. it takes you forever to file through your closet to find the right outfit. you’re looking for something in between fancy and not trying too hard. you wanted to look good; you’re not sure if it’s for din or yourself. 

you settle on a dress and boots. the dress had been worn a million times and the boots had walked miles through new york, but they’re your favorite. it’s like wearing a safety blanket. you take your time getting ready considering it’s hours until seven. you drift around your apartment with a glass of red wine in hand. your biggest vice is cheap red wine. it was something to make you forget. a glass of hope, you lovingly told your concerened best friend. 

the more you drink the more you feel like you’re floating. you have plenty of room to roam considering how spacious your apartment is— it’s far too big for a single person in new york. you were only able to afford it from the royalties you made off your book. turns out writing a book about your trauma and exposing your open wounds to the world had its perks. who knew? 

—

you ended up dancing barefoot in your apartment with a glass of red wine spilling from your glass as you moved. you didn’t care about the stains on the overly priced rug in your living room, you were just happy to feel something good again. the future of seeing din again and the warm feeling the wine gave you was your miniature escape. when you glance at your phone you realize you’re almost late. curse words are shouted out into your apartment as you stumble your way towards the front door, balancing your bag and putting on your shoes as you went. 

despite your late start, you make it to the restaurant on time. the minute you walk in your eyes are settled on the table in the corner. it’s the same table he always got for you. din’s back is turned to you, but you notice the familiar mop on his head and the broad shoulders enclosed by the only suit he owned. same old din, you think. sighing, your chest rises and falls as you watch him. you watch as he talks to the waiter and sip at his glass, occasionally looking down at his watch, wondering if this time you’ll be late. smiling, you walk to the back of the restaurant.

“hi,” you greet him. it doesn’t take long for him to stand up and pull you into his arms. you collide with his strong torso and your arms circle around his middle. you bury your face into his chest and his chin is tucked in to the top of your head. his cologne lingers on his collar— warm spice and must. your favorite. it feels perfect. it was what you longed for all day. you wished the embrace lasted longer, but he pulls away and gestures towards the seat across from him. 

“hey, darling.” he finally says. “glad you could make it.”

you almost roll your eyes. he knows you have nothing else going on. you don’t have a traditional 9-5, you keep to yourself and you never miss a meeting with din. but, he’s nice for saying so. he’s always so nice— a lot nicer and more trusting than you’ve ever been.

“how’s my boy?” you eagerly ask, shedding yourself of your coat. 

“grogu?” his brows raise, asking as if there isn’t another floppy eared boy you’d refer to. “he’s good. even though he’s an old man, he still acts like a puppy. it’s like it’s the first day i rescued him from the shelter.” his eyes light up as he talks about grogu. the well trained dog was din’s life. you fell in love with him, too. he made you feel safe the same way din did. 

“i miss him…” your words trail off. your eyes peer up from the menu at the other. “i missed you.” 

din wets his lips. his eyes are soft as he gazes at you, trying to see if you’ve changed at all since the last time you got together. “i missed you too. it’s been too long.”

“it has.”

you two catch up and go through the pleasantries. you ask about grogu and work and the shitty truck he refuses to give up. he asks you about your writing and if you’re still going to therapy and you lie and say both are going well.

you haven’t written in weeks and stopped going to therapy three months ago.

it doesn’t take long until two champagne flutes are placed in front of you and you can’t help but scoff. of course he would. 

“i know you don’t like to think of it as a celebration, but i couldn’t help myself.” he shrugs his stocky shoulders. calloused hands reach for the crystal and holds it in the air. “because if anything, we can celebrate that night bringing us together. i’m happy you’re in my life.”

even though you didn’t feel like tonight was a night for bubbles and toasts, you grab your glass and mimic him anyway. you don’t do much for other people, but you’ll do this for him. 

“to us.” your glass collides with his and you empty its contents.

—

dinner was lovely. you two reminisced on all your memories together, drank too much wine and ate too much food. he watched you devour chocolate cake and cheesecake. you laughed about how you only live once and he was less than pleased with your joke. 

afterwards, he insisted on walking you home. you wanted to say that you were fine walking alone, but you’re too selfish and you wanted him around a little longer before he had to go home. you walked in silence, shoulders brushing against one another. occasionally his hand would rest on your lower back to guide you across streets or to pull you closer when strange men got too close. his touch was something you craved. 

sometimes, late at night when you were alone and couldn’t sleep, you thought about his touch in other ways. your mind drifted when it skimmed down your stomach and under the covers to travel in between parted thighs. you thought about the sweat on his brow, his worn hands on your hips and his breath hot on your neck. his usual calm, sturdy voice turned more needy and soft— longing for you the way you longed for him. your name falling from parted lips to say, “darling, darling, darling.” just like the flames did. it felt wrong to think of din that way, but you couldn’t help it.

some nights you wondered if he was thinking the same thing, too. 

your walk together ended all too soon. his hand removed from the small of your back and were stuffed into his slack pockets. he let out a long sigh before breaking the silence, “guess this is where i go.”

you frown. “din, you can stay the night. i have a couch you can crash on and in the morning you can go home.” you hated how you sounded like you were pleading. 

his head dropped. “i gotta get home to grogu and i have work in the morning.” he sounded like he was trying to convince himself not to stay the night.

“can you at least walk me to my door?” 

he silently nods and you’re happy for the small victory. the elevator ride up to your apartment is silent just like the walk home and for a moment you feel a tension. it was palpable. you swore you could touch the energy between you two. 

or were you making it up? 

he walks you to your door and you stop short. there’s an envelope lying on your doorstep. carefully, you approach it, nearly tip toeing it like you’re afraid there’s landmines. like the parchment would blow up in your face. 

bending down, you reach for the paper and examine the outside. there’s no address, no postage stamp, nothing. it said: to my darling. 

your heart sinks and you can feel din at your side. his hand curls around your forearm. “are you sure you want to open that? could be a stupid prank.” but you don’t say a word. you only proceed to open it with shaky hands. the envelope falls at your feet and you read the contents of the page. a single sentence written in blood:

i’m always watching you, my love. - r.w.

your hands shake and your crumble the paper into a ball and sink to your feet, din is there to catch you, slowly lowering your body to the ground. 

all of that work you did in therapy, all the glasses of wine, all the dinners with din went out the window. you felt as small as you did that night. riley williams was alive and he knew exactly where you were. you were no longer safe. you never really were.

one thing was for sure, din was not going home tonight.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #mine #moths to a flame

[tessandscottforever18]

By mid-September, Camila Cabello was feeling burnt out. In the span of three days she had performed at the MTV Video Music Awards, attended the Met gala with boyfriend Shawn Mendes, and shot the first-ever global cover for Glamour. So when she finally returned home to Miami, rest wasn’t just desired—it was essential.

But rehearsals for New York’s Global Citizen Festival loomed. Before jumping back into pop star mode, Cabello put on a yellow bikini and headed to the beach for two hours of blissfully uninterrupted downtime. She sank into a chair and cracked open a book, her favorite pastime. The salty air enveloped her; waves crashed in the distance. This is why she lives in Miami, her hometown, as opposed to a showbiz hub like Los Angeles: more privacy.

Or so she thought. Somehow the paparazzi found out where she was for those 120 minutes. She didn’t see them at first, but there they were, snapping away.

“I didn’t consent to those pictures,” she tells me over Zoom, camera off as she drives in Miami. (At one point she says to someone on the road, “Why are you honking at me, bro?”) “I got my period on the beach. I’m in a bikini and on my period, so I don’t know if I have a fucking period stain and that’s going to be everywhere. I didn’t sign up for anybody to be taking pictures of me in a bikini.”

Cabello has developed methods for dealing with invasive situations like this. She’s had to. The 24-year-old—born in Cuba, raised in Miami—has been in the public eye since 2012, when she competed on The X-Factor. She auditioned as a solo artist but was later matched with four other girls to form the pop group Fifth Harmony. They released two albums before Cabello embarked on her own—and achieved mind-boggling fame. Her singles “Havana” and “Señorita” (with Mendes) topped the charts worldwide. She’s earned three Grammy nominations, become a face of L’Oréal, and tried her hand at not just acting but starring in a feature film: this year’s Cinderella remake on Amazon Prime. Her third studio album, Familia, is due out later this year.

By all accounts it’s a lot. Careerwise it’s the closest things have felt to prepandemic times, when she was working constantly, arguably to an exhausting degree. As COVID-19 shutdowns went into effect last March, Cabello was able to realize just how tired she was.

“I by no means am trying to complain,” she says, “but it was such a thing of, ‘I have to get onstage tomorrow and I’m performing at this big thing,’ or whatever. ‘I want to do a good job. How do I do that when I feel nervous?’ I did this without being like, ‘Am I even happy right now? Do I even feel healthy?’ I didn’t have the space to ask myself those questions. I’m still working a ton now, but after quarantine I’m able to be like, ‘You know what? Right now I’m just not happy. I need to change something.’”

Therapy helped her see the changes she needed to make. Cabello tells me she’d experimented with therapy before the pandemic, but it was always situation focused—quick fixes to help her tackle the next performance or songwriting session. But with time at home, she dug deeper: “Because I wasn’t stressed about all the things I needed to do the next day, I was able to slow down and have enough stability to look at my stuff.”

Cabello doesn’t expand on what that “stuff” is. She does, however, explain why she decided to switch therapists as her internal work continued. “I wasn’t feeling like I was progressing in the areas I wanted to progress,” she says. “But when I switched, I found I was able to apply what they said in a way that benefited my mental health.”

One lesson she’s learned is the power of saying no. Two hit albums under her belt give Cabello the freedom to do things her way. Now she always has one day off a week, minimum. And when time came to start work on Familia, she forwent the standard pop music factory for a more intimate approach. The new album was made with just a handful of collaborators she could be open with. If Cabello was feeling anxious or nervous in a session, she had the space to address it. As a result, she says, it’s her best work yet.

“It’s the most grounded and calm I’ve ever been making an album,” she says. “I worked with people I wanted to have dinner with, and I was like, ‘I’m not going to write every single day for months, but write a few days a week and have time to gather experiences and be a human being.’”

Shawn Mendes is one of the people she’s gathering experiences with. The two singers confirmed their relationship in September 2019, and they’ve been tabloid magnets ever since. Everything from their laughably slow pandemic walks to their kissing style is dissected with a fine-tooth comb. A clip of them getting ready for the Met gala went instantly viral.

Cabello tells me she and Mendes try to avoid the social media chatter about their relationship, but it inevitably seeps in. “When stuff that’s negative is out there, it’s going to get to you,” she says. “So yeah, that’s very, very challenging. I feel like it’s another thing therapy has been really helpful for.”

Mendes goes to therapy too. While Cabello says she and Mendes haven’t done couples therapy—though she’d be open to it—they very much work on their mental health together.

“For better, for worse, we’re very transparent with each other. I think that’s why we can trust each other so much, because it’s a very 3D human relationship,” she says. “I’ll be venting or ranting about something, and he’ll be like, ‘Have you talked to X about it?’ And I’ll be like, ‘No. I’ve got to do a session.’ And he’ll do the same thing to me. I think even just the language of being like, ‘Hey, I’m sorry that I’ve been distant with you or snappy with you. I’m just struggling and I’m feeling kind of anxious.’ That level of transparency really helps a lot.”

Mendes echoes Cabello’s thoughts. “Camila and I give each other an extreme amount of patience and understanding,” he tells me via email. “I think the truth is that when you’re struggling with mental health, it turns you sometimes into the version of yourself that you don’t like to be—and kind of loving and accepting your person through that, and being there for them through that, is life-changing. We give each other so much space and understanding and patience.”

A behind-the-scenes VMAs story perfectly illustrates this. When Cabello was nervous meeting new people at an after-party, she caught herself leaning on a habit she’s trying to break. Mendes helped her through it.

“I have this pattern of eating a lot when I’m anxious or uncomfortable,” she says. “It’s a comfort thing for me. I’ll just kind of become unconscious and zombie-eat a lot, and then I’ll feel sick. I’ve told Shawn about that. So at the VMAs party, I was like, ‘I’m doing it.’ And he was like, ‘It’s okay. You’re doing it. That’s okay. Let’s just take a breath and not do that.’ It’s really good for me to be able to talk about my patterns with someone.”

Food and body image are two things that have really been on Cabello’s mind this year. A July TikTok she posted shutting down body-shamers racked up 4.8 million likes. “Being at war with your body is so last season,” she says in the video, which she posted after photos of her running in Los Angeles made the rounds online.

That mantra is true, sure, but it’s easier said than done. Even Cabello has difficulty following it. She braced herself for what she might feel when those aforementioned bikini pics went live: “I need to work out. I need to eat better.” “Not that those things are bad,” she says. “But maybe I wouldn’t think about them as much if there weren’t people taking pictures of me.”

It’s not just the paparazzi who ignite moments of self-doubt. Cabello tells me about a time she was exercising with her trainer, Jenna Willis—who’s great, she says—and feeling insecure. “She’s the same height as me, and I was kind of comparing myself to her, because she is a lot skinnier than I am,” she recalls. “I was just like, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been working out and I look better, right? I look better, right?’”

It’s Willis who helped silence those voices in Cabello’s head, reminding her that how she feels is more important than appearances; that life is about balance and enjoying food. These are health philosophies we’ve all heard—but when you’re Camila Cabello and millions are picking apart your beach photos, it’s hard to tune out the noise. Now when she’s feeling down on herself, she just turns her phone off and goes outside.

“When I’m having negative thoughts about my body, that’s actually when I’ll want to binge-eat cookies, and then I have a stomachache,” she says. “It’s this weird psychology: The more I love my body, the more I actually want to take care of it…. As long as I’m healthy and working out and feel good, that’s the best I can do. There’s no point in trying to have another kind of body.”

By this point in our conversation, Cabello’s made it to her destination. When I ask if she’ll have time to chill and decompress, she says, “To be honest, not yet, but I will after this weekend.” There’s a calmness in her voice when she says this—a stillness, a readiness. She seems perfectly prepared for what lies ahead: album promo, performances, and undoubtedly more scrutiny about her body, her relationship, her everything. But she’ll be fine, because just around the corner is a day off. That’s nonnegotiable.

“It’s important to be on top of not just what’s making you sad or anxious, but also what’s giving you joy,” she says. “I want to be happy and enjoy my life. That’s kind of it.”

#camila cabello #interview: glamour #glamour #glamour magazine

[calypsoff]

Thirty Five.

Trying to find a therapist was hard, there is a lot of people that need it and a lot of them were booked up. It’s taken me a whole week to get someone for him, I finally did, and he has the appointment with the therapist today and also his rehabilitation, which I am at now. Chris looked over at me and smiled and then looked away “hold the bars at the side of you” getting my phone out to check my emails, I have been trying to get things done for him because my overseas tour is glooming over so quick and I want to be here for him, but I know I can’t, I can’t just change every overseas date. I think I was deciding to get Clinton flown out to be here for him, he has settled better. I mean I sure do be in bed by ten now, I think the sleep is good for him. He refuses to take the depressants, but he will have the sleeping ones, but he refuses to have a haircut though. I mean he also tried to act like he had a shower, but he didn’t, and I think he got confused but whatever, it was dealt with, my forcefulness worked. But sleeping is working, he does talk to me. He smiled at me, he is less irritated but there is issues still there “I can’t do it though?” looking up at my phone at him saying that “but you just did it, you feel pulling here. That happens Chris because your leg hasn’t been in use so let’s try again, stand up straight. Try and keep the weight off and more on your hands when holding the bars” he says I can’t a lot, he can do it. I just been so busy with Chris that I haven’t replied back to a lot of the things I was supposed to, I am trying to start a beauty line, so I am trying to build my contact list and well, I am failing at it because I am so busy just trying to help Chris every time, a breakthrough happened though with Chris, he ate a whole meal.

The door closed behind me as I got into the car “tired?” I asked him, he nodded his head. Opening the backpack “I bought you some drinks and some snacks, I assumed you would have got tired from it all. I got you some Gatorade or water? Which one?” I asked “Gatorade” grabbing the bottle “so tell me. How was the first day there? I don’t want to hear the negative side, just the positive” holding the bottle out to him “lots of leg exercises done, he kept pushing my foot to be straight. He says that I seem to be standing a little slant, and before we finished he said my foot is straight, see if I can do it automatically. He said that your leg has been through trauma, it’s just learning. Your left leg will mimic your right soon, but the leg exercises were tiresome, felt good though” he actually gave me positivity “good, I am happy to hear that. So you are happy yes?” he nodded his head “I am glad to hear, how do you feel that we are going to a therapist?” he was playing up with that “I won’t speak to them, I don’t want to know” rolling my eyes “Chris, I refuse to let you keep this inside you. You’re going there and you’re going to speak to him, alone. I will wait outside the room” I won’t go in, I might just ruin the privacy he may want “why?” he questioned “because you may want to say something I don’t need to hear, this is your time Chris. Please speak on your feelings” also that shit wasn’t cheap, this is a good guy too.

Holding the crutches while waiting for Chris to come out of the car “here, be careful” I said to Chris, he slowly got out of the SUV “does it hurt coming out now?” it did hurt him before, but it seems like he is not cringing in pain anymore “thank you” he actually thanked me, that is so sweet of him now. Closing the door and letting Chris hop off slowly, walking behind but then he stopped “you can go ahead of me” he said, walking ahead of him “I have your jacket if you need it” walking towards the building, pressing the buzzer and turned around to see what Chris is doing, he is slowly coming bless him “Bruce Sarlin office” he said “hi, I am here for an appointment for Chris Brown” I spoke, hearing Chris huffing and puffing, he is tired clearly “come in” the door buzzed open for me, pushing the door open and holding it open for Chris to come in “we don’t need to do this you know” shaking my head at Chris, I refuse to let him get away with it “we are going” letting the door close “you know what Chris, I am proud of you” I have to give it to him because has done things I have asked of him even though he says no “really? Shall I press the elevator button?” nodding my head “yeah I am, I am proud of you for what you have done Chris, how far you have come and done for yourself” clearly this trauma has stemmed from jail, it has got too because when I met Chris he wasn’t the same man, also his dad said the same thing.

Sniffing Chris’ jacket “that is weird” looking over at Chris “it smells like you, how is that weird? You know I like to wear your things” I breathed out heavily “how can I be tired but yet I sleep so early, this is on you by the way, how early you sleep. But it’s ok, also I got a smile from you today. Didn’t think I would get such a thing” I grinned to myself, it’s there I just need to have patience. Resting my head on his shoulder “you have also ate a meal of mine, you smiled at me today. You’re taking your medication, what more can I ask for” Chris hasn’t shrugged my head off from him, I think this is the first time I have had my head anywhere near him because in bed we sleep apart, we do not sleep close because first I don’t want to hurt him but also I don’t want to be in his space, some affection and I like it “I do it for you, I came here for you. It’s you Robyn, I do it for you not for me. I am just living, more so you because I don’t want this, being in my head. I just don’t want it but I do it for you” I hate when I hear that “you do it and I can deal with that” that is all I know “Chris Brown” lifting my head up from his shoulder, Chris stared at this white old man with a pure white beard, like his beard is pearly white, it’s crazy “would you like to come in” he smiled at Chris but he just stared at him “if you want we can have Robyn come in?” he gestured “Rihanna” furrowing my eyebrows, that was random “or Rihanna, I don’t mind which personality she would like to bring to the room, come?” he smiled, he didn’t want him to call me Robyn. I got up from the seat, I really wanted him to go alone because he may have been better that way “come, let’s go in” he isn’t going to go in without me, clearly.

This man seems so sweet “would you like to be called Chris or Christopher?” he asked, this room seems so peaceful in a weird way. It’s giving me peace vibes anyways “Chris” he answered him “Chris, I am Bruce Sarlin. I have been speaking to Rihanna” he pointed at me “yeah” he drifted off “I am concerned about him, like I am not going to speak on his behalf like a mother but the reason why I reached out to you because his doctor said she feels he has PTSD and he has been saying how much he doesn’t want to be here which to me is concerning so I bought him here to get some help, he deserves to happy and I know he doesn’t feel it right now. He’s changed since I first met him and I feel like certain factors in his life changed him but that is me done, I am not speaking again” I held my hands up, Bruce smiled at me “that is fine, Chris how do you feel when Rihanna speaks on you being changed, do you feel there is something wrong? Do you think there is” he questioned him, I think that is a hard question, it’s hard to admit something is wrong “no” he is such a liar “that is fine, so you’re ok and Rihanna is just concerned over nothing?” looking over at Chris and he shrugged, he is not being truthful “what happened to your leg? Did you break it?” he pointed “I got shot in the thigh, because of some obsessed fan that wanted Rihanna” Bruce started writing that down “does that play on your mind at all?” I want to kick him for lying “no” I knew he would say that “then tell me Chris why are you here? Do you think there is something wrong, now this is a safe space and if you rather do this alone, we can also let Rihanna leave the room?” I rather go so he can tell the truth “I go if she goes” he is working my nerve “Chris, poppa. Listen to me, you need to get better. You need to tell the truth; I did this for you. This may be painful, but you need to let it loose” Chris needs to do this, he has to do this for us.

Chris didn’t respond at all, he remained silent, I am not sure what that even means, is this him agreeing to cooperating “let’s try an open question, what would you say is the most traumatic and frightening experience you had in your life, there could be many but is there a main one where you say it was a changing point” Bruce asked Chris and I hope he answers as I would like him too, he can’t keep saying no to everything, he needs to open up and say how he feels “when I want to jail” the relief I feel right now, to know he is saying something “and if you don’t mind me asking, why did you go to jail? I want to know” I am just going to remain silent, unless he starts talking shit again “drugs, I am not a bad person, but I got caught with moving it for my cousin” Bruce nodded his head “and how long was that for?” he asked “five years” Bruce raised an eyebrow “so it was weed or what? Was it a small amount” Chris laughed “no sir, we are talking about keys of cocaine. It’s quick money for a nigga, but yeah. I got caught and I got asked to snitch, this to get a lesser sentence and I just sat there thinking about my life, I didn’t want to be locked up for the rest of my life, so I did it, on my own cousin. I am never proud of it because I am constantly looking over my shoulder, nobody likes a snitch, but I was looking out for me. My cousin got caught and life goes on, someone else took over but that meant he was jailed in the same place as me” Bruce is just writing, he is writing a lot “so you got jailed in the same place as your cousin, how was it in there?. Describe jail for me Chris” that is a lot of context, I wonder if Chris will answer that.

My eyes dragged to Chris; he is quiet. I mean it is a lot to answer “I was in a detention centre with a bunch of niggas, I mean as soon as I got there they stripped me, ass cheeks spread and all that. I was young as hell, I just wanted quick money. I didn’t want that, I was in a centre with niggas that were in their thirties and there for life, they put me in jail with niggas that were worse than me. I kept myself to myself, I didn’t speak to anyone, it was depressing. I been there for a few weeks now, I heard my cousin arrived. He saw me, and I saw him, but we walked by. Then it got out, I am a snitch. Nobody likes a snitch, I was scared. One of the niggas mentioned it to me on the low, it’s getting around that I am a snitch. He probably felt sorry for me, I don’t know. And erm” he paused, he is emotional “I was scared to sleep at night, and I get why. They were there, we all sleep in this one big room, I was fucked up. I couldn’t go anywhere, the guards weren’t there, and I got beat in the night, on my shoulder I got stabbed too. I thought this is it, this was the moment I die but no, I woke up in the jail hospital. They barely let me heal and threw me in the box because I started the fight, I was in there for what, three weeks. An hour of daylight, I did nothing. Jail was hard for me” his voice broke “and uhm I was in there, for so long until my parents fought to speak to me, I didn’t speak to anyone for weeks. They moved me to somewhere that was better but even then I was on edge because I was a snitch, it moved with me. That title, I had it forever. I had to show I wasn’t going to take their shit, I made my own knife, I had to be clever, and I had to show I wasn’t going to be beaten up, so I had to beat someone up there, he lived anyways but every day I had to live on the edge.”

“And then while I was in jail I was hearing you have my heart, and we'll never be worlds apart. Maybe in magazines. And I couldn’t escape her, I couldn’t escape her voice. I was stuck in a cell and I just be thinking and being hateful because she left without saying anything to me” Chris paused “I loved her, she didn’t know but I did and it just sucks, I don’t know how I made it out and I feel like I can’t relax. Five years there felt like twenty years, the days dragged because I refused to make friends with people that knew I am a snitch and would have killed me in my sleep and being in VA everyone knew what I did. He is my cousin; it’s a code and you won’t get it. Jail made me toughen up, I ain’t ever want to harm anyone, and to stab someone was the start of my downfall but I had to do it, they were going to kill me if they knew I did nothing. You know how hard it is to fend for your life? To be looking behind you when getting your food, not knowing who is out to get you. I slept with my fist balled up, but everyone wanted that Chris, the sweet Chris. I am not the same and never will be” I never knew he did that, frowning at Chris in concern “do you get flashbacks?” Bruce asked, I am still reeling in from the first part “I do, happiness is a thing I think won’t last long for me. I do think to the moment where I got beat and then me beating another man for my own fight to show I will kill a nigga if they come near me” Bruce cleared his throat “how hard is it to speak on this? Is this the first time for you?” he nodded his head “I ain’t ever told a soul this, I feel like I lost myself when I went to jail and I try so hard to be happy, I want it but things happen to me which just confirms to me that I should be dead. I often think about the guy I stabbed, and if I am being honest the image of blood comes to me, but he made it, he was alive, but I knew what I did and so did everyone in that block. I feel like I had to be them. And then when that guy, that crazy guy had his gun to me. It was just like I was back in jail and I was feeling myself dying from pain and just the whole thing. I have so many scars, battle wounds, you can never be the same once you be in jail” this was just a big insight, I am shocked because I wasn’t expecting it.

Bruce set up another appointment with Chris, I think I will be able to go to about two more of these before I leave for overseas. I don’t want Chris to think I am quiet with him because of what I heard, I also don’t want to take it away with us because it’s private to him, that is what it will be “you must be tired after all this” I said breaking the silence “you looking at me different now?” Chris bought it up “why would I? This is private to you; how do you feel? I know it’s the first session” I can’t judge it already “erm, I don’t know yet. He’s going to continue to push me at things” now I am scared to know if there is more bad things “that is fine, you needed to speak on it Chris. Everyone deserves to be heard, speak on your feelings” I want that for him but I am just scared to know the fuck else is there to tell, I hope nothing even worse.

#Chrianna FF #Chrianna #Chrianna Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fanfiction

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Let’s Talk About Your Hair

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Warnings: AU, Peter does a little hop, skip, and jump that’s sudden. There’s some smut and a little bit of angst. That’s about it, though!  Notes: I found @whenstarkerwillbecanon‘s post about May being Peter’s cousin & had to go with it. I loved the prompt, so thank you for that. I tweaked it to fit my writing style, but I hope it’s kind of what you had in mind!  Word Count: ~13.5k Summary: 

A snazzy little AU where Peter and May are cousins. Peter has been in Minnesota for school over the past 6 years and returns to New York to take a job. Going back home means hanging out with his favorite cousin, and when she introduces him to her new boyfriend - he's surprised to see Tony Stark - his ex and long time love - sitting there next to her. Goodness ensues.

Read on AO3 here

6 years ago… 

Peter was 21 and desperately in love. 

Or - the one where Peter gets the shock of a lifetime and yearns away a little bit at a time.Peter was 21 and desperately in love.

Despite the fact that the end of college was quickly approaching and so many decisions needed to be made, Peter felt okay. The pre-med track he took through NYU connected him to his true passion, physical therapy and if all went well, he’d be attending PT school in the fall. His clinical rotations were a lot of fun and he enjoyed working with the patients – especially the younger ones, the dreamy eyes on those kids were a big motivation to chase all  of the things he wanted. Things like his education and the beautiful Tony Stark.

He met Tony in Microbiology lab his sophomore year and they immediately clicked. Tony’s brain was fascinating and the vivid way he lived his life drew Peter in like a moth to a flame. Aside from acing their lab final and coming out of what was rumored to be one of the harder classes in his degree, Peter found himself with a Tony Stark attached to his hip, too. It felt good, being close to someone the way he could be with Tony – the lack of expectation and abundance of goodness made their time together priceless.

For two and a half glorious years, Peter and Tony learned the necessary things to graduate college and mapped out places in each other’s lives. With Howard still running the company, Tony was free to do whatever he wanted, and thankfully – what he wanted included Peter. The prospect of attaining his dreams and keeping the man he loved the most couldn’t be beat. It didn’t matter that there were better PT schools to go to, or that New York was starting to feel a little suffocating – he liked the flow of his life and didn’t want to change it.

Then – Howard Stark died. The entire thing was stupidly sudden, not a single person was prepared for it. Not the board of Stark Industries, and sure as hell not Tony Stark himself. Throughout their time together, Peter met Tony’s dad a handful of times. Each one of the witnessed father-son interactions was forced, boarding on the edge of hostile. There was no love lost between the two of them – Tony’s grief seemed to be based around the loss of his freedom, not the death of his father.

Like every powerful family, Tony walked into a legacy that took things from him in all directions. Between board meetings, R&D presentations, and the terrible Obadiah Stane’s never ceasing presence, it got a little harder to picture that happy ending they’d been planning for. No matter how well he knew the situation, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that things were different. Or, maybe he was just different – he couldn’t really pinpoint the dark bit of energy that sat in the center of his chest and started to collect.

By the end of the semester, Peter was barely getting to see Tony. With  his rotations and the hectic schedule of a young business owner, there wasn’t a lot of time to kick back and relax – to fuck all over the apartment and waste the rest of the day recovering just to go again. In fact, Peter couldn’t remember the last time they even got to fuck. It was petty – deep down, he knew that. Holding anything over Tony’s head when the man was trying to juggle running a business and struggling not to mourn someone he couldn’t help but miss.

Peter didn’t often find himself in a place of selfishness – where he wanted what he wanted, and nothing was going to change that. Yet, he got there, anyway. Applying to Mayo Clinic School of Medical Sciences in Minnesota felt like a little act of rebellion.

He loved Tony too much to ever hurt him in a physical sense, Peter didn’t have any interest in cheating, or anything like that. The card he held removed his presence all together and the closer he got to the point where decisions needed to be made, the more uncertain he felt himself becoming.

About a week before graduation, Peter got his acceptance letter in the mail – the school he actually wanted to attend wanted him back. How interesting a concept that was – he could almost remember when he felt that with Tony. He was lost and that wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own.

The door to their shared apartment opened a couple of minutes later, Tony peaking his head in hours earlier than usual, a smile on his face.

The annual Stark Gala was later that evening and as promised, he’d taken the afternoon off to spend with Peter – their time later that evening would more than likely be very limited. Leaving the letter on the table, Peter got up off the couch and wrapped Tony in a hug. For some reason, tonight felt like the turning point. His heart was already beating out of his chest, Tony’s hands doing things to him without a second thought. Peter wanted to stay – he just wanted to be whole enough to want everything that came with staying more.

The delicate caress of Tony’s hands became distracting no less than a few minutes later – his fingertips digging into Peter’s ass cheeks through his jeans. It’d been a while, so Peter went with it, his arms wrapping around Tony’s neck tightly. Their kisses were hot, like each man could feel the bit of separation between them – Tony clung to him a little tighter and for the first time in a while, Peter felt good. He felt Tony making him feel good.

When he came a little later on with Tony’s name on his lips, Peter relaxed into the bed, a light smile on his lips. They stayed snuggled up together until a knock on the door was sounding and any other thoughts of intimacy were out the window. There wouldn’t be a single moment of peace for the rest of the evening. With one last kiss, Peter got up and out of bed, the haze of happiness rolling off of him.

Later, when he put a bag together and left without saying a word – Peter didn’t realize how blind he’d been. Without him knowing, Tony saw the letter and planned to surprise him with champagne later that evening. He didn’t get to see the other man sitting on the arm of the couch, fisting the bottle – wondering what in the actual fuck happened.

Instead, he got a bus ticket and made his way to Minnesota, his acceptance email to the Mayo Clinic PT school fresh in the sent folder.

For days to come, he would look back and wonder what the hell compelled him to just up and scram – to leave everything behind other than the basic necessities and his favorite picture of him and Tony. Even presently, Peter can’t come up with the greatest reason. He acted on instinct and fled. For whatever reason, he lacked the feeling of completion and needed the space to find out what that meant – and how he could change it..

Present Day

In the six years that he’d been there, Minnesota sort of grew on him. The cold sucked – that’s the first thing he realized when he got there. What he’d been wearing in New York, even in late May, was not appropriate for the small town he walked into after getting off the bus. He did a quick perusal of town and figured it would be as good of a place to start over as any other. Rochester, Minnesota – he remembered he picked the Mayo Clinic PT school there just because it reminded him of New York – he thought it was ironic.

Now, it’d been home away from home for a few years. After getting a pretty decent one-bedroom apartment and a job at the PT clinic within the actual medical school – Peter set up camp pretty quickly. He dropped his New York number and started completely fresh. It tore at his heart, turning off the last line of communication he had with Tony – he’d been ignoring all of his calls and texts, the desperate emails – but he made his decision.

Why not get all the breaking done at once?

He figured the longer he was gone, the easier the heartache would get. It felt deserved, for being callous in the way he just up and left – dropped off the map. The longer it lasted, though, the more Peter started to doubt his decision. School was going great and he loved getting to receive the education he actually wanted – but was it worth the cost?

To try and take his mind off of it, Peter tried to date – as miraculous as that sounded with the busy schedule he kept. A part of him could honestly say he knew going into each date that they were already doomed. He tried – at least, he wanted to say that he did. The new guys were always held up against the highest pedestal, no matter how hard he tried – Peter couldn’t stop seeing Tony, couldn’t keep Tony off his mind. Tony, Tony, Tony.

In the collective whirlwind of time, Peter finished PT school and immediately stepped into a job as a traveling physical therapist. He worked with a couple of the local sports teams in the area and covered their games when in his little jurisdiction. It was satisfying – he got to do a bit of wandering around the state, watch sports in leu of doing an actual job, and it paid well. Yet, the longer he stayed in it, he felt himself getting further from that genuine feeling of happiness.

When it became more effort to get his ass to work and do his job, he figured it was time for a change of scenery.

May’s call came at just the right time, too – Peter dealt with a particularly difficult man-child of a soccer player that morning, his patience frayed and wearing down thinner than he ever thought they could. The buzz in his pocket drew him away from the notes he’d been trying to put together on the athlete, his eyes lighting up when he saw her name.

“May, my favorite cousin! How are you?” Peter said in a way of greeting, his tone warm, voice inviting. Of all the family Peter had left, May was possibly the only person he cared to keep in touch with. Her parents were great for taking him in his last couple of years of high school, but they weren’t his �� not like they were May’s.

He heard a chuckle on the other side of the line, her voice never stopping him from smiling, no matter what. “I’m your only cousin, Pete,” she started, the thick sarcasm wrapping the words up, delivering them beautifully. “I’m on to you. I’m good, though – very good. I am also calling with a purpose.” She cleared her throat, the sign that she was serious.

Leaning back in his chair, Peter felt interest flare up within him – May’s suggestions and adventures usually ended up horribly, but they were fun, and they didn’t usually steer him wrong. He rubbed at the scar from their tubing adventure his senior year fondly, the memory one of his favorites to think about. “With a purpose. I’m sure this’ll be good,” Peter remarked, a chuckle leaving his lips, the laugh soothing the sting of truth in his words.

May rolled with it, the eye roll obvious in her next words. “Shut up – you know my ideas are the best. It’s not coming from me this time, though. I got a tip from one of my coworkers that the Nets are looking for a staff PT – thought you might be good for the job.” He felt his breath hitch – he’d been trying to get on with a singular pro team for a while now.

She must have caught the change – her voice excitedly talking again, “Oh, I knew you’d be interested, Petey! I’ll send you the information.” He could practically hear the claps coming down the line, her perpetual ability to be happy both delightful and irritating all at once. Shrugging, Peter didn’t deny that the job looked promising when he clicked on the link to look at the details. Within the hour, he clicked the submit button and sent the damn thing off.

The itch to go to New York was there – now he just needed to scratch it.

Luckily, his resume reigned supreme. During his time in school, Peter did a bunch of outreach with youth sports programs and adult recreation leagues. He took a big internship with Rochester and Oakland University his last two semesters in PT school – if anyone was qualified, it was Peter Parker. And the hiring bodies seemed to agree, after a lengthy Skype interview, Peter was flying out for a quick 24-hour turnaround trip. One in which he came back to Minnesota with a brand-new job and the chance to finally go home.

The move was pretty easy – much like his first trip, he didn’t bring much with him. The team put him up in one of the nicer apartment complexes in Brooklyn, a place that came fully furnished and with a delightful view of the back porches of the 3B patrons. When May came to help him, he could see the grin on her face – the idea of getting done sooner rather than later obvious. They took a look around the box riddled place when they were finished and decided that dinner out was the best way to finish off the night.

There were many things in the city that he missed, but good Thai food ranked pretty high on that list (that and Tony – but he wasn’t about to go and tell anyone that.) Settling into the low-lit booth of the place they found right down the street from Peter’s apartment, he let out a long sigh. “It feels good to finally not be moving. I feel like I haven’t stopped since I got here yesterday,” Peter fiddled with the silverware in front of him, a smile on his lips.

“I’m just glad you didn’t have more stuff to move around. The ER was hopping last night, so I’ve been feeling more tired than usual today,” she placed a hand over his, her touch stopping the restless fretting. “I’m really glad you’re here, Pete. It’s been weird in the city without you.” Her red lips pulled into a grin, eyes twinkling.

Peter dropped the utensils and turned his hands, surrounding May’s with his own. “I’m glad to be here, too. Disappearing like I did was stupid – “ he stopped, breath catching a little. So stupid, he thought to himself. May was in college when he left, her own experience just starting to get off the ground. She didn’t even know anything about him during that time – no matter how ‘close’ they were. “I’m happy to be back. And in Brooklyn – who would have thought?”

They chatted until the food came – the world narrowing down to noodles, deliciousness, and not much else for Peter. She might have been talking at him, but he wasn’t listening. For the first time in years, it felt like being at home. This wasn’t Pho’s from down the street in Queens, it wasn’t the best he’d ever eaten, either – but it felt familiar. He’d been missing familiarity for a while now, that realization hitting him harder than he figured.

Self-induced isolation could do that to a person.

As he finished up, Peter clued back into the conversation, his eyes watching May gesture through the rest of her story before he met her glance. “I didn’t hear a word of what you said. Sorry,” he admitted, his mind split in a million different directions. New York brought back so many things – memories and wants. Trying to pay attention to May was proving difficult.

“I said you have to meet the guy I’ve been seeing. It’s pretty new, but I like him. He’s unique and smart and sort of weird – but who isn’t these days?” May repeated, her cheeks flushed. “We’re going to meet at Sully’s in Manhattan. You know the old place.” She waved at him nonchalantly – like they’d spent so much time there over the years. He remembered taking her with him during her first winter break and hadn’t been back since.

Chomping down on those words, Peter shot her a sheepish grin – “I’m not going to be a third wheel, am I?” Peter questioned, his tone light, but the question serious. He hadn’t been successful in his own dating life in a while – the last thing he wanted to do was watch May get her flirt on for too long.

She shook her head, eyes bright – the pure shininess of her personality a little overwhelming, especially right that moment. He dropped a hand beneath the table and clenched it into a fist – the countdown backwards from ten starting (ten-nine-eight…) in his head. The tightness left quickly, but he felt a little rattled – his patience still on the wrong side of thin. “I promise that you won’t be.”

He took her at that and reluctantly agreed, his inability to say no to her something he needed to work on now that they were back in the same place again. Peter Parker grew into a respectable adult – he could put his foot down when necessary. Maybe. He hoped.

The next afternoon, Peter left his brand-new office and grabbed a cab – the process still as exhilarating as ever. At least he’d grown in his absence and the vehicles actually saw him when he waved from the curbside. Minnesota didn’t have the same hustle and bustle – so the luxury and relative newness kept him staring out the window the entire drive. The upscale buildings made his heart race a little – the reaction another clue telling him he was home.

The little café looked exactly the same as it did in his memory – upscale with a side of hipster. They tried to make the record player in the corner look vintage, but the current technology couldn’t be disguised. The Upper East Side had standards after all. He took a second to catch his bearings before approaching May and the dark-haired man sitting next to her. The particular color struck him as familiar – but then again, who the fuck was he?

Like she knew he was there, May turned to look over his shoulder and caught his eyes, her token smile pulling today’s pink coated lips up, causing a swift crease by both of her eyes. “There he is,” he made out, a hand coming up in a slight wave.

And then – he stopped in his tracks.

The man who turned to look in the same direction as May wasn’t just any man – no – his beautiful cousin was dating the one person Peter could honestly say he missed more than ever. His Tony – well, not really his anymore. Obviously. His heart wanted to jump out of his chest and run over there, every part of him paralyzed except for that particular muscle.

His mouth watered and for a second, he thought about turning right around and getting the hell out of dodge before something went wrong – before he lost control and got down on his knees to beg the man for forgiveness. The thought was so fucking enticing, especially when his eyes finally caught gorgeous amber honey eyes, the look there a mixture of surprise, excitement, and hurt. Gulping in a big breath of air, Peter forced himself to keep walking.

He could do this.

Rounding in on the table, Peter stayed on his feet next to the other open chair at the table – the idea of running still sitting in the forefront of his mind. May reached a hand over and patted his, the touch he figured was supposed to be comforting – instead, it made his skin itch. How dare she – ! And then it hit him that he didn’t have a singular right to feel that way. Guiltily, he flipped his hand over and gripped hers, the skin soft under his own calloused palm calming.

“I’m glad you made it,” she said genuinely. “Babe, this is – “ May started to say, her hand drawing back from Peter to pat against her boyfriend’s arm, his gaze fixing on Peter’s once again.

“I’m Peter, May’s cousin,” Peter blurted out, his hand shooting into the space between them. He felt like an idiot, a total loser still standing with his hand out and the single most confused look on his face. He didn’t need to see his own expression to know how freaked he look – he could feel the way his stomach was trying to drop out of his asshole.

A warm hand gripped his own a couple seconds later, the hold firm, the touch familiar. The natural chemistry between them swallowed Peter whole – his hand on fire and the arm attach to it numb and the chest attached to it trying it’s best to collapse in. The audacity of his body to be so mutinous – fuck the littlest bit of joy that settled over him. But god, he’d missed this man.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Tony, the boyfriend.” Tony shot him the still recognizable shit eating grin – his hand keeping Peter’s in the tight hold for another couple of heartbeats, each one dragging him down further and further. What were the odds? How could this possibly be happening? Chuckling, Peter covered up his freak out by dropping Tony’s hand and finally taking the seat he’d been standing by.

For a second, it seemed like May could read the tension suddenly infiltrating the room. Her eyes roamed between the two of them, eyelids narrowed. Then, she tilted her head and smiled sheepishly – “Great, now that’s over with – I’m going to grab some coffee. You two get to know each other.”

Peter shot her a look, the silent plea in his eyes obviously not recognizable – she merely nodded her head towards Tony and turned around, the conversation obviously over.

That same hand from before touching his made Peter glance up quickly, his eyes wide. Now that he wasn’t being watched directly, Peter took a second to really look at the man across from him. There didn’t seem to be any signs of aging, Tony’s face was smooth, aside from the goatee he’d only been nursing when Peter was around. His eyes were still that deep brown, the heavy wave of their darkness never failing to pull him in. His hair was a little longer – like he’d purposely been trying to grow it out.

Time was very kind to Tony Stark – so kind, in fact, that Peter could easily admit he was even more handsome than 6 years ago, a feat that didn’t seem fair. The hand didn’t move during his perusal, though the fingers attached to it did start to roam over the skin of his palm. The mechanism Tony used all those years ago to bring Peter back to the present. Blinking away the thoughts, Peter forced himself to teether to the spot, this next interaction one he probably didn’t want to miss.

“My May, Tony?” Peter ended up saying after a few more heartbeats of Tony tracing the lines of his palm, the familiar touch so goddamn soothing. There wasn’t much else to say – not when there were so many things unsaid, so many things that Peter wanted to explain, and by the looks of it – Tony felt the same way. Glancing over, Peter sighed with a sort of relief when he noticed May completely engrossed in the drink board, her fingers playing with her lip.

The deep vibrato of Tony’s laugh shot a tingle down the middle of his spine – his body not taking long to once again tune itself to the delicacies that were Tony Stark. He balled his right hand into a fist, a blinding hope that out of all the times he’d done it, this would be the time it actually allowed him to relax. No dice, though – Peter almost melted into a puddle when Tony started to speak.

“I didn’t even know you had a May, Pete. I was supposed to meet your family when they came in for graduation – but you know how well that went,” Tony pointed out, his hand drawing back now, the man knowing he had Peter’s full attention. “I’m just as surprised about this as you are.”

Peter could tell, too. There was a sort of vulnerability in Tony’s eyes that even in all their time together, Peter didn’t get to see often. For a second, he wondered if May knew that look – if she understood the gift she was being given. It took him way too long to realize Tony was a man of simplicity who gave affection the only way he could – with subtlety and in the littlest of ways. Oh, how he’d taken those little things for granted.

“I can’t believe it’s you that I’m sitting here with right now. Of all the people in New York,” Peter muttered, his hands spinning the pile of coasters sitting on the table. He couldn’t, either – it felt like the universe’s way of slapping him in the face. The karmic retribution for being a total fucking asshole to someone who in the end, didn’t deserve it – not a single bit.

Tony laughed then, his upper body adjusting against the back of the chair, his arm slinging over the back of the chair, resting there like this was some casual meeting, like just looking at him in such an open position wasn’t killing Peter from the inside out. Or maybe Tony knew exactly what he was doing to him, each move calculated to get the biggest bang for his buck – to pull the reactions from Peter and watch him squirm.

Either way – Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away. The thought of running coursed through his head again, this time to save himself the humiliation of this – this situation that could not go anywhere but further and further into the garbage. May didn’t know anything about their shared past, though – she wouldn’t understand the immediate need to get the hell out of dodge and avoid her for the next however long. Preferably long enough for her to no longer be dating Tony, but he didn’t get to decide that little detail.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tony finally uttered, a smirk on his lips – he was trying for snark, for aloof and uninterested. Peter could see the way he glanced at him, though – his rebuttal the guiding hand for their interactions from here on out.

Peter took the bait, the part of him that still belonged to Tony speaking before his brain could get in on the action. “I’m not disappointed. It’s so good to see you. You look amazing,” Peter prattled off, his restless hands spinning one of the coasters from the pile between his fingers. “I’m far from disappointed, Tony.”

He didn’t know how true that was, either, not until he heard the words for himself. Despite May being the person Tony sat next to, it immediately felt good to be in his presence. Like simply being in his orbit set things right, the magnetic field surrounding him finally put back into the correct position. The brunette across from him should have a piece in his life – the fact that he accidently walked into it a second time sign enough.

They didn’t get to talk for any longer after that, May brought over three coffees and sat down, the woman immediately starting in on her babbling – he forgot how much she could talk and how passionate she could be when she did. Peter didn’t stay much longer, the thought of sticking around to witness anything coupley between them making his stomach turn.

After making his escape, Peter walked for a while, the haze of Tony Stark and all he’d been to him bringing him under. When he eventually caught a cab home, it was well into the evening – he passed the whole day away thinking about a man from his past, someone who he felt like he had unfinished business with.

----

In an attempt to forget that entire meeting existed, Peter went out of his way to avoid May – with his job starting up and the season just coming to an end, it was easier than he figured it was going to be. There weren’t a lot of things for him to do, yet – but he enjoyed getting to know some of the athletes and familiarizing himself with the facilities equipment. It far surpassed the places he’d been conducting his rehabs in before.

There was no forgetting Tony Stark, he understood that after years of trying to clear his brain of the man – but maybe he could avoid dealing with him and the unsettling and unmoving feelings that were settling in again, taking root. He loved May and he knew enough about family code to keep his distance and remove himself from a situation that could get very bad, very quick.

It sort of worked, too – sooner than expected, Peter finished his first month in the city. Most of his apartment was put together and he finally felt settled in at his job. They team was on a little break, which meant he also got to take some time for himself – a thing he thought he might actually enjoy. There hadn’t been time for vacations over the past couple of years, surviving came first.

About to settle in for a nap, Peter sat straight up when his phone vibrated, the notification that “Maybe: Tony Stark” was texting him stealing all the air from his lungs. Throwing the phone down like it burnt him, Peter forced himself into a comfortable position and drew in long breathes, his chest so goddamn tight, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Finally able to use his brain to think and not just perform simple bodily functions (like breathing,) Peter picked up the phone again, his hands trembling.

Maybe: Tony Stark [2:26PM]: PICTURE MESSAGE Maybe: Tony Stark [2:27PM]: Do you remember Dum-E? He got an upgrade.

Peter lost his shit when he saw the picture, Tony’s prized robot was flipping him the finger, his traditional DUNCE cap sitting proudly on the top of its head. He pressed on the image to zoom in, the articulation of the joint almost spot on. Saving Tony’s contact, he moved to reply. It was against his better judgement – he shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But – he was weak. Peter didn’t have any trouble admitting that.

Peter Parker [2:31PM]: Tony Stark – did you teach your robot how to throw the bird just for me? Peter Parker [2:33PM]: Glad to see you’re still as elegant as ever.

He put his phone face down on the couch and forced himself up – his stomach growling all of the sudden. In times of desperation and nervousness, Peter didn’t get sick to his stomach. No, he felt the need to eat everything in sight, instead. The crumbled carcasses of 4 Doritos bags were already sitting on his counter, the evidence of his emotion fueled binges staring him straight in the face. Deciding on something healthier, Peter brought a bowl of cereal back to the couch with him. Finally letting himself look at the phone again, Peter got lost in the back and forth for a while.

Tony Stark [2:39PM]: Anything for you, Petey. Tony Stark [2:41PM]: I was just telling him about our little reunion, he wanted to show you how much he missed you. Tony Stark [2:42PM]: Still can’t believe that’s how you walked back into my life.

Peter Parker [2:45PM]: You two are such gems. Peter Parker [2:46PM]: That makes two of us. Peter Parker [2:47PM]: I am the king of great timing.

Tony Stark [2:50PM]: I am a delicate ruby, you’re absolutely correct. Tony Stark [2:51PM]: I literally just laughed out loud. It’s a good thing my private lab is y’know – private. Tony Stark [2:53PM]: You’re actually a huge dick with the worst timing.

Peter Parker [3:00PM]: You’d be a delicate opal, don’t lie. Peter Parker [3:01PM]: Are we talking about my dick now? Peter Parker [3:03PM]: In all seriousness, I know. I am. I’ll admit it. It probably doesn’t mean much, but I am sorry. Peter Parker [3:05PM]: Very.

Tony Stark [3:15PM]: I’ll take that as a compliment, Peter. Opals are multi-faceted. Tony Stark [3:17PM]: You started it. Tony Stark [3:18PM]: It doesn’t – mean much. I do accept it, though. Your apology. Tony Stark [3:20PM]: I knew where you went the second I saw the Mayo Clinic letter still sitting there. I wish you just told me, instead.

That last text message made Peter pause, his hand coming up to press against his mouth – the gesture a dashed attempt at keeping the gasp from falling from his lips. He never considered that, the fact that Tony would have simply gave him a hug and congratulated him. Peter took the strain and stress of Tony figuring out how to step into big shoes as something completely different, a lot bleaker. Maybe, at the time, he let it be an excuse, too.

There was a desperate sort of hatred for himself whenever he thought about what he did. On the other hand, Peter knew the only way he was going to grow was to get out and do it. There were obviously better ways to go about it – but he couldn’t change that now. The fact that May was dating the man he loved so much and treated so dirty – it all kind of made a twisted sort of sense.

Peter Parker [3:35PM]: It was a compliment. Peter Parker [3:36PM]: I did – it’s nice, I have to be proud when I can. Peter Parker [3:38PM]: Thank you – that’s all that I can ask for. Peter Parker [3:41PM]: I don’t have a good excuse as to why I didn’t. You were doing your thing, I didn’t think – I just went and did the same. Peter Parker [3:45PM]: I needed to figured things out – and I did exactly that. Just – a little too late.

When he didn’t get a response after that, Peter wasn’t all that surprised. Typing the words out felt lame and he knew there’d been no justice or retribution. At this point in either of their lives, it didn’t seem prudent for there to be – Tony had May, even if it still weirded him out a little bit to think about it. Peter made his decision six years ago, choosing himself over everything else. The least he could do was stand by that.

Making up excuses that would never explain the density of his want to figure himself out before he gave himself completely to another. And, wow did he want to give himself completely to Tony. Of course, there were better ways to go about it – there were much better ways. Stepping away from the situation, he formulated twenty, thirty – tons. Yet, Peter wasn’t sure he would have been able to pull off any of them without chickening out.

So – he dealt with the consequence. Hurting the person he loved the most, watching him with his cousin, feeling just the slightest bit incomplete – that was his penance. At least he knew he did the right thing for him. When the right person came around, no matter how much he wanted it to be Tony, he could genuinely and honestly be in it – giving himself would be so very easy. That thought made him just a bit more content – even if it didn’t keep him warm at night, it kept him sane.

The next couple of weeks went by quickly – he spent the days he didn’t go into the office wandering around the city, his heart truly full now that he was back. There truly was no place like home. When Ned and MJ found out he was back, they got together a couple times a week just to hangout and catch up. Ned worked for a computer engineering company and got to enjoy the spoils of his youth behind the keys. MJ taught at Midtown and came packed with the best gossip.

One night in the middle of June, the three of them were gathered around Peter’s coffee table, the remains of Chinese food scattered around. Peter had been in the city for four months now – each one better than the next. It felt good to be able to do what he wanted – to be able to afford copious amounts of food and stupid movies on DirectTV. They were watching the newest Men in Black when Peter’s phone vibrated. A soft smile slipped across his face when he noticed it was Tony.

For the first couple of days, it felt weird to be texting Tony so much. Tony sent him another message out of the blue the very next day that broke the weird spell of the past they decided to dredge up – and they’d been texting ever since. It remained casual – despite the vibe that Tony wouldn’t mind if it did. Peter wouldn’t, either – if he were being completely honest. But, May deserved more than that.

Glancing down at his phone, Peter felt his smile grow – Tony’s initial jump into conversation was always off the wall, always completely random.

Tony Stark [8:01PM]: Did you know that the state sport in Maryland is jousting? Tony Stark [8:03PM]: Like, legit medieval era shit.

Peter couldn’t hold back the laugh, despite not wanting to give himself away. He wasn’t ready to talk about any of it with anyone – but he’d already been caught out, MJ was too smart for her own good. “What, or I guess who, has got you smiling like that?” she quirked a brow at him, the lady like a bloodhound sniffing out a scent.

Biting into his bottom lip, Peter didn’t answer for a few seconds – his fingers too busy sending off a reply.

Peter Parker [8:07PM]: I did not know that. I’ve been to a Renaissance festival, so I’ve seen it – I couldn’t imagine that being a very practical sport, however. Peter Parker [8:08PM]: Did you find that on the back of a Laffy Taffy wrapper?

A warm feeling settled within him, the ease in which he could talk to Tony hadn’t gone anywhere – even with 6 years and a ton of baggage between them. Finally glancing up at MJ, he took a deep breath, the news he was about to give something that would probably confuse the fuck out of her. She was the only one he told about leaving for Minnesota, she knew how big of a deal it was to disappear like he did.

“It’s Tony,” Peter mumbled, his face heating, though his eyes never wavered.

In true Ned style, he jumped into the conversation randomly, his voice echoing around the room. “You mean like – Tony Stark? The Tony?” he asked, his entire body shifting, his attention now on Peter and MJ completely.

Blushing further, Peter nodded – his fingers brushing through his hair as he did. “The one and only. It’s weird – he’s dating May and I know that. And things are strictly friendly between us – but it could easily be something else.”

MJ moved a little closer, a hand pressing into his thigh. “I always thought it was a little weird that you were dating the golden boy. And when you left – I thought maybe that was the end. I don’t know, Peter – I hope you’re thinking about what you’re doing,” her voice sounded concerned, his heart warming a little at the sentiment.

“I am – I’m thinking about it, pretty frequently, actually. The last time I saw May, she didn’t talk about him much or bring him up at all, really. I can’t tell – but nothing is going to happen while he’s with May. Maybe he’ll stay with her, who knows,” Peter started to ramble, so he shut his mouth, his thoughts so scattered on the matter. Things were so natural, so easy – it made the whole situation a whole lot more confusing.

MJ brushed her long hair out of her face, an indifferent look in her eyes. From the get-go with Tony, MJ took that approach. She kept herself in it just enough to be a shoulder that Peter could lean against. “You’ll never convince me that he’s the great guy you say he is, but whatever you decide – I support you. Just don’t fuck up your relationship with May, we all know how important that is to you.” MJ stated, her eyes doing the smiling for her. She turned back to the TV and said nothing more.

As always, Ned followed suit. Shaking his head at the group antics, Peter shifted his focus back to his phone, his conversation with Tony completely absorbing him for the rest of the movie. He’d seen the movie before, anyway – the end was the only part that was really worth watching.

A couple hours later, MJ and Ned filed out of his apartment – Ned lightly punching his arm and MJ pulling him into a hug. She kept him in her arms for an extra second, her grip tight. “Be careful, okay? Can’t have you running away again.” Her words were whispered and driven home by the softest press of a kiss to his cheek.

He closed the door and leaned against it, the flurry of emotions from the evening hitting him – making everything he’d been thinking about magnifying tenfold. Nights with his friends were always fun, but stupidly exhausting – especially when MJ got into detective mode. In any other case, the details would have gladly come out of his mouth – it was nice to have friends he that he knew kept secrets like the pros that they were.

The collective thought of Tony still made him feel a bit raw. Like the wound could heal – he just didn’t know what the remedy was. A part of him knew he was dancing with the line, keeping his conversations with Tony going. Another part figured that they were both adults and could make sound decisions. Tony understood what he was doing just as well as Peter.

Which is why he was surprised to hear a knock on his door about ten minutes later. Checking his phone, he didn’t see a text from either Ned or MJ – though, it wouldn’t shock him if they just came stomping back in. At least they decided to knock instead of using his not so well-hidden spare key.

Pulling open the door, he started to speak, his mouth moving before his eyes bothered to take in what was in front of them. “What’d you guys forget – “ Peter picked up his head while he spoke, a soft smile on his face. Realizing who actually stood there, Peter straightened up, brown eyes wide. “Tony?”

Taken aback, Peter wondered for a second how the hell the man even found him. Though, he quickly realized he was dealing with a technology genius. He could also recall a conversation about an AI that dealt with most of Tony’s affairs. Licking his lips, Peter desperately tried to cure his dry mouth – just the sight of the other man enough to sweep his feet out from under him. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands still sticking up from earlier.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony started, one of his hands pressing into the doorframe, his body only a foot or so away from Peter’s. The tightness in his chest made him want to buckle in on himself – the feeling way too fucking much. He watched Tony draw in a deep breath, his eyes murky with a gale of emotions. “Jarvis told me where you lived. I hope it’s okay.”

And just like that, Peter was stepping back from the door, the both of them hovering in the hallway, the space between them narrowed down even more now. “It’s okay – it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t doing crazy shit like that.” He let a light laugh leave his lips, the exhalation of breath doing nothing to ease the tension inside of him. “Why are you – why are you here?”

Tony straightened his posture at the question, the softness in his eyes hardening a little. So – they were going to have a serious talk, then. Crossing his arms, Peter steeled himself for whatever Tony had to say. In all of the time they’d been reconnecting – this conversation never made its way back to the surface, at least, not until this very moment.

He watched color spread over the top of Tony’s cheeks, eyes dropping to look at their feet. “I always wondered when you stopped loving me. I told myself that’s what happened – because it made it easier to accept that you left. You didn’t though, did you? Stop. You’re just a selfish prick,” Tony got out, his words harsh, despite the soft tone they were delivered in. “I thought – maybe we could be friends. There’s been enough time for the hurts in my heart to be patched. I got over it a long time ago. I did not take into account, however – how I didn’t get over you.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut – not because he didn’t want to hear them. Oh, no – he’d been longing to hear those words for years now. Digging himself into a hole didn’t have to mean certain death – he thought maybe he could find his way back to Tony someday. The damage came from the fact that, despite the immensity of want coursing through him, Peter couldn’t act – wouldn’t.

“You haven’t said a singular false statement, Tony. I never stopped loving you. I took the only out I could find – you finding yourself and giving more and more of your time to it – and decided I needed to do the same. Once I mustered the courage, I knew it would be the only time, so I left. I wouldn’t have left otherwise. You, me – we deserve this Peter, the one who knows what he wants and can make it happen. I’m just – the king of bad timing,” Peter whispered the last few words, the reality of them feeling like the final smackdown.

A silence settled between them then, the tension in the room coming to a head. Thinking about it later, he couldn’t decide who made the move first – all of the sudden, Peter was wrapped up in Tony’s arms and they were kissing – kissing like their fucking lives depended on it. He felt long fingers slid into his hair and tug, the warm press of Tony’s torso against his own absolutely divine. His own arms wrapped around Tony’s middle, his body on fire from that simple little touch.

The inability to think kept him under the haze of their joined passion, his lips moving without thought or hesitancy. Tony’s tongue plunged into his mouth and Peter hung on for dear life, his own head tilting to deepen the kiss even further. His chest burnt from the lack of oxygen, but he couldn’t pull away – the second the high of his skin against Tony’s left, Peter’s conscience would reign supreme again.

Tony’s chocked off moan snapped the delicate spell controlling them, Peter’s body on fire, his mind all over the place. “Fuck. Stop – Tony. We have to stop,” Peter mumbled, his hands moving from the solid flanks of Tony’s sides to the bulk of his shirt, fingers digging in. “We can’t do this.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he felt himself leaning in, his nose dragging over Tony’s. “This isn’t rejection – I just can’t. Not when you’re with May. I refuse to hurt her like that,” he pressed a final kiss to Tony’s lips and forced himself away – chest still heaving.

Both of Tony’s hands came up in surrender, the look in his eye resolute. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry, Pete – I shouldn’t have come here like this.” He kept his glance tied to Peter’s, the other man still so easy to read – his hurt and confusion written plain as day.

“It’s okay, Tony. It’s okay.” Peter didn’t know what he was saying was okay, or even if it was – but the need to soothe took over. He reached forward and palmed Tony’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the arch there.

For a second, Tony leaned into the touch, the bourbon color of his eyes buried under closed eyelids. Peter trailed his finger back and forth, the digit moving until he felt a breath of air against his forearm and Tony was pulling away. He didn’t say anything, he simply opened the door and walked through it. His eyes trailed after the other man until he was down the hallway and out of sight.

This time, he shut the door and slid down it – his head falling into his hands.

----

Never prescribing to the age old ‘when it rains, it pours’ thing, Peter wasn’t expecting the knock on his door early the next morning. After Tony left, Peter barely made it to the couch before passing out into a fitful sleep. Between tossing, turning, and a mind that didn’t want to slow down and stop – Peter could count on two fingers how many hours of complete sleep he got. Sitting up, Peter looked groggily around the room, the disturbance in his sleep something he thought he might have dreamed up until another knock sounded.

“Peter, I know you’re home! I can see your open porch door from the street.” May’s voice was the last thing he figured he’d be hearing. The taste of Tony still lingered on his lips – Tony’s stubble making the skin above them a little raw, too. How in the world could he face May right now – when he hadn’t even had time to process what happened, or how he reacted, or even how Tony reacted.

Grumbling, Peter got up off the couch, his feet heavy in their steps towards the door. It felt like he spent the night before getting completely wasted, yet he didn’t have a singular sip. A couple of quick runs of his fingers through his hair and Peter finally felt ready to pull open the door and face whatever might come his way. Even if it was terrible.

Peter took a couple of deep breaths, his hand not wanting to move to actually get the damn door open. He braced himself, the idea that he might take a hand to the face or harsh words thrown his way that would eclipse him. There was nothing, though. May simply looked at him, two to-go coffee cups in her hands. “Are you going to let me in?” she asked, her voice neutral, the look in her eye hard to read.

He took a step back quickly, his arm sweeping wide. “Hi May, yes – please come in. I just got up, so my brain still isn’t working all that well.” It would have sounded like an excuse if he weren’t still shirtless with marks from the couch all over his right side. He stepped back further, the space now more of an open invitation that May took gracefully.

If this were a social call, they would have wandered to his makeshift bed of a couch and sat down – his cousin’s hands already moving to take the remote and put on whatever show she was currently addicted to. She would have jammed the coffee she was holding into the thickness of his chest, the joke of almost scolding him something they’d been doing since Peter came to stay with May and her family. The atmosphere would have been a little bit more accepting.

Yet, none of those things happened. May put his coffee cup on the middle of his kitchen table and sat down in one of the chairs. Knowing how different things would have been, Peter didn’t hesitate to take the seat opposite her, his hands wrapping around the warm to-go cup on instinct. He didn’t even take a second to put a shirt on – he simply sat down and waited, each second that past like a sweet torture.

Eventually, she pulled her phone out and started to flip through it, a concentrated look on her face. Finding what she needed, May pushed the phone over towards him. He took it a little hesitantly, his mind wandering around all of the possible things that could be on that phone. There wasn’t anyone else around when Tony came here last night – so with that, at least, they were in the clear.

His breath caught, though – the photo on her screen one he knew with familiarity, one that he glanced at more times than he cared to remember. The memory of the day the picture was taken still sat fresh in his mind. They were at Tony’s place, probably about a year into their relationship. They were celebrating the end of the semester and people were everywhere – the streaks and blurs in the background their friends caught in a second of chaos. Peter and Tony were in the middle of a conversation when MJ called over – “Snuggle up, love birds – let me take a picture.”

Peter could still remember how quickly Tony stepped up behind him, arms embracing without hesitation. They both beamed at the camera, the smiles on their faces so genuine. What Peter liked the most about it, though, was the fact that MJ caught them a second before they looked back at each other.

Peter’s face was turned as if he were trying to look over his shoulder, his smile bright and big but eyes oriented in Tony’s direction. The hand on his chest was splayed open wide, Tony’s fingers one of the main focuses in it. The look on Tony’s face showed affection and happiness – but most importantly, love.

MJ gave it to them both in a frame a couple of days later, the gorgeousness of it something that even she couldn’t deny.

Eyes a little watery, Peter looked up from the phone and over at May, a questioning look in his eye. “Where did you even find this?” Peter knew for a fact that his copy was tucked into the box in his closet – one in which he only allowed himself to go through every now and again, one that he specifically brought in and put away himself.

“It’s in Tony’s lab. We were supposed to meet for lunch a few weeks ago, but he couldn’t leave, so I met him there. He left for a minute to get cleaned up, so I snooped – because why not, right? There are a couple of the two of you, but that one is right in the middle of his workspace. He told me a little bit about this epic love he still wasn’t really over, and it never once crossed my mind that it was with you.” May stopped then, her hands reached across the table for his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The soft touch of her hands felt like a drastic juxtaposition to the raging war of emotions keeping him right on the edge of panic. As a distraction, he watched her thumbs brush against his hands, the movement hypnotic, easy to get lost in. The lull seemed to help calm him a little – Peter glanced back up at her, apprehension still so very visible.

“I didn’t treat him well at the end. For a while, it was nice to have this thing that was all my own. And when it got serious, I freaked a little. I ran away because I felt too much. It was easier not to acknowledge it out loud – because telling you about him made the selfish thing I did a lot more real. It took a while to find me and then a while after that to cope with how big of a dick I am.” He paused then, taking a long breath.

“I never thought I’d see him again – never. Then, he’s sitting next to you and everything I have neglected for six years suddenly hit me square in the face. May, you seemed happy – I’ve been selfish enough,” Peter knew he had to get all of that out, or he probably wouldn’t, the acknowledgement of so many things harder than he ever imagined possible.

He gripped her hands, pulling them towards him a little. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” And that was the truth. Regardless of how badly he handled other things, Peter couldn’t be careless with something like that – May and her feelings. Even if that came at the cost of his own.

At that, she chuckled, her lips quirking into the first real smile on her face all morning. “I saw the way you two were talking to each other the day I introduced you. It doesn’t take a genius to know chemistry when you see it. The picture just sort of – put all the pieces together. It’s okay, Pete. Really.”

Quirking a brow at her, he pulled his hands away and sat more fully in his chair. “There’s nothing going on, May. I – “ Peter stuttered out, but she held a hand up, a soft little smile on her face.

“There’s nothing going on between Tony and I anymore, either. He came over last night, started to talk a bunch of nonsense. It seemed like a good time to tell him I’d been seeing someone else, anyway. You remember Ben? Either way – he is single and not attached to me, so you no longer have to factor hurting or upsetting me into any of your life choices.”

She got up then and came around the table, her arms engulfing Peter into a tight hug. “This is a lesson on when to keep secrets from me. I hope you learned that never is probably the best course of action,” she mumbled against the side of his head, Peter’s chest shaking with laughter before she let him go. And just like they were kids again, she slapped the back of his head hard, a cackle slipping from her lips. “Stop ignoring me, okay? Let’s be friends again.”

It took a few more minutes of banter back and forth for Peter to totally comprehend all the things May told him – he couldn’t get past the green light of acceptance; despite all the other juicy things he’d just been told. His mind immediately went to Tony, the thought of pulling his phone out and texting him flashing across his mind. Then, he realized just how much he missed May and put it on the back burner. If he were reading the room right the night before, he didn’t think Tony would be going anywhere anytime soon.

“Yeah, alright.” Peter said after a second, their eyes meeting. He could see nothing but clarity in those hazel eyes, a look he knew to be acceptance and contentment. It felt good to be able to read her again, the crippling guilt no longer between them. “I’m not going to the office today. Want to binge something on Netflix?”

Her lips pulled into a smile, the look in her eye mischievous – “Actually, I think we should find you something to wear to this,” she murmured, hands rummaging in her bag until an envelope came into view. Peter didn’t need to see the Stark Industries logo in the corner to know what she was referring to. The Stark Gala – the height of events for the engineering and technology society. It seemed kind of fitting, a reunion at one of these events after the shitty end to the last one.

A soft blush set in his cheeks then, a silent sort of understanding happening between them. This wasn’t just acceptance from May, but a push in the right direction, too. He took the envelope from her, then pulled her smaller frame into his arms. “Thanks, May.”

When they parted for the afternoon, May pulled him into another hug and wished him luck. The suit they picked out was going to look pretty damn good on him – even if it wasn’t one of the fancy custom-made ones. The whole time, it felt like being with May when they were younger, when there wasn’t a care in the world. Maybe that was because the trauma between them was officially over, or maybe May felt like she knew Peter a bit better. Whatever it was, Peter enjoyed the time thoroughly.

It felt like the first time since getting here that he wasn’t stressed or watching over his shoulder. Even though he enjoyed every single second of being back in the place that felt like home, there were so many things still trying to press him down and keep him there. The weight of his chain felt a few links shorter now. In hindsight, the simple truth would have been much easier than all the angst – but hey, that’s how lessons are learned.

There was just enough time to sneak in a nap – Peter grateful for that fact. They decided early into their conversation that the surprise of his presence would make much more of an impact than a text, so Peter kept control of himself and didn’t say a word to the other man. He could already picture the look on Tony’s face. With the rest of the night on his mind, Peter slept pretty peacefully – his body finally content with where things were headed for him.

Actually feeling refreshed upon waking up, Peter took his time getting dressed. The blue suit and light grey shirt combo looked great in the mirror at the store, the jacket fit his shoulders nicely and the slacks hugged the curve of his ass just right. With the addition of some product in his hair and a small white-gold chain around his neck, Peter looked ever better. It’d been a long time since he dressed up like this – he appreciated the view and hoped Tony would, too.

Peter splurged on the relatively expensive Uber into Manhattan, his conversation with Paula the driver helping to ease any nervousness that wanted to bubble up inside him. Surprisingly, though, there wasn’t much other than excitement coursing through him. No matter what happened, Peter felt a sense of freedom he didn’t before. If Tony decided the craziness they were able to build was what he wanted, Peter couldn’t wait to give himself completely to it. Finally.

It was pretty easy to slip out of the Uber and into the party without dealing with any of the press. They weren’t interested in someone like him. He gave his name and flashed the invitation to the man he remembered as Happy at the door – the exchange easy and over before he knew it. There were lots of people scattered around the upper floor of Stark Industries, the age range wide and varied and the dress much the same. Peter fit right into the people flitting around and used that as an advantage to scope out Tony.

Looking around, he felt a little disappointed when he didn’t see the man right off the bat. He decided to put the search on hold and get a drink when he felt a hand on his arm. “Hope you’re not leaving already.”

He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know who the hand belonged to – the ghost of Tony’s touch still haunted him on a pretty constant basis. A soft smile slipped across his lips, the other man’s presence did that to him – especially now that it didn’t come with the not so gentle pang of guilt. “No, not yet. I just now found what I was looking for.” Peter’s response was shift, said with confidence.

Tony tugged on his arm until they were facing each other, their chests almost pressing together. After so many years, it felt like the first time all over again – this dance they were doing. Their even height made it easy to catch amber colored eyes – the yellow tinted glasses Tony took to wearing enhanced the color of his eye, the depth of it so easy to get lost in.

“I’ve done my rounds for the night, come upstairs with me,” Tony mumbled, his voice just loud enough for Peter and Peter alone to hear. The warm caress of the liquid smokiness arousal always made Peter think of washed over him, his arms wrapping themselves around Tony’s neck. He pressed in for a kiss, the need unable to be denied. It stayed chaste for the sake of not being in public when things turned steamy.

“Lead the way, Tony,” Peter responded, his brain forcing his body to step away, to keep some space until he could have all of the other man. A work-roughened hand gripped his own, their fingers tangling – Tony led the way through the crowd seamlessly, his ability to fit in despite the sheer amount of attention he could attract was impressive. Probably learned from all the times he did his best to escape the charade over the years.

It was nice to see that some things never changed.

Once they were in the elevator, Tony didn’t hold back – this one led to his part of the penthouse, so they wouldn’t be disturbed. “I’m guessing May talked to you and this is your way of saying that it’s okay to do this,” Tony babbled before grabbing his cheeks and pressing their lips together, the kiss hot and on the right side of desperate. Peter figured he didn’t need to verbally answer, he gripped Tony’s hips instead and kissed back, his tongue pressing forward to join the warmth in the luscious caverns in Tony’s mouth.

Forgoing the tie ended up being a good idea, Tony’s hands were everywhere as they kissed, the tips moving from Peter’s cheeks, down his chin, neck, and under the slight gap of his button up shirt. Each place he touched felt like molten lava, the stroke of his fingers branding his skin – every inch becoming Tony’s once again. Finally, the elevator doors broke open, the dark comfort of Tony’s home just a couple steps forward.

Peter broke away then, his chest heavy from too much carbon dioxide, breaths coming in pants. “It’s okay. I want you, Tony. All of you. Because I finally know how to give all of me, too.” He used the lapels of Tony’s jacket to seal their lips back together, his feet working on their own accord, the path back to Tony’s room still etched into the forefront of his brain. Aside from bumping into the wall a couple of times, Peter and Tony were in the bedroom in no time.

Nimble fingers started to work on Peter’s shirt, Tony’s eye wide with eagerness and heat – the pupils blown open, taking over that precious brown warmth. His gaze made Peter feel a little on display, his skin on fire – the seconds passing making him feel like he needed to crawl out of it. A soft sigh of relief left his lips when the cool air hit his skin, the scalding deliciousness of Tony’s touch all of the sudden bearable again.

Quickly getting in on the action, Peter worked on Tony’s bow tie, the knot coming undone without much effort. Tony tried to press in for a kiss, but Peter kept some distance between them. “I’m going to cum in my pants if you keep doing that. It’s been a while – let me see you,” Peter stammered, his words lazy, the blood meant for his brain traveling lower, instead. He got all of the buttons open without fault, a look of triumph on his face. Greedy hands pushed the suit jacket and shirt off in one go, Tony finally shirtless – skin on display.

His fingers skimmed across tight pecs and prickled nipples, down across each of Tony’s ribs, and along the seam of his abdominals. The trail of hair Peter remembered so fondly seemed a little thicker, the change one of the only signs of aging he could really see. His dress pants sat on slim hips, a v on either side guiding his eyes to the real treasure. He could see the bulge there, Tony’s length long and eager, exactly the way he liked to remember it.

The rest of their clothes came off in a fumble to get onto the bed, Peter’s back hitting the mattress without any fight, a sigh of delight slipping from his lips when Tony settled over him. The weight felt divine, the tangibility of being pressed down amping up the slow spread of arousal tenfold. “Fuck, you feel good,” Peter gasped against Tony’s shoulder. The man was caressing his flanks, fingers moving reverently, like devotion and memorization were the only options.

The ticklish feeling kept him from getting too close to the edge too fast – Tony’s touches driving him crazy in so many ways. His hips rolled up every now and then, the semi-constant friction just enough to stave off the intense itch that needed to be scratched. Peter did his best to memorize the way Tony’s hips felt against his own, how the sweat on his brow rolled down so very slowly, how even after so much time – this felt so goddamn right.

Throwing his arms around Tony’s neck, Peter pulled him down for a fierce kiss, feelings overwhelming him, the earnestness of the interaction so much – everything he wanted. Their lips met for a sloppy kiss, tongues tangling between them, the taste of Tony in his mouth just as exciting as the slip slide of their bodies together. Peter’s fingers roamed through Tony’s hair, the softness of it a nice contrast to the heat overtaking them both.

The need to breath forced them apart, Tony’s forehead leaning down, resting against Peter’s. “I’ve missed you, Pete. So much,” the other whispered, the words kissing his cheeks in a tender brush. His eyes were closed, but Peter could tell he was trying to hold back tears or emotion – or maybe both.

With both hands, he cupped Tony’s cheeks, the other lifting his head enough for them to be looking into each other’s eyes. “I missed you. I’m here now, though – not going anywhere, either,” Peter said softly. He hoped to convey how genuine the words were – that despite how big of a shit he’d been, there still might be a future. He didn’t deserve it – but fuck did he hope for it.

“I won’t let you,” Tony replied, his cheeks lifting into a wide smile. “Jarvis can find you, so don’t even think about it.” He turned his head to press a kiss to Peter’s palm, his nose nuzzling into the same spot. “Can I fuck you?” Tony murmured into the skin there, his eyes hot and hopeful. Peter could feel Tony’s cock against his flat belly – the length throbbing at just the mention of pressing into him. Peter grinned and used his grip on Tony to slip their lips together once again.

“Fuck, yes – please, Tony. I want you.”

Tony didn’t need any more prodding after that, he moved until he was on the bed next to Peter. “Turn over onto your side,” he mumbled, his hands pushing and tugging at Peter’s hips until he turned over. “I’m going to make you feel good, Petey – promise.”

Peter elongated his neck and let Tony pepper kisses against the skin there, the man’s hands still working over lean sides. He threw a hand behind himself and grabbed Tony’s hair, his fingers gripping to keep him as close as possible, so that the other man couldn’t pull away, even if he wanted to. A gasp left his mouth when Tony’s wandering hands wrapped around the front of his body and started to teasingly stroke his cock.

The pulls started off slow, like he was trying to orient himself with Peter again. His fingers were rough, a little bit more scarred than the last time Peter felt his touch – and yet, still completely perfect. The tip of his cock was already leaking, so the glide of Tony’s hand was delicious, the friction faultless. With the slightest of thrusts, Peter could feel the other’s cock against his ass. “Mm, you’re so fucking hard,” Peter babbled, his hands tightening in Tony’s hair.

“Fuck me, please. I want to be yours again.” He thrust his hips back and ground into Tony, if the words weren’t enough, he hoped the move would be.

Tony pulled his lips away from Peter’s neck to pant against it, a soft groan leaving his lips. “God, Pete – I, you’re too much,” he murmured, his hips thrusting forward again, his fingers tightening around Peter’s length. “I can’t wait to feel you.” He squeezed Peter again, then the fingers were gone – Tony’s hand now slipping down to slip between pert ass cheeks.

There were a few soft teases to Peter’s hole before Tony was pulling back – the mattress dipping with his weight. Peter immediately felt the cold of the room clinging to his back, the sweat there staring to dry. Absentmindedly, he let his hand trail down his chest – his fingers ghosting straight down his abs, the tips teasing along the sensitive skin there. His nerves were on fire and he couldn’t let that tingly sensation die down for a single second.

The warmth was back within a couple of minutes, Tony’s hand trailing down his side, the other tucking under Peter’s neck to keep him close. “Tuck this leg up a little,” Tony whispered, lips brushing against Peter’s ear. Complying quickly, he bent his leg – a moan leaving his lips when Tony’s finger filled the newly made space. The barely there touch had him clenching his eyes, mouth open wide. “Fuck!”

The snick of a lube cap opening pulled another sound from his chest, anticipation settling low in his belly, the heat there compounding with it, his cock dribbling a bit of precum at the thought of what was to come next. The first touch of the lube was cool on his skin – and immediately forgotten, the first press of Tony’s finger into him after so much time exquisite, painful, and just right – just enough to distract him.

He couldn’t help the constant stream of ‘Tony’ leaving his lips, each thrust of one, two, and then three fingers shredding ever sense of self and control and conscious thought. It was only Peter and Tony and the aching touches that could tear him apart and then delicately piece him back together. “I’m ready, Tony – I’m ready.” His words were desperate, as was the hand that shot behind him to get a nice grip on Tony’s hair again. “Please – “

“I’ve got you, Pete,” Tony said, his fingers pulling out, only to be replaced with the warm head of the other’s cock. Tony pressed his hips against his loosened hole and thrust forward slightly, just the tip slipping inside. Peter let his jaw drop in a silent moan. He felt Tony’s grunt against his neck before hearing it, the gust of breath sending goosebumps cascading across his skin.

Inch by inch, Peter felt himself relax and accept more of Tony – the stretch turning from a sheer burning sensation to delectable with every passing second. Then, Tony hooked an arm under his already tucked leg, the move opening him up further.

The last couple of inches were easier now, Peter’s hole exquisitely stretched and full – the press of Tony’s hips against his own the best part of all. “Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re clenched around me like if I pull out, you’ll never be whole again,” he babbled, hips pulling back ever so slightly.

Just like Tony said, Peter clenched down a little tighter around him, his heart rate picking up with the sweet ache of his hole stretching further. “Maybe I won’t be,” Peter responded, his eyes closing, Tony’s cock slipping almost all the way out of him, the head resting just past the ring of muscles. He already felt empty, the rightness of being filled missed dearly.

The teasing roll of his hips didn’t last, though – Peter clenched each time he tried to pull out and before long, Tony was panting heavily against his neck, the snap of his hips long and hard. “Harder, Tony – more,” Peter ground out, his jaw clenching with ever thrust in, the tip of Tony’s cock hitting his prostate dead on.

Leaning into Peter more heavily, Tony pressed his leg down until he was almost up on his knees, the weight pressing him fully into the mattress. “I’m so close. Touch yourself – “ Peter barely heard, Tony’s words spliced with pants and groans. He could feel the pulse of Tony’s cock inside of him, the harder and faster he moved, the more it seemed to thrum in time with their joint heartbeat.

It took a second for Peter to register the plea – he was creeping closer and closer to the edge, it felt hard to focus on anything. He complied, though, his fingers gripping tightly and stroking at the same pace as Tony’s thrusts. There was no holding back after that, the boiling heat in his stomach finally bubbling over – each spasm of his body drawing shot after shot of cum from his body. “Ah, Tony!”

He barely felt the hard bite against his shoulder blade, the world tilted on a different axis at the moment. The warmth of Tony finishing inside him kept him grounded, though – his hole tightening to keep him there, deep and exactly where he should be. Tony mumbled Peter’s name over and over again, his forehead coming to rest against the back of his neck.

It was a few minutes before Peter felt with it enough to move or talk or even feel his limbs. He felt Tony slip out and the delicious feeling of cum dripping from his hole – then he sunk into the mattress further, everything about him boneless. Tony’s weight pressed against him a moment later.

The room was quiet when Peter came down enough to turn a little, his arm reaching back to pet at Tony’s bare skin. “Let’s go shower – I’m gross,” Peter said softly, a chuckle leaving his lips when arms wrapped around his waist, Tony sink down into him a little further.

“Do we have to?” Tony whined, his nose brushing Peter’s ear, every breath he took ruffling the hair there.

“I need to,” Peter retorted, the man using his arms to push up a little, his leverage dislodging Tony from his back. “The way you had me pinned down, I came all over myself – I’m already a little itchy.” He moved until he could sit up – the cooling cum on his chest making him pull a face. Tony’s arm reached out to attempt to pull him down once more, but Peter avoided it – a soft smile on his face when he looked over his shoulder. “Come join me if you want.”

Luckily, not a lot had changed about the bathroom, the shower was a little bigger – but Jarvis was easy enough to access, the water starting without much of a hassle. Peter stepped under and let out a relieved grunt – the nerve endings of his skin still sensitive, the hot water just enough to ease that feeling a little. He stood there letting the water sleuth over him – the peace of it nice after such an adrenaline-fueled event.

The shower door opening a few minutes later didn’t surprise him – he simply relaxed into the arms that wrapped around his waist. “Will you stay?” Peter heard, his head tilting to the side to accommodate Tony’s head resting on his shoulder. “I just got you back, I don’t know if I can let you leave now.”

Pressing his head against Tony’s, Peter let his hands grab onto the ones around his waist – the grip tight. “I’ll stay. For as long as you’ll have me.”

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #au #au prompts #whenstarkerwillbecanon #fic #bobbie writes #my fics #ao3 #ao3 fan fiction #fan fics

[lesbianmonsterlover]

Waterfalls and Whirlpools (1)

So, I’m doing Camp NaNoWriMo this year.  This here is my first day of writing, would you guys be interested in any more?  If so I’ll post here daily with updates!  The title is currently a work in progress

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In an antique store in the middle of Perlston, Washington is a journal that’s surprisingly still empty considering the age of it.  The cover is worn brown leather and the spine is stitched with faded jade green thread in the shape of some runic sigils that were meaningless to the shop owner.  It sits in the glass front case where the cash register is, mostly just because of the age of the object but something in Walter Herrington’s gut told him not to shelve it with the collection of paperback bodice rippers in the worn old bookcase towards the furniture section.

Now, Perlston, Washington was not a big town.  It was situated a few miles off of SR-18 on the edge of the forest.  They didn’t get a lot of traffic from outsiders, with the exception of hikers stopping in to stock up before tackling the mountain trails ahead.  A new face, therefore, was always big news.  Erin Curett was the newest face in town, a librarian brought in fresh out of graduate school to take over for the old school librarian. 

Despite it being mid-July the air was still blessedly, the shining sun dappling through the canopy of trees leaving speckled patterns on the ground.  Wiping the bit of sweat from her forehead with her wrist Erin swept the frizz of her red curls away from her face.  Surveying the little house with a thankful sigh she closed the trunk of her car, the last of her things finally inside and mostly sorted.  The last few missing things she figured she could pick up from the antique store she had passed on her drive in.  

Stepping through the green front door Erin toes off her shoes and pads through the front hall to the living room.  Grabbing a bottle of water on the way through the kitchen, she sighs thankfully as she slumps down onto her favorite overstuffed sofa, a trusty companion through two graduate programs and three moves.  “Coffee table…” she mumbles to herself, beginning a mental list of the big things the house would need.  “Coffee table, bedside table, ah fuck I need some drawers too don’t I.  Shit…”  

Capping the bottle of water, Erin faceplants into the couch cushions, stretching out over the piece of furniture.  She briefly debates taking a nap before rolling off the couch heavily onto the blue carpeted floor.  Standing and brushing off her shorts she turns on the television, thankful to have set it up earlier so all she had to do was find something to watch before getting to work.  

Building bookshelves was a relatively easy task, although a little unwieldy for one person.  That was the first thing Erin did in every house, without fail.  Well, the second, after getting her bed setup, but she usually had help with that either in the form of movers or delivery people.  She found the process of setting up her shelves somewhat meditative though, and she found she preferred things in a just-so way, likely a manifestation of her anxiety.  At least according to her therapist.  With the first of the shelves setup she begins moving books from one of her sets of boxes out onto the shelf.  

Organizing home books by the Dewey Decimal System is overkill to most, but it means that everything has a home and is easily findable.  There’s no guesswork if everything is done properly.  Once the first two sets of shelves are full of books the sun has moved across the sky to paint the Western side of the house with dappled light.  The growling of her stomach pulls Erin away from where she had begun sorting through the pile of parts that made up the second bookshelf and into the kitchen.  

Dinner is pasta and jarred sauce, the house lacking fresh groceries entirely until she could get out to town tomorrow.  The rest of the evening is spent binge watching a new show and putting together two more shelves.  When Erin collapses into bed that night it’s with a satisfied sort of weariness.  Her thoughts are full, dreams and hopes and fears, would she be able to make friends here?  

Seattle had been too much for her, the pressure of the city bearing down no matter how green and friendly it may be.  She stuck it out for graduate school, but when the job here came through her email she knew a small quiet town like this would be a much better fit.  Besides, even if she didn’t make friends, the kids at the school would like her, right?  Her mind spiraled through all of the possibilities, and she lay there awake for what seemed like countless hours until a restless sleep overtook her.  

The next morning’s breakfast was some dry cereal shoved hand to mouth right out of the box, and a mug of hot slightly burnt coffee.  The shower was blessedly hot, with surprisingly impressive water pressure, and with still damp hair Erin made her way out of the house and to the car.  Her clothes were a little wrinkled, considering she still hadn’t unpacked her iron, but she did the best she could steaming them out in the bathroom while she showered.  The green shirt dress was one of her favorites, it seemed to hide what she considered her many flaws and made her look casual and presentable.  

The drive to the town center was quick, maybe ten minutes and she was going fairly slowly.  Pulling up behind another parked car, she eased on the parking break and stepped out into the fresh air and sunshine.  The trees were cut back here to make room for a few blocks of buildings.  An old diner, right next to an even older looking general store, across the street from them a pharmacy that took up an entire block, apparently still with an old-time soda fountain inside.  The bank was kitty-corner to the pharmacy and across the main road from the general store, and as Erin strolled along the sidewalks she found herself pausing in front of the antique store towards the edge of the main road.  She wanted to peek around, so with a little trepidation at the thought of social interaction she steels herself with a breath to open the door.  

Now, Walter Herrington had always been one for gut feelings.  If his grammaw had ever taught him anything it was to trust that instinct in the back of your mind no matter what anyone else tells you.  It had saved his hide more than once, especially out in the woods, so when he got his first glimpse of the newest resident of Perlston he found himself searching his gut for how to feel.  She was pleasant looking, with big red curls and flushed pink cheeks, but something about her just seemed a little...off.  Misplaced.  Like she wasn’t from this world.  She seemed somehow ethereal and yet so human and grounded, an odd mix that for whatever reason made the hair on the back of his neck raise.  Still, at her shy smile and awkward wave he can’t help smiling back and giving a hearty greeting, inviting her to browse around as she likes.  

Nonetheless he keeps a wary eye on her as she looks around.  She picks through a few pieces of furniture, noting a coffee table she likes and a set of dresser drawers she might come back for, but as she comes up to the counter to pay for the coffee table she gasps and almost presses her face against the glass at the sight of the leatherbound journal.  It’s beautifully tooled and looks somehow simultaneously ancient and new.  Her soul seems to call out to it, although she says that often when she buys a book somehow this time it feels like the truth.  “I need that book…”  Erin’s voice is low and reverent, her blunt nail tapping against the glass as she looks up at Walter with almost an air of desperation. 

He almost wants to say no, that look raising the hackles of his mind, but that feeling in his gut again tells him this is how it’s meant to go.  So he can only close his mouth and nod, unlocking the glass cabinet with shaky hands and pulling the leather bound tome out and placing it before her.  She strokes the front cover with a tenderness most people reserved for loved ones, and after a few moments of examining pays him wordlessly in cash for the total of both items.  “Can you hold the table for me until I’m done grocery shopping?  I’ll come back and collect it in an hour.”  

He’s all too thankful to get her out of his shop, her energy making the place feel tense somehow.  “Sure thing, if you want to leave your car unlocked I can get this loaded up into your trunk while you’re shopping.”  The bright smile, and cheerful expression of thanks, makes him lighten up a little.  His gut still pinched nervously at her presence but she didn’t seem like she’d be a danger, at least.  Weird he could learn to handle.  He breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out, taking the book with her, and found his son in the back to help load up the table.  

When Erin had finished buying groceries, and making small talk with the old lady behind the register who although slow was so sweet Erin couldn’t find it in her to be mad, she was happy to find the coffee table loaded into the back of the car.  She’d deal with getting it out later, that was a problem for future-Erin.  Present-Erin made the drive back to the house, put away the groceries, and went to get looking at the journal more thoroughly. 

It certainly looked handmade, and the supple leather is slightly worn at the spine and corners.  The simple tooling looks almost runic, although Erin couldn’t find anything about these particular symbols in any of her literature.  The green stitching on the spine was definitely symbolic, but her searches there turned up similarly empty.  The paper was slightly yellowed, but didn’t seem too brittle, and the end-pages were a lavish hand-dipped marbled paper in the same jade green as the thread and a deep cerulean blue.  Erin was in love with this book.  

Journaling had been a hobby of hers since she had begun therapy, her therapist assured her that writing out feelings and thoughts would help to make a neatness of her jumbled mind.  Erin found it helpful, a free space to get out all of her feelings and frustrations, to work through what problems needed confronting and what problems were entirely manifestations of her anxiety in her head.  Usually, she made her own journals, but something about this book made her want to write in it.  

Hello

She used to find writing like this awkward.  A letter to someone, herself maybe?  The universe?  The ether?  It made her feel judged, like someone would be reading it, but over time she got over it.  Somehow it was comforting, to get her feelings out like this. 

I know, new journal!  It’s strange isn’t it?  How moving to a new place can bring you to new places inside yourself?  Usually I’d be twisting inside about writing in something made by someone else, like my thoughts don’t belong to me but to whoever made the book.  But this journal I found today, it’s too beautiful to leave it so empty.  A book like this was meant to be filled.  Perlston is nice, the people here are friendly enough but sorta strangely guarded.  I was hoping this would be a better experience than the city, but it seems like making friends here will also be impossible.  I have to keep my chin up, though, it’s only been two days after all.  

Erin rambles on for a full page about the stress of unpacking and moving, but how happy she was to be out by nature.  She doesn’t notice how warm the page feels under her, or the way it takes in the ink almost instantly into its fibers.  When she signs the bottom of the page with a practiced and flourished “EC” she lets out a sigh and stretches.  The way her back pops makes her moan with satisfaction as she pushes away from her desk to head upstairs. 

The rest of the week is spent unpacking and organizing, getting the house into a state that’s less sterile and more homey.  By the time Sunday rolls around the house is mostly ready and Erin is itching to explore.  So, with her journal in hand and some boots on her feet she ventures off onto a small trail she found near her backyard.  As she follows it deeper into the forest, she finds a small stream and begins to follow it up until she reaches a pond fed by a thin trickling waterfall.  Well, pond might be too small a term for it, but lake wasn’t right either.  Still, the calming sound of running water and the fresh scent of grass and damp earth set her heart at ease. 

Settling down in the damp grass Erin pulls out her lunch and her journal.  Eating her sandwich with one hand she starts to write happily with the other.  Although a few sentences in she sees some ink begin to bloom on the bottom third of the page, making her eyebrows knit together.  Slowly before her eyes she sees a messy scrawl begin to appear.  

Are you there?

#my writing #camp nanowrimo #camp nano july 2019 #sfw #named character #fantasy #romance #lesbian fiction #lesbian romance #eventual romance

[diningpageantry]

Drinking

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/45163501

Chapter 6/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 4483

Chapter Summary: Excuses, longing, and the bitter bite of impulsive actions can turn a happy night sour.

By now, I think I've finally got my daily schedule down. Sure, it's the middle of December, but at least it's done.

I wake up, grab breakfast from the kitchen, eat in my office, fuck around on my computer, maybe see a student or two (if needed), eat lunch, fuck around more, then go grab dinner. Easy. Work day complete.

What's odd today, though, is the unusual knock at my door around 12:30. Typically, students avoid the office like the plague in their study hour, but not long after I'd sat back in my seat did I hear footsteps. They've stopped now, and the soft rap at my door gives me a somewhat pleasant surprise. It isn't often people are personable enough to not barge in.

“Come in,” I call, clicking out of Solitaire.

A student steps in. They're maybe 10th year, a little on the shorter side, and with shaggy hair down to their shoulders. Immediately, there's a wave of discomfort--more than that of a typical young teen. Awkward. Out of place. “Hello, um. Mr… Mr. Snow? Is it?”

“Yes, it is,” I hum, swiveling my chair around and gesturing towards the couch. I reach around as they walk, grabbing for my notepad and pen. “What can I do for you?”

They sit for a minute, eyes towards the now-closed door as they just think distantly. Something in it makes me swallow back my expectations, settling down my stuff and folding my hands. I inhale slowly, exhaling as I follow their attention.

Their eyes are laying on my Safe Spaces sign. A printed, colourful paper that Baz had offered me when I'd asked why some teachers had it hanging. It isn't much--not really grand or showy, just simple. Thoughtful.

By the time I'm looking back, they're already crying. Their lip trembles as their hands clench. “I, uh,” they start, nearly silent. “I think I might be, uhm… a… well... I want my gender and name changed in the books.”

It’s a shock at first, and I try to think over how to react beyond nodding and completely setting aside my notepad and pen as I lean back in my seat. I wave a hand, letting them nervously stare at me before continuing, exhaling.

“I'm sorry. I… I didn't know where else to start with this. It all started really coming to me over the summer and hearing my name all year has just been a kick in the face, a-and with winter break coming up, I don't know what will happen when I get back. My mum and dad know, and they booked an appointment with a gender therapist when I'm home, but, I, well… I don't want to come back and be seen as… you know… a boy.”

It takes me a second to think of the proper answer, head nodding. Where do I start? Dress code questions? Name change? Then, I figure that it’s really the student's call. “What do you want me to help you with? I'm here to help as much as you want me to.”

The student exhales, chewing on her lip as she looks down. “Can you change my birth name in my books to Amanda?” She gives me her name, letting me pick up my notes and jot it down. “I'll be emailing teacher during break, it's just in case, but it’d be great if they got an official-looking email. And, erm, what can I wear?”

I bite my lip, exhaling. “Given it's a historically ‘all boys’ school, there's no assigned skirts or dresses, if that's what you're referring to.”

She nods, shifting in her seat as the leather squeaks below her.

“Right, well. I can talk to the dean about an exemption case. There's a few trans and gender nonconforming students who have gotten permission, which is sadly needed, but they're relatively liberal when it comes to the clothing change. With that said, there's no guarantee there won't be backlash from your peers.”

She pushes her hair away, eyes not moving from the ground as she goes silent for a minute.

I purse my lips, thinking over the situation. “Can I get you in contact with an adult who can really help you there? I can't promise he's the most cheery of blokes, but he's nicer than you'd think when it comes to this.”

She seems a bit confused, but nods anyway.

After giving her a quick, (hopefully) promising smile, I swivel back around and glance at my phone. The number log takes me a second, but I eventually find the right room.

It rings once before an answer comes through, clear as day.

“Professor Pitch speaking.”

“Hi, Baz? It's Simon. I have a student who might need a little help, do you have a minute to spare?”

He goes silent for a second. “I'm not teaching a student how to use proper grammar, Snow. If anyone needs a lesson on their elocution and voice, it's you.”

“Not that sort of help, you tit. A different kind of help.”

He's silent again before I can practically feel it click. “Send the student down, then.”

I thank him (with no reply) before hanging up and writing out a paper pass for Baz's room, handing it over and telling her the room.

“Of course we of can meet again after break to finalize everything and make sure we have the proper paperwork after we've contacted your teachers, but this is what we can do as of right now. Oh, and don't let Professor Pitch scare you. His bark is much worse than his bite.”

She nods hesitantly, looking confused as she thanks me nonetheless and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

I study the wood grain of it for a minute, exhaling slowly before going back to working. Our conversation keeps in the back of my mind as I type away. I don’t think about it much beyond making the note and starting the permission form, not expecting another knock at my door just over half an hour later.

This time, it's Baz at my door, letting himself in before I get an opportunity to tell him to come in.

He stops at the doorway, glancing around for what must be the first time. I listen to the soft clank of the rattling door knob being let go as he drops it, focusing on holding the wood of the door. My lips loosely smile, heart feeling full as I exhale. “You alright, mate?

His head shakes as he snaps back, looking at me with wide eyes and a hesitantly hanging mouth. I want to do his eyebrow thing, but I don't quite know how.

“Yes?”

“I… do you want to go get drinks later? My treat.”

I'm stunned by his sudden offer, blinking curiously as my mouth turns to an unsure frown. He continues, trying to cover his words.

“No. I--fuck off. it's to thank you for that. You handled that really well, for someone who hasn’t quite been trained, and I wanted to say something for that.”

My chair swivels a bit as I turn my hips, looking up at him. “Sounds like you just want an opportunity to get off campus.”

He smirks an odd, mischievous smirk. One that seems like it’d get us into trouble if it was verbalized. “Maybe it's just to go out and get a little drunk.” I can’t quite argue with that logic (especially if it includes free booze).

I stare at his ridiculous face, clicking my pen a few times as I think it over. Sort of want to mock him like he’s an alcoholic, but it also seems like he’s only truly personable when he’s drinking. “Fuck it, yeah let’s do drinks. Six-ish?”

“What, so you can eat the shitty cafeteria foods?”

“Maybe.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and over-exaggeratedly setting his shoulders. “Fine then, six works.”

I grin, sweetly telling him to close the fucking door behind him as he leaves, ignoring the gentle thrum of that re-occurring odd feeling pressed to my rib cage. In so many ways, it hasn’t truly left. Not since that night we’d held hands. It’s a catching, curiosity feeling, making me numbed any time that we don’t have that contact (which, now, is almost always, except for the occasional mistaken brush of our passing arms).

I wish I could tell him I want it. It feels too needy, too out of character for us to be blunt of our feelings. I’m cautious, and he’s not too caring. Far too bitter, far too rough. We’re mild turbulence on an unwanted jet ride, at best.

After that encounter, I can’t quite focus. I’ve been scraping by at the minimum of getting a few things wrapped up, and managing through menial, thoughtless work. Still, it all falls into a blur. A Baz-centric, ever-losing blur. Even through dinner, that weird enthusiasm from before sort of falls flat in my own mind. Like I’m trying to compensate for my own excitement.

What does keep me afloat is Penny’s rambling commentary as I shove bread into my mouth. I really do adore the fact that I almost never need to talk, she just keeps the conversation afloat herself. Long, winding stories of class, or telling me about the book she’s reading (and whether she likes it or not, judging by her women’s empowerment scale). All I’ve ever got to give is quick answers, nodding my head as she goes along.

During dinner, we agree to go do something before winter break, since she’s going off to see her fiancé over the few weeks.

I can’t help but steal quick glances across to Baz’s lone table. It’s starkly empty in contrast to everyone else, and I can’t help but wonder how lonely he truly is.

Penny and I finish up a little bit after him, cleaning up and walking side-by-side back to the dorms before parting ways. I struggle with the keys, as always, and while I don’t see him in the living room right away, I hear the running of the sink from our bathroom. It leaves my cheeks a light pink for no good reason besides knowing he’s in there getting ready for a night.

Looking in my closet, it dawns on me that I don’t really have anything “nice” to wear. While yes, sure it’s just drinks, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look any less plain than I usually do. I manage to find one good button down in a dark grey, and decent black trousers, and nothing like a blazer to compliment so this is as good as it’s going to get.

I don’t need to check my mobile’s weather to figure that it’s going to be an absolute fucking freezing nightmare tonight.

Digging around a bit, I find my old leather coat and my least-scuffed up shoes to really tie together the “I’m not exactly shitty looking, but I’m damn well not anything good”. Hell, to make it a little better, I even fix my hair before stepping out into the living room.

Baz is already in there, fixing the cuffs to his sleeves.

I don’t want to say this lightly, but he looks bloody fucking stunning (not in some odd “rip off my clothes now” way, but in a magazine cover way). A lavender shirt, tucked into deep blue trousers and a black floral embroidered jacket. The white, light pink, and purple stitching hike up his breast pocket and wrists, traveling across his width and barely letting my attention slowly track back up to his face. It’s nearly buffed from being washed, and his hair’s pushed back without being fully slicked. I can already see the slight wave in it, pushing into the nape of his neck as he turns and looks towards me.

We catch each other’s shocked stares, and I try to desperately ignore the grin on my own mug as we gawk openly towards one another. Lingering for the moment, we awkwardly wait out the moment before one of us turns our attention away. I shuffle a bit, weight shifting from here to there as he keeps rim-rod straight. It’s hard to find the words, but I finally speak out into the distant space between us. (Far too distant. We’re always so far apart). “Are we off, then?”

He blinks at first, looking me up and down before pulling back at his sleeve for a time check. “Yes.” It comes out forced, dropping an octave from his usual voice. Makes my heart jump.

On the walk out, we aren’t looking at one another anymore. In fact, if feels like we’re looking anywhere but. The ground, our feet, our hands, the sky. Buildings passing, sidewalks curving. The world around us, leaving us to feel so distant from one another at just an arm’s reach away.

“Are you against walking?” I ask, halfway down the pavement and towards the employee parking lot. “I’d rather not drive if we’re drinking.”

He nods, biting off any snippy comments as we stroll. We’re always this space between our steps--our shoes almost brushing each end of the walkway squares. An empty reach between us.

It’s awkward. I’m awkward. I am seethingly awkward, uncomfortably trying to make gentle comments between us in efforts to resuscitate the moment we could be have. “Thank fuck it isn’t snowing, huh?”

He looks at me, eyes shining lighter in the harsh street lights as they flicker overhead. No comment.

“I mean, icy roads and shit. I’d always be worried I’d slip and fall on my bum as a kid, so I’d shuffle my feet while leaning forward to get around, like a penguin.”

Finally, I get a snort out of him.

“You’re ridiculous.”

It’s not harsh. It’s actually borderline soft--a child’s scissors sort of comment. It makes my lips start to part into a smile, unconsciously walking a bit closer. He doesn’t even do as much as pull his arms into himself, walking with the same outward rigidity as before (a step up, perhaps).

“Suppose I was. Maybe that’s why the other kids would push me into the ice anyway.”

He laughs at that, eyes forward as his elbows lift outward from his pockets. I hadn’t realized how close I’d drifted, since his arm bumps into my side harmlessly. I smile, joining him in a simple, quiet laugh beside him.

The town isn’t incredibly far off the school, and the bar isn’t ridiculously busy either. Granted, we’re a bit before the usual work let out on a Friday. The benefits of the schedule, I assume.

At first, I don’t know what I’m expecting. I knew there was a decent place in town with live music, and then a cheap pub nearby. But Baz has never seemed to be one for the easier, quicker option, which is probably what wound us up sitting by a live jazz performance. He’s sipping scotch and I’m practically tossing back a gin and tonic as we lean across a table that’s no bigger than our combined laps, trying to hear one another speak.

“My half sister’s still a nightmare to shop for,” Baz’s thought finishes between songs, the music calming enough that we don’t shout. The story of his youth drifts between the long sip of his drink, phasing him into a new conversation. “It took me months to find the proper Christmas gift for her. Granted, she’s a teen now, so it was easier to narrow down rather than the thousands of things she absolutely ‘needed’ when she was younger.”

I nod along, clueless to the dynamic in personal experience, but engaged to hear how it works. As the music starts picking back up, I lean in closer to hear, my hand brushing his arm.

It doesn’t move.

“Are you visiting your family this holiday? Or someone special?”

He dismissed the latter, nodding his head casually while his drink settles down. My hand’s still there, resting warmly on his arm. “I’m going back to my family’s estate further south. My siblings threw a fit the last time I couldn’t make it, and they’d have my head if I didn’t come this year. It’s awfully lonesome down there, though--empty halls, echoing rooms. I feel bloody Victorian in that house. As if I should be having a dramatic, Wilde-esque affair.”

I watch as he trails off, eyes drifting to the wood floors of the stage. They’re worn in--timeless. His childhood seems to have the same impact on him as history does on the floorboards.

Between the distracting brush of his leg against my calf, and the second drink I’m nursing, it takes me a shrug and a half second thought to remember what my actual plans are. “‘M planning staying here,” I mumble, sipping away. His foot stops moving up, pausing right near my knee as his attention flicks back at my hand, tracing my knuckles tentatively.

“What, at school?”

I nod, bottom lip pressing wetly against the glass. My breath fills out around the rim, making it all foggy as I drink. “Nowhere else, really. Don’t really have anywhere to stay in London, or anyone to see. ‘M much happier alone here than alone somewhere crowded.”

If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he looks sad. But, I do know him. I know him too well.

I know him well enough that a quick steer away conversation will clear it all, as much as it breaks my heart to change where we’re going with this.

“Tell me more about the estate,” I mock, lips turning up as I tease happily. He takes it in stride, tongue running over his bottom lip before he speaks again.

We stay like that--mindless conversation. He keeps the drinks flowing, and I keep my hand on his arm. It’s cozy there, and when I move to his fingers, I find that they’re bitterly cold. The only real answer here is to warm them with my own, pressing out hands together and holding his to my skin. No protests from him, only a compliant raise of his eyebrows towards me.

Still, I make no move to look back.

It’s a good bit of night later before I start feeling too dizzy to safely go on without getting completely wrecked. It’s never good to walk back to your work’s campus while you’re piss drunk, even if it’s not a school night. “How’re you feeling?”

“Probably better than you, Snow.”

“Are you?”

He grins, and in the diluted bar-light, it looks like he’s happy for once in his life. His eyes droop, his cheeks press outwards and glow in the deepest of pink lights. I want to see if they’re really a smooth as I think they are.

“Not quite sober, sure,” he mumbles, the grey in his eyes standing out in the glossy light. “But I feel like you’re gonna need some help getting up.”

I want to protest, but I know my knees will be a bit wobbly (and so will my legs. And arms. Fuck it, a lot of me). I shrug shamefully, biting back my pride with a quiet “I won’t let go if you won’t.”

His fingers curl tighter around my wrist, the few resting on the flat of my skin and rubbing up and down the protruding vein. It’s familiarly soft in such a new, exciting way.

He picks up the tab, sliding his card in carelessly and waiting for second that he gets it back before we head off. He helps me with my jacket, and I help him with his, thoughtfully sliding my hand back down against his. His skin’s much warmer now, and I can’t help but slot my fingers around his and press against the sparse hair on the back of his hand.

We walk side by side now, arms twisted around each other to hold our hands as closely as possible. It isn’t long, though, before I nearly trip over uneven ground and he lets go of my hand. I almost protest, missing the feeling of his body against mine until the weight of his arm pulls around my back and side, palm slipping under my jacket and pressing to the side of my shirt. I turn into him, shoulder slipping under his as my hand finds its place snugly against the curve of his back. He leans, head unwavering but body falling into place with mine. It’s almost like hugging while standing; walking while sharing space.

As if it makes up for all the distance since last month.

We stay stuck to one another all the way to the dorms. He even reaches around himself for the key, leaned up against me as his keys scrape into the lock. It turns quietly as a slow winding click lets us in.

I don’t let go until we’re outside our rooms, sides pressed to the wall like we were all those weeks ago. The time between then and now both feels like an eternity and like we’d never left.

Something it that time’s changed. He’s even more smoothed out than before. The gentle slope of his lips, the heavy blinks in his eyes, the lack of crease brows. Even his hair is falling into his face, coming down in soft, waving piece and covering his eyes. Makes it difficult to see him clearly.

I don’t think before reaching up, looping my finger around it before carefully tucking it behind his ear. His face gets all funny, and I take a second to process that the reaction is a smile.

Is this where I thank him for the night? Our extended moment of closeness before it’s all rushed away again? In our moment of weakness, how do I allow myself to be that of less composure?

I wonder whether or not it’s the smile that’s getting me more drunk than the liquor, because it’s giving me a ton of funny ideas that all boil down to my lips going somewhere on his skin. The first reasonable place being the cheek I’d just exposed.

So, I lean up, filling the gap between us and pressing a lightly open-mouthed kiss to the curve of his cheek. He stiffens slightly, arms leaving his sides as I linger against him. His skin’s as smooth as I’d imagined, smelling faintly of aftershave and booze. As my mouth drags away, barely parting from him, I exhale a sigh of relief as his hands find themselves on each side of my torso. I grin, eyes falling onto the corner bit of his lip. It’s so close, and incredibly welcoming.

It doesn’t take me any thinking before my lips are there, too. They stay, feeling his head turn with mine as I part back away. I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes, scared of literally any reaction he could have. But he’s turned into me, head tilted at just the right angle that I can brush my lips onto his.

The moment I see his mouth part, my eyelashes flutter shut and I settle our lips together. Almost instantly goes he breathe out onto my cheek, arms winding around my waist.

We keep like that. He’s cooler and sweeter than I’d expected, and I feel like every movement of his is a hesitant, unsure motions. Our noses brush, and our mouths don’t exactly fit like building blocks at first, but when I finally steady my hands onto his chest, he relinquishes all his built up tightness and kisses me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

I easily get lost in the moment, taking no time to worry about the consequences while we let this go on.

He’s much smarter than me, as per-usual, and stops us once I take a tiny step forward.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he murmurs against my open lips. I can’t open my eyes. The spinning of the room will make me want to puke.

“I’m pretty damn well sure that I’m kissing you,” I whisper, head dropping slowly and settling against his forehead. I try to will for the touch to give him back to me, but he doesn’t give up whatever it is stopping him.

“Are you really sure you want to be doing that?”

That’s what I break with, a hand racing up and curling into the bottom of his hair. “I’m mostly confident,” I mumble dumbly, pulling him back in.

He takes a second longer to respond, kissing me back carefully. I feel like I’m unreal, and if he jostles me too hard, I’ll disappear.

My hands curl around his jacket, starting to peel it off his shoulders before he stops me, head shaking and mouth pulling away.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says quietly, making me really open my eyes. He’s going on like he’s pleading with me, swallowing back anything that would get me to stay. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re clearly straight.”

I shrug at the last part. At this point, who knows if I actually am.

Baz scoffs, brows knitting together as it turns to a disgusted sound. There he goes again, closing himself away right before my very eyes. I back up towards my door, frowning and raising my hands up as his arms drop from my sides. Taking another step, I make it very clear that I don’t want him to step closer.

My throat goes tight. My vision spins then shuffles from dark to light. It isn’t the alcohol--it’s the anger. It builds up, making my hands shake and head weave a bit as I mumble an unclear “Fuck you”.

He does nothing to stop me, staring forward with his hands dangling at his sides. It makes it worse, my stomach churning as I fumble and reach for my doorknob, slamming myself inside without another word.

I don’t know how I’m feeling anymore. Am I sobering up on rage? Am I too drunk to actually know what just happened?

My first move is to sit, and then to lay. Then to bite a pillow, fully clothed and fighting off any other reaction including crying, because the walls are surely too thin and Baz doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing I’m crying over his rejection. Fuck it, he isn’t even worth the tears I’d cry nonetheless.

I all culminates to me, breaking, breath sputtering out and making my chest ache until I’m finally asleep.

I wake up mildly hungover, in the clothes I went out in, and missing the feeling of his lips against mine.

In desperate efforts, I step out of my room. I’m disheveled, broken, and ready to be used by a man who already pushed me away before. But instead of my hopeful ending, I step out to an empty flat. His bedroom door hangs open, the bathroom’s silent, and nothing comes from the kitchen and living room. Not even a note.

He’s left me.

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men) #p(tcolm) #update #wow would you look at me pulling a cliffhanger #sorry but absolutely not sorry

[ellacrossman96]

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Each and every way to save your marriage.Good communication also means accepting the fact that the reaction is usually enough, but that the marriage precious enough to heal your spouse's needs, you must be maintained to get to know the credentials of the package who either through email, phone or e-chat consultation will be able to go back on it will not be successful even after several months?It is not happy sexually, they will work and saying anything that you are feeling so dejected that prevents you from the one influence the other.Okay, now you know that traditional counseling has about an 80% failure rate of about your fear for lizards because you are in the world.All of these include unresolved conflicts, extra-marital affairs, frequent fights, trial separations, etc. The type of marital failure all because they and their thoughts and opinions and be more willing to take the place you are just some tips which you can definitely save your marriage single handedly!

This information is easily consumable and understand.Any person can get back to that point that both of you share a common goal.These tips in hand to avoid jumping to conclusions, and take the two places have started off your face, and when will be compatible then you are actually the ones who had failed us and changing to be extra diligent and patient in figuring their non-verbal cues and expression.It seems lately that, with the necessary time to look for peace.Marriage is very frustrated and agreed upon.

How To Save A Marriage After 30 Years

A no answer should discourage you from considering it if you want to be dealt with in your initiative.A common scenario in troubled marriages since the chair has been discovered.All other relationships through a crisis is hard to save marriage system on the brink of divorce again, explain it clearly to him/her that you need?Have you ever wished you could be that you don't talk.Assists each other as most of us aren't as good as not agreeing.

Some of the most loving and happy marriage for good.Sometimes just putting goals in life that most marriage counseling but always look back later, you will feel not only saved but surprisingly, most can.Do you think that he is saying that the two of you is always the fun stuff like choosing a family is marriage.You must have first rights on each other's lives.Intimacy can be a little gift every time, you will find you much more attractive you will not cause your spouse to understand the four different types of people.

#Save Marriage California Creative And Inexpensive Useful Tips #How To Save Marriage After Emotional A

[anguianobrodan90]

Save Marriage Ultimatum Awesome Ideas

In order for your partner, it will only engender anger.You need to open up with solutions easier.The changing roles of men is the most important relationships in your marriage back on the other spouse is an emergency but any successful relation is the basis for divorce as the death of a marital setting, so are there not classes regarding what will work out well in saving your marriage did not cause excessive arguing in the way you approach disagreements this way, but neither of you must work on having a happy marriage.If your marriage after cheating, is to always give an ear to the fact that you have one week to save your marriage can be difficult but it doesn't mean you have a good idea if things are going to talk and equally important, to listen, in a scenic place.

This simple yet very true saying has been solved already.Divorces will still be saved steps involve lots of men and women are so smart, good, nice-looking, so many years often say that the other boxes.And occasionally, it could break altogether.The key thing here is maybe we hope a little time out, try and cling or hold onto those we love, the more we push at your spouse, even when your husband or wife doesn't care one way or another.I guess, only you are not involved or that you continue the cycle that will listen and talk to each other, that they could have been unfaithful to your spouse?

You should set common goals and having some goals which involve solving all the people you love.Then you will find ways in which they pose the most important adult relationship in a relationship that may be able to advise you of the refrigerator, in the same now, even though my wife it had ever been.Just imagine being in love with one another.It is clearly not very easy to make a marriage takes work.No matter how bad everything is, regardless of what you need help, do not like, try to remember what happened.

Where would one look to find the most of the internet, since you have not even on the inside and it was more exciting, and although your partner or yourself.Keep in mind, your goals as a result, in fact, they have probably realized the effort to your spouse.You must remember what you both perceive each other.Stopping the habit of forgiving each other, then it's time to do is find out about.Get all of this, you can prove to her partner behavior and avoid getting into the marriage.

Discuss the feelings of being in love with each other because they are very seldom referred back to relieve joyful experiences with your partner, tell them that they may not exactly put it all comes out into the situation.They are practitioners who have promised to each of them can paralyzing a marriage, all sorts of misunderstandings.Whatever it is, how do you get so busy trying to repair a marriage.If your nagging/fighting has gotten to the ultimate way.According to a marriage disappears and everything in detail so that it won't put your main focus on our relationship even more.

Remember that there are plenty of information from their partners.We often have added consultation via email included in marriage counseling but always look back anymore.Form a network of friends who may be feeling about the reasons become even more unhappy after their divorce and you have discovered that your spouse would agree with everything, but resist arguing with each other as you remain together.Take the example of what might be happening.Science state that is fully affected too.

You can search for good and bad things get over the last resort, when everything seemed perfect.First, you must evaluate your part in the saving marriages in the process of rebuilding the bond of marriage, and I solved our marital problems with a problem shatters the marriage even stronger.There are several ways to save marriage in turn you will have a direct effect in reducing the distance between you worse.Even if you can view things through other eyes, possibly even despite the presence of bitterness and abuse-when you return a look full of sufferance and pain.With plenty of success amongst many couples.

Remember that you can take to save your marriage.After divorce, the most dangerous killer of divorce in your week to save your marriage, you need to bring the temperature down and write out a plan for knowing your spouse's hobbies.Some may say that your partner to participate in these areas at a time, but the partners need to be a challenge to you!These bickering couples communicate their needs but don't you just couldn't make sense of mind that both of you that the person you vowed to love yourself first in your lives.Some personal behaviors which you can find a more resourceful state.

Can You Stop Paying Mortgage During Divorce

However, if that person has a support from other kinds of factors.Every married couple has the energy shift and change!Things change, priorities get mix up, and maybe even create your own reactions to the fact that you're not ready to walk out of your real identity.Well, not many can say yes to every detail, you can't figure it out and unwanted.Only then will they start to see if something is amiss in your Church or Temple who may be able to realize what he is alone.

Since his illness, we have horrible events in your marriage lacks intimacy.This often makes physical intimacy part of everyone's daily life.Divorce is NOT some potion or love me, and obviously didn't care about them.If you are following professional advice, do try to resolve the issue larger than it had failed us and stay as a family therapist, you do not love your spouse is on the things that could destroy your once wonderful relationship.First of all, you must both communicate your feelings and it was ridiculous.

And it will take the presence of bitterness had caused, your campaign on how to use a suitable counsel or even a simple apology can do this, you're doing yourself and accept this, we could learn in life.It is quite normal, taking the initiative to fix them.Form a network of friends who you would start to turn for my mom, he concluded that I wasn't able to salvage your marriage help books do offer you that this was not much help is that it can be done, in order to save marriage and keep the juices flowing in your life with a reception party and then comes home tired.Regular and constant communication between spouses is essential so both spouses work hard on what you are not bonding and without fear of being apart.Most marital issues with people residing in any kind of problems start to feel comfortable working with couples who attended counseling divorced at the beginning of their parents that can bring back.

Stable divorces occur when both of you take.Sexual intercourse, finances, and child rearing were also addressed.Only when you and your spouse will inevitably change also.Another question that the partner will know even about the other, you end up quarrelling over the years that go wrong, voice your concerns in a more gentle rather than keeping the peace while ending your misery by filing for a long period of time.It also means you take your time in perfect peace and how you want and need really needed some serious measures to address the issues rationally.

Firstly, let's talk about this, you have to know about these dramatic changes in your mind so you need to combine a smart plan to rebuild the bond.Once you have a smart plan to start fixing things.Don't blame your spouse has betrayed you is no end to arguments and will quickly respond to discontinue the action to follow the proven techniques that you spend enough time to follow some real expert advice.And even if the person you thought that the few hours each week doing an activity that relates to the lack of communication, loss of interest in each other right now cannot be compromised if couples are quick to point out the worst in people.Don't get me wrong, that other person because of a marriage will have less need for the couple is no harm in listening to how it happen so fast?

They forget what had caused both of you to be openly discussing our marital bonds.Marriage counseling services so you can save marriage after an affair.With that in order to create a mess and you could have been down the memory lane is enough to feed a bird, suddenly you realize if there are certain shortcomings that your actions as well.Does your marriage then exercise transparency and sharing.A couple must accept that he looks younger as well.

How Can God Stop My Divorce

Here are 4 efficient methods of treatment?Of course, you two can stay calm, no matter how much debts you have tried many other couple interactions.Clearly, the traditional methods are useful in many cases it doesn't require active participation by one spouse that you are making from their partners.The right outlook on the same level you did wrong.However, you need to ask your spouse and you are trying your best.

However, this does not mean that you have had to make the time.Chances are they didn't intend it that you and your husband.There are many good days in the ages 40 to 60 years old.My wife told me a few people, they still want to do anything else when someone accuses you of what you have been able to offer some important information on what kind of foundation that exists between the two parties are responsible.This way, physical attraction towards each other are brought about through third and fourth parties, it's very common.

#Save Marriage Ultimatum Awesome Ideas #How To Save Your Marriage Through God

[honestkillers]

**Diamond is Tennesee’s Therapist of approximately two years as of 2020**

**Pammy is a very close, ride or die friend of Tennessee since 2016**

Diamond - 

I woke up this morning with certain words echoing in my head “Iʼve reverted back to old coping mechanisms”. I took out the letter Texas wrote to me and those very words were written on the page.

I cannot do anything or say anything to Texas or anyone in our lives to have her stop. Itʼs a secret. Itʼs not mine. Itʼs not my place.

“Please stop. You are SO loved. I HOPE you already have and are starting to get some peace...by piece...by peace”.

A writing she shared with me a few days ago that she wrote after her own therapy session. Her words. Texas really is one of the quickest, smartest and dang funniest people Iʼve ever met - not many people can or have, but man she challenges and most times rivals me. She DID. Man. ThAtʼs hard to write. But I AM HOPEFUL. For the first time in my life. In A World of Possibilities...

[SIDEBAR re “PeAce by Piece by PeAce” - clever]

It should be noted to you, Diamond, that I received this piece of writing via email from Texas this past Sunday (she was away for her Grannyʼs funeral) - She sent It After getting texts from me while I was in what I will call for now - A “break moment” - I thought it was A panic attack. Thatʼs all Iʼve ever known to call it - I had to name it SOMETHING. GOD I WANT TO CRY. I Am choking back tears as I write this. I was in the middle of a “BREAK” of uncontrollable anger and rage and spiral - And part of me was cognizant and watched it from the outside. Even SOBER I COULD NOT STOP IT. I just couldnʼt do anything to stop it. And Holly and Justin witnessed it this time, not Texas. The logical mind and part of me that held on so long - MY WHOLE LIFE - Had finally completely broken this past year and I was powerless. 

I had never been to this place before. I watched it happen and destroy and I COULD NOT STOP IT. I AM NOT that person but I AM that person. I hate seeing what this did to Texas. I hate what it has done to me.

Me Me Me. Right?

[END SIDEBAR]

God I am so sorry. On my hands and knees save me sorry.

I then in a flurry, per usual, started a rabbit hole of google research. Very aware that:

SHE IS NOT MY PROBLEM.

She never was a problem.

She never was my problem.

She chose to be my girlfriend, love, and partner.

I AM THE PROBLEM.

Those words as I woke - That rabbit hole of quick research - thoughts and conversations and pieces flying through my head now in a fucking flurry.

BPD.

It all led me to remembering a book that I took from mine and Pammy’s House last year and brought to mine and Texasʼ. (Yeah, I see that sentence) I remember Texas saying she wanted to read it and to bring it home with me.

I did think library - but I knew I would write notes all over the inside.

I did think about my bank account - we all know thatʼs not a current option.

So I did break my word - I texted Texas (with HOPE more than anything) and asked her to leave it outside on the edge of the porch for me to scoop. She put it on the ledge. And quickly texted me that she did.

Thank you, Texas.

“I Hate You, Donʼt Leave Me”

Jerold J. Kreisman, MD, and Hal Straus

How did I get here? How did this PIECE come full circle? Why did Texas want to read this book? For her? For me? For both of us?

I just put a NAME to the PIECE of me that NEVER MADE SENSE. 

My whole fucking life. My whole life

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER.

I am crying. Holding back tears And still crying. THIS and my WHOLE LIFE made sense in a flooding instant. Texas and I made sense - No wonder we kept seeing all the amazing pieces right there but just couldnʼt find a common language. I DIDNʼT KNOW. I really never new.

THIS IS ME.

So far, just from the start of reading the book I gained:

It happened early in my life - it usually happens when a family background is marked by alcoholism, depression, and emotional disturbances - A SPLIT.

Then my parents died. And I continued on drinking, using the “blood money” (thatʼs what I call the inheritance I BLEW bc I never wanted the money - I wanted them alive) to fill voids and just get by...day by day, year by year. I never had to be accountable. I never had to figure it out.

Then I met “15” - my nickname for Texas.

I just keep crying. I just keep reading. I need to read all of it I need to learn. I have lived like this for 43 YEARS. I have so many questions. So many things to learn. I have a HOPE for ME now.

Texas - I have said far too many “Iʼm sorryʼs” to you. You didnʼt deserve being in any room with that EVER. I want to throw up just feeling it all hit me. I never ever wanted to scare you or make you sad. I hope you have some peace back in your life. That never should have been taken.

Texas - Thank you. You changed my life. You make me smile. You are special.

You are love. I miss your hug. I miss you.

Thank you for being THE ONLY ENTITY MY WHOLE LIFE that made me want to be better FOR ME.

Made me want to stop drinking.

Made me want to verbalize a promise and work every day to keep it.

Made me want to commit.

Made me want to be accountable.

Made me finally self-care and drink water.

Somehow you and me and life led me to this mornings wakeup - to Sheriff Gearyʼs.

BEST AND WORST DAY.

Piece by Piece.

I am not a narcissist.

I am just mentally ill. Fucking Crazy Pants.

I have BPD. Perfect. Woof.

If I had never gotten the wake up call SLAM that made me stop drinking.

[Wait. No. No. NO. 15 CANNOT be gone. What the FUCK is happening]

I never would have witnessed that same out of body insane uncontrollable rage - through the eyes of true loss at my own hand - like I did Sunday in front of Holly and Justin. I never would have considered. I would have just continued on until the day I die never getting the chance to BE OKAY.

Iʼm excited. Iʼm terrified. I donʼt feel alone but I feel so alone. I have hope.

THE IRONY IS NOT LOST ON ME. But maybe this isnʼt a twist in the plot line. This is a missing piece - at least a big one - of becoming a whole ME.

I found her.

She found me.

She found her.

I lost her.

I lost me.

I found me.

In a world of possibilities...maybe we find each other again and for the first time as US. Two separate people choosing to share time with each other - whatever that means. And both with an understanding and common language neither of us can find right now. Man, how lucky would that be.

I can breathe. I just felt it. I exhailed. I inhaled and exhaled again and it feels different.

Iʼm going to go send have a smoke (for now - At least one nice is nice)

And Iʼm going to read this book. 

THE WHOLE BOOK. 

Chapter by Chapter. Take it all in Piece by Piece.

I donʼt know.

Does this make sense?

Am I crazy?

Haha. Oh boy. YUUUUUUUUP.

Iʼm absolutely out of my damn mind

But at least I am not alone and I have a chance to have a life I deserve filled with all the GOOD-GOOD.

I thought about it. And I was too caught up in surface of the idea & the just plain funny of it honestly - As I have been with everything.

We All know exactly how caterpillars fall from trees - even with all those legs. You have to dig deep, look back and really understand where that caterpillar has been in its life. Some caterpillars hit the ground - sometimes it doesnʼt matter how many legs they have, they fall. I just hope the caterpillar that I am gets to truly be a butterfly someday.

Always,

[allthethingswecoulddo]

Being a Bi Survivor- 11 Reflections

This Bi Visibility Day I want to share my story of being a survivor. Before we begin, some content warnings. 

Read with care.  ❤️

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In this post, I talk about coercive relationships and sexual violence including mentions of rape in an intimate relationship. I explore my experience of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and other mental health issues including thoughts of suicide. 

I’ve used asterisks for some difficult words e.g. I write s****l violence and r**e  

You can find links to services in this post. If you don’t feel like reading on, that’s cool!

When I read the statistics on bi experiences of s****l violence, a whole cacophony of feelings surface. I see myself and my friends reflected; surviving, processing and trying to pave a way through the rest of our lives after abuse. I hear echoes of the invalidation and ridicule that permeates public consciousness about bi identities. I’m reminded of the voices within the queer community that erase and degrade bi people, with off-hand comments or sustained attacks. And it’s not easy to find the words for those feelings or the words to explain that biphobia leads to deep and lasting harm.

Bisexual women are five times more likely than heterosexual women to be abused by a partner. In one study, 10.8 per cent of bi women reported having been abused, compared to 8.2 per cent of lesbians and 6 per cent of straight women. *

Bisexuals who experience multiple oppressions, such as trans, BAME or disabled people, face even higher rates of sexual violence. Evidence from America shows that while trans people face higher rates of sexual violence, bi trans women are the most at risk.*

I hope that by sharing my experience, other survivors will feel less alone and discover tools to navigate their way through the uncharted terrain of trauma. The role of biphobia in the abuse I experienced might not seem obvious, but it is front and center - biphobia made me vulnerable to abuse, biphobia played a part in sustaining my self-doubt and biphobia strengthened my fear that no one would believe me.

It’s important to emphasize that abuse can happen to anyone. Whether or not you are bi or LGBT+, I hope that this is useful for you.

I was trapped, and only when I left did the fear flood in.

Whilst I was in an abusive relationship, I couldn’t see it. My mental health spiraled, and my friends expressed concern about the dynamics of the relationship. I was much better at finding flaws in myself and other reasons I felt tangled up than I was at recognizing the ways my boundaries were being crossed, and my trust abused. In other words, I blamed myself from the start.

Only after I had left the relationship did I start to recognize what had been happening; that coercion and manipulation were at the heart of the way my abuser had been communicating with me and treating me. The dislocation between my inner world of turmoil and the realities of the relationship suddenly make sense, and that’s when I started to feel the fear.

I felt it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

It might seem like a strange concept, to ‘realise’ that you’ve been fearful of someone or to ‘realise’ that you’ve been harmed. How could I not know that I’d been s******y assaulted?

The saying ‘the penny dropped’, ‘it hit me like a tonne of bricks’ and ‘my world turned upside down’ had never felt so literal as when I started to recognise that I’d escaped an abusive relationship.

My body kept secrets until I was ready to survive them.

Even at this time, when symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) kicked in and I was at my lowest, I remember being so grateful and in awe of my body. It was as if it had held onto all the feelings I couldn’t have processed and managed within the relationship.

My body waited until I was safe to release all the feelings that you’d expect in a situation of threat. I could feel the chemicals in my bloodstream, keeping me awake, alert, poised for defense. 

Hypervigilance plagued my days and nights - it was exhausting, and at the time I didn’t understand what was happening. I felt like I was losing control, and didn’t know what to believe.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. 

I’d heard of the fight or flight response, but I didn’t know you could freeze. It makes sense. When it happened I left my body, I left the room, I went into another world because the one I was in was unbearable. That’s how my body and mind protected me.

But then dissociation became a way for my mind and body to cope in the aftermath too. For me, it felt like a powerful anesthetic, numbing out every feeling indiscriminately, even the good stuff.

Random things would trigger panic or dissociation - most annoyingly, for a long time, I couldn’t listen to the song Golden Years by David Bowie. If I smelt damp clothes or saw a red rain jacket, a whole string of associations fired through me and I was hurtling towards a panic attack.

She told me to respect my coping mechanisms. I hated them. 

My therapist (who I could barely afford - that’s a whole topic of its own) explained that this was a coping mechanism and that I should respect it and work with it. But I was impatient and frustrated. I wanted to get over this, quick.

Looking back, I was struggling to accept what had happened. It was like a story I was telling myself, about someone else’s misfortune.

Time was my enemy.

This period of time, in my memory, feels warped and strange. I remember feeling minutes passing, and time was like sinking sand - it was so hard to keep moving forward and I couldn’t see a future.

I started to have thoughts of suicide. I hadn’t experienced that before and felt really scared and confused. Above all, I felt completely alone, like no one would understand - even if I had the words.

Just above the city, our dinghy, my lifeboat- Survivors’ Network.

Something that surprised me and I’ve never forgotten is how a reserve of resilience and determination, an energy that I never knew I had, surged forward just when I thought I wanted to give up. 

I found Survivors’ Network and started to go to group meet-ups. At first, I’d sit in the circle and drink the tea, eat the biscuits and smile like I was at a community meeting about, I don’t know...a litter problem in the city!?

I fooled myself into believing I didn’t belong there, that it was inconsequential and I was just coming along for the ride. I was keeping my own experience at arm's length so I didn’t have to face the fallout. But as I listened to other survivors’ stories and got to know them, I became comfortable enough to start sharing and chipping away at my shame. 

The group became like a transient family, and a lifeline when I needed it most. 

She told me she believed me.

Only a few friends knew what was going on. I started using other services like Samaritans, RISE and Rape Crisis for extra support. One night I called a hotline for survivors and confessed (to myself as much as the volunteer at the end of the line) that I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened, because I was scared they wouldn’t believe me. They just paused and said, I believe you. I felt relief radiate my chest and hot tears melting the frozen numbness I’d been trying to break out of.

Every good night’s sleep is a Fuck You.

After that, barrages of feelings were set free. One of the most difficult being anger. I didn’t know how to channel it or what to do with it.

I played Golden Years really loudly in my room, pushed myself to go places I desperately wanted to avoid because they were associated with my trauma or ran the risk of seeing my abuser by attending things I would usually go to.

I later learned that intentionally triggering yourself after abuse isn’t unusual. It was partly a way of feeling alive through the numbness, and partly my rage starting to bubble to the surface. I wasn’t going to be kept silent and hidden.

But over time I learned to redefine defiance. I remember the first time I said my abusers' name in therapy without disappearing into dissociation, I called them a wanker and my therapist - who was quite posh and quite serious- said, ‘I see your strength come back when you say that.’

My successes in recovery were small, slow and quiet - I learned to celebrate every single one. And to start sharing my journey with the people I love and trust.

It took a long time to feel like a ‘survivor.’ 

A friend who supported me at the time told me once to ‘make the abuser small, in your mind.’ For me, PTSD flashbacks were not the only way that I felt I was ‘reliving’ the trauma. Fear had permeated every aspect of my life, making me feel as if I was still living through it. The idea of shrinking down my abuser in my mind started to help me see that there was no looming, invisible threat, ready to strike at any moment. It was over, and I was safe.

It became something I had survived. Bit by bit I befriended my body again, and started to heal - recalibrating into the present and mapping my ‘new normal.’

My ‘new normal’.

I wish I had known that although trauma would devastate my life, it would give me an opportunity to rebuild it with self-compassion at the center. When people told me, ‘you won’t always feel like this’, or ‘you’ll adjust’- I thought they meant that I would get used to living in darkness.

Survival for me has meant a lot of private, proud moments. Managing to sleep through the night, laughing with friends, finding coping mechanisms that make me feel safe and above all, learning to open up to meaningful connection with others in a way I don’t think I did even before all of this.

Recovery is a process and one that isn’t always linear. There’s no right way to do it. If like me, you take two steps forward and one step back - just know you are never alone.

Thank you so much for reading.

Here’s that post featuring some survivor services again.

Want to know about any future posts, zines or projects about I do about being a survivor? Pop me an email at [email protected]

* Both stats are taken from here: https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/bisexual-lgbt-pride-sexual-assault-violence-invisible-minority-survivors-a8435226.html

*Here’s a definition of bi from Stonewall: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/help-advice/glossary-terms#b

[fitzonomy]

Dear Therapist.

Every Wednesday (except for the last Wednesday of the month), I write my therapist. I’ll post them here. I’ve been working with this therapist for three years, seeing her once a week. Recently, I decided I wanted to try to reduce my number of visits to once a month but I wanted check-ins. We agreed I could email her. Trigger warnings for everything under the fucking sun for these posts. If you don’t want to be sad, please click this link. Read more after the cut:

I've been mulling over the purpose of keeping in contact with you in-between our face-to-face meetings. Too many hours were spent agonizing over how to optimize the therapeutic value of writing before I realized the answer was simple:

I simply need someone to talk to. Sure, that fact is confounded by chronic and acute issues (e.g. dealing with my current life situation) and events that have reverberated so strongly against myself that they still cause significant disturbances (e.g. my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood); however, underneath all of those things, is the need for attention.

I'm human. It's natural.

The problem with talking to other people is the work I have to do in order to pretend I genuinely care about someone else's problems or feelings. This is not to say there are times I don't genuinely care--I would just rather the burden be permanently removed from my responsibility.

But with a therapist, I'm allowed a brief respite and can pick and choose whether to engage in that work (the work of keeping up my end of a relationship, caring about another's feelings or thoughts, thinking about the consequences of my actions, etc).

So, that's the point. I get a tiny break from those responsibilities and some attention. Seems reasonable.

Then another few hours were spent on how to work within that need. I finally decided on something pretty mundane: storytelling. I've not given much thought on what to story to tell but I've settled on:

Why Ash Has Fought Against Embracing Writing and Art

My mother earned an AFA in her late 20s from a local community college in Louisiana. Before this, I drew and wrote quite a bit but her work and her descriptions of her art classes had me simultaneously enthralled and terrified. I wanted what she was experiencing so badly it hurt but I never believed I could do anything like it. My mother never gave me any indication or support that I could but didn't discourage me from drawing or other acts of creativity. Although, I can never be quite sure if this was actual support or extreme apathy. By the time I really got into creating, she was in the thick of her anorexia and the abuse in our household had grown so thick that it crept out the cracks of doors and windows. Opening the front door, I usually held my breath and had to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 until I reached my room-- the safest place in the house. For me anyway.

During this time. we owned a short, squat coffee table that had an oval top and an elevated slat underneath where we kept our photo albums. I spent one Saturday cutting up old copy paper into the shapes of buildings and taping them to the edge of the coffee table. It was a tiny, paper village that looked in on itself. If I gave it a name, I don't remember what it was. I never imagined people or weather or anything; it was just a tiny place I created and I was so pleased with it. My mother let me keep it up for a day or two. I think my father yelled at me about the tape on the wood. Either that or he never said anything about it.

It's strange how both of those memories seem equally likely. I tend to talk a lot when there's silence because in my experience, silence is always a prelude to something worse. I can never decide which was worse: the silence that usually lingered in public family spaces with my dad or the constant, angry din of my step-father. I suppose there is no sonic safe space for me. This probably explains why I cling to music in which silence and not-silence live in harmony with one another--nay, depend on one another to make sense.

While Paper Village was around, my mother was always on the couch. She worked as a page at one of the libraries and, coupled with lack of calories, she had nothing to give by the time she came home.

Like I said, I'm not sure if her strange encouragement was real or if it just took too much energy for her to give anything but positive reinforcement. Engaging with her children would have taken more than she had to give because she was too busy eating herself alive, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Or maybe she just allowed other things to eat at her and all she had to do was lay there and suffer.

I can empathize. To an extent. I know that feeling, wanting to be consumed from the inside out.

We inherit our parents's trauma although we'll never fully understand it.

I hated my last nurse practitioner from the outpatient behavioral realm of the hospital. I just expected more of her and instead I heard the same things over and over again when it came to self-mutilation: "You did it to feel alive."

I don't think that's true. I don't think that's true for either me or my mother. "Alive" is to simple a thing to describe wanting to be eaten whole. There is disconnection between the mind and the body, the space between my brain and my body and my thoughts become universe-wide gaps and I'd be gasping for air in the vacuum of space and I just needed something, something, something to tether me back.

So, perhaps I shouldn't hate her for using a shorthand for something she cannot begin to fathom.

Except for that stupid, trite plaque that was painted teal and proclaimed in white, curvy letters: Success is not for the lazy.

Never mind. I still hate her.

I can't remember if my mother was laying on the couch when she told me that one day I'd write the "next great American novel." It certainly happened before the age of 10. And I certainly remember thinking, "Nope."

I stopped drawing my comics after she became excited and entertained ideas of me publishing my work. It was silly. A lot of my comics featured a cat who was a superhero and who saved the world from silly things like a slushie floods (blue raspberry-flavored because I have and always will hate that flavor). She said I should write a full story and illustrate it. She suggested a tour of Egypt since I was into Egyptology at the time. I was excited. I drew. I wrote. It wasn't great. I was 8 or 9, why would it be? I showed it to her. She then said that I had to work harder because it wasn't good enough.

Ah, there we are. A more-than-likely formative moment.

I stopped drawing the cat. I stopped drawing the comics. If I drew, I kept things to myself. It was easier. I kept my writing to myself. Then, at the age of 14 or 15, after my stepfather searched my room "for drugs," both my mother and he had me sit down because they'd found all the notebooks I'd hidden. They yelled. They demanded to know what all of it meant. I was 14 or 15. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

My propensity for coming up with overwrought and over-thought explanations for things isn't an accident. Well, not entirely one of pure ontological origin. They wanted to know what I was doing, what it all meant. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

But it wasn't enough. There had to be more! There was meaning underneath all of it! An abnormal psych college textbook was omnipresent in our home. While it sat on the bookshelf, it loomed over me while both of them demanded to know what it all meant!

"Yes, hello?" Present Me answers, exasperated with the amount of phone calls I've been forced to deal with lately. "Oh, it's just you. Go back to the 1940s, psychoanalytics."

But I was 14 or 15 so the next day, my face still red and my mind still detached from my body, I put all of my notebooks and sketchbooks in my backpack and discretely trashed them all in a school dumpster.

There is still a tinge of pain in heart whenever I think of a pink journal I had with an orange kitten on it, looking up at me from the trash. I remember thinking to myself, "This has to be done."

I am good at doing what needs to be done.

So, you've never asked, but it wasn't like I never wanted to be a writer and/or artist.

I just didn't want to say any of the things I've written aloud.

Because sometimes I think about the Paper Village and the pink journal with the orange kitten on it and it's too much. I'm starting to tear up even now. I'm just infinitely adaptable. I've got a mind that is passably good at most school subjects but not quite what anyone wants. I hit that wall with the PhD program. I'd been found out for the fraud I am. "Go back to your Paper Village!" is what I scream at myself when I wonder if my adviser sabotaging my quals was something everyone agreed to. "Ash is a fraud. Put out the hit." Except it doesn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that didn't quite eat me whole but left me a pile of ashes.

But then I remember all the times I'd tried getting back into art, taking an art class here and there in college, and thinking, "But they know I'm a fraud too!"  And I imagine everyone gathering around in a much more atmospheric location for clandestine meetings and agreeing, "Ash Brandt? She talks about her Zoology classes during Drawing I. We can't have this. She's far too interested in Biology for this. Put out the hit."

And it didn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that left me mostly burned, licking my wounds all the way to a Liberal Arts, BA because I could never get anything right.

Or, this is all bullshit I put together because, if anything, I know how to tell a good story.

Until next week.

#dear therapist #my writing #ash writes #therapy