eroticsiblingslove

[tleeaves]

Don't know what I ate today but my nightmares be WILD tonight. I can hardly explain any of this but I am still scared of heights and falling apparently, and also hot things.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

CAN I GET ME SOME PETER FROM BOC? (I promise he's overage ajdjfjff) he has no content and he's just,,,adorable 🥺

listen here, I’m now head over heels for Peter and I’m blaming you

WHAT A MAN,,,

I hope this doesn’t disappoint, it’s full of feels and there is a LOT to unpack here! I based it on this set of headcanons I did a while back wherein someone saved the circus members and nursed them back to health, so that person (tho I went with a lady) is this reader’s boss

also this got WAY longer than I meant it to but considering the absolutely criminal lack of Peter content, I don’t think you’ll mind

Sometimes, on nights when it’s warm, you’ll find those two sitting in the courtyard behind your employer’s manor.

(Mistress) never told you what the story was with these circus performers, and as far as you know, she’s never told any of the other servants either. Hell, she may not even know herself. If PETER and Wendy are anything to go by, this lot doesn’t open up easily. They’ve all been living here for six months, and the only thing you really know is that (Mistress) took them in after finding them horribly injured, that Peter and Wendy are basically adults stuck in bodies which never matured, and that they used to be trapeze artists in their troupe.

They’re both very hard to read, though Wendy is marginally friendlier than her brother. The two of them seem closer to each other than even to the other members, and the whole lot of them keep to themselves, perhaps trying to avoid the household’s staff entirely, so you’ve not had much interaction with any of them.

These two, though? They intrigue you; Peter in particular. He seems on edge all the time, a shock that so much anger seems to exist in someone so small. Even if you didn’t trust their word that these two aren’t children, you would know he was an adult. No child is that angry all the time without any discernible reason.

You just want him to be able to relax. Whatever the reason he’s always ready to fight, he would be so much less stressed if he could let go of it just a little bit. Doesn’t he know he and his sister are safe here? Don’t they all know that? If they don’t, someone ought to clue them in.

When you step out into the courtyard, the balmy night air welcomes you.

There they are, the two of them, and Wendy looks to be lying down in the grass. Sleeping, maybe? It’s late, but not past midnight quite yet. (Mistress) has no strict rules for her staff nor her guests except that she would prefer everyone be inside the manor by midnight. Oddly enough, unlike anyone else you have ever worked for, she’s very concerned with everyone’s safety.

The grass rustles between your feet as you walk. The closer you get, the more Peter’s shoulders seem to shoot up toward his ears; indeed, until they’re buried in his hair. Wendy, on the other hand, only moves by breathing, so she’s definitely asleep.

After a moment of standing, staring at the sky, you lower yourself onto the ground next to Peter. Close enough that you could touch him, far enough that, hopefully, he doesn’t feel crowded. “Lovely night,” you hum, crossing your legs. “It’s nice when there are no clouds at night. You can see the moon so well. Lady (Mistress) is happy someone is finally enjoying the courtyard. She’s never really been one for stargazing or―”

“Oh, what the bloody ‘ell d’you want?!” Peter interrupts you before you can even finish your sentence. His voice is harsh, not loud, likely because he doesn’t want to wake Wendy. “Did y’ come out ‘ere just ta talk me ta death?!”

His bad attitude is still a bit surprising to you, but to have such rude comments coming from such an innocent-looking mouth is no longer the shock it once was. “Well… it wasn’t my intention, no. I’m sorry.” You tilt your head at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

The look he gives you is equal parts incredulous that you’ve said such a thing and sorely tempted by the offer. At last, his face contorts into a scowl, his head jerking back down to the grass he’s yanking out of the ground. “That ain’t what I said. Just stop prattlin’ on about nothin’.”

A moment passes in silence, then you reach over to tear out a couple blades of grass yourself. It’s not that you pretend to understand why he’s doing it, but you want to show him that whatever he’s doing, you’ll join him if he wants, even if you don’t know the reason why.

“… What should I prattle on about, then?” you speak up once he seems to have calmed down a little. “I started with the sky, but… I get the feeling you’re not actually out here to look at the sky. Not as dumb as I look, you know.”

Peter huffs, and a small sigh comes from Wendy as she turns over in her sleep.“So, y’ saw a bloke what didn’t wanna be bothered, ‘n’ y’ came out ‘ere ta bother ‘im, is what y’re sayin’?”

A small shrug is what he gets from you before you say anything else. “Well, no, I’m not trying to bother you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing… if you’re settling in alright. Wendy seems pretty comfortable.”

He snorts, the bitter look from earlier taking over his face again. “We ain’t ‘settlin’ in’. We ain’t gonna be ‘ere longer’n a year, I’ll bet, if we even make it that long.”

“Why do you think that? Lady (Mistress) says she likes you all and that you’re welcome to―”

He lets out a violent grunt as he pulls a clump of grass blades from the ground. They’re tossed down in short order, accompanied by a growl. “(Mistress) don’t know nothin’ ‘bout us! Y’ think she’d want us ‘ere if she knew the truth?! Y’ think anyone’d want us anywhere if they knew the truth?!” He presses his hands into the dirt, digging it under his frayed fingernails, and hisses furiously. “There’s a reason we were left ta fuckin’ die ― because we should be dead! We’re BAD PEOPLE, (Name)!”

Now his voice has gotten louder, causing Wendy to stir and make noises of what sounds to you like distress. You scoot over a bit, reaching around Peter to give a few soft pats to her shoulder. Then you turn your attention back to Peter. “… You’re not,” you say softly. “You in particular, you’re a little rough around the edges, but you’re not… bad.”

You shift around some to get more comfortable. When you cautiously set your hand on top of Peter’s, he flinches, but ultimately lets your fingers stay where they are. “Even if you were bad… you’re not the only bad people to ever exist. You don’t deserve to die.”

“What d’you know?” he grinds out lowly. “Y’ don’t know nothin’ ‘bout us either. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout me. Y’ don’t get ta make that judgment.”

“Then what judgment am I fit to make?” If you sound frustrated by now, it’s because you are. Why does he seem so insistent about this? Doesn’t he think that if they all should have died, they would have? “Do my feelings really mean that little to you? Does what I think really not matter to you? Because whatever else you may be, good or bad or somewhere in between ― I’m glad to have you here. Perhaps this comes as a surprise to you, Peter, but I happen to like your company, and Wendy’s, and the others’.”

You curl your fingers around his, tightly, securely. “If you should have died, then God wouldn’t have let you live. You’re still alive for a reason.” Despite that you move closer to him, he doesn’t pull away. “You’ve all been given a second chance. Regardless of whether or not you think you deserve it, you have it. And you’re prepared to spend it feeling sorry for yourself, saying you don’t deserve it, instead of doing something with it?”

What surprises you is that he wraps his fingers around yours in response, holding your hand as if you’re his last connection to life. When he looks up at you, his expression is old enough to betray his youthful face. “Y’ don’t know what y’re talkin’ ‘bout, (Name). We shouldn’t ‘ave this chance in the firs’ place. It should’ve gone ta someone else. Y’ don’t know us, er what we done, er anythin’ else. Y’ don’t know… me.”

“But I want to.” Something strange thrums in your chest, your heart fluttering against your ribcage. “I don’t know you because you won’t let me. None of you will let any of us in even the smallest bit. Meanwhile, Lady (Mistress) and I and some of the others… we want to know you. Whatever that means. Even if there are things about you that aren’t pleasant. We like you. I like you. How do you know we wouldn’t accept you if you won’t give us the chance?”

What comes out of his mouth is a mix of a scoff and a laugh. That look in his eyes is so dark and tired you don’t know what to make of it. “Lord, y’know, I never met anyone like y’. Mos’ people don’t want us anywhere near ‘em, even the parts of us that ain’t so bad. But y’re tellin’ me, y’ expect me ta believe ― y’ actually want the bad parts?”

You lean even closer, almost desperate that you’ve come so close to potentially getting him to open up and be vulnerable with you. “Yes,” you breathe. So close you are now, your noses are almost touching. “I want the bad parts. I want the good parts. I want all of you. Is that so crazy?”

“Yeah!” This time it’s a full-blown laugh, though it’s so mirthless, he nearly sounds closer to crying than laughing. “That’s very crazy! Y’ oughta be locked up in some asylum! It ain’t enough yer lady took us in, but y’re tellin’ me y’ actually want every single part of me? Y’ take a look at me lately, ‘uh? I ain’t no gentleman! I ain’t refined, I ain’t sweet… I mean, damn, I look like a little kid!”

The tip of your nose presses to his. “You’re not, though. You’re not a boy,Peter; you’re a man.” You get the feeling very few people acknowledge that about him. He looks like a child, so he must be!

“And I don’t care about refined or sweet… and anyway, who says I want a gentleman?” Your hand stays in his, and your other arm snakes around his shoulders. “What I want is you. I understand if you can’t… or don’t want to… give me all of you. Or any of you. But… no matter anything else… know that there’s someone who will take every part of you. There are people here who want to accept you… if you’d only let us in. You’re not alone.”

Peter lets out a shuddering breath, and you can feel its heat against your lips. His hand clutches yours with such ferocity that his arm is shaking. After a long, long moment, his other hand comes to rest against your waist. How long must it have been since anyone’s treated him as the adult he is ― how long must he have been holding himself back so that he doesn’t make people angry or uncomfortable? “Stop,” he murmurs, and his hand bunches the fabric against your waist in a fist. “Stop bein’ so… good. I can’t… I can’t take it. Jus’ gonna make it ‘urt more… when we get chased outta ‘ere…”

He presses his forehead against yours, his chest heaving as if he’s using his whole strength to stave off the sobbing he’s already been holding back for his whole life. “… If I open up… if y’ do accept me… ‘n’ then I ‘afta leave y’ be’ind…” He’s still holding himself so tensely, wound so tight that he could snap at any moment.

“… I can’t…”

That he gives no resistance when you push forward and kiss him is something you didn’t expect. The way he leans into the touch, bowing to you with a stunning softness you weren’t sure he possessed, speaks volumes about how much he needs someone to embrace his whole self. He seems to even lose himself in your approval for what feels like an eternity.

You draw away, only to be pulled back in against him for another kiss. This one is rougher, hungrier, with a neediness that’s somehow the same as the first kiss and yet wildly different. It’s the kiss of a man who just wants to be wanted, who has tasted that someone desires him and became addicted to that in an instant.

When he pulls you back, you’re only too happy to submit to his wants. You can feel his hand at your waist, his fingers fanning out from that fist so they are splayed against your side.

As soon as you come up for air, you move your arm from his shoulders to let your hand rest on his cheek.

“Don’t worry, Peter,” you whisper as if you can quiet all his fury and anxiety with just those words. “You’re not going anywhere.”

[loveiwillsurvivethis]

So, I slept fourteen hours today, and while asleep and after waking I’ve been working on grasping what’s been going on with me health wise.

Not that what’s been going on itself has been lost on me, things such as depression, anxiety, dissociation, now sleep disorders I need to be evaluated for. But how to handle them, has been.

I obsess (and OCD is on the above list too) over fix it fix it fix it. I’ve been able to bring down that obsession, and kicking self pity in the ass has helped a ton with me actually learning things again, rather than the “I know I know - I’m still panicking but I know” response while trying to force solutions into working without fully understanding.

But gods I wanted to say I did. Gods I wanted to stop. And it wasn’t until I very fine lined, nearly nuked one relationship, it finally hit I’m nuking everything, and whining about it. And oh boy I haven’t been perfect since. Every day I make mistakes. Today I made some pretty big ones.

But I’ve started actually understanding what I’m doing and what I need to do. Not what people need to do for me. That was a big one. I wanted other people to make me feel better. Others hurt me, I felt helpless on my own, and tired, oh so tired. So someone else carry me. Someone else make it stop.

Something I’m still reminding myself is that my intentions don’t count for shit. Like I can say I mean well all I want. I can say I didn’t mean to hurt you until the cows come home. That doesn’t take back what I did. That doesn’t help me handle why I did it. I didn’t mean to. But my god the more I say that the more I find I’m feeling sorry for myself, the more I’m convinced I’m out of control, the more helpless I feel, as if intentions and “well I didn’t WANT to hurt you” are enough to just automatically guide my decisions and over-ride the trauma’s that I’ve gone through and put myself through - yup, self inflicted trauma, that was a pill I’ve had to swallow too.

No, it takes work. It takes daily, life long work. And honestly, I don’t want to die, I want the people I care for to know how much I love them, I want to spend a life in creation, sharing what I make and learn with other people, and helping them. And that’s worth the work, even when it’s overwhelming some days. Bad days are bad days. Not the rest of my life.

 Like, I want this emphasized. I’ve changed so much, in a lot of ways for the worse with the friends around me the past three years. I was someone that didn’t know how to take care of their selves but I would stay up until 6 am talking, I clung to hope and worked to do my best, no matter how bad I felt.

And then I got caught up in feeling sorry for myself. It wasn’t immediate. It started with self fear. Things came to surface and exploded, I panicked. I started to get a handle and then got called a liar, got told I needed things I didn’t. I stopped holding onto the people I cared so hard for who had been helping and got mixed up between them and bad advice, bad thinking, bad influences, and then self pity. Mostly as a barrier on because I couldn’t accept things I’d done in that period. So feel sorry for me so it wasn’t my fault. And that stunted me hard. I did so much for the past year to hurt myself, hurt those around me, because no I would never have stolen money, no I would never have shamed you, I would never have sexualized anyone. I know I have related trauma, I know I have multiple personalities, but no I would never, I would never, I didn’t mean to.

It was them.

It was them.

It was them.

I was the victim.

I’m so sorry.

And that thinking stunted me so hard. On one hand that was a lot to swallow. On the other hand I should have been talking more, when I was afraid to. Like you don’t undergo that much with someone with the intention to just leave after. They have told me so many times I’m human, I take time to learn, effort to learn, that I’m imperfect with good and bad and weird and everything in-between, that even with that I should find pride in myself.

And I was stuck over obsessing if I said one more thing, added one more to the pile, it’d be the last thing to break the relationships and they all would leave.

So defense mechanisms kicked in and I left them unchecked, because they felt right at the time.

I have massively shit on their trust, I have strained and tugged and tested the relationships in ways I shouldn’t have, it’s hard for me to look at them and still not remember everything I’ve done to abuse them and my relationships with them.

That, and trauma from past relationships I didn’t want to acknowledge in full. I wanted to be over my exes. I wanted ex friends to mean nothing. I wanted the compounding trust issues to not exist. So every time I got closer to the friends I keep now, I’d panic and shove them away, and pretend that the trauma wasn’t why. It was just me. I was inherently fucked up.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

And I never got better.

I’ve poured myself whole-heartedly into empty relationships. Most of my past ones were one sided. I’ve been isolated and socially abused most of my life. I don’t understand how relationships work. I don’t understand every cue. I don’t recognize mutual investment. I don’t register I’m cared for, and once I do, I recoil hard.

And I’ve been wanting them to make me feel better about it. As much as I was putting my faith into just being some inherent fuck up, I was also holding them responsible for making me feel better about everything left untreated from my past, my traumas. While pulling them in my back and forth of “don’t get too close - but don’t leave”.

Talking it out helps. But I’ve got to pull my own weight too. So finally, after far too long but finally, I started researching relationship trauma.

And one of the first things I read was not to try and solve the trauma in the current relationships. No one should be playing hero, and I shouldn’t be offering it up for that sort of attention. It’s trauma, it takes time, and my trauma is not my current relationship.

And it’s so simple, so simple but something I completely missed, and it’s something set off by the line of “The brain needs time to process traumatic information”.

In the beginning of these new relationships, the very fucking beginning, I found out a friend I had been with for 7 years was back stabbing me and manipulating me the whole time, hiding things and lying, and tried to sabotage relationships with others as well, including these ones.

And then I broke up with my boyfriend at the time, who I swore I was in love with, and was using me, neglecting me, and abusing me, while covering up for the fact that he was gay, and this was dating him a second time right after another guy abused me, cheated on me, threatened me, and then abandoned me, who I was only dating because in-the-closet “someone please dick me” abandoned me for struggling with mental illness while living in an abusive home, and I wasn’t “happy” enough (nor did I have a dick, and he had lost interest in my “scary” vag). And I broke up with him that first time because I thought it was my fault.

So they help me get away from that, and then help me realize someone I thought was my friend for 9 years, who I had been living with, was out to use me. Nearly getting me killed, keeping me unemployed, leaving me without food or water, watching me as I slept, stealing the little bit that I had, and letting me know he was better than me, he was right and I was wrong, he was all knowing, but he needed me, and don’t I dare leave.

Everyone I thought of as a staple, that I trusted and cared for, I learned better, and I became suicidal somewhere in the mess of all that as well. I am so glad I hung on, I’m so glad I learned better, and got out with such helping hands before things were even worse.

But holy shit it fucked me up.

These new friends then got me a new home, a safe one. And I cried, because I was bought a bed, the first one in two years. I cried because I was offered food. I cried because they were worried about the bruises I woke with. And I was terrified. I was a clashing of realizing this was the safest I had ever been and absolutely confused and fearful of what was going on, how things worked. The relationships being established were so new, there were signals and expectations I didn’t understand, needs I haven’t known about.

And then I got diagnosed with multiple personalities. A disorder I had been suppressing. A disorder I had been abused by. A disorder I was told “there’s no way you could have”. And in a rush, certain things made sense, and in the same stride, the personalities themselves swelled, enraged and bottled, and very well let me know they were here now.

And in the panic of it all I latched onto the woman who called me a child, a traumatized child, and that she would be my mother.

It caused a spiral I’m still pulling myself out of. It’s a spiral that ended with me sleeping in my car again, homeless, of me losing that car, living back with abusive relatives, of shoving the way the friends that got me away from abusers, got me into safety, got me to a car, a good job, shoving them away out of panic and fear because it felt like far too much and I had begun clinging onto the wrong things.

I went from endlessly clinging onto ways I could help myself to wanting to be saved, wanting attention, wanting pity, wanting distractions, and I got told I wasn’t acting like myself anymore.

I hadn’t acted like myself in a good year.

And now I’m starting to step off that spiral, and stepping back into square one of that whole mess - I have trauma regarding trust and relationships and I’ve been wanting them to make it better.

It’s not their place, and it’s not what helps. Friends are support to lean on, never, ever cures. I’ve got to step back into pulling my own weight again, every day, day in, day out. And work on the fact that as much as I know I can trust them, there are times I’m going to panic, and they’re there to help while I learn to recover from what’s past.

All of this set off by this one line in this article.

I’ve been wanting to say I’ve been overwhelmed for two years now as well, and it felt true, but I didn’t know how to say it, I didn’t know why. That transition, that overwhelmed me, I don’t feel I was ready for that much change at once. But it’s past tense now. I was overwhelmed. I had lost control. Now it’s picking myself back up. Properly, this time, and taking the time I need.