#kept subtly shaming me for being gay

[laudofthedeep]

thinking about the time in 6th grade when my classmates were like “would you kiss a boy for $200” and things like that, always the same gender as whoever was being addressed, price going down as people kept discussing. some of them were getting real bashful about it, which was probably part of the whole social game.

i, however, had no particular understanding of social cues nor sexual attraction to EITHER gender, so i flung myself into the conversation with a cry of “Cowards! id kiss one for $3!”

this, of course, led to the subsequent restraint of the nearest available victim, a call to my parents, and a plea deal that forced me to split my hard earned money with the unwilling party

[genderqueerdykes]

there really is a cultural pressure for transmascs & men to detransition, and it comes from all sides. it comes from the queer community too, not just terfs and cishet transphobes.

it took me a while to realize why transphobic people and transandrophobic queers utterly despise trans guys & mascs who are over the age of like 25- it's because it pisses them right off that we've resisted their attempts to make us detransition. it makes them so angry to see they were unable to groom that person into a life of self-shame and repression. it really seems like MOST people believe that trans men will just detransition eventually in life? people NEVER think about older trans men, only teenage trans boys and trans men in their very early twenties.

when i was involved with my local punk scene i was addressed with condescension, almost everyone around me didn't accept transmasculinity as a legitimate identity and thought that we would've transitioned by now in life. i encountered folks who would talk about transmasculinity with subtle disgust that made me feel like i was doing something wrong, and people who expressed overt disgust, saying in plain english that they were disgusted by breasts and vaginas because they were gay men. all along the way i was literally mocked for not having a penis, and one of my roommates started treating me differently once they found out i didn't have one (because they were attracted to me)

i've been on T for 9 years, and been out as a trans man for a bit longer than that, and i noticed as i've aged i've also attracted a lot of folks who have tried to deter me from identifying as a trans man, either through directly telling me that trans men are inherently dangerous, or by implying that women or another gender are safer, quieter, calmer, "less traumatizing to be around," etc. one of my exes told me they were terrified to date me (despite literally going out of their way to do so for over half a year) because they were scared i would be transphobic to them because i'm a transmasculine lesbian.

i received pressure from online friends to either detransition and become an intersex butch woman, or to something feminine adjacent or nonbinary. for years i dealt with a few friends who kept subtly hinting that i should stop identifying as a trans man or trans masc because of how awful transmascs are- going as far as to sending me screenshots of transmascs speaking, complaining about them and calling them whiny, annoying. talking about how all transmascs are entitled, how all transmascs take things too personally, how we complain too much, and so on.

people make no effort to make space for transmascs and men. i met 0 transmascs in my local punk community that i was able to stay in contact with. none. i met a few in passing but none that actually were introduced to me in a capacity where i could actually try to befriend them. it really felt like other punks in the scene were desperately trying to keep the transmascs apart at times. excuses were made as to why i couldn't hang out with other transmascs i liked, but i was constantly being forced to befriend transphobic cis gay men and transandrophobic transfemmes who outwardly expressed hatred and disgust of us. it really felt like it was on purpose... almost as if other members of this community wanted our attention, but never wanted us to give each other attention or a sense of community. like we were objects, not people to be included in the community for real. satellite friends, if you will.

i'll be honest with you. i was at my lowest at this point. i realized i wasn't just a trans man and that i'm a genderqueer person who experiences multiple genders, including womanhood and an "other" gender, which was great. however now i was being forced to completely stuff down being a man for the sake of other people. instead of folks telling me they'd rather not hang out with transmascs, folks rather just attempted to guilt me for identifying as such in the hopes i'd stop identifying that way. i was being told daily that trans men and mascs are inherently violent and terrible to be around. i was in discord servers where transmascs were being kicked constantly for getting even slightly upset about transandrophobia, or being unfairly targeted by staff.

it's violence, but nobody wants to call it that. i pulled myself out of there and am now able to contact other transmascs and trans men who are proud of who they are and have elevated me back into a headspace where it's okay to truly be myself. just keep in mind that if you feel like you're in that situation, you're not alone. people who attempt to groom others are often very subtle it's not always up front. they will start slipping in hateful sentiments very slowly and make you feel like maybe they're the ones who are actually right.

it feels good to be an almost 32 year old trans guy. there's nothing to be ashamed about there. people project their feelings on to my gender and that has nothing to do with me. it has nothing to do with you, either. people will just project on to you for whatever reason- hatred is usually the motivator there. if you encounter folks who keep trying to badger you out of identifying as your gender, no matter who you are, transmasc, transfemme, transneutral, trans anything- they are not good for you. they are not your friends. they do not accept you as you are and you deserve so much better.

[chubphoe-linkclick]

i have seen a rise in the link click “gay baiting” allegations tho. even on the cn side of the fandom. another popular crit that goes with this is qls treatment. basically saying she is thrown to the sidelines in favor of shiguang cause they make in the bl bait money. or whatever.

I'm so sorry it's been three months. I looked at your question, clicked off, and then the notification disappeared so I kept forgetting to get back to this like I REALLY AM SORRY!!

But to comment on this: I just think Link Click doesn't respect its side characters. It's not that deep sadly.

I already think it has a very unceremonious style of storytelling (like cmon don't tell me the plot line from the tail end of S1 to the end of S2 was clear). Basically, only CXS and LG have confirmed 'story telling respect,' with LTC looking to be on the rise. On a similar basis, I reject that the show mistreats female characters - at least in the sense that male characters are also gonna get shafted if they're not one of three specific dudes (probably four including Liu Xiao though if I'm being honest, but we've yet to see that).

It's a shame because the show seems to have a lot of thought put into it and is very well constructed, but it forces you to dig to appreciate these things. It's such a shame... subtly can be such a double-edged sword.

[pastthevaulteddoors]

My brain fogs usually end with me babbling.

This morning @delicatelygloriousphoenix allowed me to babble to them about a thought I had.

And then... It just kept going.

I’m still tired. Here’s a cut version of that conversation.

I had a thought before bed last night 'cause I'm finishing up the extras to SVSSS.

What if someone was reborn into Mo Dao Zu Shi and had to save everyone?

What if Jiang Cheng was the person they were born into? I can't remember the scene properly from the novel, but right before WWX interrupts the summit meeting on Koi/Carp tower, drinks LWJ's booze and accuses Jin Zixun of his labor camp is when this person becomes the new Jiang Cheng. He himself interrupts WWX's rant that nearly falls into a fight and demands that he/Lotus Pier are allowed to keep the rest of the Wens because they burned the place to the ground and therefore have a right to them to rebuild the place.

The argument is quick, and JC is like "I'm taking them" and drags WWX out in surprise. But he turns to LWJ and is like "You comin'?" so of course LWJ comes when he's actually invited to do so. They run off to the camp. JC tries to hurry to get there before Wen Ning is stabbed. They do get there earlier than in the show/novel, but WN is already stabbed (but not dead).

They drag the Wens and an unconscious WN out of the camp. WWX doesn’t go nuts because WN isn’t dead yet and JC is there to lay down some tsundere harshness in his stead.

They have to stop at a village before they get there where Wen Qing can work on her brother and the Wens can rest. JC buys them all rando threadbare robes so they don't stand out as Wens anymore.

Lan Xichen shows up at some point to see if he can't... not so much help as his position won't allow him to take sides on this, but there to 'check on his brother.’ When he gets there, he’s pushed to the inn room where he sees JC focused at WN’s side. He’s giving him spiritual energy while WQ rests nearby. That's LXC’s first little spark of  "Ah, JC is nicer than he first appears."

The Wens are supposed to be 'laborers' to help rebuild Lotus Pier, but JC's really just wanting to make sure that WWX isn't forced off to Burial Mounds and becomes an icon of hatred like the show/novel. And he doesn't have to remove him from the sect entirely.

However, he tells a distracted WWX that he obviously has ideas with his new powers and gives him leave to seclude himself to practice/create/invent but in a safe environment. Jiang Yanli is happy that her brothers are not alone yet able to pursue their separate interests/areas of need.

LXC suggests Gusu taking the Wens as well as 'laborers' since Cloud Recesses was also burned down by the Wens. In reality, they have more safe space for the Wens, it's harder to ambush the 'labor camp' when it's on a mountain peak.

This is where the ALIVE yet healing Wen Ning and Wen Qing ask the Lans to take care of A-Yuan as they are not in the best situation to take care of a child at their camp. This is where LWJ and the frequently visiting WWX basically adopt him.

I mean, if the Wens aren't in danger, WWX has no reason to go back to the burial mounds so of course he’d come to check up on the Wens a lot. Which just means hanging out with A-Yuan and the bunnies often. If LWJ happens to be there with him all the time... well... who’s to say what that means?!

Meanwhile, JC is trying to handle his sect with only a bit of help from WWX here and there, although Wen Qing shows up a lot, as does LXC as a gesture of goodwill and to help the young new sect leader.

JC enjoys being a leader and the System provided him with knowledge and ability to train his new sect. He used to be a salaryman when he was alive, this is far more exciting and much more stimulating.

JC is pretty oblivious that both WQ and LXC are absently crushing on this confident and warmly grumpy JC. He just thinks they like visiting him to talk sect leader stuff or night hunt or... maybe he even thinks they’re his friends.

BUT JC knows his mission is not done, as the System keeps reminding him.

He needs to make sure Jin Guangyao doesn't marry his sister but he can't break OOC or share his knowledge of knowing that JGY and Qin Su are siblings... so he subtly courts Qin Su instead to basically cock block JGY.

Which surprises all but whatever. JC has changed since becoming sect leader, or so they say (really, JC is a different person entirely but ya know).

JC is okay with it, saying Qin Su is a decent woman and pretty enough. He'd be okay if they'd end up marrying, although he's very aware that JGY might try to murder him for taking the girl he likes but he's got his defenses up.

The courting goes on for awhile and JC keeps blocking JGY’s advances where he can but doesn’t go further with his own.

A few years later, JC hosts a birthday party of four year old Jin Ling, with little Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen among others... so it's a mini sect leader party, too. All of this without going OOC, he's still a grumpy sect leader but he's less feared (like, in the novel, JC was a friggen murderer! He tortured and killed anyone he thought was using WWX's methods or was his incarnation!). People actually seem to like him!

Late night at the party WWX, JC, LWJ, and LXC were hanging out. They suggest going on a boat together because a lot of lanterns were going to be let off in the lakes for JL’s birthday.

JC 'accidentally' spills tea on LXC's robes so he has to excuse himself to change. The others wait by the boat and JC is like "Oop, I changed my mind. I'm going to do something else" and kicks the boat off with LWJ and WWX in it and walks away. He chills in a pavilion a little bit later, watching the lanterns on the water and a few boats out there when LXC comes back. He doesn't even ask when happened and joins him, watching the boat that their brothers are in. LXC and JC haven't talked about it, but they both low key ship LWJ and WWX so they're of agreement.

This event triggers the Wangxian relationship quest. JC is pretty happy that they don’t have to wait 13-16 years before they get to enjoy each other’s company.

And that's when JC himself starts to admire LXC. Not that he hadn't before, they had become friends of sorts from both rebuilding their sects, passing advice to each other, and generally get to complain to each other as young sect leaders. JC kept distance though, knowing LXC’s sworn brothers are his confidants but now and again LXC even lets on a bit of that drama (realizing how much NMJ and JGY are at odds) when JC mentions "they just gotta fuck and get it out of their system"

But yeah, it's during that conversation that JC is like "LXC is actually really attractive and fun to talk to..." crush style.

Then a new mission starts! JC has to team up with LXC to get JGY and NMJ together. All the while JC is loosely courting Qin Su still. Wen Qing has since moved on with her affections (WQ is fast realizing that everyone is gay and instead goes to make out with Mianmian because yes lesbians!).

So LXC realizes that he likes JC but doesn't think he'd be interested because of Qin Su and Wen Qing.

Meanwhile, JC is like "The author said the only gay couple in this novel was WWX and LWJ but!!!?!?!?!??!?!? everyone is gay!?”

At WWX and LWJ's wedding, LXC and JC spy on JGY and NMJ who end up kissing behind a tree. They're tipsy but success! JC gives LXC a high five which amuses LXC because 'wtf is a high five? that's so cute, what a grumpy dork'

JC outright stops courting Qin Su then, which pisses off her sect, that is in close ties with the Jins, which turn their anger towards the Jiang sect. So JC has to fight with the Jins in a political battle, and his sister is preggers with her third kid so she can't help much.

But it's finally JGY that stands up to his father to stop bulling smaller sects. No hard feelings for stealing Qin Su then dumping her, apparently.

It's about this time when Mo Xuanyu shows up and is like "you're my daddy" Lady Jin already hates her husband's illegitimate children but now she's furious, especially after her friend tells her that Jin Guangshan raped her and Qin Su is ALSO an illegitimate child (another reason JGY decides he doesn’t hate JC for cock blocking him).

All this combined, Jin Guangshan is shamed off his throne. Jin ZiXuan takes up a lead and JGY (now renamed Jin Ziyao as is the proper generational name) decides he's happy with not being an asshole (since he's getting good dickings with his boyfriend NMJ and Lady Jin has finally stopped bullying him) and decides that he'd be content, even happy, being his brother's advisor rather than dethroning him for sect leadership.

But of course there's gotta be drama. Shi Su and Jin Zixun are not the smartest of people but they've teamed up with Xue Yang who has a bit of the Iron. Together, they start to plot against the sects to overrule them, because they're dumb idiots with a semblance of power.

That's about as far as my brain went when I fell asleep and then this morning when the brain fog focused on that instead of on work while I was waking up.

Just something about 13 years later, JC and LXC are pretty close but not lovers yet, when something-something adventure and JC and LXC become a thing in a similar manner that WWX and LWJ did in the novel. RANDOM CONFESSION TIME that other people have to point out to them!

The following is related conversation but I don’t want to put my friend’s part so... it’s disjointed. Sorry not sorry I’m tired.

Continued conversation about wangxian being together:

because JC already knew they'd be together from the show/novel, and LXC shipped them, so they teamed up to get them to confess

That's what I meant when JC forced them onto a romantic boat ride together.

They weren't parted from the Wen fight stuff so instead of fighting at Nightless City, they had time to realize their feelings and not die instead of confess. ;p

Conversation... conversation...

So for so long JC doesn't know he's into guys (LXC in particular, kinda like SQQ in SVSSS) but just like JC in the novel, he gets himself blacklisted from the matchmakers. Meanwhile, this whole time his very close friend, LXC (they're really close now since JGY and NMJ are a couple so he doesn't like to third wheel it and instead spend his time with JC) things that JC is straight and lowkey crushes on him for 13-16 years before WWX and LWJ have to spell it out to them.

but Lan have a-yuan as adopted heir

He'd (JC) probably ask Jinli if one of her kids could be heir

What if Jin Zixun tries to take the sect leader throne or something. He'd be next in line if jin Zixuan didn't die and JGY didn't step up.

[starker-endgame]

hi, so I've recently had this dream where Peter was wearing a dark red lingerie and an oversized sweater over it , teasing tony whenever Peter bent down or sat on Tony's lap, then when tony finally can't control it anymore he takes of the bottom piece of the lingerie and starts ramming (with prep of course) into him in an animalistic pace if you don't want to write this it's okay! 🌸

I was absolutely ECSTATIC to write this! Thank you for requesting this! 

Notes: Peter is 18, Tony is in his late 20′s. (Haven’t decided an official age, that can be up to you.) I am a gay male, so I don’t know how well I pictured the lingerie that Peter is wearing. I tried my best and I hope this is what you wanted! 

Warnings: NSFW, smut, crossdressing

Request prompts here!

Song for this fic: Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5

It wasn’t unusual for Tony Stark to come home from work to his boy all dolled up for him. He knows Peter loves to play dress up, and it’s just come to grow on Tony.

However, today was different. When Tony walked through the front door after a long day at work, he wasn’t expect his boy to look this good; all sprawled out on the couch wearing one of Tony’s sweatshirts that looked absolutely huge on him; as if he were swimming in it. That wasn’t the worst part, though, no. The worst part was how the sweatshirt had rode up a bit, exposing pretty, pure-red lacy panties and Tony could only imagine the matching bralette that Peter was wearing underneath the sweatshirt. Tony allowed his eyes to travel down to the boy’s legs, biting his lip at the sight of red stockings to match. 

And, dammit, Tony could feel heat in the bottom of his stomach turning at the sight.

“Welcome home, Tee,” Peter said softly, eyes glancing over at Tony with batting eyelashes– and Tony swears the boy is wearing mascara– before turning his attention back to the book that Tony didn’t even realise he was reading.

“Thanks, Peter,” Tony said through his teeth, not being able to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. He eventually shook himself out of it, and went to change out of his work clothes.

Tony had been home for about an hour now, and the growing heat in his stomach was hard to get rid of because Peter kept bending over to pick things up and… damn this boy, because he knew was he was doing. Tony had finally got to relax on the couch when Peter offered to order them pizza for dinner. Tony just nodded, eyes glued to Peter’s ass as he stood up and made his way into the kitchen to make the phone call. When the boy returned, his plopped himself down in Tony’s lap– nothing unusual for them.

As innocent as it may have seemed, Tony knew what his boy was up to; knew what he was trying to do. Tony took a deep breath, hands moving to Peter’s hips in a gentle hold. 

Every now and then, Peter would shift his hips– “Need to get comfy,” he would say–  causing his ass to rub against Tony’s sweatpants-covered cock. Tony would take his bottom lip between his teeth and bite down on it, squeezing Peter’s hips to try and still him. Peter’s hands eventually would linger down Tony’s chest, and then lower, and lower, until his hands were right above the waistband of Tony’s sweats. They stopped moving though, right above his cock, when the doorbell rang. 

“Our food!” Peter cheered before standing up, grabbing some cash off the coffee table before making his way over to the door. Peter had no shame that he was standing half naked in front of a stranger. Tony’s eyes, again, refused to look away from Peter, his hand moving down to subtly palm at his cock through his sweatpants. A deep grunt left his moth as he watch Peter drop the money– he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not– and the boy bent down to pick it up, giving Tony a beautiful view of his thick ass.

“Oops, I’m so clumsy,” Peter giggled as he stood back up straight, handing the money to the man outside the door. “Keep the change.” he said while taking the food and closing the door behind the man. 

He turned around to face Tony, but Tony was already making his way over to him. He took the box of pizza out of Peter’s hands and sat it down on the coffee table before pushing Peter up against the wall; pinning the boy’s thin wrists up above his head and grinding his hips up against Peter’s own. 

“Fuck, baby. I know that you know what you’ve been doing to me, pretty,” Tony all but growled out, nuzzling his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, nipping and biting and marking up the sensitive skin there.

Peter let out soft moans as he hiked one of his legs up around Tony’s waist to allow their cocks to rub against one another as Tony dry humped him. Tony let out breathy, deep moans and hooked his hands up under the shorter boy’s thighs, picking him up and carrying him to their shared bedroom.

Tony threw Peter down on the bed, wasting no time as he grabbed the lube from their bedside drawer and coated his fingers with a generous amount. 

“On your stomach, pet,” Tony commanded as he rubbed his fingers together to warm up the lube, watching as Peter did as he was told. “Want to see that pretty, fat ass.” 

Tony used his clean hand to grab the back of Peter’s panties, pushing them to the side of one of his ass cheeks and licking his lips at the delicious sight he had of his boy’s hole. Tony pressed in one finger, the precious moan from Peter going straight to his already hard cock; making it twitch in his sweats. His pressed in a second finger, and then a third, and began thrusting them in and out, and in and out, and– “oh! right there, baby!” Peter yelled out as Tony’s finger grazed his sweet spot.

Tony physically couldn’t handle anymore. He shoved his sweatpants down, using some of the lube left over on his fingers to coat his cock before lining himself up with Peter’s tight, pink hole and slamming his hips forwards. 

Peter screamed loud– definitely loud enough for the neighbours to hear– and his body rutted upwards on the bed. Tony allowed him one minute to adjust before he gripped the boy’s hips roughly, definitely leaving bruises the shape of Tony’s hands there, and started thrusting into him fast and rough.

“You knew exactly what you were doing today, hmm?” Tony growled, hips jerking forward with every hard thrust, the bed frame hitting the wall every time skin would hit skin. 

Peter let out a broken moan in response, his back arching up at the feeling of Tony’s fingers starting to grip his hair and tugging at it. Tony’s lips were right by his ear, and the groans and grunts coming from Tony sounded so hot and animalistic and Peter didn’t know how much longer he was going to last– not like this.

Tony fucked into his boy as hard and as fast as he could muster up, and Peter’s body felt like it was on fire. In a good way.

“Oh- Oh G-God, Tony, I’m gonna… Gonna–” And with a broken scream and another arch of his back, Peter came untouched all over Tony’s giant sweater and his red panties. Tony didn’t let up, though, and kept fucking his boy senseless, living for the whines and broken moans that slipped past his red-bitten lips.

And then, with one last hard thrust and the headboard banging a hole into their wall, Tony came inside Peter’s tight heat with a tug to his hair. He panted lowly in Peter’s ear, trying to control his breathing a bit before pulling out slowly, staring down and taking in how absolute wrecked his boy looked.

Tony’s cum was leaking out of his hole and now down onto his thighs; onto those pretty red stockings that looked just perfect on the boy’s milky white skin.

“Holy shit,” Tony said huskily, still finding it hard to catch his breath. He slipped his hand under the sweater Peter was wearing, running gentle fingers up the boy’s hot and sweaty back, grunting softly as his fingers finally felt the lacy fabric of the bralette. Just looking at Peter, his Peter, all loose and leaking and wrecked make his stomach heat up again.

“Think you can go again, pet?”

I was definitely going to write more to this, but I didn’t want it to be so long! Thank you for requesting this amazing prompt!

[septic84]

Two Pats

(TW: Homophobia, Homophobic language, Bullying, Violence)

They say that soulmates can reach out to each other, even when they cannot communicate, that is how when their mothers met in the doctor's office for their checkups, they were drawn to each other.  

A03

As the months passed and pregnancies progressed, Karen and Kath were amazed to find out that they lived on the same street, four houses apart from one another.  Becoming fast friends, the women were constantly together. Their bond may have been inspired by their unborn children, but the friendship was growing stronger every day.  

Dan and Phil could feel each other in the womb, they knew one another before either of them took their first breath of air.  It was no surprise that when Kath went into labor on a sunny day in September, that Karen followed by ten minutes (even though her due date wasn’t for two more weeks.)  They both went to the same hospital; they gave birth two rooms apart within minutes of each other. It was as if the babies themselves had orchestrated their births.  

“They must be soulmates,” the nurse had joked, Kath and Karen seemed to agree.  

They teethed within days of each other, crawled on the same Tuesday afternoon, walked for the first time in the same week, and both said their first words on the same day, facing each other while their mothers chatted sipping coffee.  The word was “mine,”  Their mothers knew from that day the boys were inseparable.  

Dan knew when Phil was upset, Phil could feel when Dan was happy, and if they were away from each other too long, they both felt despair. They learned this the hard way when Phil had gone to stay with his grandparents for a summer when they were 8.  After two weeks, both boys were so sad that Phil’s grandmother came and got Dan. The adults could tell that within minutes of being in the same room, both boys were instantly better.  “Mine,” Phil said to Dan, “Mine,” Dan mirrored to Phil.  

Things were easier when they were little kids; no one could explain the bond the boys had. Surely it couldn’t be that they were actual soulmates, no such thing existed, but as children, It was easier to indulge in their need for closeness.  

"Why are you always hugging?" A classmate asked one day at school,

"Hugging is nice," Phil responded

"You're stupid,"  This was the start of the boys becoming self-conscious about their uncommon bond.

When they both entered into Middle school, they soon realized that not everyone was as nice as they were. They were relentlessly teased about how they looked, how they acted, the clothes they wore and how much time they spent together. Dan and Phil quickly realized that to survive, they were not allowed to be affectionate with each other anymore, at least not in public.    

“It’s stupid,” Phil said, “Who cares what they think.”  

“I do,” Dan said, embarrassed. “I just want them to like us, and they don't. We have to stop being "us" around them.”  

“Okay, Dan, I'll do whatever you want.” Phil wasn't sure what he had meant, but after that day they behaved differently around each other, anyone else, and even their mothers.    

After a month of this Phil was having a hard time with their new friendship, so while playing Sonic the Hedgehog he said, “Dan, I don’t like the way we are anymore. We aren't the same.  It feels like we’re lying,”  

“It’s not lying!” He insisted, “It’s acting, it’s not lying.”  

“But it feels like we are "acting” with each other too. I hate it,”  

“What if we had a signal, just between you and me? Something that is just ours?”  

“What do you mean?” One web search later they had come up with the perfect signal to express fondness, two pats to the chest.  In American sign language, this meant “mine,”  

In 1999 they both had started their freshmen year at high school at Pine Oaks high, if they thought middle school was bad, they were in for a rude awakening.  Life was cruel and unforgiving and now new insults were thrown at them. They had to enhance their acting skills to get it to stop, at least that's what Dan had said. They had picked a group of neutral friends, “inbetweeners”, but even they were not entirely safe.  

“Is that a Buffy shirt?”  

“Yeah,”  

“That’s gay, Phil,”    

“I’d let Buffy slay me!”  

“Fuck off, Pete, she wouldn’t slay your gay ass,”  

“Fuck off, faggot,”  

Dan and Phil used these words too, it was just how it was, that’s how they blended, that’s how they would be safe. Their encounters in Middle school taught them that going with the flow kept them out of the line of fire. The morality of it wasn’t questioned, this was their survival.  

“You’re all gay,” Dan said, taking the focus off of Phil,  

“Fuck off Howell, you’re the biggest faggot here.”  

Phil felt Dan’s racing heart, his face flush, and his shame. This was when they understood how those words hurt, how they felt, what they did. Phil caught his eye and subtly gave his chest two pats; this calmed Dan down.  

Everyone was listening to Eminem by the end of the year, so they did too. They liked it, they rapped it, they represented it. It should have felt wrong, they should have felt disgusted with the things they said, they didn’t. After all, words were just words, it’s not like it hurt anyone. They knew better, still, they lied to themselves. “We’re acting,” Dan insisted, but in the back of both of their minds, something didn’t feel right about it. Still, they laughed and joined in with their "friends," that's just what you did. "Everyone likes it, Phil, it's okay." It still felt wrong to Phil that they had every word to the Marshall Mathers LP memorized, but he stayed quiet. He didn't want to lose Dan.

Their sophomore year brought some changes, they still said the words to try to fit in, but it was different now. They didn’t speak to their “friends” from freshmen year and the new group of people they sat with were mostly loners. They slotted themselves quietly and unassumingly in the corner of the lunchroom, rarely speaking. They liked this better, if everyone was quiet, it made “acting” a lot easier.  

The later part of that year was the first time one of them had been physically attacked. It was surprising it took this long if they thought about it. School staff often turned a blind eye to certain students, their high school was no different.  Dan had been walking to math when he felt a sharp pain in his belly, followed by another, then another.  He was knocked to his knees, clutching his stomach, panicking before he realized these were not his pains, they were Phil's. Forcing himself up he was able to follow the feeling directly to him, he found Phil crumpled into a ball, with his back resting against a locker. His head was on his knees and Dan could tell his breathing was labored.  

“Phil,”  

He raised his head, his eyes puffy and wet from crying, “Pete,”  was all he said. Yes, life was cruel, because in a year your friend could become your worst enemy, and he had. Pete had decided that Phil was a “real faggot,” and made it his mission to harass Phil every day.  Phil wasn’t giving him the attention he was seeking, so now he would take it, by force.  

“Should I get someone?”  

“No,” Phil choked out, “You know it will just get worse,” They sat there, alone, in silence.  No teachers or staff members came, no students cared enough to stop, and once again it was Dan and Phil against the world. Dan wanted to comfort Phil, he nudged his arm so Phil looked at him, and patted his chest two times. Phil forced a smile as more tears ran down his face.  

A girl called Emily had asked Dan to the spring dance, her friend Ivy wanted to ask Phil.  

“I’m not sure what I am supposed to say, Dan,” Phil said,  

“Phil. It’s normal, it's what we’re supposed to do. We’re supposed to take girls to the dance,”  

“You know I don’t want to take her to the dance,”  

“I know, but if you do, you can prove to Pete and the rest of them that you aren’t actually a fag, Maybe they won’t hurt you again,” Dan could feel the sadness in Phil’s heart and saw the tears in his eyes. “Please don’t cry Phil, I  am trying to get us out of High school alive,”  

“Okay,”  

They dressed up, bought corsages and lined up for pictures, Kath drove Dan, Phil and their dates to a restaurant for dinner, and then to the Dance. Karen would pick them up.  

“This is going to be so much fun!” Emily said, cuddling close and squeezing Dan’s arm.  

“Ah, yeah,” Dan said. Thankfully his hesitation could be played off as nerves.  

“Are you looking forward to the dance?”  Ivy asked Phil, he smiled.  

“Yeah, it sure will be. I can’t wait,” Emily was blabbering to Dan, Dan nodded politely, agreeing and hoping she was going to shut up. Phil watched Dan, his guts twisted watching her touch him.  He turned back to his "date," Ivy was giving him a look. Had he said the wrong thing? “Ah, sorry,”

She smiled kindly, “Don’t be nervous,” she patted his leg, nodding at Dan as if she knew. “It’s okay, School dances are complicated.” Phil panicked; she knew he didn't want to be here with her, but did she know he was upset watching Emily cling to Dan?

“Excuse me,” He got up and went to the bathroom.  Why were they doing this? They should have just stayed home and played video games, ate pizza, or anything else that wouldn't entail them having to put on a show. Phil was so sick of acting, he was starting to have issues recognizing where the "acting" stopped and where his real feelings started.  He expected Dan to come and check on him, but he didn’t. That wouldn't be normal, that would make people ask questions they couldn't answer.  Phil took a deep breath, looked in the mirror and went back to dinner. “And Action,” he muttered to himself as he sat down.  

They both awkwardly danced with their dates, clumsy and embarrassingly. “It wasn’t me” by Shaggy was currently playing, their dates were having a lot of fun. Phil laughed and when he allowed himself to relax and stop acting, he was having fun too. Dan was having just as much fun as he was.

“Oh look, fag boy got a pity date,” Pete had pushed his way into the circle. “Of course, fag boy would take you Ivy, you ugly bitch,” No one said anything, for years they had been told by parents, teachers and school counselors to “Ignore them and they will get bored and go away or stop,” In reality, all that did was spur them on more. “Can’t stand up for his date, what a pussy bitch,” Pete and his friends laughed before he shoved Phil onto the floor, spitting on him as he walked away.  After it was over, one of the teachers came over to them, telling them to “break it up,” as if Phil had been a willing participant. This was the way it was, after all, boys will be boys, won't they?  Pete scoffed and was allowed to walk away carefree, while Phil was left on the ground.  

“Phil, are you okay?” Ivy crouched next to him as he slowly sat up onto his knees.  

“Yeah, I’m sorry,”  

Dan didn’t move, he just watched Phil, he could feel the anger, humiliation, and fear running through him. Phil got up and they all acted as if nothing had happened, what else was he supposed to do? At least he was good at acting.  His knees and wrist hurt from the hard impact on the gymnasium floor, but at least it wasn’t his stomach. Phil wished that he had just stayed home.  

After their dates were dropped off and they were headed home, the car was silent. Dan could feel Phil’s humiliation, and sadness, but when he tried to take his hand, Phil yanked it away. Karen said, “You staying over, Phil?”  

“Not tonight,”  

“Oh?”  

“Not feeling well,”  

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo. I’ll drop you off in your driveway,”  

“Thank you,”  

Dan looked at Phil confused, as Phil said nothing and got out of the car.  

“What was all that about,” Karen asked, “Are you guys fighting?”  

“I don’t know,” Dan said quietly.  

Dan woke up around three in the morning, something was wrong.  After he took inventory of his own body, he knew it was Phil. He pulled on a hoodie and shoes, sneaking out of the window to go check on him. It wasn't as if he could call Phil, he would wake the whole house up. He moved swiftly in the dark through the back yards, tripping only once. He knocked on Phil’s window, there was no response.  He walked around the house to find Phil on his front porch.  

“Hey,”  

“Hi.”  

“Were you calling to me?”  

“Not intentionally,’ Dan could feel the bitterness and anger coming off of Phil,  

“Why are you out here in the middle of the night Phil?”  

“I can’t sleep, and I am so fucking mad,”  

Dan sat next to him, “I know,”  

“I would have hoped that you, of all people, would have done something,”  

“I was scared,”  

“Yeah, well I was too,”  

“I know, I’m sorry.”  

“Dan?”  

“Yeah?”  

“Don’t ever make me ask someone else to a dance again. Ever,”  

“I won’t, I promise,”  

“Good,”  

“Phil,”  

“What?”  

“Do you know why I was scared?”  

“Probably because Pete would have beaten your ass too,”  

“No, well yes, but no, that’s not why,”  

“Why?”  

“Because I feel like they see us, Phil. The real us, they see through the acting,"

“Is that so bad?”  

“I’m not sure,”  

Their Junior year started much like the others, Emily and Ivy were pleasant but they never hung out again.  As they went to their usual table, the "loners," no longer were there,  replacing them was a small boy with bright blue eyes and ginger hair, and a tall brooding boy in a black trench coat,  black eyeliner, and lipstick. He was a "goth," new year, new people.

As they sat down, the ginger-haired boy smiled widely, “Hi! I’m Gideon,” He had a British accent, “I’m the exchange student,”  

“Dan, Phil,” Dan introduced them,  

“I hope it’s alright I sit here, I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest,” he giggled, loudly.  

“Fag!” someone yelled at him.  

The goth boy stood up, “Why don't you come over here and say that? Get fucked, asshole,”  

Dan and Phil’s eyes both went wide, but the boy who had yelled seemed to have thought better of it and sat back down.

"That's what I thought," He sat back down.

Gideon laughed, “What’s your name,”  

“Freddy,”  

Dan and Phil nodded politely towards him.    

The four of them sat together every lunch period, Gideon was a junior, Freddy was a Sophomore, but they all got along. For the first time since they were little, Dan and Phil felt that maybe they could stop acting.

“I fucking hate that class, it’s so gay,” Dan said, taking a bite of whatever sludge the had served that day.

“Why are you using that word like that?”  

“What?”  

“Gay, like it's bad,”  

“Ah,”  

“Don’t make that word pejorative, Daniel.” Gideon chastised.  

“I don’t even know what that means,”  

“It means you are offending me, please don’t use that word that way,”  

“Oh, sorry.”  

“It seems a lot of people use that word as if it is something bad and vial here, I don't understand.”  

“Are you gay?” Freddy asked,  

Phil gaped at him, “You can't just ask that,”  

Gideon laughed, “Why not? It’s not bad Phil, and I’m Bi, actually,” He took a sip of his water,  “but being a part of the LBGTQ community, it’s still offensive to use that word in that manner. I’d prefer if you didn’t”  

“Me too,” Freddy said, sideways glancing at Phil. “I mean, for both,” Phil felt the jealousy start to boil in Dan’s veins,  

“Dan, relax mate, no one is about to shove their tongue down your throat.”  Gideon was trying to get him to relax.  

“I didn’t think that, it’s not that,” He looked up at Phil and patted his chest twice, hard,  

"What the hell?" Freddy asked, "Did you literally just beat your chest like a caveman?" Gideon had noticed too but said nothing; the bell rang ending the conversation and they went to their respective classrooms.  

Dan was driving them home, they had both gotten their driver's license, but Dan was the better driver of the two.  

“What the hell was that Dan?”  

“What?”  

“At lunch, with Freddy?”  

“Nothing,”  

“Dan,”  

“Leave it,” and because Phil could feel Dan’s struggle, he did.  

“So, I am going to design custom clothing for short men like me, not that you giants would understand, you’re all over 6 feet.”  

Freddy rolled his eyes, “Anyway, my parents are gone this weekend, you guys should come over tomorrow night,”  

“Oh, please tell me that you have alcohol,”  

“No shit, Gid, I’m not a loser,” He looked at Dan and Phil, “You in?”  

“We’re in,” Phil said, smiling.  

They knocked at the door, “It’s open,” Freddy yelled, Gideon was already there. “Put your stuff where ever,”  

“Why do you both look so shy? We’ve known each other for ages now,”  

“We haven’t ever been drunk,” Phil said,  

“Phil,” Dan hissed,

Freddy shrugged,  "Be glad you're here, you could be at some stupid cunt’s party instead,”

“Freddy, are you always this bitter?” Gideon sighed,  

“You want the boos or not, Brit boy,” Freddy had taken to calling him that, It was out of endearment.  

“Idol threats, Goth boy, Idol threats,”  

Music was playing, they were all drinking, Dan and Phil started to relax

“We have to play truth or dare,”  

“Fuck you, we do not,”  

“Please, Fred, it’ll be fun.”  

“I’m In,” Phil was pleasantly buzzing, he finally felt he could be himself; they hadn’t had to “act” for most of this year, it was a relief.  

“I do what he does,” Dan said,  

“Oh, we know,” Freddy said  

“What does that mean?” Phil asked  

“Are you serious right now? We aren’t at school,”  

“Why does that matter?”  

“Fred, let it go,” Gideon said, “Dan, truth or dare?”  

They had been playing for a while, all four of them were very intoxicated.  

“Phil got the shit kicked out of him, a lot in his sophomore year,”  

“Jesus, mate, I’m sorry.”  

Phil shrugged, “Pete hasn’t even said much to me this year,”  

“Yeah, come to think of it, where did he go?”  

“Probably jail,” Freddy said, causing everyone to laugh.  Freddy moved closer to Phil, “Truth or dare,” he asked, looking into Phil’s eyes. Phil blushed,  

“Dare,”  

“Kiss me,”  

Phil laughed, “What?”  

“Fred, no,”  

“What? We’re just playing a game, It's just a dare,”  

“No,” Dan said,  

“And why would that be, Dan?" Freddy said, knowing full well.

"Fred, knock it off,"  

Phil could feel Dan’s fear, did Dan actually think Phil would do that to him? “Dan, look at me,” Dan met his eyes, “I’m not going to kiss him, Dan.”  

“Well, I guess it sucks to be me,” Freddy said, slamming the rest of his drink. “I’m going to bed, I’m too drunk. Sleep where ever,”  

Gideon breathed a sigh of relief, “Freddy likes to push buttons. How long have you known that you were,"  

“Since the womb,” Dan said,  

“Wow,”  

“We were born on the same day,” Phil added, moving closer to Dan,  

“We started to crawl on the same day,”  

“We started to walk in the same week,”  

“And we said our first word on the same day, it was the same word.”  

“Wow, you guys are like soulmates,”  

"Yeah, I think we are,"  There was no need to act anymore, they were accepted here,  they knew It was true. They were soulmates, they were meant to be together. It didn’t matter what the world labeled it as, or what people shouted at them. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t “what they were supposed to do,” it was Dan and Phil versus the world like it always had been. And it was love.  

“Well, I’m going to go to bed, give you some privacy that I can see you desperately need,”  

Phil moved closer to Dan, “Do you believe it? That we’re soulmates?”  

“Yes,” Dan raised his hand and patted his chest twice. pulled him closer and whispered, “mine,”  

“No, mine,” And he kissed Dan as hard as he could, holding him close.  

Gideon had gone back to the UK that June, "Don't go back to using those words, stop being so scared. Nothing changes if everyone is silent. You are both strong enough to speak up, so do that. Speak up, stand up. Do whatever you can. You all are tough enough to do that, I know you are." Dan and Phil had changed that day, they no longer used words they once had to fit in, instead, they spoke up and told those around them why the words hurt them. They joined the LGBTQ club, they stood up for the younger kids. No longer would they tolerate the "ignore it and it will go away" mentality. They were advocates, standing up for those who once had no voice.  They grew and they learned. They started their senior year as a couple, they were out to everyone. It wasn’t easy, nor was everyone accepting, but they both agreed that for their final year, there would be no more “acting.” They stayed true to that and the entire year they were just Dan and Phil. They didn't try to impress anyone, they didn't do what they "were supposed to do," they were true to themselves.  It was the last lunch period they would sit at this table, it was exciting, but it was also sad, they were leaving one of their own behind.

“Fuckers, going to leave me here to rot,”  

“Sorry, Fred, it’s not like you don’t have our numbers,”  

“Yeah, yeah. Go on then, enjoy the rest of your lives,” He smiled.  

“We love you, Fred and you know it,”  

“Sure, sure, assholes,”  

It had been twenty years since they started their journey at Pine Oaks high, Dan and Phil were married now, had a dog and lived in a small house in the country.  They had lost touch with Gideon, but they knew with his spirit, he was probably producing a clothing line somewhere in the UK.  

Freddy had died suddenly at the age of 28.  It wasn't known how he had died, but it wasn’t until after the services that Dan and Phil had found out, the family kept it very private. They both mourned his loss in their own way, but as they were so connected, each of them grieved the same. The waves of guilt washing over them were multiplied;  time had gotten away from them and they had lost touch with Fred, neither one could recall the last thing the had said to him.  Life does that to everyone, it spreads people far and wide until one day it’s too late. it wasn't fair, but life rarely was.  They would always remember how fearless he was and how he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, and now even if they shed a few tears, Dan and Phil smiled fondly when he crossed their minds.  

Things change, things get better, the world keeps moving.  From the womb, Dan and Phil were connected and they would always be, maybe even after they died.  They hadn't forgotten their "secret handshake," and every so often, one of them would pat their chest two times, reminding the other of their origin story and just how far they had actually come. They never wanted to forget that at one time, the only way they could show each other love, was in a way that nobody else could see. Their drive for life now was staying true to themselves, helping as many people as they could, kindness,  and never taking the freedom they had today for granted.   Because they knew no matter how bad it was,  they were still one of the lucky ones.  

Bingo Card:

Historical AU

******

This story means a lot to me. I pulled a lot of this from personal experiences. Freddy was a real person (His name was changed) who was one of the strongest people I knew. He protected me when I didn't even realize I needed it. Rest in peace, dear one.

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 7

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: teen, for some strong language

Word count: 5830

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Note: due to the length of this chapter, I won’t be posting the next one until next Wednesday. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7

He came back with drinks and sat hard beside her.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Your skinny ass is gonna leave a bruise!”

“Nonsense. I heard from very good sources that it’s quite nice,” he said. He drank deep from a longneck.

“What happened to those ladies you were working on? They looked pretty into it.”

“I gave them my business card,” he said dismissively.

“How analog of you,” she said. “Seriously, though. You just blew them off?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. There will always be bored, horny women. Any night of the week, at any pub. That shit never changes.” There was something in his tone that stopped her from becoming offended for all womankind.

“What happened?” she said.

“What? With the women?”

“With your wife,” she said.

Again, he lay back and looked at the stars peeking through the clouds.

“You can’t see the stars in the heart of the city,” he said. “It’s not something you think about when you move. It’s usually whether to buy a car or not, or whether there’s a nice supermarket nearby, but never whether you’ll see the stars at night,” he said. “It’s so weird how easily priorities get … skewed.”

She sighed.

“She wasn’t happy. She dieted and exercised and experimented with different looks, but she wasn’t getting signed. And as time passed, it got worse and worse. Anxiety ate her alive. She began to get surgeries. And I, the ever obliging husband, paid for them. But nothing worked. Nothing was good enough. Not the flat, the city, and most glaringly … me.”

Her stomach bubbled.

“She had a thing she did,” he continued. “A rare talent, if you want to call it that. I’m a grown man. No glasses. No brace. But she had a way, ever so subtly, to make me feel like that bent boy again. And as time passed and things didn’t go like she wanted, it happened more and more. Until I was the boy - just a weak, whinging thing at her feet, begging for the least scrap of affection or sympathy.”

It’s like he took a slice of life from her childhood. How many times had she peeked around corners as her mom berated her father for no other reason than ennui? He would withstand her onslaught, softly clucking out an occasional “perdoname, mi amor”. 

She spit poison, but he knelt, brown eyes liquid with adoration, and apologized to her. Every time. Every day. For years. He wore his misery and shame so openly that she found herself averting her eyes. And although he was a good man - loyal and kind - she began to resent him.

“To add insult to injury, I suggested that we start a family. I figured that maybe if she had a wee baby to watch over, she wouldn’t be so worried about other things. I really fucked up then,” he said, eyes wide. “I was sexist. A selfish misogynist asshole, and I wanted her barefoot and bloated in the kitchen. That was a laugh. She didn’t cook.”

“Then how did you eat?” she said.

“I did the cooking. And most of the cleaning. She preferred to have a lie in and then go out for late lunches with friends.”

It wasn’t an odd confession. Her own mother never lifted a finger - they had a cleaning service come in every day to keep things tidy. Because her mother was so contrary, she was never able to form any connection to the staff, since they never lasted long.

“Why didn’t you get someone to come in to do the cleaning?”

His brow wrinkled with indignation. “I come from honest Scottish stock. It’s a shame not to be able to clean up your own muck. It was just us two, hardly an excuse to have some poor woman scrubbing and dusting after us.”

“They get paid to do it,” she said. She played with the buckle on her boot.

“You have a cleaner?” he said, giving her a disapproving look.

“No. My apartment’s small, and dust never really bothered me,” she winked at him. “It add character.”

“It gives me asthma,” he said.

“Then I guess you can’t come over,” she said.

“Am I invited? I could use a cheeky NYC holiday,” he said. “I’m curious about seeing American women in their natural habitat.”

“All animals, are we?”

He shook his head briskly. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I get it. I was joking,” she said. “It’s a pity she didn’t want children.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Last I heard, she’s a new mum to a healthy baby girl,” he said morosely. “She didn’t want to have my children.” He kicked at the firepit.

“Did she actually say that, though?” she said.

“Not quite. For the first half of the marriage, she insisted she couldn’t have children because it would ruin her figure. That made some sense to me, so I waited. We were young. But as things began to fall apart and it was obvious that there would be no modeling career, the truth finally came to light.”

“And what truth was that?”

He couldn’t look at her. No one knew the truth. Not Alex and Olivia. Not even his own mother. And he didn’t know why he was going to tell her. She noticed his hesitation, and squeezed his hand. Old pain began to rise from where he had subsumed it under a mountain of self-loathing and anger. He was suddenly dizzy with it.

“She didn’t want to procreate with me. She would be horrified if she had a ‘gimp kid.’” His voice was hoarse with pain. He put his head in his hands, and his body trembled as he tried to fight the urge to sob. Hearing it out loud, it took him back to the moment his life fell apart. Mara’s face had been so lax, so cold. She didn’t understand why he crumpled in his chair, and went pale as a sheet - to her, it made perfect sense.

“And when we lost Josie, I started to wonder…” he said, his face twisted with horror, “I started to wonder whether…” he took a whooping breath, “ whether it was my fault.” He finally broke down.

She wrapped her arms around him and let his choked sobs shake her. His pain humbled her - there was no anger whatsoever left in her. He tried to wave her away, but she insisted on holding him.  She shushed into his neck and held him tight, taking in the scent of leather and salt. His body curled into her, and he finally hugged her back so hard it made her ribs ache.

He disentangled himself and started to yank at the jewelry on his wrist. “Look-” He lost patience and bit off the fashionable thin leather thong bracelet. He held his right wrist up for her to see.

She rubbed her thumb along the cursive letters.

“Josie,” she read out loud. Without another thought, she kissed his wrist. A tear dripped on his palm. They sat there, just breathing. She pulled up the hem of her shorts. He squinted, then dared to brush the skin of her hip.

“It’s a poppy,” he said, mystified. “Quite nice.” Although tears still dried in his beard, he wasn’t just talking about the tattoo. She linked her fingers through his long ones. He warmed at her easy, mindless gesture. It felt so very nice. Almost better than sex.

“That was her name. Poppy,” she said, smiling at him. “She wasn’t mine through blood or marriage, but I love her with all my heart.”

Was it another girlfriend? His heart dropped. “Wait - who are you talking about?” he said softly. He didn’t remember Olivia mentioning a Poppy.

“She was Ella’s little girl,” she said.

He couldn’t hide his relief. “Her daughter. I see. What happened with Ella?”

She squeezed his hand. “The most common but painful of conjugal sins - infidelity. Our relationship no longer held any adventure or excitement for her. This is a quote.”

“How many years were you together?” he said, rubbing her back.

“Four years, 7 months, and 20 days,” she said. “Nothing like you and Mara.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“At least Mara married you. Ella didn’t believe in the institute of matrimony. She said it was heteronormative garbage and she refused to tow the line for the sake of a false sense of propriety.”

He sucked his teeth. “She sounds a delight,” he said. “So you wanted to do the whole white frock and flowers thing, eh?”

“I love weddings, straight and gay. I’m an unapologetic weeper,” she said. “I guess I wanted that for me. To share our love with people - make a public and binding commitment in front of God and man.”

“Ooh,” he said. “Binding. That just gave me chills.”

“You were married,” she said.

“If it isn’t already apparent, it was harrowing.”

“You loved her, though,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “At best, she loved the idea of me. The stability and ease of a life with me. But she never loved me. And it happens far too often.”

“You know, not all women see their partners as walking ATM machines,” she said petulantly. She was the main breadwinner as well. But up until the end, she chose to believe it was love, and not being a stable dupe to raise her kid, that kept Ella around.

“I could tell you some stories,” he said, his eyebrows high. “Sad, sad stories.”

“Like what?”

“The divorce process isn’t kind to many men - even those who did things very right. It’s the woman’s word above all, even when there is proof of infidelity.” He cleared his throat.

“Imagine how awkward it is when it’s two women,” she said. He looked confused. “I’ll give you a clue: complete and utter shitstorm.”

“Did Ella take you for all you had, then?” he said, too jovially.

“Thing is, she didn’t have to. Even after the breakup,  I wanted to help her find a proper place for Poppy to grow up, and give her money for her schooling. But she didn’t care. She never really worried about … prosaic things like that, and that’s what worries me. She was the stereotypical  hipster artist, and because I loved her, for four years, I paid for the lifestyle. It didn’t bother me, John. It made me happy to see them thrive, to do and give beautiful things. I never kept a running tally, to my lawyer’s chagrin,” she said, giving him a half smile. “I understand how women can be. We’re not perfect. But as a bi woman, I’m a bit closer.” She winked.

“How so?” he said. She still held his hand loosely on her lap. Her thighs were like velvet.

“I was just joking. What I mean is, I’m straddling a fence and able to look at both sides, both physically and emotionally. Men complain that women are too emotional. Women complain that men don’t listen. And both are right, to a degree. But even if the complaints from both sides are similar, it’s still an individual problem.”

“Life with Mara was constantly walking on eggshells,” he said. “Anything I said, no matter how well-meaning, could end up upsetting her in some way. Still happens, honestly,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

She chose to ignore it. “I acknowledge what you said, but what if I told you that it was Mara’s insecurity, and not you, that caused all that misery? It wasn’t your fault.”

“How could such a beautiful woman be insecure? Either way, I tried to make it better the best way I could. With compliments, and kindness, and attention, and trips - I took her to bloody Bali. Paradise. And all she did was sulk in bikini for a week. She looked fucking beautiful, though.” He shook his head.

Connie smiled and bit her lip. She knew the feeling. Her and Ella’s last trip to Thailand had been much of the same - her trying to stay positive and pretend things weren’t falling apart, and Ella finding any excuse to go off by herself.

“Hey …” he squeezed her hand. “You’re gonna chew your lip off,” he said, and pressed his finger on her chin, dislodging it from her teeth. It was bruised and red.

“Did I say something stupid?” he said.

“No. Of course not,” she said. She sucked on her lip pensively. “Sometimes, that kindness and attention is what makes it worse.”

It was getting colder, and the fire was getting lower. He leaned into her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Wait-” she said, stiffening.

“I’m sorry- it’s just, you’re shivering,” he said, but let her go. He took off his jacket and held it up. “Here. Put it on. Still warm.”

She opened her mouth to protest - something about preferring to freeze than wear his obnoxiously hip leather jacket - but instead, she accepted his gesture gracefully. She slid into it and sat down with a sigh. His scent surrounded her and made her smile. He smelled of … herbaceous green and the ghost of fresh cut wood. Despite the warmth, she got goosebumps.

“Thanks,” she said. His nipples poked through his thin cotton henley shirt. “Now you’re cold, though.”

He smiled and rubbed his chest. Pink rose to his cheeks above the beard. “It’s the price I pay for being a gentleman.”

“You did it on purpose,” she said, nudging him. “You wanted to show the world your goods.”

“The world’s not here,” he said. “Just you.”

His intense gaze made her heart race, but she laughed it off. Oh no. He’s not gonna do some MRA mind tricks on her.

“Okay, what is this? A three-step system to get any woman to bed?” she said. “Because it’s not gonna work on me, slick.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you going on about?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“You know - number one: engage her, and make her feel in control. Number 2: be vulnerable, and allow her to be vulnerable. Number three …” she stood up and started to walk around the patio, searching for the words,”...give her your jacket and make her feel safe. Yeah. Safe. I see you,” she said, nodding and smirking. “You’re not clever, hipster boy.”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I’m very clever, but this is no ruse. I’m genuinely freezing my lads off right now.”

She took off the jacket. “Then here.” She held it up impatiently.

“I clearly said I would buy you a drink and leave you alone. You are the one who asked me to stay.”

“No I didn’t,” she said. Her arm was starting to burn. The jacket was heavy, but he didn’t take it back. She threw it on the bench and crossed her arms.

“Yes, you did. You asked me what I did for a living. I replied that to answer your question, I would have to remain. You said that this was a public space, and that you couldn’t put me out, implying consent to continuing the conversation.”

She sat down, still pouting. He resisted the urge to smile.

“You think I would say those private things just to get a woman into bed?” he said. “It’s not much of a show of strength, is it?”

She shivered. “Whatever. It’s just not gonna work on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to work you,” he said, and stood up. It stung that she thought the things he told her were just a means to an end. “You women are impossible. If we talk a big game, then we’re egotistical jerks. If we dare to be vulnerable, then we’re weak and revolting. This is why I gave up trying to please you lot. It’s so much easier to please myself - at least I know what I’m about.”

“Shocking revelation,” she said under her breath.

He groaned with frustration. “And things were going so well.”

“See! You were working me!” she said, pointing at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to get to know you - see what Liv sees. There is a massive fucking difference,” he said.

She faltered, but she refused to give up.  “Why do you care what Liv sees, or feels anyway? You were an utter twat to her. She told me what you did at the park. You … barked a fake orgasm in public to humiliate her even more about what happened between you and Alex.”

“I didn’t really know her then, and I thought the whole thing was a weird lesbian sham. Sandwiches at the park? How civil,” he said. “Bollocks!”

“That’s how she is, though. Civil and kind and lovely,” she said. She didn’t know why her voice was up an octave.

“Well, I didn’t know that then,” he said, matching her volume. “I just thought she was the evil gatekeeper keeping me from who could be the actual love of my life.”

Her jaw dropped. “You loved Alex?” Livvie didn’t tell her that.

He rubbed his face. “I thought I did. I mean, I do, but then, I wanted her as well, for myself. Our drunk thing and what happened afterward felt like it was destined. And that little stunt at the park? I was jealous. Seething.”

“Fuck,” she said softly. “I am so confused.”

“So was I,” he said. “Trust me. Alex and I were drunk that night, but we weren’t …” he tried to find the right words, “... she wasn’t so gone that she didn’t know …” he sighed. She waited for him to finish.

“She was the one who pulled me up the stairs to bed,” he said. “She ripped my clothes-”

She held up her hand. “I don’t need to hear more. Suffice it to say, there was consent.”

“Because I knew that, I thought it meant that maybe there was a chance. That she might choose me. Especially after the baby.”

She sat down hard. Olivia had not told her that, and she knew why. It was weird. And painful. And awkward.

“But you had to know that Alex is a lesbian,” she said finally.

“Should I know? Because she sure didn’t fu-”

She held up her hand for silence again. 

“I’m sorry. It felt weird sometimes, like she wanted me but was too afraid to say so for fear of being judged or something.”

“She did care for you, but more importantly, she needed you. She was pregnant, and frightened, and on the horns of a fearful dilemma - literally.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“No, you think I’m saying she wanted you … sexually. But she didn’t.”

“But she did.”

“She was drunk, and furious, and scared.”

“And really horny,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but friction is friction if you’re drunk enough,” she said. “You were there, and willing. She made do.”

He sat down beside her again. “And it hurt.”

“Slamming your dick up against a brick wall will do that,” she said.

“It made me feel used.”

“Welcome to the fucking club, kid,” she said. “She told you she’s gay. She introduces you to her girlfriend. You never see male overnight guests. Again … Wall. Cock.” She wished she had another drink to warm her. “You still have those feelings for her?”

“No,” he said. “I was so ecstatic about Josie that what was a just a pash blew up to something more. I wanted to love her. I absolutely did. She checked all the boxes - creative, beautiful, passionate - but I realized after losing the baby that we were more meant to be friends.”

“How convenient,” she said.

“Really. We’re very alike, in a lot of ways. Too much, honestly,” he said, chuckling. “That ever happen to you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “With Olivia,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “Although the circumstances were weird, I feel so lucky that Olivia, Alex, and I found each other. They changed my life,” he said.

“In myriad ways,” she said, smiling. She couldn’t imagine a life without Olivia.

He laughed softly beside her.

“What?” she said.

“Just thinking. Slamming my cock up against a brick wall. That’s choice.”

“It’s what you did, though. Al’s gay as fuck. Her words, not mine.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“I’m bi, remember?”

“But … you wanted to marry Ella.”

“And?”

“That’s pretty lesbian of you.”

“I loved her,” she said. “Ella could’ve easily been … Elton.”

“Fair warning though - he’s gay as fuck,” he said.

She chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“Men and women are so different. I don’t understand how you could want both equally.”

“That’s what’s most amazing. The differences. It keeps things interesting.”

“But what if you’re with a woman, and you want to be with a man? What do you do?”

“Is it a committed monogamous relationship?”

"Let’s say yeah.”

“What any good person in a committed relationship does. Practice self-control. Bisexuality is not carte blanche to be a callous, greedy bastard.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “You ever cheated?”

“This conversation is getting deeply personal again,” she said.

“Afraid to answer the question?” he said, raising his eyebrow.

“No! And no.”

“Never?” he said. “Not even a little kiss?”

“No,” she said, irritated. “I think it’s cowardly.”

“How?”

“You ever done it?” she asked, eyeing him.

“I asked the question first. Answer it, then I’ll answer you.”

“It’s cowardly because it’s the easy way out for a person who can’t muster up the bravery to tell their partner the difficult truth that they’re not happy. If they cheat, then it circumvents it completely. It’s like ‘Oops! I went outside the relationship. That’s gross, right? You hate me now, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out…’”

Her voice trembled.

“Spot on,” he said. “Mara didn’t even give me a chance to get angry, though. She didn’t care enough. It was like ‘I’ve been fucking someone else for a year, he makes me feel like a woman, I’ll send someone for my shit, goodbye’.”

The noise from the pub was quieting down. The fire was down to embers.

“I got the line ‘she makes me feel like my most authentic self’. What does that even mean?”

“It’s hipster speak for ‘makes me feel like a woman’,” he said, then let out a snort. She looked at him, thinking he might start crying again. But his face glowed with a smile.

“We’re quite a pair, you and I,” he said. “What a fucking pity party.”

“And worst of all, my glass is empty,” she said. “What time is it?”

He looked at his cell and laughed. “Fuck, it’s after 1 AM!”

“Really?” she said. “You’re telling me we’ve been here for nearly five hours? Impossible.”

He showed her the phone.

“Damn,” she said. “No wonder it’s so quiet in the pub.” She rubbed her nose pensively, something he noticed she did a lot.

“Has anyone told you how utterly charming you are when you’re angry?” he said. He tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear, brushing his knuckle gently along her cheek bone.

“No one who doesn’t want a bruise,” she said, but she smiled. She liked his touch. It was gentle and unassuming.

“Then I will say that you are very intimidating. You made me quake in my boots a couple times.”

She lifted her chin high and raised an eyebrow. “Good.”

“You’re so fucking adorable,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Puppies are adorable,” she said. She meant to nudge him, but ended up leaning against him. He felt good.

“You’re right, I suppose,” he said, daring to wrap his arm around her waist. His touch was feather-light, but warm.”You are beautiful.” The way he said it made her look up at him and search his eyes. The swagger she saw earlier was gone. His gaze questioned, and she responded, tilting her head and giving him the slightest smile. He put his hand on her face. Her nipples hardened, although his touch was warm.

He kissed the side of her mouth first. The prickle of his beard made her giggle, but she put her hand on the back of his neck to guide him.

“I didn’t want to offend with the porn beard,” he whispered into her mouth. His lips were so maddeningly soft. The cold flew from her limbs, and it was replaced with desire.

“A little hair doesn’t bother me,” she said, and just as he pressed his lips to hers, someone came out and threw a bucket of dirty dish water on the embers of the fire.

The woman gave them a cursory glance. “We’re closing in 20 minutes,” she said, and left.

He stood up and held out his hand. “I guess that means it’s time to bugger off,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Didn't you drive here, though?” she said. She licked her bruised lip for a hint of a taste of him. Sadly, there was none.

“Yeah. But I’m just in the mood for a moonlit stroll,” he said. When she stood, he put his jacket over her shoulders again. “I can pick up my car tomorrow.”

He held his arm out gallantly, and she linked hers through it. It was a small town, so just beyond the high street, there was only silence and the yellow glow of the street lamps. When was the last time she had ever done this, with anyone?

Too long. And she forgot how good it was.

He bounced beside her, slowing his long-gaited walk to accommodate her.

“What are you so excited about?” she asked.

“I can’t wait for the party tomorrow! I hope Olivia likes her gift. It’s a trifle late, but then again, it took a while longer than I imagined to make.”

“Ooh, sounds interesting. Is it in your magic shop?” she said. They turned the corner, and his house was visible not too far off.

He walked in front of her and took her hands. “Would you like to see?” he said. His boyish energy was infectious. Although at first she thought it irritating, it was growing on her. It was nice being around someone like that, after years of Ella’s borderline soporific coolness.

“Sure,” she said. They were nearly running now. Just as soon as they turned into his front yard, a car engine roared to a stop nearby. In the street, a taxi unloaded two very familiar, very drunk women.

“Oh shit-” he ran toward the taxi, but he drove off, glad to be rid of them.

“Heya there, playboy,” the red head slurred, tripping over her feet and falling to the grass. As he tried to help her up, the blonde came up behind him and grabbed his crotch, hard. He dropped the redhead and held the blonde’s wrists firmly.

“Careful with the jewels, darling,” he said. He was pale with pain.

The redhead managed to get on her knees. She touched him too, but with gentler hands.

“Whoa!” he said, and pulled the woman to standing. She leered up at him, licking her lips.

“You gonna make good on your promise?” she said. “We’re here and ready to go-” she tried to hump his leg, but he held her at arm’s length. The lights from the neighbors across the street came on. He cursed underneath his breath.

He ran up to his door and opened it. “Just … get inside and keep quiet.”

“Don’t wanna give your fancy detached neighbors a show, eh?” the blonde said as she climbed the steps, lifting her skirt high. Her hot pink thong had little rhinestones on it. Just as soon as they went inside, he went to her. She stood in Olivia’s garden, arms crossed. She didn’t look mad, which made him even more nervous.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

“What are you doing here? It seems they’re primed and ready to have some fun,” she said. His kitchen window opened and the redhead stuck her head out.

“Oi! Get your ass over here, playboy,” she said. “And you can join us too, if you’re not shy,” she said, giving her a lascivious look.

“You got anything to drink in this place?” the blonde yelled from inside the kitchen.

“It really looks like you have your hands full. I’m gonna turn in,” Connie said, walking to the back door.

“Please, don’t leave me alone. I don’t want them in-” something crashed in the kitchen, “-I don’t want them in my house.”

“Then why did you invite them?” she said.

“I didn’t. Not really. We were flirting a bit, then you came into the bar … shit!” he slapped his forehead. “The business cards. They had my address.”

“Why?” she said.

“I work from home, remember?” he said. “I’m such an idiot.” An ominous thud came from the open window. When she looked, the two women were drunkenly making out. It was not a pretty sight. He gave them a despairing look and turned back to her.

“Help me get them out of my house,” he said, his face twisted in embarrassment.

“But it looks like they’ve already started without you,” she said. The redhead had pulled the blonde’s dress down and was licking her breasts. He groaned. “Please. I don’t want to … touch them.”

“You did earlier,” she said. She couldn’t believe she was going to make out with him just 20 minutes before.

“A lot has happened since then,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I swear this has never happened before.” The blond sat on the counter, and the redhead disappeared below the sill. “It’s just my luck it would happen tonight, of all the nights in my bloody life.”

“You should post the experience on your little site. The mouthbreathers will be really impressed.”

“I deserved that. You know what? I’ll take that, and more, if you help me this once. Please.” He looked miserable. “Use your angry powers for good.”

She rolled her eyes. He fell to his knees and grabbed her legs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, and stalked across his yard. The ladies jumped when she yanked the kitchen door open.

She clapped her hands. “Alright, ladies. As they say in America, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

The redhead came up from between the blonde’s legs and wiped her chin. “What are you like, his mum?” she said. “Where’s playboy?”

“Off somewhere calling you another taxi,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear from the garden. “Playboy. Do you even know his name?”

“Names don’t matter, do they?” the redhead said, but she pulled his business card from between her breasts. She squinted at it. “Fuck. Don’t have my contacts in-”

Connie took the card from her and crumpled it. “It doesn’t matter, right?” She pointed at the blonde. “Get yourself together and fuck off to the living room. You can wait for the taxi there, where I can’t see you,” she said, and walked back outside.

“Someone should be by in less than five minutes,” he said.

She made a face. “A taxi in less than five minutes?” That was a statistical impossibility where she came from.

“I know. But I promised to pay whoever got here first three times the going rate, plus tip,” he said.

That made a lot more sense.

“They’re not destroying things, are they?” he said.

“Oh my-” She ran back into his house. They were stuffing anything small they could get their hands on in their cheap purses - curios, CDs, and a little comic book figurine that looked expensive.

She darted into his foyer, where he had a proper English willow cricket bat and walked into the living room, bat held high.

“Empty your bags right now or I swear I will call the police and report a home invasion,” she said, her voice low with anger. “But that’s after I call an ambulance.” The women sized her up, and decided she wasn’t worth the risk - the crazy bitch might not be bluffing.

The redhead dropped the George Harrison CD in her hand. “Sure. Whatever. This stuff’s shit anyway,” she said, and started taking stuff out of her purse.

“No, boo. Empty your fucking purse on the carpet,” she said, pointing at her with the bat. “Both of you.”

They rolled their eyes and obeyed. The women had even stolen a wooden pepper grinder from the kitchen. Connie rolled her eyes as they put their meager belongings back into their bags and clutched them to their chests.

They looked at her with open resentment. “You ‘is bird er summat? The blonde said, going full Northern.

“I’m none of your goddamned business,” she said. The bat was still gripped tight in her hand. The taxi honked outside.”Alright, time to go,” she said, herding them through his front door. They stumbled to the vehicle, where John spoke with the driver.

He handed the man a couple of large notes. “Take them wherever they want to go,” he said. “There’s a bit extra there for clean up, just in case.” The man nodded.

“This wasn’t the ride you promised,” the redhead said petulantly.

“Sorry, love,” he said and walked to the sidewalk. The blonde opened the window and stuck two fingers out at Connie. The rude sound she made faded as the taxi drove away.

“Wow. It’s been quite an evening,” she said. “A rollercoaster of emotions.”

He kicked at the curb sheepishly. “Thanks for your help. I just didn’t want them to say that I’d touched them funny or yelled at them or something.” He looked at her and chuckled. “The bat looks good on you.”

“Oh,” she said. It was still slung over her shoulder. She handed it back to him. “I should get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

She rooted for the house keys in her pocket. Her heart was heavy. She wanted to be furious at him, but she wasn’t. She was just sad. He ran to the stoop.

“This was not how imagined tonight ending,” he said, hand over his heart. “I apologize if that upset you.”

“Is that what you want? To be a sex object to horny, faceless women? Is that the definition of being an alpha male?”

His genuine panic when the blonde grabbed at him made her curious.

“After years and years of being insulted and rejected, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Granted, that was a bit scary. Sometimes I don’t know my own magnetic charm,” he said, trying to get a laugh out of her. But she just patted his shoulder wearily.

“I need sleep,” she said.

His smile faltered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, er, later today.”

“Uhuh,” she said. He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and closed the door.

Next Chapter

[iammarylastar]

The Exception. 6. Epilogue 

They had 4 kids, Britany their little Bree, Luke, Adam and Chris. Life took the third back to God just a week after he was born. 

They cried, they mourned, weeks turning into months and Chris came unexpectedly, bringing happiness and joy back to the family.

Stefan stroked the old picture with his thumb.

Mieke and he were standing on the Sydney Bridge, Bree in his arms, Luke in his mother’s. Adam was still growing inside his mother’s womb, little angel who had been ghosting his memories for more than 50 years. 

Cora, as she was used to on each Sunday, took this picture in May 1945, Adam was born in June, about two months early.

They were celebrating the end of that damn war, the World sighed in relief but there was so many wounds to heal.

Europe, Russia had been devastated; Germany and Japan would pay for their faults for decades. Mankind would recover, maybe, and have its dignity and faith in humanity bringing goodness back.

Chris was missing in the black and white picture. He came the year after Adam died. 

Stefan felt a stab in his heart at the reminder. Mieke and he had been more devastated by his lost than any city blown up to ruins by bombings. 

They cried again and again, fighting hell to get up in the morning, trying their best to keep up a smile on their tired faces and raise their other children. Mieke had acted like a ghost for months and all his attempts to cheer her up failed miserably. She closed her heart and her thighs to him, slowly fading away. 

One night where she was silently crying, he took her in his arms and rocked her gently; his chin on the top of her head, whispering soothing love words in her ear as she finally let it go. 

She cried and hit her fists on his chest, biting his shoulder to keep herself from screaming too loudly. She dug her nails deep into his skin, leaving marks, and then slapped his face with all the force she had left. 

Like it was his fault. Like it could be someone’s fault. 

He let her straddle him as she was beating him up, until she crashed down on him, exhausted and panting. He wrapped his wife close to his chest and sat up; combed back her hair damped with tears, stroked lightly her perfect lines, then brushed her lower lips, red from being bitten to blood.

“Mieke, I love you.”

He just said.

She stared at him for a solid minute, reading deep sadness in his eyes, along with hope. And love.

She leant over to brush her lips on his, and then pushed him back to the mattress. Grabbing the hem of her nightdress, she rolled the cloth up her thighs and lifted her ass up to line up with his shaft. Her fingers grasped his pec, and she sighed as she slid down his cock, her eyes never leaving his.

She made love to him, the same way she always had, in their other life.

Chris came 9 full months later. They welcomed this strong young boy, healthy and bald. Happiness filled their house again, along with the cries of the newborn, hungry both for life and milk.

The Kaiser was right; they fought for human rights and equality on each occasion. 

They fought for the rights of the natives, and drove to Canberra that day in 2008, when Kevin Rudd apologized officially for the shameful way Australia treated Aboriginals and the stolen generation.

They fought for the equality between men and women, between all human beings, whatever colour their skin was.

They fought against the ‘gay panic defense’ law, which allowed people to justify a murder in the name of their fear of homosexuals.

More recently they fought for gay and lesbian’s rights, hoping for them to be allowed to get married one day. Love was love after all.

They were involved in several causes and proud to teach this to their children. Goodness and justice as a legacy. 

And Australia was on its way to the fairness she claimed.

Mieke died the year before, in her mid 70s. Breast cancer. At least, he had all his family back home for the funerals.

Stefan let a sob out, it still hurt so much. They had a good life together; they could tell they knew love and happiness. Which he wished to all his children and grand children.

Brittany married twice and gave birth to three girls. She had to follow her latest husband to Perth and he missed his little Bree so much. She called her mom and dad every day by phone or Skype. 

Handwritten letters and much awaited mails were bygone days. He wondered how things would have gone if Mieke had been able to call the Kaiser with her IPhone and get an answer by fax or e-mail within an hour. 

Anyway, the two or three times a year he had them home was never enough to enjoy his beloved daughter and her team, to which he loved telling stories of their mother as a child. She still thought she was born here in Sydney, as written and stamped on her certificate of birth.

Luke had always been a lonely and introvert child, only fully alive when talking about ocean and what’s beyond. He was eager to travel the world, dreaming of being a sailor or working on an oil rig. He loved staying all by himself and told his parents he didn’t feel like he belonged there. He was only 6.

Mieke had cried many rivers, blaming herself not to have been able to take care for him after Adam died, foreseeing their son leaving their household at an early age, which she wouldn’t survive as she repeated again and again. 

She survived though, when he came home at 17, hired as a steward on a yacht, bound for a cruise to French Polynesia. He was over excited, about to ‘live the dream’ , jumping up and down through the house, packing his stuff and shoving them in a big duffle bag.

Pulling his crying mother in a huge hug, he begged, subtly delivering the speech he had prepared for the occasion.

“Mom, this is what makes me happy. I promise I’ll send you postcards from every single place I land on. Mom, please, let me go.”

Stefan looked at the wall where thousands of cards were pinned. There was no country in the world Luke had not put a foot on. 

He tried to settle down in Sydney when he was 30, even took a wife and had a son. But this was not a life for him. He had stayed at bay for 4 years but the ocean screamed his name so loud every fucking day and he had to struggle too hard not to pack and leave within the second.

Chris had always been his favorite. Not really his fav but they always had been very close. Thinking alike, same sense of humour, same skills in teasing and winking, same no skill in taking pics. Mieke was use to mocking them, saying they couldn’t take a good picture to save their lives. 

Chris married a blonde beauty who brought two children into the world. A girl and boy. 

They named their first born Bree, after Chris big sister. And the boy was weirdly called Jai, a name he had never heard before, Stephen as a middle name. Like his beloved grand pa.

Bree had dark eyes and hair, she reminded him of Mieke so much. Smart and beautiful, she wanted to become a teacher like her mother. She was surprisingly -not that much- very skilled in foreign languages.

The boy was the perfect Aussie bloke, blonde curls, amazing blue eyes, sporty, cheeky and kind of a womanizer. He had inherited his frame but looked so much like his mother. Pretty allergic to each foreign language that was not deep accented australian.

He often paid a visit to his grand parents, shamelessly skipping school to sip a beer with his grand pa, chitchatting about girls, life and acting. It had always been his passion, playing someone else, telling stories.

He was chasing the gig, dreaming of a career in Hollywood.

Stefan chuckled. He and Mieke had been very talented at it. Being someone else, telling stories, lying about their roots.

Mieke made him swear to never ever speak about their former life. Too dangerous. The shadow of what happened when they arrived in Sydney haunted her brain and she told him she’d rather kill him than relive those bad times. 

Their deepest secret had laid under a floorboard since they moved in this house, after Luke was born. Sealed like their lips. 

The ID they made whilst in London before leaving, Nietzsche’s 'Beyond good and evil’ he still remembered Mieke’s note and the first page by heart. The letter the Kaiser wrote to save Stefan’s life. The official court decision that made him a free man. Their wedding pic. Few pics of them taking pose with Cora or Marvin before they had to cut ties with them. To keep the secret.

It was a miracle that none of their children or grandchildren ever asked about their roots, their story, where Mieke’s name came from or why she kept calling his husband Stefan instead of Stephen.

The rules of family secrets. No questions.

At some point, he would have to tell his family the truth. 

Stefan Brandt and Mieke De Jong. 

The Kaiser Willem II. The spy, the murders, the war, the run. The real story of Bree’s birth. Her real name. The reason she named all her dolls Cora. The real reason why Luke lived for sailing. Running from Oz to find where he was really from. 

The reason why Jai wanted to be somebody else for a living.

The real story of the Courtney’s.

@captstefanbrandt @kenzieam @beautifulramblingbrains @pathybo @beltz2016 @bookwarm85 @jaicourtneyseyes @oddsnendsfanfics @frecklefaceb @writingismyhappytime @badassbaker @anditcametopass @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995

@tigpooh67 @societalfailure @singingpeople

[michellevalenciaperdomo-blog]

Duet

We met at an AA meeting. I liked her immediately because she didn’t recognize me. She didn’t stare at me, or glance quickly and then take out her phone, to see if my old headshots matched the face she saw before her. In fact, if she was staring, it was because she, as she later told me, thought I was so beautiful.

She was so so beautiful, like the first women I fell in love with as a teenager, like a model in a French perfume ad my mother had in a magazine, or the star of my high school basketball team. The first time she walked into AA, a young woman around my age tapped her friend on the shoulder and subtly pointed to her. I assumed it was because of her magnetic grace.

The drinking started after my career, not even in its prime, came to an end. My manager thought that I could bounce back. He kept scheduling me auditions, meetings with production companies, sent me to dinners at Chateau Marmont, where I wore a slinky cocktail dress and flirted with directors. But everything in me hurt and the only way to stop the pain was to drink. And then I’d wake up in my bed, or my manager’s bed, smelling of sourness, of vomit, of shame, and I wouldn’t even care, because the aching was overwhelming. When the sun was out, I felt its heat as if its light shone through a magnifying glass directly onto me. When night creeped in, every bone in my body felt as fragile as glass, and I feared I’d break again at any second. Who could’ve done this to me?

She stepped up and said, “Hello, my name is Jessica. And I’m an alcoholic. I don’t want to talk about what happened to me. In fact, I’m sure some of you already know the story. But I’ve been six months sober now…half a year. And every day it’s hard, but every day I know it’s worth it. Some nights I can even sleep again soundly, and I wake up and I forget who I am…not in a scary way, but just in a way where I feel like I could be anybody, I could do anything. I’m thinking about maybe joining some sort of local theatre troupe, just to see if I still love acting the way I used to. But right now, I’m happy just to be in this body. It took me a long time to get here, but here I am. Thank you.” And then she sat down. I watched her tuck her hair cut into a neat bob, behind her ear, and noticed the start of a deep, purple scar on her forearm, obviously from some sort of surgery. I wondered how long it was…what could’ve caused such a gash.

After the meeting, she asked to bum a cigarette from me. I gave her one, and lit it for her. She was tough looking, rugged, definitely an LA transplant. She had dark circles under her eyes, and a strange gait, almost like a limp. “Hi,” She said. “I’m Liz.” “First meeting?” Liz nodded. “First one here, at least. I’ve actually been sober for about half a year too.” I smiled. “Really?” Liz smiled, a plume of grey smoke escaping from behind her teeth. “Yeah. I um…last time I drank, I did something so stupid. I was so drunk. So I had to stop.” “Wow.” “Yeah.” We kind of just smiled at each other, staring. “Maybe this is, like, not your thing…” Liz said, “ but we should celebrate our soberversary together. We can make seltzer cocktails and have a nice dinner, or something.” I felt myself smile widely. My heart skipped. “Is that forward of me?” Liz asked, but she was still smiling in that delightfully self-deprecating way of hers, half joking, half smug, completely charming. I shrugged. I hadn’t been on a date with a woman before, at least in public. My manager told me it would be bad for my image, that I was marketing myself as a heartthrob, not a bisexual indie girl. I hated when he talked like that. After one of those long back-and-forths about my “brand,” my beauty that would fade before I capitalized, my talent that would only take me so far, I got so angry I felt like I was going to burst out of my skin. So I left, I drank a lot, I went to the first barber shop I saw, and told them to take it all off. I walked down the street that night sporting a short crop of hair that felt so soft, so natural, so me. “You’re being forward.” I said, “But I like that. That would be nice, yeah. I’d like to celebrate with someone else. I’ve been by myself a lot recently.” I finished my cigarette. I saw my scar peeking out from my sleeves, and crossed my arms. “You are…gay?” Liz asked. I smiled. “I actually don’t know if I’d call myself that. But…for all express purposes for you, I am.”

It was so quick from there. The first time we spent the night together, I ran my hand over each of her scars, fleshy and rigid, pink and purple, trail marks, currents. She said she did not want to talk about it, but I assumed it was self-harm. We made a promise. We didn’t talk about our past if we didn’t want to. We didn’t have to unravel those tangled webs, for fear of getting stuck in the mess, our past lies, our past vices. So we moved forward, as one.

She didn’t know I started going by my middle name, she didn’t know what my scars were from, how I landed and burst on the pavement like a balloon filled with water, that I was once an almost someone…all she would say is “You are so beautiful. God, you are so beautiful.” And suddenly my whole world would become soft and safe.

There is a difference between starting over and living a lie. I was doing the former. She didn’t need to know about the rage I used to have, how I’d drink to fuel the fire in my belly, the way I’d drive down roads late at night till my car became a vacuum and no sound could go in and out, and it was just me and the blood pumping through my skull. Neither of us liked to drive anyway. We might’ve been the only people in LA who hated cars. We talked about moving somewhere else, maybe Portland or New York, somewhere where we could walk everywhere. In the meantime, we biked, ran, had friends shuttle us from one place to the other.

It was the first time I acted in a year. It was only a community theatre production of A Doll’s House, but it was so wonderful to feel the spotlight on me and just feel a warm glow, to look out into an audience of enraptured strangers who did not know who I once was, just who I could be. Then afterwards, as Liz gave me a huge hug and kiss, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. I was clutching a large bouquet of wildflowers Liz had picked for me that morning, and turned to see a woman I did not recognize. She was looking at me as if she had just witnessed a ghost. “I’m sorry but you’ve been on a few television shows, haven’t you?” She asked. I furrowed my brows in faux confusion. “Yes,” the woman continued, “You were a guest star on The Witch’s Coven, weren’t you? What are you doing in community theatre?” Liz gazed upon the scene with suspicion. “No,” I said finally, once I brought myself to speak, “You’ve got me confused with someone else.” The woman eyed me for a second longer, pursing her lips. “Hm, maybe you’re right. Anyway, that actress had very long hair.” Then she walked away. My hands started to shake, making the petals rattle and fall.

“What was that about?” I asked. Jessica vigorously shook her head. “It’s nothing. She just got me confused with someone, I guess.” But her hands were shaking. I grabbed them to make them still. “You know you can tell me whatever’s scaring you.” I said softly. And I meant it. As scared as I was by what she could say, I knew I’d love her, as she’d loved me, no matter what.

I wiped a tear from my eyes before it could fall down my cheek. I took a deep breath. I had to be strong. “It’s really nothing. I guess it just made me feel bad that I’m not this big star. That’s it.” Liz took me in a large embrace. I could smell the smoke in her hair, the scent of the shampoo we both used. I hugged her back.

Dear Liz, There is so much I wish I could tell you, but if I bring myself to tell the whole tale, I’ll surely spiral into a darkness I hope to only know once. That night I was walking down the street with my new short hair, a car hit me. It was speeding dangerously fast, and suddenly my world was darkness and shattered glass and a body that was once mine belonged to the hard metal clash, then the air, then the space between life and death, and then finally the pavement. The worst part was that they, that someone, that devil, sped away. And I blacked out. Someone walking by saw me laying in the road and called an ambulance. And then my body was cut open, the bones and their fragments put back together with metal and sutures, and then I was, somehow, whole again. But it’s never been the same. I always wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped to get drunk, if I hadn’t gone into that one barber shop, if I had walked out on my manager just a moment later. Mostly I wonder what if I wasn’t drunk. These are the questions that still haunt me. But I promise not to bring that darkness in, because I love you so much and you deserve the best of me.

Dear Jessica, There is so much I want to tell you, so much shame that I carry. My drinking stopped when it had to. I was speeding down the road. It was night. I was drunk. So drunk that I have no memory. Sometimes I think it’s better that way, that all I have is the grave and constant feeling that I’ve done something unforgivable. I hit a boy. I saw that crop of golden hair, then suddenly that head was against my window, and I heard that awful sound of body against metal. My whole body lurched. And my mind said, “You cannot let your life stop here.” So I just kept driving. I drove into the blackness and never looked back. I hope that boy is okay. I think about him all the time. That golden hair, flying through the air. I have so many regrets…that I shouldn’t have taken that road, that I should’ve stopped, called an ambulance, that I shouldn’t have been drunk in the first place. These are the questions that still haunt me. But I promise not to bring that darkness in, because I love you so much, and you deserve the best of me.