#like i am lucky enough that i have a therapist that i can scream at for a session and then the next time talk about my last date or whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

funkylittledemon · 1 month

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autism and emotions is so.... well it fucking sucks is what it is. i need my mind to slow down for a second to get all these thoughts down bc i will explode if i dont get them out there (hence why this post - only bee is gonna see this & knows me enough to be worried for more than an hour or so and if i put this where nobody can see it aint actually out there) (wassup bee dw i am okay)

anyway

i say that life is just getting to me rn and it is but thats too vague a statement. current affairs (an impartial term but a useful one here) are getting to me - I'm trying to navigate adulthood while it feels like the life i was promised is being taken away by whatever event you want to pick; global warming, late-stage capitalism, multiple genocides, the list goes on. and I'm one of the lucky ones!! how fucked up is that! so there's that constant stress hanging above my head.

then there's more abstract life: navigating uni and living alone and looking after myself while forming relationships and starting to try carve a path for myself. this one isn't as bad but still can't be ignored and the fact that interpersonal relationships have become so scrutinised through social media doesn't help. no matter the insecurity you have or your own specific factors there will be someone online telling you your worst fears are right - i cant say how many times ive scrolled past a reel saying that i havent had a message back because "he" doesn't care. does the person saying this even know I've seen it, let alone who i am or who "he" is? No!! but the sentiment sticks with you despite only seeing it for 3 seconds before scrolling on, despite logically knowing it can't apply to me because its a catch-all statement to everyone who feels insecure pushed onto us by an algorithm that thinks we want to hear that. social media is feeding into our fears and insecurities and we can't stop it. as an autistic person whos insecure as fuck and who knows they dont understand a lot of societal cues being told by some random person that im right to be insecure really doesn't help - i get the idea of something stuck in my head and bc i know its bs i try get it out which cements it further into my mind and lends it credence.

then there's uni itself - i am now faced with the realisation that everything leading me up to uni and my course has been about me helping other people, often to my own detriment. i chose a counselling course because i was always the therapist friend, the one who everyone else went to for help. and wouldn't you know it I've been burnt out for years and literally don't have it in me to help strangers, or give a shit about their lives. i cared so much and made my entire life about helping other people that i had no idea what i wanted to do. im switching to just psychology now, because it is interesting and i do enjoy it but im kind of lost now i dont have that purpose. it also scares me just how much of my life hadn't been about me at all and im still not sure who i am if im not helping someone. obviously thats the dramatic version but you get the gist. uni's been a wakeup call i wasn't prepared for and theres the work and exams on top of that

christ this is long. okay. what else was there. emotions. god i hate emotions. this is the hard bit. all my emotions are so so big and i am so so small and it feels like they would devour me whole if they could. anxiety is a big one. recently pretty much all ive been feeling is anxiety - a deep anxiety that makes me nauseous pretty much 24/7. last week on friday i had what i call a breakdown. i still dont understand it (which is scary enough - every other breakdown i can disect and point to the cause). i just sarted screaming in the middle of the street and couldn't stop and its making me anxious just typing this up. then there was a day of panic attack after panic attack (lost count after the 4th i think) and then a few days later and some bad decisions (booze. ik i shouldn't have drank but i thought i was ok to drink) i had another breakdown. i dont remember much of this one but it ended in me being locked out and sobbing - security had to let me in and it must've been bad bc the guy gave me a card with hotlines on it. (again, i am okay). i lost my leather jacket that night which both sucks bc i loved that jacket and also the fact that it's gone is a constant reminder of something im ashamed of. after that it was just this constant nauseating anxiety, occasionally spiralling into something more but not significant enough to include. the thing about me and emotions is that my strategy for dealing with them is to ignore and repress them until they're not my problem anymore. which is bad. but idk how to cope with them healthily and when i feel okay i never know if its because i repressed them again or because i genuinely feel okay. being around other people helps but thats probably not a great thing - i hide my emotions from other people to avoid being a burden. not that its always a bad thing that my friends make me feel better its just not a sustainable approach to constantly avoid being alone. i have this constant struggle of feeling emotions so intensely then feeling shame because of how intensely i felt those emotions or how they made me act.

going on from emotions fucking me over and moving on from Life being an issue anxiety is a fucking bitch. all my life I've felt like an outsider and so constantly nervous about everything. it was hell and then in 6th form i made friends who were so so confident and i finally started to relax a little bit more and not feel bad about taking up space. uni was even better! i had flatmates i loved and i was going out doing things I'd never dreamed of and i was making friends!! i barely recognised myself and i loved it!! then the breakdown happened and i was plunged headfirst back into the old cycle of anxiety and going back to that after feeling what life could be like? that was worse than the breakdown. it feels like ive never felt worse and the knowledge that theres no reason for it, that nothing had actually changed other than me and i could still be out there with confidence but i wasn't was such a crushing feeling it felt like i was never gonna feel okay again. dramatic i know but the truth.

im home for easter break now and typing this out has helped and going back to my old stomping grounds has shown me i have still changed and i do still have the confidence even if i couldn't access it for a hot min. I'm still anxious but thats okay. my emotions don't have an all poweful spell over me and anxiety can suck my dick. there's still the fear that I'll go back to uni and it'll all come rushing back however im just gonna see how this break goes. im gonna be alone whether i like it or not while im down here and if i can manage to be okay with that then I'll be fine. and i do have a support system both here and up at university.

#life updates with fish #vent post #ig #honestly i might not be okay but that's alright. i dont have to be okay and i don't have to be ashamed #im doing better than i was though #but every time i type that the anxiety returns so probably not actually its just more managable #long post #fuck me this was longer than i thought it was gonna be #oops oh well

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us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2 · 5 months

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tbh, the ability of foresight and premonitions suck ass.

like you know exactly how and when all the people you love will die, you know that you can’t change the future because if you try something even worse will happen, and you have to live in grief forever.

Imagine already mourning someone you just met, because your foresight powers kicked in and now you know they die brutally in a car accident and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

you will love this person so dearly and you know they will be taken away from you when you deserve a lifetime with them.

your cursed, whatever gave you your powers also made you extremely lucky, you never got sick, you never got hurt, everyone loved you deeply.

but fate still took them too soon, you knew every horrible detail.

and your powerless to stop it, you know of wars and sickness that happen and will kill so many people you know, every single living things lives flashes before you and you can’t do anything about it.

your suicidal and depressed because no one will ever live long enough to see you grow and change and love and laugh, because they will all die, they did all die.

Even though they are right in front of you, they are already dead. You talking and laughing and crying together but they are already dead.

every part of you is screaming, you can’t take it anymore.

but fate is too cruel, and you know you will live to be the oldest person in history, and you will have to watch everyone die.

friends, family, your own kids. They are dead the moment you meet them, you try and save them you try. But it gets even worse every time you do.

your life is filled with memories and love, because of your foresight you bet on a bunch of games and got rich, you were able to provide yourself and your family with everything they ever wanted.

but they were dead the moment you met them, you can spoil and dote and love people so much, but the grief is inconsolable.

you go to a therapist you see them die in your foresight, they tell you your just paranoid and everything is fine, but then people start dying the exact second you said they would, your crying and your wailing and you see everything.

foresight sucks.

you tell yourself, “why must I be cursed?” You wail. “Why must everyone I love die?” “Why must I be loved and keep loving”

“Why am I born to suffer?” You hear no response and you breakdown.

there’s no sounds, just your wailing. There’s no one to comfort you but ghosts, and your own hands. There’s nothing left, you can’t think straight through all the crying.

you were broken the moment you left the womb, you were a child born of fate and you knew that it would be like this.

your just, a plastic bag in the wind.

and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

#-pop #Poem #Us-the-voices writes #I’m just so fucking sad man #I’ll be better one Day but I’m just sad #so take some tasteful angst #writing prompt

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blissfullybloomed · 9 months

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Transition

What a week. Has it only been a week? It's been a week since Ive moved from Wisconsin to Ohio, and it's been one of the best weeks of my life. It's like, I won the boss fight on Dark Souls…these bosses are NOT easy. No, it's more than that…I'm at peace.

I have spent a year working on myself. A lifetime battle of mine dwindled down to a year of consistent and hard work.The work that makes you see ALL parts of yourself- the good and the bad. The really good and the really bad too. A year of figuring out what my boundaries were, and actually sticking to them. A year reconnecting with people that I never thought I could, and finding out they are beautiful people too. A year of getting rid of anything toxic to my growth, and realizing the blunt reality of things. A year of learning how to accept things I can not change, and understanding that I am enough as I already am. A year of crying, kicking, screaming, isolating, and fighting…when all I had to do was to accept people, places, and things for who and what they currently are, and understand that it's okay if they don't line up with me. Do I believe people can change? Absolutely…BUT….they have to want it for themselves first and foremost. If a specific person is reading this…thank you for that lesson. I never knew how that would be a catalyst into the best part of my life. There was a person in my life that wasn't scared to be blunt and honest with me during our friendship. I wasn't ready to hear or accept it. I heard you and got to work. So, thank you. I'm so sorry for all the chaos I drug you through.

During this week, I have learned things about my family I never knew. I've got to sit in the back of my own car, and have my sister in law drive me to her house …because I live there now- not because it's the closest to Columbus Airport. I got to watch a movie with my family. Not just any movie…my favorite movie. I got to drive to my new job, Hospice Massage Therapist/Activity Director, and that's a 2 minute drive. I got to be greeted by people I haven't met, and they STILL said I have this light that shines bright, and they are so excited to have me on the team. I got to do a yoga pose with my papaw. I got to have a conversation with my mother that was 10 years overdue. I have been exposed to the show Big Brother…and I still don't get it LOL! But I get to spend time with Zachary figuring it out. I got to listen to new music with my aunt.I got to learn that my uncle is still working 48 hours a day. My sister Jess was even there in spirit. I felt her when all 11 of us were sitting on the porch…she was there. She was there clapping her hands, she was there when we lifted the lanterns too. She’s always here. We miss you Jess. I could go on and on and on…. I'm so glad to be home. It really is the little things in life that mean so much, and I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out.

I think the crying will eventually stop. Crying from being so damn happy when the things I've envisioned happening for years…have finally happened. Moving back to Ohio was the best decision I've made in a very long time. Chunk and Chee are happier too. They have new sights, sniffs, and sounds to explore. My cats saved me too. I wish they knew how much. I think they do. Animals are incredible creatures.

So, here's to this week- I start my new career. I'm a hospice massage therapist. I have 14 patients, and 148 residents to watch over with an incredible team. I can't tell you readers enough how incredibly lucky I am to have found this career. This career found me. Jess showed it to me actually. She grew up with nurses and aides in our home her entire life…she had a hospice massage therapist. This was before I even knew a hospice massage therapist was a thing. Thank you sister, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You taught me how to love again, how to put others before myself, how to give without expecting something back, how to treasure all the precious moments life has to offer someone, how to keep moving even when I can't move, and how to trust the right people. My sister is with me during every client I have…and will continue to be the reason I do what I do everyday moving forward. I love you past the end of the earth. Thank you. Thank you a million times. I love you.

Ohio. Here we go, my old friend. “My emotions need to be as educated as my intellect. It's important to know how to feel, how to respond, and how to let life in so it can touch you.”- Victoria Bloom.

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nympio · 1 year

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as the time rolls closer to the impactful day, i become more depressed, more anxious. it’s always able to sneak up on me, like after all this time it would think i would forget. after finishing my script, i find myself wondering if ana-marie chooses to live. even as the author, i don’t know myself, because if i were in her position, i would most certainly head to the afterlife, if there is any. i’d like to think that she chooses to live and maybe finds her peace one day. afterall, we are one in the same. that’s the thing about writing, authors have to tell on themselves sometimes. the dates are coming closer and i feel it in my psyche. it’s so interesting to me how numbers on a calendar can send a pang of fear through my chest, that a name can turn my mouth dry in seconds, that certain smells and tastes make me want to scream. i suppose that’s the purpose of it all, trauma, the big capital t. when you look at things, like the date for example, all that’s there is a clump of numbers mashed together with the current year. it’s strange, days can repeat themselves but only in the scale of numbers. because as much as my fear tells me that that date and event can happen again, the year is the one that reminds me that it can’t.

but the year also hurts me, because it reminds me of how long ago something was, and how present it still is in my life. it is a painful reminder of m inability to move on like other people do. it tells me, “hey, hey you! you’re still fucked up. anyone else would have dated more people, made more, friends, made more money, done something different. but you didn’t, and now it’s all those years later, and this date still shakes you. you probably need some help.” yeah, i know i do. but i’ve gotten the help, i’ve gotten the meds, i’ve gotten the yoga, the mindfulness, the meditation, the fucking this and fucking that. i’ve gotten it all. i still feel this. i still am covered in it. then i feel like her, like i’m at the end of my own screenplay. do i walk to return to the world where i came from? or do i leap into the pond of after life and enjoy myself there? ending all my therapies is probably a wrong choice, it’s probably very foolish of me to do that, as they have been in the leading force to not end my life. but i find myself impossibly more closed off, and untrusting, even though i have worked with these two therapists for over a year. i

i just look at them, and i can’t speak. it’s like my throat closes up, like i’m allergic to speaking. my brain is screaming at me to not trust them so loud, and eventually, i’ve stopped. i can’t remember the last time i was honest, when i really spoke the truth. instead i make them laugh, or entertain them with funny stories that seem relevant, but really just enforce the whole process for them. and by the end of the session, much to my despair, they finally lock in and find what i am hiding. but lucky for me they won’t remember it next week, and therapy is simply just a paid service. the world keeps on turning, and i am nothing but a case file in a google spreadsheet. i have to remind myself of that. or else, i get lost, thinking they might actually care for me.

if i am quiet enough, i can hear her footsteps on the soft grass. but i never know which way she is going.

fine ~ thursday june 1st, 2023 9:52 pm

#losing progress #does it matter?#im only getting worse #lies

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shxxtingstarss · 1 year

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therapy no. 49

I really liked today's therapy session, but now, a few hours later, I am really tired and exhausted. Ok, I also had an appointment with my new (psychiatric) nurses that come to my home, which was 1.5 hours as well, so of course I am exhausted and tired af.

But therapy was really good, it was the third session after me being back from the hospital stay and I am so glad to have my therapist here. I am so lucky to have found this therapist almost two years ago, I don't know where I would be without him now. I mean I probably would've found some other therapist and maybe they would've been good or at least ok too, but not as good as this one.

We talked about a lot of stuff today, first we started with talking about my panic attack that I had when arriving at his office (but already had it on my way there) and about my high anxiety today and why it was this bad (had a rough night and woke up about ten times, was really scared of the appointment with the psychiatric nurses because I didn't know either of those two and they were coming to my home which isn't easy for me either (having to talk to complete strangers about my problems in day-to-day-life with ptsd, bpd etc in my own kitchen is kind of hard for me, letting them in is scary enough, I kind of have a hard time trusting people and it's extra difficult in vulnerable places like my own home)). After talking for a while he asked me how my tension was now (because when I sat down in my chair I took a hot chili candy to reduce my tension/stress) and it was a lot better already.

We then proceeded to talk about how I misinterpreted something he said in our session last week and used it to humiliate myself and to question my perception of my traumatic past (in a bad way). I told him what it was he said and what I interpreted into it. He then rephrased or rather specified what he said so it would be clearer how he meant it - and what did my stupid brain do? Instantly used it to humiliate myself again because "stupid me was fishing for validation and manipulated my therapist into telling me how bad my traumatic past was". At least it only took me a few seconds to understand what my brain was doing there, but it was still kinda overwhelming and I told my therapist what was going on. We both instantly started laughing and he said "so it really doesn't matter what I am saying, it will happen again and again" and I had to agree, even though I was kinda sad about it because I really appreciated that he carefully rephrased what he said.

To fill in the wording I was talking about with my therapist: last time when we talked about the stage of processing trauma he said something like "well yes, in other words we will look very closely at your (past) relationships again" - my brain took that as a "your trauma is just minor imbalances in your past relationships with your family etc and it's not as big as you make it" but what my therapist meant to do by using the term 'relationship' was finding a headline for everything that went on in my past without having to go into detail because we were at the end of a session - especially the relationship to my mother and my father that was characterized by a lot of extreme violence and abuse. So today my therapist emphasised that he thinks quite the opposite from what my brain wants me to believe: that from what he's heard so far, he is pretty sure that it was pretty extreme and really destructive violence, especially with my mother, but from what he can tell "my father wasn't very helpful either". I think he said a bit more than that, but I didn't listen for very long because in that moment my brain was pretty much screaming at me. As I wrote a few lines before, I told my therapist about what was going on inside of my head when he rephrased it and validated my past experiences, so we then talked about why my brain did that to me. Of course that led to talking about my mother a bit, but we already dove deep into detail on that topic multiple times before, so we kept it rather short and it was more of a summary that we did together of how and why I am reacting and thinking that way - because my mother made me think that way and also because my young brain as a kid did that in order to keep the relationship to my mother alive - that is quite typical for victims of parental abuse, because you as a child are in need of the parental "care" you and your brain try everything to keep up that relationship, so you rather think everything is your fault and you are wrong and you just have to "try a bit harder" and your mother/father are always right, they "must be right" because they are your mother/father. Your brain isn't capable of thinking any other way, it does so you can somehow survive. So all of this in my head is what is left of that mechanisms that kept me alive in the past - but nowadays they just make my life a lot harder, so that is why I am working on getting more distance to these inner beliefs and on getting them a bit more quiet.

Somehow we managed to also talk about me feeling like I can't be 100% vulnerable in therapy at the moment (for multiple reasons, one being afraid of my therapist feeling overwhelmed by me/my emotions, afraid of being "too much" but also afraid of making myself this vulnerable sometimes), and also my interest in clinical psychology and psychotherapy but simultaneously me being scared of not being able to separate my own problems etc from the problems of my maybe-future-patients, fear of getting too close to their problems etc. But as I already talked about it with my therapist in the clinic, my therapist also said that it can be a great resource if you have looked closely at your own topics and worked with them a lot already, so you have your experience with these kind of problems and can maybe use it to help others. And because it's not really important where I want to work in the future, I have to resolve my problems either way, I prefer to look at it in that positive way now. I am really looking forward to studying psychology!!! I really hope it will work to get a place at a university close by by passing the test in may.

#trauma healing #therapy #traumatherapy #psychotherapy #psychology #ptsd #bpd #mdd #psychiatric clinic #childhood trauma #extreme violence

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precious-little-kitty · 1 year

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Things to talk about with therapist.

1. How I would often hear my grandpa and grandma fight, then after that I would often and still hear my grandma and mom fight. Sometimes it was really bad with tons of screaming, sometimes would get physical, dog bit nana during a fight at one point, I would sometimes slump against the door and listen or would record it, I remember they fought a longtime ago back when we lived with nana and it was bad enough for me to leave the trailer even though it was nighttime. It doesn’t matter to me what the fights about, it’s the fact that I have to witness it either way or am sometimes dragged into it.

2. Mom tells me to do something against or stop nana from doing something, like take something from her or anything like that, despite her probably knowing I view nana as an authority figure and both physically/emotionally cannot bring myself to do so in anyway.

3. Play clip of mom screaming at me and nana, explain how she yelled at me for some stuff too, like how I didn’t finish the dishes and instead went and sat down even though I tried to explain Nana literally blocked me from doing them and insisted I went and sat down and that I have no authority over her so I literally couldn’t go make her sit down and watch tv like she was supposed to, that she slammed a pan into the other stuff in sink and screamed at me, told me I was lucky she didn’t throw it at my face, and that she didn’t care it was child abuse after I said that it would be, and that she told nana she was keeping herself from punching me, and she yelled at me a little to move into the kitchen but I had to explain to her multiple times I was literally too scared to move and physically couldn’t do so until she left. Whole thing lasted roughly 19 minutes of her screaming at both me and nana. Nana apologized for getting me in trouble.

4. How I physically cannot handle her touching my phase and how it bothers me with the teeth gel thing all the her touching my face and my lips and how I can barely fucking handle it and I have to hold myself back from reacting suddenly and freaking out, and that the entire time it’s so bad I can only think about reacting violently and just punching her face in each time she touches my face even the slightest bit, and that if her finger touches the inside of my mouth at all I feel and envision myself vomiting immediately.

5. Ask if I could have ptsd from killing Sebastian.

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neveryourbbgirl · 2 years

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Hey, I recently got diagnosed with bpd my therapist says quiet subtype.

I am really upset over it because I feel like nobody is ever going to love me now

I feel ashamed

I feel so upset that I cannot just be normal. That something as small as not getting a text back fast enough can make me split on someone and assume that they are using me or a liar and a cheater.

I’m really struggling with it.

how did you manage to get into such a good healthy relationship without it ruining everything? I start pushing people away and I feel so sad suddenly out of nowhere by the smallest thing. I always knew I was not like other people and I felt things so intensely from the start but now I feel like…. Like there isn’t hope for me. Who can handle this shit?! Ya know? And it seems everywhere I turn people think BPD means no empathy and just a monster but that isn’t me.

idk I guess I’m asking what helped you and how long did it take for things to get better. A long time ago I think you mentioned having it so that’s why I ask. You seem so cool and like you’ve got your life in order and it feels so impossible for me idk where to start to get better.

First of all, BPD is a bitch and I’m so sorry that you are having to deal with it as well. I was diagnosed at 19 so I’ve been doing this for like 11 years now.

And as much as I seem like I have it together, I don’t. Thankfully I found a kind and considerate partner who understands what I lack and helps me be better. I’m able to come to him and tell him when I’m needing more reassurance, even tho I know he’d never do anything to hurt me. I have ruined a lot of relationships with my flip outs, and I got sick of it. I have taken all the shit that made my last relationships not work (on my end) and not done that with him. I don’t lose my mind and scream at him, I don’t accuse him of cheating all the time, I don’t do stuff to get back at him, etc; all things BPD used to convince me were okay because “they started it.” I think about every action I take and what’s gonna happen in the long run because of it. With the right stability and support, it’s so much easier to manage. I still have my slip ups, but I’ve also learned to take ownership of them and apologize then actively work at correcting the behaviors in the future.

Seeing the way people behave to BPD is a huge trigger to me. The second I say I have it, everyone has their mind made up on how I am. I know multiple people who have it and refuse to correct their shit because that’s just how they are. It makes us all look bad. Seeing things not in black and white is just harder for us, we struggle to see the grey, but it’s not impossible. CBT therapy really helped a lot. I also read so much about it. I avoid the writings about how hard it is to be with someone with BPD because that really tends to vilify us, and it’s unfair. Those of us wanting to be better aren’t the same as the people who have just accepted the disorder.

My biggest recommendation is being in the best place you can be before starting a relationship, talking to your partner about your biggest insecurities and issues, and having them do research to understand your brain as well. I can say that Chase reading about BPD and knowing the way it works has really saved us so much, he understands what I need and it allows me to understand what he needs. Also the most important relationship tip will always be healthy communication. Idk, I got lucky with Chase. I’ve never had someone like him before, someone who is willing to put in the effort. And that’s the biggest reason I can make it work and seem like I have my shit together.

If you wanna talk more, you can message me not on anon and I can try to send you some resources that have helped me.

Most importantly, just for you; you are not a monster, your brain is just wired differently. 😘

#anon

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betweenbeatriceandbaudelaire · 3 years

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I mean Ichihime always breaks my heart but this ? This particularly just hits different.

I mean this situation was created because this happened :

If anyone know where i can find better quality scan please tell me this can go on no longer

I mean Ichigo was just like 16 at the time and he made this promise and he took it TO HEART. He took it so seriously he literally died protecting Orihime. And when he was dead and his hollow took over, this will to protect her was the only human thing left about him *screams into a pillow*

It just breaks my heart how serious Ichigo was when he made this promise, how he poured his soul into that vow. It breaks my heart knowing that making this promise was the only thing that got him back on his feet after his depressive episode following the Yammy fight where Orihime got hurt.

He could not stand the thought of her being hurt (and his other friends too but the narrative and ichigo focused on Orihime so why should I do differently ? ).

It broke him so much that making a promise to get stronger and to definitely protect her next time was the only thing that could bring him back to his true self.

And he got stronger and he tried SO DAMN hard during the Hueco Mundo arc, the Grimmjow fight,the Nnoitorra fight, the Ulquiorra fight.

He gave his all to keep this promise, every single ounce of strength left in him he used. He pushed far past his limits in order to protect her and in the end IT STILL WASN’T ENOUGH * screams into the pillow harder*.

And when he died, when all of his strength and all of his will wasn’t enough to protect her, when he lost himself into his hollow form, his desire to protect Orihime REMAINED.

Like an echo of who he was, his promise to protect her were the only words uttered by his hollow form. It means that just before dying Ichigo must have repeated it to himself like a mantra in order to keep fighting, to keep protecting her.

And it just breaks my heart. How earnest and true and sincere he was when making this promise.

He vowed to her and to himself that he would get stronger so that she wouldn’t get hurt anymore. And he believed he would. He believed that against all monsters and against all evil he would be strong enough to protect her just because HE WANTED to protect her so much. He believed that the strength given to him by Rukia (his shinigami powers) would prevent him from losing someone he loves like he lost his mother.

But ultimately it all went down in the first panel of this post. Ichigo dead and his will to protect her surviving still.

It breaks my heart how Ichigo disregarded his own safety and his own well-being and allowed himself to be so physically hurt that it all came to this.

It breaks my heart that the very thought of not being able to protect Orihime, not to keep the vow he made was so infinitely painful to him that he allowed himself to go through all sufferings, mental and physical.

I don’t know how to finish this, I just want to give 16 year old Ichigo a hug and a therapist.

Maybe I can finish on this :

That when he made that vow to Orihime, she, just like he did, did not spare a single thought for herself like “How lucky I am to have someone to protect me” or “If he says that, that means he cares about me”. Not for one second did those thoughts cross her head. She was just so relieved that Ichigo found his footing again. That he was back to his old self.

It makes me happy that Orihime cared about Ichigo just as much as he cared about her and that she made a vow of herself to protect him and take care of him as well.

It makes me so happy that in the end they found each other and were able to live a happy life together. Healing together of all the traumas and hardships of their childhood and teenage years.

Ichihime really rules y’all.

#ichihime #ichigo #orihime #bleach #meta #jess speaks

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hangovercurse · 3 years

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I’d Drop it All for You

Pictures of you and Pete are spread all over the internet, causing a whirlwind of hate to enter your social media.

Request: “Pete content please! anything !!! smut fluff whatever”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, depictions of depression and anxiety

A/N: *Insert normal spiel about respecting A.G. and only using her for plot purposes. No harm intended.* Also I wrote most of this after a meeting with my therapist so... enjoy :) (He’s so cute in this gif I wanna kiss his face)

Word Count: 1820

You weren’t one of those people who loved being the center of attention. You knew that being in the spotlight also meant constantly living under a microscope, and you decided a long time ago that that was not for you.

But you were lucky enough to work as an assistant art director at just 24. You were hoping that The King of Staten Island, your newest project, would help get your name out into the professional world. But that wasn’t the only thing to come out of the film.

It happened unexpectedly, you showed up on set the first day, ready to do whatever the art director required of you. You couldn’t help but be slightly distracted by the lead actor and writer, Pete Davidson. He was so kind and funny, and he wasn’t uptight like everyone else.

After a few hours of filming, he came up to you, introducing himself. He said he “wanted to get to know everyone working on the project,” but you didn’t see him introducing himself to anyone else. You two started talking during breaks. Then he started sitting with you at lunch. Then he was asking for your number.

In a matter of weeks he was asking you out to dinner, taking you to a cozy restaurant that you absolutely adored. He walked you home, his hand grazing yours until you intertwined your fingers.

It was all very romantic, so when Pete asked if he could take you on another, you obviously said yes. Flash forward two weeks and he finally got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, even though you were both exclusively seeing each other already.

After filming ended 2 months later, you were still working on the film in post, which meant you had an excuse to stay in Staten Island with Pete. After about 2 weeks in post, you spent more nights in his bed than your hotel’s.

Nearly 6 months later and you were happier than ever. You were splitting your time between your small apartment in the Bronx and Pete’s basement apartment. Pete introduced you to most of his friends, and you introduced him to yours.

But other than your small circles of friends, you kept your relationship fairly quiet. Pete doesn’t have social media and yours is strictly professional, so there are no pictures of you two together. You weren’t hiding each other, you loved each other, you just had no reason to tell tabloids. And you were perfectly happy with that.

Which made it so much worse when various news sites had pictures of you two holding hands. Had they been anyone else you would’ve thought they were cute, walking along the South Beach oceanside at night.

Pete had been in the SNL studio all day when the pictures were released, while you were in his apartment, trying your best to focus on the photoset in front of you. The production team wanted the film to scream “teen romance,” which basically entails subtle pink undertones and a higher saturation. But you couldn’t quite get the coloring right, probably because you weren’t actually focusing on the colors.

You sighed, looking at the time and realizing that Pete won’t be back until sometime after 2am, which was a whole 5 hours away. You let out a huff, pushing away from the desk and making your way to Pete’s closet and searching for one of his hoodies. They always smelled like him (and weed), so it was a comfort to you.

You crashed onto the bed, finding the phone that you had tossed there a few hours earlier. Turning it on you were surprised by the number of notifications you were getting. You knew the photos had surfaced but you weren’t expecting this.

Your Instagram was blowing up with new follows, likes, and comments. It was kind of exciting at first until you started reading some of the comments.

I mean, we knew he would downgrade from Ari, but this is like… really far down.

This girl really thinks she’s special just bc Pete’s dating her. Hun he could do so much better

Who is she?!? Literally no one.

Someone needs to show her how to dress

That hairstyle is not it honey

Pete Davidson is dating YOU??? He could do sooo much better

Ari was prettier sorry not sorry

The entire comment section on your last post, a picture of you on the set of your latest film, was pretty much the same. There were some nice comments, but a lot of mean ones.

And you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop looking at them. It felt so cliché, but it was like all of your deepest insecurities about being with Pete were thrown out on the table.

You knew that Pete had a fairly large following, and that a lot of people had really strong feelings about him. You had expected that if and when your relationship went public you would have a lot of people watching you, scrutinizing you. But you didn’t care because Pete was worth it.

Now you weren’t so sure. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle people talking bad about you, because you definitely could, even if it hurt. You just weren’t expecting the amount of people comparing you to Ariana or saying that Pete could do so much better.

And it only bothered you so much because you felt it too. Your inner demons loved to remind you that Pete had dated Ariana fucking Grande and now he’s dating you. Anyone could see an obvious downgrade.

You turned your phone off and threw it on the opposite side of the bed, trying to think positive thoughts. “I am in control of my own thoughts and emotions. I am catching my negative thoughts and fixing them.” You murmured your therapist’s mantra to yourself, but it was too late. The thoughts had already taken hold of your mind.

Your eyes started to water as you could feel the heavy feeling in your chest set in. You pulled the hood over your head, pulling the straps to hide as much of your face as possible, and pulling your knees to your chest. You laid like that for a while, tears falling as doubts ran through your head. Once you had effectively exhausted your thoughts, you went numb. Your tears had stopped, but you couldn’t move. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it sure wasn’t pleasurable.

There was a sort of buzzing throughout your body, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep, but everywhere. It seemed to block out your sound, as you didn’t hear the basement door open. You only knew that Pete was home when he sat beside you on the bed, pulling the hood off your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He smiled at you. You tried your best to fake one back, but you honestly couldn’t find the energy. Pete pulled you so you were sitting up, back pressed against his front. His arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “What’s goin on?” He murmured against your skin.

“Did you see them?” You asked, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Pete let out a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them.” He paused, his hold on you getting tighter, like he was making sure you couldn’t leave. “I’m sorry baby. I know you didn’t want it to be a whole big thing.”

You turned your head to face him, “It’s not that. I really don’t mind that people know. We weren’t trying to hide anything.”

He smiled, “Yeah, I know I just- it was nice having this to ourselves.”

He wanted to hide you. He’s embarrassed of you.

Your inner dialogue never seemed to shut up.

You turned away from Pete, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah.” You whispered.

“What’s wrong, you’re still upset.” He rocked you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. You shrugged in response, not trusting yourself to talk. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You nodded, leaning further into Pete’s chest. “People found my Instagram.” You murmured, looking down and tracing the arrow tattoo on his hand.

“Whaddya mean? I thought it was public?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, it is. But after all the articles people started following me and shit.”

“I would ask how that’s a problem but I deleted my Instagram so I can’t really talk.” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t seem to get out of your haze.

You shook your head, deciding to drop the matter. “It’s not, I’m just being overdramatic.” You sighed, putting on a fake smile and facing him fully. “Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

He gave you the I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look, which made you look down. “Something’s bothering you, Y/N. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t because you think your feelings aren’t valid, but they are.” He tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes that were still trained on the bedsheets below you.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“Rehab part 2” he smiled, hand coming to your jaw to tilt your head up. “C’mon, talk to me. I wanna help.”

You huffed, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where your phone laid. You opened it, finding your Instagram, and showing him the comments. His eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the comments. When he decided he’d had enough he put your phone down, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto his lap so you were essentially straddling him.

He leaned his forehead against your own, your noses touching. “That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?”

You looked down, biting your lip. “Y/N you’re the most amazing, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, okay? I’m in love with you, not anyone else.” Pete’s eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just hard to be with you and not compare myself to her. And then all these people started to do it too, and they kept saying that you could do so much better and you can. So, I dunno I guess I just kind of spiraled.”

Pete captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss. “Y/N. There is literally no better than you. I can’t do better because you are the best woman I have ever loved. “

You pulled Pete in for another kiss. “Thank you, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you too. If this happens again, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’d drop it all for you.” You smiled, sitting in the arms of the guy you loved. The thoughts didn’t just magically go away, but for a brief moment in time, you were happy.

#pete davidson #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson angst #pete davidson fluff

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years

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Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there...

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One)

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming. It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good. He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body. He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him. He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away. He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.

And then his alarm goes off.

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock. He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex. Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college? But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off. He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage. They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things. And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly. The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age. Maybe he should call a doctor. He laughs to himself. Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom. In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes. Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket. Two seconds, it takes. Is that really so hard?

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again. It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more. Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed. His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower. It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in. Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky. He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it. Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him. Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart. He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life. Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down. But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own. Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand. The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him. He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed. He’s been too pent up lately. Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers). Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time. But those have faded away over the past year or so. Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs. “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite. A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor. Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says. Maybe it’s not. It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable. His husband is home -- he should be happy. Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch. They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people. “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight. But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent. He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says. “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks. Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table. Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag. “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face. He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though. “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips. “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer. Shouldn’t be more than a week.”

“Ah.”

Sean taps his fingers on the table. Blaine sips from his water bottle. There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.

“Great,” Blaine says. “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him. He feels like they should talk about something. What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out? Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went. Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it. Nothing really feels like a good conversation.

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers. “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk. “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”

Blaine laughs into his water. “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement. “Shame I missed that show. If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug. “I’ve got some errands to run. Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”

“We’ll see,” Sean says. “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight. There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine. It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him. He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo. He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve. He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class. But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.

He finishes off the sandwich without a word. It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat. He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope. “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”

Blaine takes it with interest. He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni. But something from McKinley? That just seems weird. It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion. He has no idea what it could possibly be.

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it. “My old glee club teacher is retiring. He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate. Cute.”

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying. “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing. That is, unless you’d like me to go.”

Blaine stares hard at the paper. It’s not like he couldn’t go. He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend. In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem. “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,” Sean says. “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers. Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air. There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while. Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up. The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race. The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes. “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again. Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park. Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip. Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives. She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly. Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much. Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs. Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries. She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news. “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back. The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.

Santana nods. “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct. Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down. With no bra. She had on no bra. I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases. They begin to walk down their usual path. They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues. Blaine arches an eyebrow at her. “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted. Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me. I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her. And play with her tits. I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman. “Or, you know, find out her name.”

Santana looks at him sharply. He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions. “Her name is Liz. I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly. “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you. You’re trailing me by nearly a foot. Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it. He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day. “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.” He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.

She gives him a concerned look. “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits. They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park. “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking. “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning. I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks. They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them. “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated. “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that. She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park. But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing. She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns. “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp. “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy. And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy. He loves his job. He loves his little apartment. He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world. He and Sean are… “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?” He begins to walk again. He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana. But she rolls with it.

“He’s retiring? Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh. “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says. “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail. Who sends invitations through the mail these days? Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks. He’s been back and forth on the idea all day. Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again? Possibly? Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely. Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over. “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations. Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there. Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college. He does remember Funny Girl. “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air. “You keep in touch with everyone, right? Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk. “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .” Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school. At least on a regular basis. For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says. She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce. It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head. “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly. Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says. “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own. He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues. “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds. “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life. She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio. Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina. “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons. What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to. Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut. You know she’s already taken a new lover ? She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies. I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers. Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor. Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again. Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend. He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods. They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children. Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world. “Goddess among women. We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.” Santana laughs at her own comments. “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively. He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away. “No,” she says simply. “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.” A fond smile climbs on her lips. “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back. I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent. And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.” She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects. For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart. Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students. And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation. Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs. “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened. But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt. (God, he remembers all of Kurt.) He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt. There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel. A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction. And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.

And yet he did.

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like. Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now. But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name. Funny how things can change. Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it. The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that. Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise. “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something. But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile. He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there. He hasn’t thought about him so long. But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way. “I think we should do it. Go back. I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head. “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other. Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom. They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping. She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties. They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs. The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night. He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow. But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport. Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him. Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday. He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there. He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same. The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points. Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school. It’s a bit surreal.

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar. Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake. He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket. He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm. He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance. God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice. Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic #it's the older klaine reunion fic!#i'm loving writing this one

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