#sometimes i relive moments of fear. of discomfort. of anger.

[farlooms]

anyways. life is as good as its ever been (low bar though tbf) and im beginning to reach a stage where i dont care abt what the people who've hurt me think abt me anymore. esp my stepmom. its very strange and not a feeling ive had very often but i think i could get used to it. i feel oddly Okay lately.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

We Are (Part 3)

What’s this? Another We Are piece? Wowza. Well, this was written before the update where Host laid out the truth, but it still worked out exactly as I thought it would. This idea about Legion has been plaguing my mind for a long time, and the new Box story gave me the final push to write it out. I’ll say this up front, trigger warning for negative self-image and some damaging thoughts. This is a story about Legion not seeing themselves  in the best light anymore, and I’ve always wondered how our own thoughts about ourselves would effect this kid.

And wouldn’t you feel terrible about everything that’s happened?

…—…

We are shattered.

We chose to ignore it at first. Dismissed it as our vision tricking us after the terror of being the audience again, of being forced to relive the timelines all at once. Our still freshly scared mind trying to cope with this latest bout of insanity.

The cracks were minor things are first, hairline fractures nearby our heart, faint lines rising up for our throat. We noticed it one day as we changed out of a drenched maroon sweater to a softer blue one with little moons stitched throughout it. Just before we pulled it on, we saw them. Those faint little lines, barely noticeable unless someone were very attentive to the little details. We are. We Always Are.

We stare intensely, poking ourselves in the spot. No raised skin or a change of texture. Just the little lines, a white that may be glowing but could just be dismissed as a trick of the light. We blink rapidly, and then the lines are gone. Our skin is unmarred again, a constantly switching series of skin tones and shapes, scars coming and going that we know are supposed to be here. Not like those white lines. Not like what our imagination was showing us. 

We are fine.

We are not broken.

We are fine.

…

By the next week, the cracks have spread and thickened. In the back of our minds, we see the mask, the bolts of lightning and the cracks brought by anger and consumption. They’ve gotten thicker from where they started, stretching out like vines, beginning their trek up to our throat, traveling at a steady pace across our torso and upper arms, and sledding down to our stomach. 

It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The cracks would appear and disappear at random, like illusions in the corner of your vision. Just like he did. Another reason to fear what was appearing all over us. To begin feeling the beasts clawing against our insides. We would look at ourselves and feel disgusted. Discomfort at the marks of our failures, at the story that we couldn’t help solve. We were ashamed. Even though we tried to tell ourselves that it was fine. That it was our guilt playing with us. We didn’t suspect the Actor. We didn’t dare to. To think about him would only give him what he wanted.

Still, we wore longer clothing. The sweaters became turtlenecks. Scarfs and ascots went unquestioned. Our fashion sense was already pretty strange, what were a few more additions? If anyone asked why we wore long sleeves under our t-shirts, we would say that it was cold. We began lightening our blanket bundles to compensate.  Sometimes the marks are there, other times they are not. When they aren’t there, we feel lighter. When they are there, our joy begins dwindling.

It’s not like there’s a terrible lot of things keeping us afloat lately.

We are fine.

We are not ugly or disgusting.

We are not broken.

We Are Not Scared.

We Are Fine.

…

Day 13. An unlucky number for most, especially unlucky for us.

The cracks became permanent and visible on day nine, and we waited for the questions to arrive.

We were a bit surprised that Host and Phantom hadn’t commented on anything yet. Or that any magic-user had failed to inform us that we were wearing our imperfections and flaws on our skin. We pulled on a sweater without a long neck for once. No scarf to hide the cracks that raced up our neck and grasped at our chin. The thick lines glowing white and refusing to be hidden away again. Our hands were decorated with them, tracking in zig-zagging patterns along the front and back. Our wrists were a disaster, and some of us shuddered to look at them. They looked like cutting marks. Our legs were hidden by our pants, our feet by comfy socks. Better than to look at every mistake, every breaking point.

We stepped out, waiting for the inevitable gasps and questions.

They never came.

Nothing from Mare, expect a question of if we were okay. We were rather pale, do you need some more rest? We had said we were fine, the words felt hollow. He knew the words were hollow.

We took a nap on the couch in the living room of the bar. Even though we were wrapped up tight in the arms of our big brother, we couldn’t stop staring. We could not tear our minds away from our truths, from our blunders, from the badges of failure we wore.

We are hideous.

The Host said nothing, even as we had a civil conversation. He wanted to take it slow, we respected that. Even if our body showed us what came of trying to be his friend. His child  All the pain we had caused him, stemming from us.

Phantom said nothing, but he wasn’t saying much these days. Since Mad had gone, it had been very hard on him. He didn’t notice much of anything.

Yancy gave us a look one day, and for a moment something sparked in our chest. Maybe he saw? But then he shook his head in dismissal and walked off, and we lost some more resolve.

We are terrible.

We are fine.

By day 13 the cracks were thicker than pencils from where they stemmed at our beating heart. We had long accepted that this was in our heads. That it was our own magic coming to tell us the truth, to hide it from the others so that they didn’t waste their energy and time on pitying or helping us.

We messed up. We couldn’t help when they needed it. All we did was screw up.

We had been refracted so many times when that box was still there. We had done wonderful things. We had done deeds that made the Actor seem meek and gentle. We had been shattered, and the mirror of our soul spilled out nothing but the truth. The filters of denial had gone.

And even if Wiggles had taken the box back, even if he had said that it was fine and we were back to normal, we didn’t believe him. Why would we? The cracks on our body didn’t lie. Our errors were irreversible. We couldn’t ignore them anymore. We had to stop turning away from the truth.

The Actor wanted us, and in trying to achieve that goal he continued to hurt everyone we cared about. And we are a coward because we are too scared to face him.

The cracks don’t lie. And neither does our vision.

And if this is the Actor’s doing? And if this is all in our head? If we’re going mad?

We are deserving of it.

We Are Disfigured.

We Are Broken.

We Are A Danger.

We Are Shattered.

We… Are… Fine…

Submitted by: @englishbreakfastandquills

OOF

[somniatcr]

dimitri & ptsd and suvivor’s guilt

as mentioned in a previous post, i genuinely could not stand the way that dimitri’s ptsd  ( and mental illness in general )  was handled in canon. so below the cut i’ll be talking about how all of this will be handled here on this blog, more or less broken down symptom by symptom.

prior to the timeskip, dimitri suffered from both ptsd and survivor’s guilt, which do have overlapping symptoms, though his symptoms were seemingly more manageable as most people never caught on to such and they didn’t largely affect his every day life. all the same, he did have recurrent unwanted and unwarranted thoughts, namely those suggesting what he could have or should have done differently, that he should have died with his family or in their place, having apologetic thoughts, seeing himself as weak and / or unworthy, and so on and so forth. he’s since had difficulty sleeping, furthermore, and has experienced frequent nightmares ever since the tragedy of duscur.

he’s also since felt something of a disconnect with others, namely his childhood friends who, like himself, have suffered immense loss and / or have experienced severe trauma or tragedy. he spends far more time in his own head, thinking about the past  ( the death, the tragedy, his family ),  about the future  ( about making his country better not only for himself, but for his friends and for his people, about being a good leader and king ),  and about everything that’s happening around him  ( about what he could do, about what he should do )  instead of actively engaging or participating. he spends more time thinking about the moment  ( past, present, or future )  than actually living in it. needless to say, this goes on to affect his relationships with his friends who ultimately may have a difficult time genuinely connecting with him on a deeper or more emotional level.

moving on--- following the timeskip, dimitri’s mental health has declined quite significantly and now has begun to affect his day to day life, thus trickling into his actions, his personality, and, in turn, affecting his relationships with others further.

he still suffers nightmares, though they’ve since grown more vivid, more real, and tend to wake him up more violently than they once did. they’re more frequent and tend to keep him up at increasingly odd hours of the night. in addition, he now experiences flashbacks that may be triggered by certain stimuli that take him back to these traumatic moments from his past. essentially, he’s re-experiencing, vividly reliving, his past traumas through nightmares and flashes in this recurrent, repetitive manner and, try though he might, he can’t seem to prevent or avoid it.

his nightmares and flashbacks also tend to elicit feelings of fear or physical or psychological pain--- he experiences chronic headaches as well as discomfort and tightness / tension along the back of his neck as well as in his shoulders and upper back. 

he’s prone to occasional irritability due to lack of sleep, headaches / body aches, and frequently feeling a bit on edge.

he’s big on repression and avoidance, oftentimes attempting to distract himself by throwing himself fully into his work or his training. 

he feels almost constant guilt, shame, and pressure. often, he finds that he feels as if he’s drowning, in a sense--- struggling to keep his head above water and maintain a sense of self, of normalcy; to keep up with his training, with his duties, with his relationships and all of it weighs so very heavily upon him. every step back, every failure, is taken so deeply to heart, so personally, and he blames himself for just about every bad thing that happens, that has happened--- for the death of his parents and glenn, for the state of his relationships  ( namely with his childhood friends ),  for dedue’s death  ( if, of course, he does die for him, which i’d like to think that maybe he doesn’t--- ).  there’s a lot of guilt, a lot of regret, eating away at his heart and at his mind and the more that builds up within, the more that it wears away at him. he also feels ashamed of, embarrassed of, his own state of mind, his own illness, namely when it translates as irritability, anger, and / or outbursts.

he does experience occasional outbursts of rage and aggression. while rare, it does happen, though primarily this occurs on the battlefield, when his emotions are already severely heightened and he happens to be triggered by sights, sounds, and / or events that take him back to certain violent or traumatic events  ( the tragedy of duscur, the various battles and deaths that have occurred during the last five years, etc ).  while he does tend to lost himself in the moment and can become dangerous  ( though significantly more so to his enemies ),  such behaviors are fleeting; they don’t last especially long and, ultimately, he does come to, snapping out of these blackouts and returning to normal relatively quickly. following these outbursts, he always experiences intense feelings of shame and / or guilt for his actions and behaviors.

he’s very hyper-vigilant and has a tendency to be on guard more often than not. as a result, he may occasionally take certain actions to make himself feel more comfortable, such as sitting or standing with his back towards or against a wall, carrying concealed weapons, or preemptively planning escape routes within his mind upon entering a room or a new building / location.

he still experiences unwanted and unwarranted thoughts, though to a more severe degree than he did prior to the timeskip.

all of this said, again, as mentioned before, what he isn’t is cruel for the sake of being so, or violent / aggressive with his friends and comrades, or violent and volatile or easily set off; he doesn’t threaten to maim or to torture or kill  ( slowly or otherwise ),  he doesn’t go out of his way to isolate himself from others, he doesn’t enjoy hurting or killing  ( he still hates it just the way that he used to ),  and he doesn’t suffer from any sort of hallucinations  ( occasional flashbacks, yes, but those are quite different ).

he’s struggling--- he struggles every day, but he is trying; he wants to be better, to do better, and though it’s hard, and though it’s painful, he’s genuinely doing his best  ( well, most of the time, anyway ).  he’s sad, and he’s angry, and he’s hurting, and he’s truly going through so much and sometimes, yes, it gets to him  ( he’s only human and he’s going to have bad days ),  but he cares about his friends, he cares about his people, and he wants to end this war; he wants to be a good king and to make his country better than it is, better than it was. he just has a lot of healing to do before he can really get there.

and maybe he’ll never be the same, maybe he’ll always be struggling, even just a little--- but he will; he will get there.

[halfmoonshine]

Potions After Hours

Summary:  After another letter received that you will be serving detention with professor Snape for no reason, you've become infuriated and it's time to tell him off. Things don't exactly go as expected.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Explicit. Teacher/student relationship. Takes place in your 7th year at Hogwarts where you’re 18, so it’s no underage stuff.

A/N: Good God I think I’ve wanted to write Snape smut since freaking high school, and actually got to doing it. Hope you enjoy this pwp/porn with some plot. Also posted on AO3.

You stared at the door of Professor Severus Snape’s classroom, wondering what had gotten you into detention this time. Over the years, you had been a relatively obedient student; you had only received detention a handful of times in all of your seven years at Hogwarts, but suddenly you had found yourself in detention with Snape for the third time in two weeks. Actually, these past two months you had been finding yourself in Snape’s office after hours cleaning, organizing, or performing some other kind of mundane task. The first two detentions were, granted, justified; sometimes you just didn’t know when to keep your mouth shut. As for the rest, however, you had received detention for arbitrary reasons and it was getting on your nerves.

You knocked on the old wood, and the door opened itself up. You let yourself in, and sitting at his desk was Snape, grading papers. Without even a glance up at you, he spoke:

“You are to clean the cauldrons and take inventory of as many potion ingredients on the shelves for two hours.” He said this with a domineering tone.

“Before I begin, Professor, I would like to know why I’m serving detention?” you asked.

Snape looked up from a paper that was redder than parchment colored. He set down his quill. “So, the cauldron that just so happened to explode in the face of your rival in class this morning was not you, then?”

“Please excuse me, Professor,” you replied, trying not to sound as snappy as you felt. “But their cauldron also spilled its contents on myself, as well as other students from my house, you were there. My group’s desk is right next to theirs.”

“I do not excuse you, and I don’t care. Get to work.”

“Professor Snape, this is completely unfair!” You protested. The moment your outburst was spoken, you’d wish you hadn’t said anything at all, but it was too late.

Snape removed himself from his desk, crossed the room, and stopped mere inches from your person. You found yourself cornered, backed up against one of his many potions shelves that lined the room. The glass bottles organized neatly in their place clinked together, shaking ever so slightly from your back making contact with the shelf. Snape was so close to you that you had to look almost directly above to see his face due to the fact that he towered over you.

“Most things in life aren’t fair, Miss Y/L/N. Get used to it,” Snape growled through gritted teeth.

Snape pulled his cloak behind him and returned to his desk to resume his grading. As he pulled up his chair, you hadn’t moved an inch. Your heart was pounding, and you needed a moment to yourself before getting on with the chores. Once the jitters were gone, you approached the pile of dirty cauldrons and got to work.

Neither of you spoke another word for the remainder of detention. You solemnly completed your tasks, avoided eye contact with Snape, who thankfully seemed to have decided to ignore you for the rest of the night, and returned to your dormitory without a word when the two hours were up. But even as you lay in your bed, processing tonight’s events before you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but coming back to Snape, and his cloaked body looming over you, barely giving you a means of escape. There was fear, yes; but there was another feeling just below the surface when reliving the memory, and you could not pinpoint what it was.

Confused feelings aside, you had to focus on your classes when morning arrived. You groaned upon remembering that Potions was your second class of the day, and knowing Snape, his bad attitude toward you last night would carry on into today’s class.

To your delight, however, Snape was in a mood where he felt like completely avoiding you. Good. You didn’t need to hear about how terrible your potions technique was or how sloppy you kept your workspace. Although, the one thing that unnerved you was the fact that almost every time you looked up from your potion, Snape would quickly turn his head away to evaluate one of the other students’ performances. When you returned to your work, however, you could see him looking at you again through the corner of your eye. Honestly, you started to think that you preferred his rude criticisms over his silent scrutiny. But as class progressed, that bizarre feeling you felt last night reappeared at the thought of him stealing glances at you.

When the longest, most confusing Potions class in history finally came to an end, it hit you. You stopped in the middle of a hallway on the way to your next class. The attention Snape was giving you, the emotion you felt that you couldn’t quite place...

You liked it.

“Oh god, what the hell?” you whispered to yourself.

With four minutes to spare before you had to be in Transfiguration, you turned into the nearest bathroom.

You stood in front of a sink and stared at your reflection in the mirror hung above it. You watched your lips move while you scolded yourself.

“Snape? Seriously? What is wrong with you?”

Again, just like last night, you imagined Snape towering over you in that dimly lit dungeon classroom, how close he was to you, his quiet but powerful voice instructing you to do as he say. Butterflies appeared in your stomach. You couldn’t believe it.

Of all people on planet Earth, you were crushing on Professor Severus Snape.

-

Unwarranted, puzzling feelings about Snape aside; you were furious that two days later you had received a letter from your owl stating that you were to serve detention with Snape again. You had planned on meeting up with friends in the library to study for Astronomy, but any hope of those plans happening were now a thing of the past. You’d been hoping to avoid Snape as much as possible, so your crush would disappear faster, but now you had no choice but to stand up for yourself; these detentions were completely unjustified and if continued to let Snape walk over you, he’d keep doing it.

During your free period you decided you were going to use it to confront Snape. Knowing that a Potions class with third years was about to end, you waited. The class ended and you watched the younger students file out and into the hallway. The moment the last student left, you stormed into Snape’s classroom.

“What’s this all about?” You said angrily.

“What’s what about?” Snape asked, only looking up from a book he was lazily rifling through for a fraction of a second.

If being disrespectful got you another round of detention, to hell with it. He was being even more of an ass than usual. “You know exactly what I mean. Detention again?”

“Watch it, Y/L/N. On top of detention, I may begin deducting points from your house for your attitude.”

You fumed at his arrogance. “May I at least have an explanation as to why I’m serving detention tonight?”

Snape said nothing. He shut the book in his hands and returned it to its home with the other Potions books behind his desk.

“Professor?”

No response, but you did notice his attention flickering back to you for a moment before removing a cauldron from his desk.

“Professor Snape, are you ignoring me?”

He whipped around, and with a few strides of those long legs of his he had come into your space, just like the other night. Again, he was cornering you; but this time you were caught between him and the front of a desk. Snape placed one of his hands on the flat of the desk next to you; making escape from him that more difficult.

“You are so aggravating, Miss Y/L/N. It’s intolerable.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Chills went down your spine.

“You want to know the reason why you’ve been getting detention?” Snape asked. “If you were a smart girl you’d know why.”

You were shaking. Out of fear, yes, but there it was again. Those butterflies from a few days ago were back. You scolded yourself once again for feeling this way, and yet you weren’t pushing him away.

Your eyes wandered up Snape, over to the door, then back to Snape. Nothing was right about this situation, everything in you told you to just slink away and escape out that door. But as you thought, he was still towering over you, without a muscle moved nor a word spoken. Was he… waiting? In those dark eyes you could see that he was expecting you to run for the hills. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to.

Feeling brave, feeling absolutely out of your mind, impulsive; you tentatively outstretched your arm, resting your palm against his chest. To your surprise the man did have a body underneath those tightly buttoned robes. You’d never thought about it, but despite the intimidation, cruelness, and sarcasm, Snape was a human like any other.

With your hand on his chest, you expected instant recoil, shouting, disgust, something. Instead… nothing. Your hand was on Snape’s chest and he was allowing it. Scared of what you would find, you shifted your gaze from Snape’s chest to his face. Again, you found no signs of discomfort or anger in his expression, not even a perfectly crafted sentence from his mouth to humiliate you. The two of you were deer in the headlights, neither moving nor having an inkling of what would happen next.

Remembering the hand on his chest, you fondled a button for a few moments, tracing your thumb over the slight concaved curve. You pondered what the limits here were, so you moved your hand down his chest, following the trail of buttons until you reached his stomach.

Snape was still unmoving, but you did hear a slight shudder of breath as you touched him. This teacher you have had for seven years, who always had a reaction, always had a quip in any situation had become a statue before your eyes. Something had to be said. This silence was becoming too much to bear. You raised your other hand that had been previously at your side to meet his chest. The one on his stomach still fondled the button there.

Finally, you found the words you wanted to say.

“Is this why I have been receiving detention, Professor?” You whispered.

When you had just about concluded that Snape was never going to speak, he managed to find his words as well: “I’ve been barely able to keep my eyes off you this semester.”

A hand lightly grazed your skirt. You shivered.

He opened his mouth to speak again: “Perhaps it is best you return to class before one of us does something we regret.”

Yet his fingers hadn’t removed themselves from the cloth of your skirt, nor had he backed away. Clearly, he did not mean the words of that sentence. But this waiting was killing you, and with each passing moment of Snape towering over you, cornering you, just like yesterday; it just spurred you on more. What kind of lover was a dark, brooding man like this? There was only one way to find out.

Your eyes shifted from his black ones and fixated on his lips, which were slightly parted, and so close. They were just begging to be kissed. The tension was becoming too much; and in the next moment, your lips were on his. The hand that was on your skirt took hold of your waist and Snape pulled you close. He smelled like parchment, potion ingredients, and a third scent you couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it flooded your senses.

The teacher pulled back, but hesitantly. “This is a bad idea,” he spoke in a slightly breathless whisper.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is,” pulling Snape back into you, with no protest from him. With the one hand still on your waist, he placed the other to cradle the side of your head, deepening the kiss. Not a single inch of space was allowed between your two bodies.

Snape’s lips slowly moved away from your lips and traveled down to your jaw, kissing it a few times before moving lower. You gasped when he finally reached your neck. Something about the way he moved his tongue made you squirm underneath him. You moaned when he began to suck on the skin, and just ever so gently grazing his teeth there. After another moan you could feel his lips turn upward just the faintest bit. Glad to know he was enjoying this as much as you were.

One of his hands snuck its way to the front of your shirt, clumsily unbuttoning it as he continued giving his full attention to your neck. While he did so, you realized for the first time that the front of Snape’s pants had become stiff. Damn, he was enjoying this. You palmed Snape through his trousers and a grunt escaped his throat. When he finally freed your bra from your shirt, his hands snaked up to cup your breasts. Missing the warmth on your lips, you tilted Snape’s head up to let him know you wanted him there again. Over time, the kisses became sloppier, and hungrier, and you were more frequently finding yourself out of breath. You silently wished to yourself that there was more than one Snape, because he couldn’t be everywhere, and you needed him everywhere. Your hands desperately explored the man in front of you, but always coming back to give attention to the situation in Snape’s pants. His grunts became more frequent; for a relatively silent man, he was surprisingly noisy during foreplay.

Suddenly, Snape’s arms reached underneath your ass and hoisted you up, so you were sitting on top of the desk. Your legs were spread, Snape’s groin was just inches away from your panties, which were probably pooling with desire by now. Snape lightly stroked a thumb down your clit and you jolted forward.

“I can feel your wet through your undergarments, Miss Y/L/N,” he spoke, teasing you more as he did so.

“Snape?” you said.

“Severus. Call me Severus.”

“I need you, Severus. I can barely take it.”

Severus nodded, planting a sweet kiss on your lips while tugging at the hem of your panties. You lifted your hips so he could have an easier time removing them, and in a quick second they were on the floor of the classroom, forgotten. At this point, the only thing you were wearing was your black uniform skirt.

With one hand, Snape clumsily undid his pants, and with the other he continued stroking your thighs, your clit. When his cock finally sprung free, you took hold of it, gently stroking your hand up and down the shaft. No longer needing to worry about his trousers now, Snape used his other hand and plunged a finger inside you, swiftly and easily. You let out a shuddering breath as his pointer finger moved slowly in and out of you. Snape was also having a hard time exerting control, especially as your jerking motions on his cock grew faster. His grunts of pleasure only made you more eager to know what he sounded like when he was really inside of you.

Soon enough two fingers were inside of you, and then three. This, on top of his fingers swirling your clit made you a moaning, pleading mess. You could tell Severus was close to his end too.

“Severus – oh my god,” you gasped. “Fuck me, please.”

“Never in my years as a teacher have I heard a student utter such foul language,” the man teased. “Perhaps you do deserve this detention tonight after all.”

You grasped the front of his robes. “I said please. Don’t make me beg.”

“Very well.”

And with that, Severus angled his hips, his cock jutting outward, and carefully pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh… Fuck!” you gasped.

“You’ve got quite the mouth there,” Severus noted.

Once the two of you got comfortably settled, he began to move inside you. His cock filled you up, hitting that sensitive sweet spot with every thrust. As your arousal heightened, your wetness dripped onto the desk underneath and you couldn’t help but think of the fact that you were being fucked by your teacher, and students of the next class for the day would have absolutely no idea.

His movements were slow to ensure your comfort. As you adjusted to his size, he moved his thumb over your bottom lip, gently tugging down to indicate to you to open up. You lightly licked the intruding finger and closed your mouth around it. You looked up at the man on top of you, his cock in your pussy, and your mouth around his finger, and you realized how he had total control over you right now. And, God, it felt so wrong how much you loved it.

After a moment, Severus pulled his thumb back out of your mouth, and traced a line, coated with saliva, down your neck and finally stopping at the space between your breasts. His hand hovered over your right breast, massaging it, and drawing a squeak from you as he pinched your nipple.

Becoming impatient and increasingly aroused by the second, you took the hand teasing your breasts and guided it down to your clit. Severus raised a vaguely amused eyebrow and complied, giving attention once again to the swollen mound between your legs. This, plus Severus’s cock moving inside of you turned you into a whimpering mess, and thankfully Severus was kind enough to quicken his pace; his cock almost completely disappearing inside you with his inward thrusts. Soon enough, it was becoming too much sensation for the Potions Master as well, and now he had both palms placed on the flat of the desk on either side of you to keep himself upright.

As you both approached nearer to your ends, Severus leaned down to kiss your lips, and, turning to your ear, he whispered: “You feel incredible.” In response, the only thing you could muster was a moan and your hips bucking into his. You wrapped your shaky legs around Severus’s waist to allow him to enter you at a deeper angle, causing the both of you to groan.

“Severus, I’m so fucking close,” you whined as the fire between your legs burned hotter.

He was grunting with each thrust now. That low, velvet voice of his was almost enough in and of itself to make you come.

With a few more hard, quick thrusts, he spilled into you, and you came with him. Your legs shuddered as you rode through your climax, feeling his hot cock pulsate inside you. When the two of you came down from your high, you pulled him in for one last kiss before he slid out of you.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be so rude,” Snape said as he pulled his pants back on, still a bit breathless from his climax. “But I have a class starting in ten minutes, so I will be needing you to leave soon.”

You grabbed your wand and quickly cleaned yourself up with a spell, then began to gather your clothes. “You, professor Snape, rude?” you mocked as you hooked your bra on.

“Remember, miss Y/L/N, I am still your teacher, and you still have detention tonight,” Snape replied, voice domineering again, with a finger lifting your chin. This personal space thing was definitely becoming a habit, not that you minded it…

“Yes, detention tonight. Can’t wait,” you flashed him a smirk.

Snape raised an eyebrow, which you supposed was his own version of smirking back.

“8:00 tonight, Y/L/N. Don’t be late.”

With your clothes on and hair fixed as if nothing had ever happened, you left the Potions classroom, and for the first time in your seven years at Hogwarts, you were excited to be seeing professor Snape tonight.

[charles-bee-blog]

Broken

Broken “Memoir”

​I laid here; drunk off the substance that cleans our wounds . Drowning in the the intoxicating liquid that bubbles in my stomach. Mesmerized by the familiar thoughts of those beautiful women. Reminiscing on the previous parties as if I was still there dancing; swaying to the beat . I struggled to hold my eyes up; sleepiness began to weigh them down. I fought against my exhaustion ...holding up the curtains before they ended the show. This past year ; has probably been the toughest year of my life. Scholarship that brought me to this small town; Football which kept me in this small town; Being broken which won’t let me leave this small town. I never felt so weak in my entire life; to think that one injury; could cause some much damage .

​September 11th; a date that we will remember for a lifetime. A date that I’ll remember for my lifetime. September 11th was my first initial surgery; I tore my ACL & LCL & MCL ; the procedure was to take one of my quad muscles , to repair my ACL. And the rest will heal on it’s on. To think that this was only the beginning when I thought it was close to the end.

Broken is something I never expected to be. As broken as my body was; so was my mind. The pain that I went through collided with my mind.Breaking small pieces of it until it shattered. To think that I have broken my ribs; fingers, and ankle ; and yet I have never felt a pain like this. It felt as if they were sawing my leg off from the knee down; it made me realize what pain really was. Soon the pain would earn its respect.

​My knee ached with discomfort, i took an interest in the pain, even though i hated it; i loved it. I began to think of that moment when it happened, I mirrored the offensive player as if he were my twin except I did it backwards. He gave me a move on the line freeing up his left side , based on his movements towards the right I knew where he'd end up. So I fed into his moves, i baited him as if he were the fish biting at the line when i fished. I went inside giving him the outside release.

Allowing him only two decisions. The short route which was the bait, if he released the ball it was mine; or the deeper route which i thought would be his choice. Based on the depth of his release, the deeper route was coming. Because of my speed, I lagged a bit waiting on him to make his break. Waiting for the fish to turn that innocent nibble into a bite. Impatient as usual I began to cut a bit earl; our feet got tangled and I felt my leg give out; At that moment I knew it was over.

I collapsed on the ground tripping the receiver up as well, I began to tumble as my momentum carried me. Without looking I reached for my knee feeling the pain through my body as if it my knee was on fire, I grasped my leg trying to put out those imaginary flames that seemed to burn my career into ashes, i had to fight against the pain; at least trying to reach for the rope as i began to sink deeper and deeper into the darkness. And now I stared at the ceiling, disappointed, abandoned, broken. I played that moment back in my head , over and over again, reliving the same pain , again and again and again as the moment replayed constantly.

Feeling the tears build up underneath my eyes , feeling the air leave my lungs. Regret at this moment, began to constrict me. I watched as the snake of regret slithered all around my body, wrapping me up in some sort of coil as it began to squeeze me to death. Thinking what I could of done differently, thinking if I should of lined up ? Thinking if I should of took the plays off? But for my resolution, I have to realize the truth and also accept it.

I am injured, an injury that could possible cost me my life, a injury that could leave me crippled, an injury that ill never heal from. After going through my 3rd surgery I have to start my recovery process mentally before I can heal physically. I can't blame myself but i have to I blame myself, if I knew I was the best why would I still accept challengers? Because I am a warrior , its in my blood, generation after generation from the warriors of Mali to the hunters of the Iroquois tribe, I must prove myself to countless enemies , even If I know I am better, I must prove myself. But why? Why must I prove myself if I already had?

My injury made me handicap; it left me wounded; it left me afraid. Fear to me was something I never acknowledged. It was something that couldn’t control me; it was something that was tamed; and now it has been unleashed. And with that fear consuming every part of my body, sucking the life and the courage out of me like a vampire; my strength began to diminish as well as my courage. I use to believe fear didn’t exist; I use to believe fear was something imaginary; something delusional.

The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity; Do not misunderstand me, danger is very real, but fear is a choice.Fear is a choice while danger is the reality of a certain situation which means we cannot control the level of danger in a situation, but we can choose to feel afraid or chose not to let fear limit our ability to try something new, create or dream from coming true but with practice we can overcome our fear of scary situations.​

​As the fear took a hold of my body; and began to feed. I began to lose myself; I began to question my choices; question myself ; and also question my future . I accepted the negativity ; I accepted the grief, I accepted the sympathy. Everyone is on a road of difficulties and trials. We face these trials everyday sometimes we work hard to resolve them.

On the other hand sometimes people will be afraid of the problems that come their way. We sometimes will try to escape it but it will be their eating at our lives and our minds. Until one day we decide to take action, the time we decide to mend the problem is the day we can change and rid the problem from our lives for good.

​Nonetheless if we do not bring forth courage and put forth the chance to mend our problems we might become penetrated with fear. Fear can pervade our lives and we might get stuck, never progressing forward, never solving the problem. Stuck i was; it was as if i were standing in a sand pit, slowly descending into the desert before i suffocated;

it was as if i were free climbing Mount Everest, taking each step carefully, until i grab a piece of Everest that was out of place. Before i knew it, i was free falling, feeling the air crash against my face until it was all over. Surgery after surgery, exercise after exercise , anesthesia after anesthesia, stitch after stitch, pill after pill, limp after limp.

Fear has made me weak; made my mind weak. Fear that I would be crippled for life; a fear that I would never be able to do what I love. Now this love factor; it was more than just football. It was life it self, it was hiking, it was cliff diving, it was scuba diving , it was running. I felt as if I have been caged; I felt like I have had shackles around my ankles;

I felt like that wild horse spending its first night in a stable. Fear has been here for a long time now; eating at my lifeless body like maggots on dead flesh. But I did not die; I held on with each breath like it was my last. I began to fight when there was no fight left; I began to believe when all faith seemed lost. And through my selfless courage, through my determination, through my anger I found my strength.

​I began to believe I can have a life after football; I began to believe I can live again. Imagine this; Superman; man of steel. Imagine him losing his power. Imagine him only being Clark Kent. Superman is what made Clark Kent unique. Clark Kent would just be a regular clumsy reporter. That is who I became. Someone that was powerless; Someone that is weak.

That was the food chain; a predator hunts the prey ; and I have become the prey.Refusal is a must; prey I would not be; Hunted, I will not. I began to gain my strength back. Minute after minute , Hour after hour, Day after day. I began to believe in myself again , I began to earn my courage back. Each step that i took, it began to grow stronger . Fear’s grasp over me seemed to loosen and I didn’t seem that broken anymore.

​Now that I have gained my strength back; now that I have conquered fear. Now that I have fought my way through hell; alone. I am no longer Clark Kent; but Superman. I could only reflect on my old wounds. Rubbing the scars that were left from the scalpel the doctor used. Feeling the new muscle forming around my knee. Grateful for the power that surged through my body. The power that ignited my spirit. Grateful to be able to live again; to be able to be more than just Clark Kent.

​I glanced in the future ; excited for this upcoming season; excited as my training went to another level . As my rehab became more and more relaxing and less painful. As my strength became to guide me instead of hide from me. When I only accept; and never regret. I began to see the light; I began to feel alive in the coffin I rested in. The coffin that hid me from my strength ;

From my courage . I could of gave up; I could of closed my eyes and let my life slip away. The mind ; recontructed the body. Without a strong mind ; a broken body won’t be able to recover . It won’t see through the delusion of fear. It will be consumed by it , devoured until there is nothing left. Now that I’ve gain my strength back, I feel invincible. I feel as if this was a test; this was an obstacle I had to overcome in order to be great. It was a trial I had to complete, a lesson I had to learn.

-Charles

[sairyn-noc]

A Fork in the Road

Written for @accol-fics

Harvey didn’t believe in fate. No, he believed in hard work, a strong will, and the balls to do whatever it took to win. That was all the fate he needed. But life has a way of teaching you lessons and proving to you that sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you fight, there are some battles you just can’t win. If someone would have told him that his quick decision to hire some kid off the street seven years ago to be his associate would lead him here, to this, he probably wouldn’t have believed them. Over the years, Harvey battled the various emotions that threatened to consume him when it came to Mike, but it was no use. He still found his way here- watching the man he loved say goodbye.

It wasn’t supposed to happen- not like this. Truth be told, not at all. Love was for fools who didn’t know any better. And Harvey was no fool, at least he didn’t think he was. But that was before. Now, Harvey wasn’t sure. He stared out of the window of his office having slipped out of the party easily, a tumbler in his grasp. The grey skies reflected his mood. In a few hours the city would be covered in snow, the streets empty and cold. Yes, it was a perfect day for clouds. Because soon there would be no sun, no heat, no Mike.

Finish on AO3

Harvey raised the glass to his lips and swallowed greedily, trying to force down the emotions threatening to overload his consciousness. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to go there; not to relive every smile, every laugh, every moment Mike and he spent together. But it was no use. Seven years was a long time, and yet it went by in the blink of an eye. And just like every movie Harvey loved, his mind went back in time to the beginning- the day a very young ‘Rick Sorkin’ dropped a briefcase of weed at his feet. The memory made him chuckle.

Harvey could still recall how much Mike impressed him that day. So much so Harvey did the unspeakable, he hired him. That wasn’t fate; that was just good business. And besides, it worked.

While the first year was an experiment in “what can we get away with”, the second was filled with secrets, compromises and blackmail. It also brought the first inkling that maybe there was something more than just a defiant streak that had him fighting to keep Mike at his side if defying Jessica’s order to fire Mike was any indication. Sure, he had told himself at the time it was because Mike was valuable to the firm, but looking back, he could easily see it was because of something else; something he couldn’t name that made him resist Mike leaving. Little did he know that following year would be the beginning of the end. That was the year he told Rachel the truth.

Oh sure, Harvey was supportive. Why wouldn’t he be? He had plenty of people willing to warm his bed. What did he care if Mike risked everything over Rachel? Apparently, with hindsight being 20-20, he did. How else could he explain the rage over losing Mike to become an investment banker, leaving Harvey’s side? Or better still, the relief of him coming back- where he belonged, his mind ad-libbed. But nothing was more telling than the last year.

It nearly broke Harvey to watch Mike walk through the gates of Danbury- their secret no longer hidden in the shadows. Harvey believed watching Mike get tried, convicted and sentenced to jail, was the lowest point in his life. And then, when he was released, when he was back and tangible and free, Harvey ignored the twist in his gut as he watched him run into Rachel’s arms. It was enough, he told himself; just to have him free was enough. But with each passing day, it got harder. Instead of Mike following him, it was him chasing after Mike. For all of his bluster and confidence, Harvey was a walking, talking, exposed live nerve- and Mike was the spark of electricity. He spent the last year trying to find the solution to his own personal Kobayashi Maru- his very own doomsday scenario. No matter what he did, it didn’t stop his descent into madness, and it definitely didn’t prevent this day from coming. A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I thought I would find you in here.”

Harvey looked to see Donna standing against the door jamb.

“Just needed a break.”

“Hmm, I see, she said walking into the office to stand next to him. “You know if you need company…” Her voice tapered off and Harvey heard the concern or was it fear, beneath the statement.

That was the last thing he wanted. They still hadn’t talked about that damn kiss. Nor did he want too. But apparently, the shit storm that was his life was intent on making another visit.

“Donna can we just not… do this right now?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, disappointment lacing her answer. She headed towards the door.

Shit, he thought. “Donna wait.”

She stopped, her back still to him. He watched her stiffen, bracing herself, before turning around to face him.

“I get it, Harvey,” she said firmly.

“No, you don't” he sighed.

She pegged him with her signature ‘don’t be an idiot’ look. “Yeah, I do. Don’t forget, I know you better than anyone.”

He looked away as if he could prevent her from seeing a truth he hadn’t even acknowledged yet.

“That night I kissed you, I thought that … Well, I had hoped that maybe now, now that…”

Harvey did not want to talk about this. Not. At. All. He gulped the rest of his drink down and slammed his glass on his desk. Balling his hand up into a fist, Harvey did the one thing he knew he did best; disguised his discomfort in anger.

“You thought what, Donna? That after all this time, you would just waltz in here, kiss me and we would fall into some stupid fantasy you’ve been carrying around for years?” His words were biting, and he saw her flinch more than once, but he couldn’t stop.

“What the hell were you thinking? We’ve been friends too long…”

“Yes. Harvey,” she cut in. “Friends. And for years I have watched you run away, ignore and avoid the glaringly obvious truth you seemed incapable of acknowledging. Talk about the elephant in the room! Everyone could see it, everyone except you and possibly…”

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice a controlled whisper.

“Don’t what Harvey? Speak the truth? Well, too bad,” she hissed in return.

Donna stalked closer to him, her finger pointed at his chest.

“I spent years wondering if I made the wrong decision that morning, I kicked you out of my apartment with a smile and a promise that we would never share a bed again. But I got my answer, the night I kissed you. Because even then, despite all that has happened, everything that is happening now, I could tell you were wishing you were kissing someone else.”

“Donna!”

She startled at his abrupt outburst, stopping her tirade. They stared at each other silently for a moment, before she schooled her features into a mask of indifference, then turned to walk out. She paused at the door before turning back to face him once again.  

“At least I got my answer,” she said flippantly. “…yours is downstairs, getting ready to leave to go and marry someone else.” With that parting shot, she left.

Harvey released the breath he had been holding and slumped into his chair. He would like to believe that her words didn’t affect him, but he refused to lie to himself. Not anymore and especially not tonight. Harvey was in love. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t want it, in fact, he fought it at every turn. But there was no more denying it. Harvey wanted someone.

Someone he couldn’t have.

Someone who was in love with another.

Someone who was downstairs that very moment.

Someone who was Mike Ross. And Harvey never had the balls to tell him.

But I got my answer. Donna’s words ran through his head on a loop. Harvey thought of all the moments, all the wasted opportunities to say something, anything, but didn’t.  How could he be- when up until recently, he couldn’t even admit it to himself. Him. In love. With a guy. Never saw that coming, he mused silently. That’s not to say, Harvey had never been with a man. Back at Harvard, Harvey was known for being a switch hitter. He just never saw himself entertaining the thought of settling down with another man. But here he was, wanting just that.

Too bad it’s too late, the voice, which sounded suspiciously like Donna’s, rang in his head.

Harvey got up and poured another two fingers, intending on drinking enough to drown away his traitorous thoughts and forget about the man downstairs who soon would be another memory. Sure, Mike had told them that nothing would change. But they both knew it was a lie. Everything would change. How could it not? New life, new wife, before long a family. No. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t stand by and torture himself like that on a daily basis. It was best to cut the tie now. He had his chance- and he didn’t take it. He lifted the glass once again, surprised to find it empty. Harvey was about to refill it when Mike’s voice filtered into the room.

“Harvey?”

Harvey looked up to see his office door once again occupied. Mike stood there in his crumpled suit pants, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and eyes a little too bright. Apparently, Harvey wasn’t the only one who may or may not have had a glass or two too many.

“I looked around and you were gone. What ya doing up here?”

“What do you think I’m doing. I’m working,” Harvey answered dismissively.

Of course, Mike didn’t take the cue. “Huh. Really? Cause from where I am standing it looks like you’re avoiding a very good party.”

“Then you’re standing in the wrong spot,” he tried again.

Mike walked across the threshold and grabbed a clean glass- holding it out. Defeated, Harvey poured them both a drink. Mike took a sip and sat on the couch.

“I saw Donna a little bit ago. She was leaving, kept saying something about needing her beauty sleep.”

Harvey stayed silent.

“I take it things aren’t going so well between you two.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harvey deflected.

“Really. Considering just a few weeks ago she came to me hinting around about taking a chance and needing to find answers. It seemed like you two were finally getting together.”

“Donna and I are friends,” Harvey groaned.

“Friends. I have lots of friends…” Mike began.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do and don’t interrupt. Like I was saying. I have lots of friends, but I don’t go around kissing them in my office.”

Harvey felt a warm blush creep up his neck. He had no idea that his and Donna’s little ‘tête à tête’ was witnessed by anyone. Especially not Mike.

“Well, then maybe you’re doing it wrong.”

“What? Kissing in my office or kissing my friends?” Mike smirked.

“Both,” Harvey answered, barely suppressing a sigh.

“I’ll keep that in mind for future use. But seriously, Harvey. What is going on with you? Did you guys fight?”

“Mike,” Harvey sighed. “I told you a long time ago, Donna and I had our time. But it wasn’t meant to be. I love her, I will always love her. But not like that.”

Mike took a sip and cocked his head to the side- appearing to mull Harvey’s statement over in his head.

“Meant to be? Does the great Harvey Specter believe in destiny?” he chuckled lightly.

“Harvey Specter believes in Harvey Specter.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, tell me this then, counselor. Why then did I witness the two of you making out.”

“I had no idea you were a voyeur, Mike,” Harvey countered.

The banter felt good, felt right. The ground beneath his feet for the moment was steady, despite the topic.

“Are you going to answer my question?” Mike asked, unwilling to be swayed.

Harvey looked at his once protege. Gone was the shy kid whose off-the-rack suits hung disproportionately off his once-wiry frame. No, the man before him now was confident, polished, and something he never saw coming. There was also something else- a fierce determination even more apparent at his insistence surrounding his question.

“Is this why you left your party? To come try out your interrogation skills with me? Which, I may add, are abysmal,” Harvey fake admonished.

“Hey, my skills are top notch. Louis taught me everything I needed to know.”

“Oh, Louis did, did he? No wonder you suck at it,” Harvey laughed.

“Look Mike, this is your night. Go down there and enjoy your party, enjoy your fiancée, enjoy your life. You don’t need to worry about me. Donna and I just had a misunderstanding. We will be fine. We always are.”

“Are you sending me away, Specter?”

“I could never send you away,” he breathed. If only he could.

The weight of his statement hung between them. Mikes eyes flickered briefly, and Harvey wondered if Mike could somehow read his thoughts and feelings beneath the words.

“Good,” Mike stated before rising. “Because I don’t want to go,” he added. The words were soft as if they slipped out without conscious thought.  

Mike caught Harvey’s eyes briefly and for a moment they blazed with the same heat and intensity as Donna’s had earlier. Then he was walking out of the office into the hall.

Harvey’s heart and brain waged battle in the seconds that ticked by. His brain reminded him that Mike was a taken man; while his heart screamed at him to not waste what could be his last chance.

“Mike,” Harvey called out, jumping up quickly from his chair.

Mike, already in front of the elevators, turned to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“You free tomorrow? Movie marathon? See if you’ve learned anything over the last seven years.”

“You’re on,” Mike grinned. “Prepared to be slayed, Specter.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Harvey smiled in return.

In the battle between his heart and his brain, Harvey couldn’t tell if either truly won that round. Technically, it wasn’t as if he professed his love to Mike. But it was something- wasn’t it? Either way, Harvey would enjoy tomorrow. Yes, he was avoiding the inevitable, but for one more day, he could pretend it was just the two of them against the world.  

~~~~

Morning came too soon for Harvey. In fact, when he was awakened by the pounding at his door. He was just in the middle of a dream that had him standing in the middle of nowhere. Three roads fanned out before him. The one to his left was bathed in warm sunset hues. On it stood a group of those people and things long past. His parents, an abandoned baseball field, a younger version of himself when he was Assistant DA, Jessica, Scottie, Zoe, Donna and many more loves and lovers who he had shared his time and or bed. The middle road was bright like the midday sun. He could see occasional clouds and storms in the distance but even those had sun streaks behind them, telling him the storms were passing through. This road looked to be his present life. Images of the firm, with flashes of him in and out of a courtroom, and off to the side was a clear-cut snapshot of the moment he met Mike Ross. Behind that, were snapshots of all their adventures- the good (sneaking into Louis’ office while high), the bad (Mike being caught by Anita) and the mundane.

But it was the third path that bothered him- it was forked. One side was obscured by fog and dark skies with intermittent flashes of lightning. The other was clear, cold and desolate. The path of least resistance…. Harvey began to step towards that one. Harvey was not known for playing it safe, but walking into a storm that he couldn’t see through seemed- unwise. What kind of jackass would do that? He told his dream self. Before Harvey could take a step, the pounding on the door returned.

As his consciousness came back online, the dream faded. A quick glance at the clock told him it was three am. He rolled out of bed and padded over, ready to give a good tongue lashing to whoever was at his door. That threat died when he saw the familiar blonde messy hair through the peephole.

“I thought you had grown out of this,” he mumbled as he opened the door.

“Nope,” Mike replied, popping the ‘p’ like he used to. ” You going to let me in?”

Harvey glanced at Mike scrutinizing him. “Not until you tell me why you are on my doorstep in the middle of the night. I don’t see blood or bone. And you don’t look high or drunk…”

“You said movie marathon,” Mike answered.

“Nowhere in that statement meant at three am.”

“I wanted to get an early start?” Mike held up a six-pack of beer and a bag.

“Uh huh… Get in here.”

Harvey stepped aside so Mike could walk by. After a silent prayer to whoever was listening for strength, he closed the door to face his demons head-on. Harvey meandered to the kitchen where Mike was pulling out a couple of bottles.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” Harvey stated as he reached out to still Mike’s hand from opening the first bottle.

“…but how about we start with some coffee, so I can stop seeing two of you, and then you can tell me why you are really here.”

Mike lifted both his hands in a gesture of surrender and headed for the couch. Within minutes, the smell of fresh roast coffee wafted throughout the kitchen. Harvey grabbed two mugs and joined Mike.

“Now you want to let me in on what’s going on?”

Mike took a sip and frowned. “Bitter.”

“I swear,” Harvey sighed, walking back to the kitchen. “When will you learn how to drink coffee like an adult?”

“Never.”

Harvey returned to the couch with the sugar. “Here Peter Pan. Don’t come crying to me when your teeth rot.”

“Who else am I going to come to?”

“How about your soon to be wife?” Harvey answered sarcastically.

“But she won’t treat me like you do,” Mike whined.

“I should hope not,” Harvey chuckled.

Requisite amount of sugar added, Mike took a big gulp of the steaming liquid and smiled.

“Happy now Princess?”

“Yes,” he answered easily.

“Good. Now you want to tell me why you are at my door in the middle of the night?”

Mike looked down for a moment, burying his nose in his cup. Harvey was willing to wait. It only took a moment. With a heavy sigh, Mike put down his mug and turned to face Harvey.

“Maybe I just wanted to do something that was familiar. Something that was all mine. With all of the changes at the firm, my decision to cut back and my wedding in a few weeks, I just wanted a piece of my old life. And when you brought up a movie marathon day, well, I found I wanted that more than anything at the moment.”

“I get that, Harvey replied. “But it still doesn’t answer the question why are you here now?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Making the decision to not push any further, Harvey changed direction.

“You want to sleep here, then get started first thing?”

Mike smiled and reached for his bag. “Thought you would never ask.”

Harvey picked up the two mugs and went to the closet to retrieve a pillow and some blankets.

“Here,” he said, throwing and effectively hitting Mike square in the chest. “You know the drill. Whoever wakes first makes pancakes.”

“I’ll take blueberry.��

“What makes you think I’ll wake first?” Harvey asked incredulously.

“In all the years you have known me, have I ever been the first to wake?”

Harvey cocked his head and sighed in fake annoyance. “Fine, blueberry. But don’t think I am letting you sleep all day.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mike said, spreading the blankets across the length of the couch.

Harvey retreated to his room and attempted to go back to sleep. But all he could do was listen to the soft noises and rustles coming from his living room. It was maddening to know that Mike was so close and yet still a million miles away.

“Shit,” Harvey muttered into his pillow, before turning over and closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, it was to the sight of the sun streaming through his windows and the smell of bacon. He stole a quick glance at the clock- eight am. Harvey couldn’t remember the last time he saw Mike awake and alert this early without the threat of termination. He had to see this.

“I must have an intruder because I know damn well my soon to be ex-associate isn’t awake and in my kitchen making breakfast. Who are you and what have you done with Mike?”

“Funny,” Mike replied. “Have a seat. The coffee is fresh and bitter. Just the way you like it.”

Harvey grabbed a cup and sat at the counter while Mike flipped the bacon.

“So, what’s your pleasure Specter?”

Besides you? His thoughts flashed. “You making pancakes? Or should I order up something simple like eggs?”

“You can order anything you want,” Mike suggested.

And for a second, Harvey’s brain went offline. “How about chef’s choice,” Harvey managed to mumble. “I’m going to cue up today’s movie fest.”

“Sounds good,” Mike replied offhandedly before turning back to his mix.

Harvey couldn’t get a handle on his warring emotions. His brain was too busy trying to decipher and decode Mike’s strange behavior- which only got stranger. After begging to watch the Marvel movies in order, Mike was asleep before they even got to the first Captain America. Not that it mattered- Harvey still had a collection of original comics and the movies did not do them justice, but something was definitely off with his protégé.

“Mike,” Harvey nudged the man currently drooling on his leather couch.

“Hm?” a sleepy voice answered.

“Wake up.”

“I’m awake.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re sleeping.”

“I’m not sleeping. I can tell you everything that happened.”

“Yes, I am sure you can. With your memory and all,” Harvey chided.

Mike lifted his head and stretched his arms above his head. Harvey did not, repeat, did not, look at the small patch of skin as Mike’s shirt rucked up. Instead, he stopped the film and turned to face him.

“Okay Mike. Let’s have it. What’s going on?”

“I told you, I just wanted a day for me.”

“And you have had one. Now why don’t you tell me why you are avoiding going home.”

Mike sat up and sighed loudly, “I don’t know. I mean, I love Rachel. I proposed, we set a date and then I went to jail.”

“Yes, I was there. But now you are free. You have spent the last year rebuilding your life, the life you want,” Harvey stated blandly.

“Is it?”

“Is what?”

“Is it the life I want?”

And then just like that, Harvey knew the real problem. Mike was having second thoughts. Harvey would be lying if the thought of Mike not getting married didn’t fill him with a certain sense of relief, but his better angels prevailed. So instead of pushing Mike further, he went with reassurance.

“You know Mike. What you’re feeling is normal. A lot of people have second thoughts; it’s called ‘cold feet’. You know you love Rachel and she loves you. There is nothing wrong with being happy. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

Mike stayed silent, his hands shuffled back and forth through his hair. Harvey recognized the gesture, Mike often did that when he was struggling with something.

“Mike,” Harvey started again. His voice a little softer. He grabbed Mike’s elbow, stopping Mike’s motion. “Mike, look at me.”

Mike turned. His eyes were wide, trusting, and a little frightened. Harvey’s mouth went dry. Once again, he had to swallow his first instinct to reach out and pull Mike into his arms. But Mike wasn’t his.

“Rookie…,” he started again. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“No.” Mike’s voice was small almost childlike.

“Then trust me now. You got this. You and Rachel are going to have a great life together. Promise. Now go home.”

Mike smiled and sighed with relief. Ten minutes later, Mike was packed and walking out of Harvey’s condo. And Harvey? Well, Harvey died a little.

~~~

Harvey spent the next few weeks working like a madman. His relationship with Donna was still strained and Mike was spending less and less time at the firm which was fine by Harvey. Really it was. It allowed him to drown himself in his work. Harvey spent his days trying to rebuild the firm that seemed to be on life support at every turn and at night, making sure Mike’s wedding and everything that went along with it, was perfect. That is what you do for someone you love, no matter how much it hurts. It wasn’t until two nights before the wedding that Harvey got another late-night visit.

When the pounding came, Harvey was on the couch, his bed of choice as of late. He didn’t even bother to look. He knew who was on the other side. Opening the door, Harvey watched as Mike sauntered in- eyes bloodshot, and looking a bit thinner than he last remembered.

“You look like hell,” he said as way of greeting.

“Yeah well, tossing and turning every night will do that to you,” Mike grumbled.

“I thought we cured that the last time you showed up at my place in the middle of the night.”

“So did I.”

“Okay, so coffee or alcohol?” Harvey yawned.

“Neither,” Mike countered, and plopped on the couch.

“What?” Harvey responded surprised, his brain going on full alert.

“I just want to hang here for a bit,” Mike said, as way of explaining.

“Okay. Why don’t you pick out a movie and I will put on a pot of coffee for me.”

“Harvey,” Mike huffed. Can I just crash here?”

Alarmed, Harvey sat back down. “Mike, is there something going on? Did you and Rachel have a fight?”

“What? No!” Mike quickly answered. “I just… I guess maybe I am just having another bout of nerves.”

“Nerves. Okay. Tell me then. Do you love Rachel?”

“Yes.”

Harvey measured his next words carefully. “Are you in love with Rachel?”

This time, there was a pause before Mike answered.

“Of course.”

Harvey had built his career on reading people. Distinguishing truth from lies. And right now, Harvey knew Mike was lying. But this was not his fight, his truth to reveal; so he continued.

“Then why are you here, instead of at her side?”

Mike dropped his head. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“Shouldn’t you…know?”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do since the last time I was here?”

“I don’t know, Mike. What have you been doing?”

Mike’s eyes shone then. “Trying to figure out why this is the only place I want to come when my world isn’t right.”

“Well, I can answer that for you easily,” Harvey said trying to lighten the mood.

“You can?”

“Of course, Harvey countered. “I’m awesome.”

Mike chuckled. “And modest too.”

“It’s not bragging…”

“Yes, yes, Harvey I know, ‘if it’s true’,” Mike interrupted.

“Look Mike, I am not trying to tell you what to do. But did you ever stop to think that you are here, because you don’t want to be somewhere else?”

“That’s all I have thought about.”

“Well, don’t you think you might want to figure out what that means? Preferably before you walk down the aisle.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“No matter what, it’s going to be okay. I got your back.”

“Thanks Harvey. I mean it.”

“Anytime. So how about you try and get some sleep. I’m going back to bed.”

“I’m going to head out. I need to do some thinking.”

“You sure? It’s late.”

“I got this Harvey. Thanks.”

Mike closed the door with a thunk and Harvey dragged himself to bed.

He would’ve liked to say he went back to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, his mind drifted back to the first night Mike had nerves and showed up at his place in the middle of the night. Images from that strange dream flashed behind his closed eyelids. What the hell was going on. Up until a few months ago, everything had been fine in Harvey’s world. Well, as fine as losing his mentor and trying to rebuild the firm and his reputation could allow. That was also before Donna decided to play whack-a-mole with their shared past. Now everything was topsy-turvy with Mike. It was like Harvey went to sleep one night and woke up in some strange alternate reality. What he wouldn’t give to wake up tomorrow and have a do-over. Harvey was supposed to be the man with all the answers. But lying in his bed after hearing Mike unknowingly confess that he wasn’t in love with Rachel left him lost. Maybe it’s a sign, he wondered. Although was it really? Maybe the absence of a sign is the sign. This is ludicrous, he told himself and turned over once again.

~~~

The morning of the wedding, Harvey woke to a myriad of texts starting just after five am. The first was from Mike, asking to meet him for breakfast. The others came from the rest of their friends, including a cryptic “WHAT DID YOU DO?”  from Donna. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine what had happened.  Harvey sent a quick text to Mike asking him when and where and grabbed a quick shower. An hour later, he walked through the doors of a little hole in the wall sporting a Best Breakfast 2017 award in the window. Mike was sitting in a corner booth, dressed smartly in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt; his winter coat folded (more like wadded up), next to him on the bench. The most telling sight though was the smile he was wearing. It seemed to brighten the entire room. Harvey found himself smiling in return when he caught his eye.

Harvey saw the two roads from his dream in the ten feet walk to where Mike sat. After everything they had been through, all the moments he chose the path of least resistance and kept silence, Harvey was getting one last reprieve. Maybe it was time to choose differently. Maybe there was such a thing as fate or destiny. Harvey took his seat across from Mike and ordered.

“So…” he started.

“Did you know…,” Mike interrupted, “…that the Greeks didn’t write obituaries?”

Harvey, not knowing where this was going, waited for Mike to continue.

“'They only asked one question after a man died, ‘Did he have passion?'”

“Is this what you have been doing while contemplating your future? Brushing up on the death practices of ancient civilizations?”

“Something like that,” Mike chuckled.

Their breakfast arrived shortly after and Harvey took a sip of coffee. “Are you going to tell me what happened? I mean, I can surmise that we will not be going to the church this afternoon, but the details are a little fuzzy.”

“Nothing happened, per se,” Mike began, after shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “It’s just like you said. I wasn’t with Rachel because I wanted to be someplace else.”

“I assume that didn’t go over so well with her.”

Mike placed his fork down and looked at his plate. “No, not particularly. But it was still the right thing to do. I didn’t want to have the wedding only to have this same conversation weeks, months or years down the road. So yeah. She thinks I am a jerk.”

Harvey felt his heart grow with pride. Doing the right thing wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it hurt. He knew that first hand.

“Mike, I don’t think you’re a jerk. I think…” and then he stopped for a moment, the quotes finally falling into place. He wanted to laugh out loud. “I think you look like a jackass.”

Mike’s head snapped up and he smiled brightly. “And I think…you’re the shit!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Serendipity? Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse.” Harvey laughed.

“Why not? It’s a classic. Besides, you started it. All that talk about 'maybe you’re here because you don’t want to be somewhere else,'” Mike beamed.

He did have a point, Harvey conceded silently. If someone had told him that on the morning of Mike’s wedding, Harvey would make a life-altering choice, he would’ve laughed out loud. But sitting across from Mike at that moment, it seemed inevitable. Fate, destiny, serendipity, or whatever else was out there, waited for Harvey to make his move. Harvey took a deep breath and chose the unseen path.

“Mike, would you like to get out of here?”

“Sure. Any place you want to go?”

“No. Not really. I just know I would rather spend everyday with you than with anyone else.”

[chabab2021-blog]

The Five Stages of Grief

When we lose a loved one, the pain we experience can feel unbearable. Understandably, grief is complicated and we sometimes wonder if the pain will ever end. We go through a variety of emotional experiences such as anger, confusion, and sadness.

A theory developed by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross suggests that we go through five distinct stages of grief after the loss of a loved one: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance.1

Illustration by Emily Roberts, Verywell​

 Denial 

The first stage in this theory, denial can help us to minimize the overwhelming pain of loss. As we process the reality of our loss, we are also trying to survive emotional pain. It can be hard to believe we have lost an important person in our lives, especially when we may have just spoken with this person the previous week or even the previous day. Our reality has shifted completely in this moment of loss. It can take our minds some time to adjust to this new reality.

Denial is not only an attempt to pretend that the loss does not exist. We are also trying to absorb and understand what is happening.

We are reflecting on experiences we have shared with the person we lost, and we might find ourselves wondering how to move forward in life without this person. This is a lot of information to explore and a lot of painful imagery to process. Denial attempts to slow this process down and take us through it one step at a time, rather than risk the potential of feeling overwhelmed by our emotions.

 Anger 

it is common for people to experience anger after the loss of a loved one. We are trying to adjust to a new reality and we are likely experiencing extreme emotional discomfort. There is so much to process that anger may feel like it allows us an emotional outlet.

Keep in mind that anger does not require us to be very vulnerable. However, it tends to be more socially acceptable than admitting we are scared. Anger allows us to express emotion with less fear of judgment or rejection.

Unfortunately, anger tends to be the first thing we feel when we start to release emotions related to loss. This can leave you feeling isolated in your experience and perceived as unapproachable by others in moments when we could benefit from comfort, connection, and reassurance.

 Bargaining 

It is common when coping with loss to feel so desperate that you are willing to do almost anything to alleviate or minimize the pain. Losing a loved one can cause us to consider any way we can avoid the current pain or the pain we are anticipating from loss. There are many ways we may try to bargain.

Bargaining can come in a variety of promises including:

"I promise to be better if you will let this person live."

"God, if you can heal this person I will turn my life around."

"I'll never get angry again if you can stop him/her from dying or leaving me."

When bargaining starts to take place, we are often directing our requests to a higher power, or something bigger than we are that may be able to influence a different outcome. There is an acute awareness of our humanness in these moments when we realize there is nothing we can do to influence change or a better outcome. This feeling of helplessness can cause us to react in protest by bargaining, which gives us a perceived sense of control over something that feels so out of control.

While bargaining we also tend to focus on our faults or regrets. We might look back at our interactions with the person we are losing and note all of the times we felt disconnected or may have caused them pain. It is common to recall times when we may have said things we did not mean, and wish we could go back and behave differently. We also tend to make the drastic assumption that if things had played out differently, we would not be in such an emotionally painful place in our lives.

 Depression 

During our experience of processing grief, there comes a time when our imaginations calm down and we slowly start to look at the reality of our present situation. Bargaining no longer feels like an option and we are faced with what is happening. We start to feel more abundantly the loss of our loved one.

As our panic begins to subside, the emotional fog begins to clear and the loss feels more present and unavoidable. In those moments, we tend to pull inward as the sadness grows. We might find ourselves retreating, being less sociable, and reaching out less to others about what we are going through. Although this is a very natural stage of grief, dealing with depression after the loss of a loved one can be extremely isolating.

 Acceptance 

When we come to a place of acceptance, it is not that we no longer feel the pain of loss. However, we are no longer resisting the reality of our situation, and we are not struggling to make it something different. Sadness and regret can still be present in this phase, but the emotional survival tactics of denial, bargaining, and anger are less likely to be present.

 Types of Grief 

As we consider the five stages of grief, it is important to note that people grieve differently and you may or may not go through each of these stages, or experience each of them in order. The lines of these stages are often blurred—we may move from one stage to the other and possibly back again before fully moving into a new stage.

Also, there is no specific period suggested for any of these stages. Someone may experience the stages fairly quickly, such as in a matter of weeks, where another person may take months or even years to move through to a place of acceptance. Whatever time it takes for you to move through these stages is perfectly normal.

Your pain is unique to you, your relationship to the person you lost is unique, and the emotional processing can feel different to each person. It is acceptable for you to take the time you need and remove any expectation of how you should be performing as you process your grief.

 Additional Models 

Although the five stages of grief developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross is considered one of the most easily recognizable models of grief and bereavement, there are other models of grief to be noted as well.2 Each model or theory works to explain patterns of how grief can be perceived and processed. Researchers on grief and bereavement hope to use these models to provide understanding to those who are hurting over the loss of a loved one, as well as offer information that can help those in the healing professions provide effective care for those in need of informed guidance. The following are additional examples of theories related to grief.

 Attachment Theory and Grief 

Legendary psychologist John Bowlby focused his work on researching the emotional attachment between parent and child.3 From his perspective, these early experiences of attachment with important people in our lives, such as caregivers, help to shape our sense of safety, security, and connections.

British psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes developed a model of grief based on Bowlby's theory of attachment, suggesting there are four phases of mourning when experiencing the loss of a loved one:4

Shock and Numbness. Loss in this phase feels impossible to accept. Most closely related to Kübler-Ross's stage of denial, we are overwhelmed when trying to cope with our emotions. Parkes suggests that there is physical distress experienced in this phase as well, which can lead to somatic (physical) symptoms.

Yearning and Searching. As we process loss in this phase, we may begin to look for comfort to fill the void our loved one has left. We may try to do so by reliving memories through pictures and by looking for signs from the person to feel connected to them. In this phase, we become very preoccupied with the person we have lost.

Despair and Disorganization. We may find ourselves questioning and feeling angry in this phase. The realization that our loved one is not returning feels real, and we can have a difficult time understanding or finding hope in our future. We may feel a bit aimless in this phase and find that we retreat from others as we process our pain.

Reorganization and Recovery. As we move into this phase, our life feels more hopeful. We may begin to feel like our hearts and minds can be restored. As with Kübler-Ross's acceptance stage, this phase of reorganization and recovery does not mean that we will not still feel sadness or longing for our loved one. However, this phase offers us a place of healing and reconnecting with important people in our lives for support. We find small ways to reestablish a sense of normalcy in our lives daily.

 How to Help 

 Avoid Rescuing or Fixing 

It can be so difficult to know what to say to someone who has experienced loss. We do our best to offer comfort, but sometimes our best efforts can feel inadequate and unhelpful. One thing to remember is that the person who is grieving does not need to be fixed. In our attempts to be helpful, we tend to try to rescue people from their pain so they will feel better. We provide uplifting, hopeful comments or even try to offer them humor to help ease their pain. Although the intention is positive, this approach can leave people feeling as if their pain is not seen, heard, or valid.

 Don't Force It 

Another method people often use that tends to go wrong is forcing people to talk about their pain when they are not ready. We want so much to help and for the person to feel better, so we believe that nudging them to talk and process their emotions will help them faster. This is not necessarily true, and it can be an obstacle to their healing.

 Make Yourself Accessible 

One of the most helpful things we can do is to offer space for people to grieve. In doing this, we are letting the person know that we are available and accessible when they are ready to talk. We can invite them to talk with us, but remember to provide understanding and validation if they are not ready to talk just yet. At that point, you can remind them that you are available when they feel ready and not to hesitate to come to you.

 A Word From Verywell 

It is important to remember that everyone copes with loss differently. While you may find that you experience all five stages of grief, you may also find that it is difficult to classify your feelings into any one of the stages. Have patience with yourself and your feelings in dealing with loss. Allow yourself time to process all of your emotions, and when you are ready to speak about your experiences with loved ones or a healthcare professional, do so. If you are supporting someone who has lost a loved one, remember that you don't need to do anything specific, but allow them room to talk about it when they are ready.

[ardett]

Civil Blood

Description: Keith has a crush, Lance is a mess, and the teenage mind has always been tumultuous. (Also available on Ao3!)

Inspired by You Don't Have to Pretend by pidgeotto_gunderson.

This is apart of the @vldfanficremix2017! I was so excited to take part in this event and it has been a super fun experience. I would certainly recommend reading the original version before this, since the dialogue was taken directly from the remixed fic and it has all that wonderful langst ;)

And to pidgeotto_gunderson, I hope I did your fic justice and that you enjoy this remix :)

“I don’t know why Blue chose me because I sure wouldn’t have, and I wonder sometimes if I should just leave or just die so-” Everything else turns to static in Keith’s head. The word rings in his head with all the force of a resonating gong. Die, die, die, does Lance want to die?

(It would make sense. It would all make sense. The dead eyes and the dark circles underneath. The tugged up hood and the face hidden in pools of shadow. The trembling hands and the late night footsteps that pace outside his door. The way Lance spoke, responses sometimes regulated to singular, emotionless utterances.)

But it doesn’t make sense, not at all, because how can Lance want to die, how can Lance feel worthless, when Keith feels as if his world revolves around Lance’s spindly fingers and blue blue eyes.

It’s an innocent thing. It’s a crush. He knows this. It isn’t love at first sight, it isn’t the tragic love story of Romeo and Juliet, but it’s the kind of budding I like like you that means Keith has been staring at Lance’s lips and has been daydreaming about kissing the other boy and has been watching blue eyes. It means he’s been thinking about all the little things he likes about Lance and how Lance makes him smile and how Lance makes his body feel warm. Keith is wrapped up in the stages of adoration, or so Shiro has told him, so it’s hard to even conceive that Lance might want to… end that.

End himself.

“Lance, wait, just-” Keith tightens his hold on Lance’s wrist to assure himself of its actuality, to feel the flex of tendons and the thrum of veins pumping blood, to remind himself of Lance as a real, living human being. Keith takes a deep breath (so he knows he himself is real as well). “I- just. You can keep going, if you want, but just answer me one thing, right here, right now.”

He feels muscles go limp beneath his fingertips, like someone who has given up. Lance gives a small sniff, nose wrinkling as he tries to contain his sobs and hiccups, and Keith’s heart breaks.

“What?” Lance asks listlessly.

“Are you actually thinking about dying? Like really, seriously thinking about it?” The word dying slides over his tongue, insidious and deadly. It chokes him with its bitterness.

Lance doesn’t say anything but Keith can see as the emotions are stripped from his eyes.

Then, Lance just kind of… shrugs. Like it’s nothing. His voice comes out too light as he says, “Everyone thinks about death, Keith. It’s a fact of life.”

Keith doesn’t know if Lance sees the flicker of fear that streaks across his face. Something squeezes in his chest and a wave of hopelessness overwhelms him.

Every one of them has thought about death, yes, because it’s their lives on the line when they step into the lions, but this is something more. He has been a regular teenager before, the one who goes to class and who sits at a table during lunch. And he has seen all that every teenager sees.

Kids with bruises and bloody knuckles, kids with old scars lining their forearms, kids whose ribs show through their shirts and who are cold too often, kids with too many pills and kids without enough. Kids who say goodbye and I’m sorry in a panic as they leave school, and end up off a bridge that night.

He has seen it from afar. He has seen it in his friends. He has seen it in himself.

All the anger drains out of Keith. Lethargy seeps into his limbs, he’s so tired, and he leans into Lance a little bit more. “That wasn’t the question, Lance,” he breathes.

“Look, Keith-” Stop, stop, stop.

“Lance. Please. You don’t have to pretend with me, okay?” More than anything, Keith wants to be worthy of this single, solitary thing. To be someone Lance doesn’t have to pretend with.

He has this crush, yes, but being Lance’s friend, his rock, his anchor, would be enough. He wants to hold Lance, yes, but he can hold him like this, as a soft and steady force, a message of support, if not love right now.

He starts to rearrange his hand on Lance’s and in the moment his grip slackens on the other’s skin, Lance blurts out, “Yes.”

Keith blinks, forgetting his question, before it all comes back to him. His teeth dig into his lip and automatically, he slots his fingers between Lance’s, properly holding his hand now.

“I’m sorry I never said anything.” Guilt mixed with anger rises up in him, all directed at himself.

He aches with the need to fix this, but he doesn’t know how. He has never been good with interactions like this and his hands are prone to making things shatter.

“You knew?”

Keith smiles at that, though it’s something rueful. “I suspected. I’ve been there. I know the look.” He grimaces at that and the memories it dredges up.

He knows, he knows that is part of the reason he didn’t give Lance the second thought he needed. Considering what Lance might be going through, thinking about the mess of his emotions when Shiro disappeared from the Kerberos mission, could be… painful. He didn’t want to relive that again, so he hadn’t wanted to think about Lance living through it now.

He won’t make that mistake again.

Lance draws him back to the conversation with a strangled laugh. “There’s a look now?”

“Yep. Tired with a capital ‘T’,” Keith tries to joke as he attempts to coax a smile, a real smile, back onto Lance’s face.

Lance does laugh again but it’s the sound of someone who has lost control. He tilts into Keith, gripping at his sleeve and hiding his eyes. And Keith thinks that just this once, maybe his hands will hold and heal something.

“I can help if you want.” His offer floats in the silent air, unclaimed. A kernel of doubt seeds its way into Keith’s chest.

Their eyes meet and Keith wonders if Lance can see the way his eyes soften. Keith has always been a teenage boy wrought with too strong emotions but he thinks that Lance seems to calm them, calm him.

“Thank you,” Lance murmurs.

Keith’s heart swells and he makes an unsaid promise to himself that Lance’s faith will not be misplaced.

Help is in the small things. Offering a shoulder to lean on, tracing the nail beds of anxious fingers, being someone to hide behind when the tears start to come. It’s small bits of praise and asking if he’s okay, really okay, and noticing when eyes are tired and reactions are slow and words are slipping together. It’s sitting in silence between the difficult pauses and smiling when he’s excited. It’s a soft kiss to the hand, the cheek, the lips. Keith holds his breathe and hopes that it is enough.

(Lance still feels anxiety like splinters between his ribs, tiny slivers that he knows are there but he can’t see, that shouldn’t be significant but cause him pain all the same. Sometimes it’s just a twinge of discomfort. Sometimes it’s a crushing wave that drives him to his knees, hands braced over his head and fingers tangled in his hair.

It is almost indescribable, the urge to shred his own skin and the want to see his hands stained scarlet with his own blood.

But when he shakes in small corners, Keith finds him. When he hides his dark and sleepless eyes, Keith looks for him. When he is stuck in the gray and empty places between reality and what keeps him sane, Keith is there with him.

And for now, those happy moments of jokes and gentle smiles and nervous touches are enough.)

[inklingpost]

5 Years after my Daughters death—The Great March of January 21st

January 19th was the 5 year anniversary of our daughter’s death. I had plans for it. I had plans to get her footprint tattooed on my body. I had plans of lighting a candle. Plans of talking with Preston about it. But nothing this week really played out the way I originally had thought it might.

Because it was also the day the Obama’s were saying goodbye to the White House. A presidency that gave me health insurance despite preexisting conditions. Which saved us financially when everything went wrong in my pregnancy, and we were forced to face death. It gave us access to some of the best doctors I could have asked for. It fought for equality for our LGBTQ family. It was a presidency that met humans on a humane level and fought for us to be seen and treated as such, and tried to break down the process of dehumanization that has rooted itself in certain corners of our world. And we will be forever grateful to him for it.

And then, the next day he handed the White House over to Trump. Someone who wants to strip all of that good progress. Someone who has been dishonest regularly, loves to obfuscate stories, creates delusional realities that dehumanize almost everyone. Knows nothing about the circumstances of abortion, yet spreads lies about it anyway to prey on the uneducated. And worse, he’s given a voice to the bullies, the white nationalists, and he has incited violence, hate, and anger, racism, and disrespect for women. He encourages the divide, and has no plans to heal it.

“If you aren’t outraged, then you aren’t paying attention,” someone posted a photo of a sign that said this, and it perfectly sums up how I’ve felt for years.

The Trump presidency wants to get rid of Planned Parenthood. They make up new requirements for building codes and practice requirements just so they can shut them down and say they aren’t up to code, without even giving them a chance to adjust to the ridiculous codes.  And by eliminating these resources for men and women, families like my husband and me, who may receive the worst news of their lives, that their baby they wanted so badly, who was a planned pregnancy, isn’t compatible with life, and that the mother’s life could be at risk too—those families may be at a loss for healthy care. For those who need Planned Parenthood when they don’t have good health insurance, they will either be stripped the resources they need or in a best case scenario, we will fight for their resources, but they may have to travel really far to get what they need.  

Here’s the thing that gets me riled up about laws on abortion now that I didn’t understand before we were faced with having to foresee terminating a pregnancy in our second trimester: you interfere with our personal grief process. And the reason I never saw it before was because that is not the conversation people focus on. It’s much easier to dehumanize the experience, cling to simple stories of possible regret, or seeing termination as a form of birth control (which even if that is the case, it’s still none of our business as a country intervention). People love that. They love to feel self righteous and exclude the majority and cling to a minority of tales to reinforce their own discomfort. The stories that should be shared are the personal ones. The ones shared by people who actually go through it in real life.

I remember after our loss, I was grateful to have worked with one of the kindest souls I’ve ever encountered who happened to be our doctor. I was grateful that we had insurance that covered him and the hospital. My cousin shared a story about a friend of hers who miscarried, and she and her husband went to a Planned Parenthood for the d&c, and they had to walk through protesters who yelled at them that they were baby killers. Their baby had already died! And then they had to deal with these hateful, ignorant words being thrust upon them. No one should have to go through that. Ever. Words of judgement and hate will not accomplish anything but more wounds.

A lot of what we went through is really personal, and I don’t necessarily want to keep sharing it or rehashing it. But when we lost our daughter, we made vows to each other that we would live our lives for her because she couldn’t live. And that includes sharing her story and helping change the conversation to help other families like ours who find themselves in very unexpected life changing events. And with Trump as president, who wants to endanger the lives of other mothers, possibly leaving husbands and children without wives and mommas, it is personal, and we have to fight for what is right…because that is the world we would have wanted her to live in, and it is the world we want our son to live in.

When we sat down with our doctor, he was gentle. He said, “I’m one of 2 doctors in LA who does this, and I know it’s not something just anyone can do, and I feel a duty to help because I can. I know this is the worst moment of your lives, and hopefully ever that you will experience, so I’ll be upfront about everything and answer all your questions.” He understood us. He saw this was a very raw human experience, and he handled us with respect, gentleness, and grace. When we asked for her footprint and handprint, he ordered a kit right away to have waiting for him at the hospital. He said no one had ever asked for that, and I’m not surprised because you are in such shock, you don’t know what you might want. But I do hope that because of us, he will offer it to more couples. He saw us as humans, as parents trying to do our best, and he knew his work with us would always be remembered.

Our main question was, why weren’t the signs noticed sooner? Why had we been told it was the perfect pregnancy up until now, and then crushed with a laundry list of everything that is actually wrong? If a doctor sees ultrasounds every day all day long for his whole career, why wouldn’t he notice sooner something obvious like a hole in her heart, or concern about the due date changing because of lack of growth? If I barely had enough amniotic fluid, why didn’t that get noticed? If her limbs were freezing up, why didn’t he notice the movement was abnormal? Why weren’t we sent to a perinatologist until the window of 18-20 weeks of pregnancy…why is that the normal practice? Why is that the normal practice, and then by law you can’t terminate a pregnancy past say, 21 weeks or 24 weeks? It’s such a small window to be hit with tons of information, of crushing your dreams, PTSD, and tearing your heart apart. You face instant grief, shock, and then have to navigate this unknown space that turns your world upside down. You wait as the weeks go by, you wait for more tests, and then test results, and see your child die a slow death as you wait, while limbs freeze up until she can’t move. You live with fear that any day your body could fail you. That it feels like it already did fail you. That there is absolutely nothing in your human power that you can do to save your baby, and it feels wretched.

We took time to say our good byes, taking trips to all our favorite places in town that we knew we wouldn’t get to take her since her only time with us would be in utero. And sometimes the only way to ensure a possible healthy next child, or ensure your own health and life, is to say goodbye to this being you’ve grown to love so much, but you hate to see her suffer any longer because of your selfish longings to keep her around. And it is your only real option—because the only thing that is certain is death…you just get to choose which option of death you want.

And it breaks you. It breaks your spirit. It breaks your heart. It feels like it breaks your body. It’s like you wake up, see your face in the mirror and you think you recognize the person you see, but then it shatters, explodes, and at the end of that same day you can’t ever find all the pieces to put it back together again…no amount of glue can help, some pieces just end up in the waste basket, and when you look again, you aren’t sure if you recognize the person reflected back anymore.  

Our doctor couldn’t really speak for the other 2 physicians we’d seen, but essentially offered up that general practice for regular gynecologists is to do the routine visits by the book, and assume all is fine until otherwise stated.

This is personal. Laws should not interfere with your grief. They should not interfere with your emotional ranges of PTSD when facing circumstances like this. If we had wanted to take one more week with our daughter to travel a little longer, if my body was holding up ok under surveillance, it shouldn’t be dictated by random dates selected by congress determining our time frame for ending a pregnancy. And if couples are facing these same terms and risks and are forced to rely on illegal practices to fit their emotional needs for their state of grief, then it becomes even more dangerous. Making laws about termination of pregnancies should never happen. It should be left up to professional doctors who are well versed in all issues, who can work with patients who are experiencing something very traumatic. It should be a customized treatment plan between patient and doctor—because every single case, even if a similar diagnosis, is very, very different and should be treated for the human experience that it is. Any other practice is harmful, and offensive, and an unnecessary argument to be having. Stop wasting everyone’s energy trying to control people, and start assuming we are all adults who can make well educated adult decisions for ourselves about our health care. People love criticizing the helicopter parent…but that’s what our government is trying to be right now.

So, my grief feels heavier this week. 5 years feels like forever ago, but it also feels like a really fresh wound too at times…especially times like this that make us relive the hateful words we experienced around our daughter’s death. The words we had to deal with when all we wanted to face were our facts of circumstances, and our limited days with our daughter while we still had her to say our good byes. Words that stole so much from us that we will never get back. Ever. Words that still rear their ugly heads, and that I know are cancerous, and that I know I’m not alone in hearing. Words that are naive, harmful, dangerous, pompous, condescending, uneducated, and foolish. But mostly, the common denominator I see is this: they are rooted in disconnection.

Words like, “have you tried prayer?” “Doctors can be wrong” second hand tales of “We wish she’d carry out the pregnancy” (even though they knew nothing of our circumstances), “Mother’s do not let other people harm their children,” “It would be a disservice if I did not say this”  “Do not do evil unto others,” “I know what you are going through, I miscarried at 7 weeks.” “You will regret this in a year,” “I hope you aren’t mad at me for saying this.”

Yes, I am mad at you for saying these things.

Once uttered, they reveal the inability to empathize. They reveal the lack of life experience. The show a discomfort with real life events when the shit hits the fan, and they cower behind known phrases to comfort themselves, not me—the hurting person—and in just a couple seconds they disconnect, offer no opening of the heart, and off they go, a distance in their voice, you hear them leave their soul.

For the record, a perfect response would be, “I don’t know what you are going through, but it must be awful. Can I just sit with you, we don’t have to talk, and if you aren’t ready to sit with a friend, can I check in later to see if you are ready as the months go by?”

People really fear feeling uncomfortable. And death is certainly not a normal place for comfort, so they go through life, disconnecting from it, and then dehumanizing the experience to create a story in their heads that makes them feel better about justifying that discomfort. And rather than getting to know that discomfort by interacting with people in the thick of it…they go preach their false stories to gain traction and community with their falsehoods. And when it gets out of control, and real life repeatedly tugs at them that they might be wrong, that they might not know…they double down and try to make laws with the false justifications. All in an effort to stay disconnected and attempt to comfort themselves when they see their reflection in the eyes and stories of others.

The best advice we got after our daughter’s death was from my brother in law, Michael. He said it simply, “Don’t tell yourself things that aren’t true.”

The lack of support we received when we faced the worst days of our lives was truly astounding. There was a handful of people who were truly amazing as well, and we always talk about their kindness and try to remember that association with her death as much as possible. But what shocked us was that no one from any church reached out and went out of their way to say, hey, those unkind hateful words said to you were outrageous, appalling, and fucked up…I hope you know your emotions are safe around me even though I go to church.

Instead, there was a lot of silence, and when there were words, we were met with things like, “People have experienced worse” “At least you are young” “You can try again” “We are praying for you” “Everything has a purpose…things happen for a reason,” “One day you will look back and laugh at all this” (Actual last words said by my gynecologist).

I looked him square in the eyes, “I will NEVER laugh about any of this.”

The lack of outrage that we saw then when we experienced these cruel words, we see now too as the same people seem complacent about the new Trump presidency. More than ever, you need to reveal yourself if you are safe. Because if you aren’t outspoken about it, and especially if you are part of a church (because the church has been a huge vehicle for the poison, and are the least compassionate group I’ve ever encountered despite their talk of compassion and the message of Jesus), we can’t assume you are safe. If you are ok with this presidency or voted for it, this is a problem. You are helping endanger lives.

And it is unacceptable.

The 21st of January, men, woman and children globally marched in protest for humanity.

I had friends marching in Sweden, Canada, and across America in various states.

They marched for women, sure, but they marched for human decency for all. But on a very personal level, they marched for me, for my husband, for our daughter, and our son. And they publicly stood up with outrage to the rest of America, the rest of the world, the leaders of churches, the extended family who voted for this man of hate, or who at least didn’t vote against it. They stood up for us when we couldn’t, they stood beside us in the millions and said, we see you, we love you, and we will not accept this. We will fight beside you.

And I’m so forever grateful and moved by the numbers of all who gathered to stand up for families like mine. When all I could do was cry at home watching a live feed from my phone with my grief and trauma, I felt completely inspired, and strengthened by your embodiment. You stood for what is right, showing the human experience as raw and complicated, and it varies among individuals. You showed that connectedness is what will bring humanity back from this dark place. You spread your light and walked in the cold to bring warmth in numbers. And for the first time, I got to really see how not alone we really are. What a gift this march was for us this week. Seeing how many people will fight alongside us for what is good and what is right.

We thank you from the deepest parts of our wounded hearts. Thank you for showing us how many safe people there are in America and around the world. Thank you for the connectedness.

[jameslawrence23-blog]

Script for my video

This is my video exploring my improvisation and roleplay modules journey developing my four different characters and what helped me in their development. In my journey to developing my characters I was influenced and helped by several of the module readings that we were given but the reading that helped me most with my development was the Jacques Lecoq reading specifically the part where he discusses memory and the effect that this has on us when performing in this reading Lecoq says

“The dynamics of memory are more important than the memory itself. What happens when you find yourself confronted with a place that you think you are discovering for the first time? Suddenly, a memory is triggered, “I’ve already seen that!” you are in an image of the present and suddenly an image of the past appears. Out of the interplay these two images comes the improvisation. Naturally anyone who improvises draws on his own memory.”

This quote really resonated with me and I thought about it a lot during our sessions and especially with certain aspects of each of my characters it really helped me improve on them and add to them.

Working from memory first helped me work on my character count Keith because of how excited and desperate Keith was to taste blood for the first time when being given feedback for the character I was told I should really try and focus as much as I can on the temptation, desperation, eagerness and desire he was having to taste the blood of someone for the first time and to act like it was so close yet so far and he was really trying to resist like it was some food that had been cooked for him he was unable to eat just yet but really wanted to. To use memory for this I thought back to Christmas mornings when I was a kid and just how eager and excited I was to open all of my presents straight away, but I knew I couldn’t just tear into them I had to wait for the rest of my family to come downstairs but I struggled to resist and kept going to have a peak and stopped myself at the last second. I also thought about how I have felt on more recent Christmas’ where I’m more excited for the dinner than waking up for presents and just how hard it is to resist pinching a bit of food but stopping myself. I then took the memories of how I acted on these times and thought about how I was moving and acting at these times doing things like licking my lips and going to touch things but grabbing my hand to stop and then used them when I was acting as Count Keith encountering someone willing to let him feed for the first time.

When working with my character Dr Ernest I was trying to put a lot of focus on just how passionate he is about his field and the expeditions he goes on around the world. At first, Ernest may seem uncomfortable with what he is presenting to a room full of people and a little nervous but once he realises that he is talking about something that he is really passionate about he really starts to get into what he is saying and gets really worked up about how much he enjoys it and just rambles on and on not really realising he might be boring people because he is so passionate about what it is he’s rambling about. To get myself into the mindset of doing this for the character I thought about things that I’m passionate about in my life like music I love or a film series that I love like “Star Wars” and I decided to talk about those things with people who would listen to them or just to myself in front of the mirror and would just talk and talk and talk until I was out of breath or the person I was talking to looked bored or in shock at how much I was going on about something. I then used this inspiration for how Dr Ernest would be when he is talking and get increasingly more worked up and excited about his passion and get really into what he was saying and feel more comfortable eventually.

For The character of Chris I knew how much I wanted to focus on his anxiety, paranoia that he is feeling about being around people he doesn’t know or trust because he is suspecting they could potentially either be the aliens or under the control of the aliens and threat to him so he would be extremely nervous and uncomfortable talking to other people. For this I thought back to how I felt right at the very start of the module when I was really struggling with my confidence and nervousness when it came to demonstrating my characters to the class at first which I was eventually able to overcome. But I decided to use the nerves, discomfort and anxiousness I was feeling and things like how I struggled to sometimes get words out and would stop what I was saying and lose myself, run out of what to say and want to start over again. I then decided to use those thoughts and memories of my nerves and fear of performing I initially had, and put them into how Chris would speak and move when he was talking to people and I feel like this really paid off and helped me get the uncomfortable look I was after for the character. When thinking about memories to work with for Chris I was influenced by the Lecoq reading again when it says

“we approach improvisation through psychological replay which is silent. Replay involves reliving lived experience in the simplest way.”

This quote was what eventually lead to me thinking back to how I replayed the emotions I was feeling at the start of the module and used them for Chris and it was also a big influence for the emotions I thought back to for when I was working on my final character Sergeant MacCallum. When working on MacCallum I knew I needed him to let his inner frustrations and anger boil to the surface when shouting at a recruit for something fairly mediocre and I decided to think about past events and moments in my life that have really made me angry and channel the anger from those moments and let them come to the surface when I was berating the recruit for the piece.

I hope you have enjoyed this video about some of my improv journey and thank you.