#to the point where I could barely look at myself in the mirror anymore because I thought I looked like him

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

When I get out, I refuse to sabotage anything anymore. It’s fucking stressful. Instead I will go to the beach on the weekends, in my little mask and wetsuit and look for cool rocks, with a little piña colada on the shore waiting for me. I will not engage in anti-preaching because I will be too busy RELAXING and HAVING FUN to care if people join cults.

[bluebeary-jay]

How easy you are to need

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel notices that the peaceful life in Jackson has its consequences. he is not happy about it (based on this wonderful ask!)

Tags: TONS OF ANGST, but also FLUFF, established relationship, ahh intrusive thoughts (how much i hate them), Joel is probably ooc but i don't care anymore, also he's soft and insecure and vulnerable

Warnings: body dismorphia and lots of self-loathing on Joel's side, at one (two?) points borderline on smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hihihi, swearing, drinking (just mentioned), suggestive stuff bc apparently i can't help myself 😌

Word count: 8K ! (8028 specifically woah)

A/N: the next fic will definitely be shorter bc i really need to start caring less about the quality of my work, it takes way too long for my liking. buuut anyway as always 🎶i hope yall will like it🎶 this is my birthday gift for you guys 💕

Joel looked at himself in the mirror with furrowed brows.

He pulled in his stomach and tried to zip his pants. It still fit, but barely. He undid the zip, turned to the side and looked at his reflection again, just to make sure.

Yeah. This pair was definitely loose until a while ago.

He glanced at the door, but didn’t hear you coming, so he sighed and looked in the mirror again. Joel was never particularly muscular, but he could no longer see those thin lines which accentuated his torso before. There was also a bit of fat above the hem of his jeans, and his frame seemed somehow heavier…

Good thing his left ear was directed to the door, because he heard the moment the water in the shower stopped running, which meant you were coming back from the bathroom. Joel spared himself one last wary look and zipped up his pants before turning around to your shared bed where his shirt lay discarded.

He was putting his arms into the sleeves when you entered. A couple of light steps, and then Joel smiled when he felt your arms wrapping around his torso. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“You took your sweet time in the shower,” he pointed out, and he could feel your smile when you pressed your face to his back.

“We finally have hot water, so I’m gonna use it every chance I get.”

“You left some for me?”

You huffed a laugh and went around him, moving his hands away and starting to button his shirt yourself.

“There would be, if you took a shower with me.”

“Next time, sweetheart,” he chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead softly, combing his fingers through your wet hair. He hummed. “Your hair smells nice.”

“It’s that shampoo Ellie didn’t want.” You shook your head with a smile. “I have no idea why, it’s fantastic.”

You buttoned up the last button and smoothed your palms over his chest and down, lastly resting them on his waist. Internally Joel furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if he could always feel this fold when you put your hands in that place.

“You look handsome,” you whispered, looking up at him with twinkling eyes and such a soft, love-struck expression on your face that Joel felt his throat constricting. Everything but the sight of you faded from his mind, and he joined his hands behind your back, pulling you closer into his chest and basking in this precious smile you blessed him with. “Especially with the bed hair.”

“It’s your doin’, you know,” he murmured in response, nudging your nose with his and reminiscing how you tugged and raked your nails through his hair the night before. “You gotta be careful with it, sweet girl. If you continue doin’ it, m’gonna go bald soon.”

You hummed noncommittally and leaned against his chest, standing on your tip-toes. “I’ll take it under consideration. No promises, though.”

Joel lifted his hand to the back of your neck and kissed you slowly, reveling in the soft sigh that left your lips. You rested your palm above his heart, leaning forward to the point that you would fall over if he wasn’t supporting your weight.

But Joel held you tight and close to his body, gladly steadying you as you deepened the kiss, once again tugging on his graying hair in that way he adored. He wanted to tease you about it, but his thoughts strayed to the image of his body again when you lowered your hand from his chest to his side.

“You remember that tonight is this party?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Joel gave up pondering about his physique and sighed heavily at your question, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, I remember. Regrettably.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” you whispered with guilt, as if someone would hear you both. “But Tommy really wanted us to come and… Just don’t make me go alone.”

“Hey, darlin’.” Joel took your face in his hands and looked deeply into your eyes. “I promised, didn’t I? M’not gonna leave you there on your own.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them. “And mind you, I gotta make sure no one will try to seduce and steal you away from me.”

You giggled, and you were standing so close that Joel could feel your eyelashes tickling his skin. He held you close when you tried to take a step back, and your lips collided again.

“That is the one thing you don’t need to ever worry about,” you murmured quietly into the space between you two. “How could I even look at other people when I have you all to myself?”

Joel’s reflection in the mirror flashed across his mind again and a small wave of uncertainty rippled through him, but it quickly disappeared when you opened your eyes and looked at him with this raw love radiating from them. Your every word, every affectionate gesture only confirmed his conviction that you meant every word you said.

So why did he still feel so uncertain?

*****

Life in Jackson was perfect. Considering the state of the world right now, living here was like winning a lottery.

Joel had a lot to be thankful for, he was well aware of that. No longer had he any fears or sense of guilt about going to sleep and leaving you and Ellie defenseless if something were to happen. He didn’t have to count rations anymore, worrying that the kid would be forced to march all day hungry. There was now no need to keep a watchful eye for new clothes if someone’s worn off, ripped or got soaked from walking in the rain, posing a threat of you or Ellie catching a cold.

Back in Boston it wasn’t much different, though he and you had at least a bed to sleep in, as uncomfortable as it was. But there was never enough food for all those people Fedra kept there, and the winters were cold as hell, leaving at least one of you a bit sick every year.

None of those things were keeping him awake at night anymore. The only people he had to take care of – you and Ellie – were safe and comfortable. None of you had to starve or freeze, and you all didn’t have to continue walking across the country for days and days without end, struggling to survive.

Maybe that was the problem.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew that those luxuries he had an access to now were at the root of his problem. Before you all settled in Jackson, you were constantly on the move, fighting for your lives in one way or another, so of course he was… leaner and more fit back then. It was never something he paid attention to, though, never something he concerned himself with.

But now you three were living here, surrounded by more people than Joel could count, and he couldn’t help but… notice things about them.

Especially about all those men and women who looked at you in a different way.

Due to the nature of the party Tommy invited them to – mainly consisting of dancing and talking in the biggest bar in Jackson – Joel had a lot of time to ponder about his situation, all while nursing his drink and looking at you from across the room with his elbows resting on the table.

You were chatting with one of your friends near the counter, laughing and smiling so beautifully. No matter where Joel’s eyes strayed, they always came back to your person, as if you were the moon against the pitch black sky, reflecting some imperceptible light.

Some guy he knew by sight – Chuck? Bart? – walked up and tapped you on the shoulder, and from what Joel could tell, he was offering you a drink. He was standing way too close, though, and you took a step closer to your friend, shaking your head. Chuck – or Bart – persisted for another half a minute, but eventually shrugged and shuffled off, his movements tense.

Joel didn’t move. He knew from experience that you’d let him know if you needed his help.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned your head and sent him a radiant smile. He mirrored it, lifting his glass slightly like he was toasting you, which made you do the same before resuming the conversation with your friend.

His smile disappeared as soon as you stopped looking at him. Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, feeling a headache coming from the dull lights and loud chatter all around.

It were moments like this when it hit him just how old he was compared to you.

You were a sweet, young thing. Funny, sharp, drop-dead gorgeous… No wonder some people were seeking your attention. That guy was just one of the half a dozen he saw or heard about since you moved to Jackson.

Joel knew you were a loyal sort – God, he knew that, he knew you for so long now – but every time he saw you talking to someone else, his treacherous mind started to wonder if he wasn’t somehow keeping you chained to his person.

It was probably alcohol talking, but Lord, if he wasn’t reminded of how old he was compared to you every time he saw you next to your peers. You still had so much life ahead of you, and he was pushing sixty, for fuck’s sake. Before long he’ll be old and decrepit, unable to bring something useful to the table or help you in any way, and you’d still be as pretty as ever, trapped in a relationship with an old man.

For example, that guy – Chuck, or whomever – was way closer to your age, had handsome features, and Joel knew for a fact he was working at tree felling, so he had to be muscular, too.

Joel was once, too. Once.

He subtly ran his hand across his stomach under the jacket, his brows furrowed, and leaned back on the bench to get rid of those damned fat folds.

He sighed and downed the rest of the liquor in his glass, trying very hard not to think about it, not to put himself down like that and let those cruel thoughts fester in his mind, but no matter what, he couldn’t stop comparing himself to this guy, and also… how you looked next to him.

Shit. What if he was doing you more harm than good by continuing to stay with you?

“I could pickpocket you and you wouldn’t notice.”

Joel looked up, abruptly pulled out of his thoughts. You were standing over his table with your head tilted and still that beaming smile on your face.

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

He opened his mouth, glanced in the direction of the bar, and closed it. There was no sign of any of the people you just talked with.

“Nothin’,” he replied, maybe a little too dryly, so he quickly changed the subject. “You havin’ fun?”

“Yeah, it’s nicer than I thought.” You looked around and then spotted the empty glass on the table in front of him. “Do you want me to bring you another one?”

“No, there’s no need,” he grumbled, but you had already put your drink down and sent him a wink.

“I'll be right back, baby.”

Joel hissed your name but you just looked over your shoulder with a smirk, swinging your hips provocatively to the music and ignoring him completely. He sighed heavily, slumping in his seat.

He needed to get his shit together. Fuck his insecurities, he didn’t want to take his frustration out on you when you were nothing but a ray of sunshine in his life, always so good and affectionate.

Joel’s thoughts came to a sudden stop when he searched for you in the crowd and noticed another man, this time one he didn’t know, swinging his arm over your shoulders while you waited at the bar. He tried to read your body language from here, but you didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable with the man’s actions. Joel furrowed his brows, a pit of uncertainty forming in his stomach again... but then you threw the man’s heavy limb off your shoulders and went back to Joel’s table as soon as you got the drink.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, taking a large gulp despite telling himself earlier that he was done drinking for today. “Were you okay back there?” He pointed his chin towards the bar.

You sat down next to him and smiled innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

Joel knew you long enough to recognize when you were teasing him, and he smirked despite the doubts swirling in his mind.

“Was that guy givin’ you any trouble?” he asked lazily, deciding to play along.

“Would you beat the shit out of him if I said yes?” you asked with your eyebrows raised, and Joel shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Probably.”

You giggled and bumped his shoulder with yours playfully.

“Then no. Peter’s a good guy. Just a little,” you seemed to be looking for the right word, “uhm, persistent.” When Joel sent you a dubious look, you rolled your eyes and made a face. “He’s politely hitting on me, but doesn’t get that I’m not interested. He works at the same place I do.”

“If he keeps makin’ you uncomfortable, that’s not very polite.” You squinted at him and Joel lifted his hands in fake surrender. “M’not sayin’ anythin’. You can take care of yourself, I know that.”

You hummed melodically and glanced at the bar, then back at Joel. Then back at the bar again where that Peter guy stood. Joel noticed you biting the inside of your cheek, so he gently nudged your knee with his.

“What’s on your mind, sweet girl?”

“Maybe you could help me make it clear that I’m taken?” you blurted out quickly, making him crack a smile and chuckle under his breath.

It was so very easy to forget about all the problems in the world when you were there, sitting right next to him and warming his soul and body with your mere presence.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed and tugged you gently to sit on his lap. You faltered, but he gave your hand another light tug, and finally you let him guide you, putting one arm around his shoulders and making yourself comfortable.

Joel’s hand mindlessly went to rest on your thigh and he rubbed it comfortingly. That Peter guy, as he noted with satisfaction, was staring right back at you, eyeing the way your body was pressed flush against Joel’s with a twisted face.

Once the eyes of the both men met, Joel leaned in and kissed your neck, keeping eye contact the entire time. Peter turned away, taking a large swig from his glass.

Joel felt your muscles relaxing, and you giggled adorably next to his ear at his antics, hiding your neck between your shoulders when he nibbled at your skin lightly. Then your hand covered his, the one lying on your thigh, and stroked his skin lovingly.

Maybe Joel was keeping you chained somehow. Then again, he was but a selfish creature after all. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to ever truly let you go.

*****

The next few days – which then turned into weeks – Joel spent wondering. Mostly about what to do with his predicaments.

He had a couple of them.

The first problem was the nights. They became more difficult since he noticed… details about himself that weren’t there before, and which bothered him more and more with each day.

Joel used to love the nightfall, especially since you all settled in Jackson. In those evening hours no one bothered him, he could finally relax, spend some time alone with you, and later collapse on the bed to get a good-night sleep.

Well, not anymore.

The bedtime unexpectedly became the most stressful one for him. He was so fucking mad at himself, because laying down and having a chance to hold you in his arms was something he treasured for the longest time, but now his own insecurities stood in a way of it.

You loved cuddling and being close to him in your sleep, and Joel was never bothered by it – hell, he initiated those moments more often than not. But now he started noticing more and more how this layer of fat on his stomach moved and looked like when you draped your arm around him or snuggled closer to his chest, and it became all he could think about.

It bothered Joel so much that he started wearing a t-shirt to bed, even though he hated it with all his passion. When you asked about it, he lied that he’s cold, but in reality he was always sweaty by morning. It didn’t seem to make any difference to you, though, and you didn’t shy away from pressing your body close to his, and even slipping your hands under his shirt when you were spooning him. Some days Joel was waking up with you lying on his chest or having your arm slung across his belly, and every time it caused a lump in his throat.

He knew you didn’t mean anything bad by it – for God’s sake, you probably didn’t even have any idea that he had a problem with himself – but what once was a wonderful start of the day, now became a bitter reminder of all those things he was insecure about.

Recently he built a habit of waking up before you – he did it often before, but he always stayed in bed and waited for you to open your eyes, too – and carefully disentangling himself from your embrace. It wasn’t like it didn’t feel wonderful to be enveloped by you in this way, but once he stirred awake, lying still was a herculean task. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, his skin was itching and buzzing, he was sweating from nerves and a lot of horrible, self-depriving thoughts were flooding his mind.

So once he woke up, he’d go take a shower, trying to be a little bit louder than necessary in hopes that you’d already be awake when he gets back – so that he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not laying back down next to you.

The second of his problems was that you began to watch him more closely.

He didn’t know when it started happening, but in hindsight he realized it was just a matter of time – he was acting weird, after all, and you knew him too well not to notice anything.

A couple of times in the last few days only, Joel caught you staring at him in silence. Your eyes were solemn and your forehead sad, though you were quick to smile and act like nothing was amiss as soon as he turned your way.

You must have known something was wrong, but Joel didn’t ask about it. Honestly, with all that was happening in his own head, he didn’t want to know.

But at the same time it was as if nothing odd was happening. You were your usual self, a blessing in Joel’s life, and you still sought to be close to him and spend as much time together as possible. You still told him you loved him, surprised him with unexpected gestures of affection…

Just like today – you hugged him from behind while he was dressing up, started kissing his shoulders so tenderly and murmuring sweet nothings into his skin… In those moments Joel could almost forget about everything that was nagging him. It was easy to believe that you still liked the way he looked, that he was deserving of you, when you treated him with nothing but overwhelming love.

But the itch in the back of his mind never really disappeared. Even though he wanted it to.

Those thoughts filled his mind while you were sitting on his lap, telling him some story from work in a soft voice. You two were at Tommy’s, waiting for him to get back from helping his wife with something, and the day was so beautiful that you all went out onto the patio in front of the house to enjoy the unusually warm weather for this time of the year.

Joel’s hand was on your thigh, stroking it absentmindedly, while he nodded to whatever you were saying, but for the life of him, he could not focus.

Has your physique changed as well? Joel didn’t care about those things, of course, and in his eyes you were as breathtaking as ever – maybe even more, since so many of your worries disappeared and he got to see your smile more often. And you still felt perfect under his hands when he was holding you at night, still looked like a goddess every time he got to admire your naked body.

But even though he wouldn’t have cared either way if you gained some weight or looked any different, his body still bothered him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Joel fixed his attention to the wind-blown tree crowns in the distance.

Maybe he should start exercising.

Joel never liked the idea of waking up early and running down the streets in a sweat-soaked t-shirt, or going to the gym where everyone seems to stare and judge you, but it was never necessary.

With how much traveling, heavy-lifting and working he had to do, he never concerned himself with the way he looked. Hell, these things are the last on your mind when you’re fighting for your life in this god-forsaken world. But here, in Jackson, it was different. Life was good, and you were happy. And as stupid as it sounded for him, Joel wanted to look good for you.

Maybe he should ask Maria to assign him to extra patrols. He already volunteered for the morning ones, but perhaps…

“You’re quiet.”

Joel didn’t realize you stopped telling your story. He pressed his lips together and his hand on your thigh stilled.

“Sorry.”

“No need for that,” you reassured him quickly. Then you cupped his cheeks and lifted his head gently. “I don’t mean ‘now’, though, I mean… lately, in general.” Your eyes were flickering across his face, like you were hoping to read the answer from his features. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

No. Hell no. It was bad enough that Joel himself was aware of his issue, he didn’t want to make it even more noticeable by pointing it out to you.

Which reminded him – he moved his torso away from you only a few millimeters.

“No, babygirl,” he answered. He brushed some hair behind your ear, smiling softly even though inside he despised himself for lying to you. “Everythin’s fine.”

You didn’t seem convinced and still were studying his face with concern. Joel resumed petting your thigh, wanting to put you at ease. He could worry about himself, but he didn’t need to concern you with his problems, too.

“I promise,” he added. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

That look in your eyes didn’t disappear, but you hummed and dropped your hands. It didn’t take a genius to know you didn’t believe him.

“If you say so,” you answered at last, and then covered his hand on your leg with your own. “But remember you can talk to me whenever you want. About anything.”

Jesus, your kindness was only confirming his concerns if he was the right person for you. Joel shook his head with a crooked smile.

“You’re gettin’ sappy.”

“It’s because I’m worried,” you shot back without skipping a beat, swatting at his chest with the back of your hand. “And you’re not making it any easier.”

“There’s nothin’ for you to worry about,” he repeated, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. But he failed.

You pressed your lips together and then made a move to get up from his lap without a word. Joel held onto you delicately, not letting you stand up.

“Wait, darlin’,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Didn’t mean to say it that way. I just… feel tired. Sorry.”

Your eyes softened when you took in the regret and weariness on his face. Joel felt your fingertips on his jaw, but before you could question him further, Tommy returned from the inside of the house with a grin.

“Age is a heavy burden, eh, ol’ dog?” he teased, apparently having heard the last bit of their conversation. The younger Miller placed three bottles of beer on the table, and winked at you. “That’s just how it is for us now. Enjoy your youth while you still can, punk.”

Joel felt a sharp jab in his ribs, not unlike being stabbed. He couldn’t find it in himself to look at his brother, less alone laugh at his teasing.

Of course Tommy didn’t mean anything bad by it, but his words were just a bitter reminder of the ever-present pit of Joel’s stomach.

The weight of you on his lap suddenly felt a lot lighter, and he himself felt so, so very heavy and tired.

Old.

Joel could feel your eyes boring into his face, but a second later you turned to Tommy, taking the burden of filling the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s already started for me. Sometimes I feel like my bones want to kill me prematurely.”

“M’sure Joel won’t let that happen. He’d fight your skeleton if you said it’s botherin’ you.”

You snorted and shook your head, but your smile faltered when you turned to Joel again. He almost broke down right then and there from the guilt and tightness in his chest.

And the dark feeling inside him just grew when your eyes stayed sad and concerned for the rest of the day.

*****

It had to end.

Joel could no longer pretend everything was alright like he wasn’t dying on the inside every time you did as much as hold his hand. He felt horrible about lying, avoiding spending time together and denying you affection he knew you so loved receiving.

If he was being honest with himself, he wanted this affection, too. Undisturbed with self-doubts and guilt.

He fucking craved it.

Those last few weeks, his evenings were mostly spent away from you and the warmth of your shared home. The nights, on the other hand, when he would sneak in and quietly lay down next to you (but just a little further away), became full of intrusive thoughts and wallowing in self-loathing.

No matter what excuse he came up with, you were persistent in holding and being close to him during the night, and Joel discovered that the only way to prevent you from doing it was to come to bed after you’ve already fallen asleep.

But it was a damn torture.

The worst part was when he was coming home to the sight of you lying amongst the tangled sheets and blankets in his bed. No matter if you were drooling or a pillow has imprinted itself on your cheek, every time this sight made Joel weak in the knees. You looked like a gorgeous, priceless painting, and it pained him to disrupt your rest with his arrival.

He tried to volunteer for evening patrols, because then he’d have a real reason to come home late, but not only Maria didn’t want to pair him with anyone during those hours – she also suspended him from all patrols whatsoever. Joel was understandably furious, but the damn woman threatened to tell Tommy about it if he kept being ‘a stubborn pain in her ass’. She sent him back home, murmuring something about spending more time with you, which he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Joel sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed and hiding his face in his hand.

If Maria of all people could see that there were some problems in your and Joel’s relationship, then you had to notice, too.

Christ, he was the worst.

Joel didn’t want to push you away, of course not. He wanted to stay with you more than anything, but that desire did nothing to diminish the guilt suffocating him. For some time, he felt like the luckiest man alive, having the privilege to call you his and every day come home to you. But now with all those little things he started to notice, he felt like a fraud.

It wasn’t even about him not deserving you anymore – it was that you didn’t deserve this fucking treatment he was giving you these past few weeks.

Fuck, he had to tell you the truth. About the patrols, sneaking out, distancing himself, all of it. He couldn’t bear lying to you a day longer.

Joel stood up and pulled his sweaty t-shirt over his head. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and patted himself under his armpits and on the back, then reached for a clean one.

He’ll figure it out. He just needed some time to come up with a way to–

“Morning, handsome.”

Joel flinched and turned around quickly, not having realized you were awake, but whatever excuse he had in mind, it fell dead on his lips.

You stretched with a groan, reaching one arm high above your head and rubbing your eyes with the other hand. A sleepy smile danced on your lips when you looked back at him with sparkles in your slightly puffy eyes, and Joel didn’t have any other word to describe you than ‘ethereal’.

“What are you doing?” you asked groggily, relaxing against the pillow and looking him up and down.

“Uhmm…” he hesitated, clutching the t-shirt that was in need of washing close to his chest. His gaze was drawn to the window. “Goin’ out, actually. I’ve got some work…”

“No, you don’t,” you interrupted him and swung off the covers from his side of the bed. “Get back here.”

Joel looked at you with surprise.

“What?”

“You heard me, Miller. Get your ass back on the bed.”

He crumpled the shirt in his hands, hesitating, but his eyes softened as soon as he looked back at you and your raised eyebrows – like you were challenging him to just try and refuse you.

But how could he, when you looked so pretty lying in his bed and demanding to have him close to you? How could he ever deny you anything?

With a defeated sigh, Joel started putting the t-shirt back on, but the sound of you humming in protest stopped him. Your face was grumpy when he glanced up.

“Nah. No shirt.” You extended your hand in his direction, making a grabbing motion. “Come here.”

Joel didn’t move. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes and dramatically flopped down onto the pillows, looking up at him with an adorable pout.

“Because it’s been a long time since I got a chance to admire my handsome, sexy man,” you answered with sincerity, and then grinned. “Now come here. If you ditch your shirt, I’ll consider ditching mine.”

He still didn’t move. You were patient, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to do anything, you sent him a small, sweet smile. “If you get cold again, I promise to do something about it, love.”

Joel physically felt his heart softening at your words and at the sight of you.

With a silent sigh – and only a split second of hesitation – he took off the t-shirt and quickly laid down on his back next to you. He felt a bile rise in his throat, though he had no idea why, and it became almost choking when you shifted closer to him, putting one hand on his chest.

“You’ve deprived me of this beautiful view for too long,” you whispered, kissing the place below his collarbone, and then going up to the base of his neck. “I missed seeing you like this.”

“There’s nothin’ to miss,” Joel muttered, not moving a single muscle. He had his hands entwined on his stomach and to look in your direction was the biggest effort anyone could demand from him now. “We sleep next to each other every night, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you breathed into his neck, leaving love bites wherever your lips strayed. “You’re going out so early these days. And you work late.”

“Patrols,” Joel grunted with gritted teeth, his muscles tense and breathing ragged as your warm palm caressed his waist. “Sorry.”

“You work too hard, love.” You sat up and swung one of your legs over his lap. Joel actually shivered when you took his hands in your own and placed them on your hips. “Let me help you relax.”

Oh, fuck.

Jesus fucking Christ, Joel was sure he was going to drop dead at any second now.

“Darlin’…” he began, but you made a noise in your throat and leaned in to kiss him deeply, pressing your body to his. Joel loved when you initiated those moments between you two, and you looked so fucking hot sitting on top of him – but for the life of him, he could not relax.

“It hits me every once in a while how lucky I am to have you,” you whispered in such a sweet, adoring voice, like you didn’t hear him. You pressed your lips against his stubble again, igniting every inch of his skin with your touch. “Let me enjoy you. I love you so much, you know that?”

“I…”

I love you, too.

Lord, he loved you so much. Why was it so hard to return your affections, then? Why did he feel like the biggest crook by letting you love him?

Joel let out a shuddering sigh he didn’t know he was holding when you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, before capturing his mouth in a kiss. It was sweet, but heated at the same time and, without even thinking about it, he found himself wrapping his strong arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest. You smiled against his lips and murmured something he didn’t quite catch.

A groan escaped him when you bit his lower lip lightly, your soft palm going down, from his chest, to his stomach, down…

He couldn’t do it.

Joel abruptly rose to the sitting position and grabbed your wrist, his eyes sad and painful.

“I’m sorry, baby” he said with furrowed brows, gently setting you aside and off his lap, before standing up quickly. “I’m so sorry, babygirl, I love you, I promise, but I can’t… I don’t feel good today. I’m sorry.”

“Joel…” you started, but he shook his head, putting his t-shirt back on and turning away from you not to let you see the absolute wrecked expression on his face and wetness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying, feeling like he’s about to throw up from the nerves and the burning shame. He cursed himself internally, wanting to turn around, to take your face in his hands and kiss you deeply, but he… he... “I’m so…”

All strength left him in a blink of an eye and suddenly he slumped on the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Joel desperately tried to get a grip on himself, but his chest felt so tight, and all the worry, all the guilt and fear, and self-loathing came crashing down on him all at once.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips trembling and that damn muscle in his cheek pulsing when he felt the mattress dipping and your tentative touch on his face.

“No, no, baby, it’s alright,” you started saying quietly, trying to take his cheeks in your hands, but he didn’t let you. “Oh, Joel… Come here.”

You gently pulled him into your arms, guiding his head to rest in the crook of your neck. Joel hid his face in your skin, realizing with dread that his own shoulders were shaking.

For God’s sake, he needed to stop, he needed to put himself together and not show any weakness–

But it was you. It was your warm embrace and your loving hands brushing his hair, and your quiet whispers while you held him. It was your kindness and understanding, and stubbornness coming from love. You weren’t someone he had to hide from.

So he let you in. He let you hold him.

“Joel, please. Talk to me,” you spoke up after some time, and though your tone was soft, it somehow sounded too loud in the silence of the room. “I need to know what’s going on with you, you’re worrying me.”

“Nothin’ is goin’ on,” he answered out of habit, not even moving a muscle. “I just… fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and talk to me.” Joel pursed his lips, while you massaged his back gently. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna get through it together, okay? It’s gonna be okay, love, I promise.”

He planned on telling you. He wanted to tell you and get it off his chest, but… he wasn’t ready. Not now. Not when he broke down in front of you, for fuck’s sake.

But you deserved to know. If not to help him, then at least to make you aware of what you’ve gotten yourself into. It wasn’t fair to keep you in the dark and at arm’s length because of his absurd fears.

He wetted his lips and inhaled softly, but no words came out.

You gently lifted his head and Joel immediately squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no way he’d be able to say anything if he looked at you.

“You can tell me, baby,” you whispered sadly, touching the side of his face. “Anything. I promise everything will be alright.”

Joel was silent for a couple of moments, before he swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm down his pounding heart.

“I don’t have any extra work,” he started very quietly, so his voice wouldn’t break. “I was lyin’ to you, and I… I’m so sorry about that. I don’t get sent on any patrols now, actually…”

He shook his head and sighed heavily, faltering. He knew that wasn’t the problem, and although lying to you was one of the things he was guilty of, it wasn’t what started all of it. And you must’ve known it, too, because you kept looking at him, not saying anything.

“The thin’ is, I… God dammit,” he murmured, turning his head away from you and hiding his face in his hands, still keeping his eyes closed. “I can’t… I don’t– I have a problem with myself,” he finally blurted out, not even caring now if you understood his muffled words. “I keep…”

Fuck, man, just say it.

“I’m… I’m not as fit as I used to be,” he murmured, not moving an inch in fear that you’ll spot the wetness on his eyelashes. “I don’t want to do you harm, darlin’, keepin’ you from… Jesus, I don’t know. From livin’ your life, happily and to the fullest.”

“Joel…” You whispered with pain in your voice. “Is this what it is about?”

Joel shook his head, letting out a shuddering breath, still as quietly as he could.

“I’m old,” he said with tiredness he didn’t know he had in himself. “And you… You’re so pretty and young, I…” He lowered his forehead onto his hand, rubbing his temple. “I would like nothin’ more than to spend the rest of my life with you, darlin’. But I’m afraid I’m not… not good for you. You could do so much better–”

“Hey. Hey, none of that.” You forced his hands away from his face by cradling it in your own palms. “There’s no one else I’d rather share my days with.”

Joel just shut his eyes tighter, trying to contain the tears that started to gather in them.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But in a couple of years I’ll be… God, I’ll be fuckin’ sixty, and you–”

“Do you really think I care about that?” you asked softly, brushing your thumbs under his eyes, but he shook his head, like you didn’t understand. “Joel, I love you more than anything in this world. And I know you love me.” He heard the faintest smile in your voice, and it made him feel so, so terrible with himself – that you were trying to make him feel better when you shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have been another one of your worries… “So where’s the problem? I want to be with you. Only you.”

Joel pressed his lips together and before he could stop himself, he draped his arms over his lap, like he was trying to hide the evidence of his insecurities from you, even though his torso was already covered by the t-shirt.

“You’re young and beautiful,” he repeated, still unable to find strength in himself to look you in the eye. “And I’m anythin’ but. I just don’t wanna…”

Joel didn’t know what else to say.

He didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to spend another night apart from you. He didn’t want to push you away.

“Just don’t want you to be unhappy,” he finally murmured.

You let out something between a short chuckle and a stifled sob, and your fingers found Joel’s, still wrapped around his stomach.

“Do I look unhappy to you?” you asked, almost in disbelief. Joel finally willed himself to glance at you, if only to see for himself – which turned out to be a mistake. Your eyes were sad and teary, but not full of hurt or distaste like he feared, and you still had this faint smile on your face. He quickly turned his head away and you must’ve realized how you looked because your hold on his fingers tightened slightly. “Not right now. In general, did I ever do something to make you think I’m not happy with you?”

“No,” he answered quietly, not even having to think about it. “But it doesn’t…”

“I told you before, how can I even look at anyone else when I have you?” you spoke up when he faltered. “You’re beautiful to me, Joel, even if you don’t believe me right now. You’re amazing and kind, you’re fucking hot, and yeah, maybe you’re stubborn at times, but I love you so much, and every day I find another reason to fall for you all over again.”

Joel met your eyes again, looking for any hesitation or deceit – but he didn’t find any. As always, you were sincere in everything you said.

He realized, with another wave of tears threatening to roll down his cheeks, how much he missed your affection that he alone deprived himself from. How much he longed for this intimacy that once came so easily to him.

“M’sorry,” he muttered at last, lifting his hand to your face and trying to ignore those damn tears spilling from behind his eyelids. “Never doubted you, babygirl, but I just didn’t know how… how to tell you.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you nuzzled your cheek into his palm, planting a kiss on the inside of his hand. “It’s alright, c’mon here.”

Not letting go of his hand, you tugged him gently and leaned back on the pillows. With great effort he refrained from fighting you, and instead let you pull him down, laying his head on your chest.

And in an instant, everything was alright again. The moment Joel heard your heartbeat under his ear and felt your gentle hands on the nape of his neck and his back… it was like coming home. This feeling of warmth spreading across his limbs made him feel safe for the first time in weeks.

It was so long since he fully let you hold him.

Maybe that’s what he’s been missing.

“I adore you, Joel Miller,” you whispered into the top of his head, holding him close to your heart. “All of you, and just the way you are.”

Joel couldn’t help it – a small smile crept onto his lips.

“Called it,” he murmured. “You’re gettin’ sappy.”

You snorted and kissed his hairline. “I think you need it, handsome.”

“Maybe I do,” he conceded, not moving his head from your chest, and sighed tiredly. “Dammit, missed holdin’ you like this, babygirl. M’so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered, but he continued.

“I just didn’t know how to talk about it… How to tell you that I feel bad. About… the way I look.”

Joel felt your hands on his cheeks, and although he really didn’t want to move from the position he was in, he let you lift his head.

“I love the way you look,” you said quietly, in a tone that made Joel’s old heart flutter. “And our bodies change, there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, I’m really happy that both of us can enjoy this kind of life.” You leaned in and nudged Joel’s nose with yours, closing your eyes. “Every change of our bodies is a sign that we’re finally safe after all we’ve been through. 

“But you look gorgeous as ever, sweet girl.”

“M’glad to hear it, Mr Miller,” you teased, but then your smile turned wistful. “But you know, I was insecure about my looks, too, not sure if you noticed. My stomach and thighs, and,” you rolled your eyes, “well, my butt.”

Normally Joel would throw a playful remark, or try to make you giggle, but this time he stayed silent. He just listened to your soft voice, drinking in your features.

“It worried me for some time. But you still put your hand on my leg when I was sitting with you, and you never shied away from telling and showing me,” you stressed this word, a teasing note in your tone, “how much you like my body.”

“‘Course I do,” he murmured quietly, lifting himself on his elbows and leaning over you despite your huffs and efforts to keep him in place.

“So I thought that maybe you didn’t care about this extra weight, or even didn’t–”

The rest of your words were swallowed by Joel’s lips when he kissed you deeply and hungrily. So many strong emotions were swirling inside his chest, he didn’t know anymore what to do with himself. At first you tried to continue your train of thought, but soon gave up, erupting into giggles when Joel latched his lips onto your neck and wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to bring you in even closer.

“I didn’t care,” he was whispering into your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. “I don’t.”

“Then you see– Joel, stop it!” You squealed when he carried on with his assault, not giving you a second to gather your thoughts.

“M’so lucky to have you,” he whispered while peppering your face in soft kisses. “Thank you, babygirl.”

You finally managed to free your arms, and you cupped his face in your hands with a huge grin that Joel decided he wanted to see every day. Another adorable giggle escaped you when he snuggled his scratchy cheek into your palm.

“I know it will take time,” you said gently, but firmly, looking deep into his eyes. “But no matter how long it’ll take, I will make you understand how incredibly attracted I am to you.” Joel hung his head low to hide a bashful snigger, and your smile grew. “Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Understood, ma’am.”

“Good.” You pulled him closer to plant a slow kiss on his lips, and asked seductively: “I can start right now, if you’d want to. I don’t want my handsome man to feel insecure about any part of him.”

God, he loved you so much.

Joel hid his face in the crook of your neck again, his heart squeezing with adoration and disbelief at how it came that he’d been blessed with someone like you.

“Y’know what, sweetheart? I think it’d do me good.”

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Beach Bod Swap

"Tyler, hurry up you lameass!"

I quickly ran through the crowded beach to the shallow water where my fraternity brothers were about to take a group picture. I've always hated them but I really can't leave because it'd ruin my reputation. Once you're pledged to a fraternity, you can’t just easily leave and with the way my brothers are, they’d get revenge if I tried. So I'm stuck with a bunch of assholes. I don't even know why I joined in the first place, I should've known I wouldn't fit in.

"Hurry up and take the pic so we can get on with our lives!" One of the brothers yelled.

"All right, all right."

They set up a tripod, one guy placed a phone on it, we all got into position, but a second before it snapped, the guy on my right shoved me into the water.

"Hey!" Upon seeing the photo, everyone laughed their asses off at me flying through the air.

"Ha! We're keeping this one!"

We went to the beach to have some fun but all I felt was misery. While it's true the frat did encourage me to better myself physically, giving me a diet plan and exercise program in order to look my best, it was all for their reputation, not for me. All I have for myself is a pretty sick bod with abs. It's one of the only things I'm proud of.

I walked over to my beach towel, intending to relax the rest of the trip when a fat old guy approached me as I sat down.

"I saw that you know."

"Saw what?" I looked up at him but could barely see his face past the enormous belly and man tits.

"The way they treated you. Sounds like a bunch of assholes."

"Yeah well I'm stuck with them so..." I thought he would walk away after that but instead he stood for a minute.

"I may have something that will help you, if you want?”

“Whatever.”

“Then here lay down." He pointed at my towel. I had no idea what he was talking about but I laid down on my towel, only because I was going to do that in the first place. Maybe he'll go away now. I closed my eyes and started to relax. After a minute I decided he was gone...until I felt someone put their hands on mine.

I got up suddenly, ready to throw punches at this pot-bellied weirdo, who was probably about to violate me, when I realized something was off. I...couldn't. It felt like there was a heavy weight on my chest preventing me from getting up. The man was nowhere to be seen so I looked at my chest to see what was weighing me down, my eyes widening at the sight.

There was no weight on it, I AM the weight! My abs were completely gone and had been replaced with a flabby mass. I could see my nipples rolled to the side facing outward, since they were now attached to a saggy pair of man tits. They were kinda big too, and stuck out way further than my old ones ever did. Without hesitation, I went and touched them. It was wild. I didn't expect my nipples to be so sensitive since they were so far out from the rest of my body, but the sensation was like a surge that went straight to my dick...oh shit my dick! I couldn't even see my own swimsuit anymore! This chubby gut is completely blocking me from seeing my own dick! I tried sitting back up, but couldn't.

I ended up rolling over, feeling the gravity force me onto my stomach, only it didn't feel like I was on my stomach. It felt like I was laying on a marshmallow, while still being able to feel the sand on my torso. I groggily got up on all fours and managed to get onto my feet.

I stood there, still feeling weird. Suddenly, I felt a rush of humiliation and awkwardness. Everyone else looked so thin and full of energy, and I'm just that fat guy on the beach. The kind of guy I was always kinda silently judging. How did this happen though? And where did that old man go? I-oh god. It can’t be?

I rushed to the nearby restroom, feeling my belly and tits flopping around all over, a pretty disgusting sight that felt unsettling. I walked over to the mirror and found my horrors had come true. I AM the fat old guy! I leaned in closer and touched my face all over. I pinched my double chin, wiggling it back and forth. I ran my fingers through my colorless hair and found that most of it was in patches, as the bald spots almost took over completely. I opened my mouth to find all yellowing teeth, with shiny aluminum crowns replacing a few of them. I looked down at my body once again, now being able to see it in the mirror, and played with my tits as I watched them wobble and sag. I did the same with my belly, feeling the jiggle as I shook it up and down.

I can't believe this is actually happening. Is this that guy's way of helping me? Turning me into a different person to escape my fraternity brothers? I may not have liked my life but I did like my body! Suddenly I felt a vibration from my pocket. I reached in to find my own phone...not this old man's. An unknown number was calling me.

"Hello?"

"Hey man!" The voice sounded awfully familiar.

"Who are you?"

"It's me! You! Well, you now! This was my way of helping you!"

Oh god, he not only transformed me, he swapped our bodies entirely! That voice is my voice! He's trying to copy my way of speaking but it sounds all wrong.

"How is this helping me at all? I was a young fit college student. You turned me into a fat old man!"

"You didn't like your fraternity brothers did you? I swapped our bodies so you can escape. Shame that I had to be so ugly though...that hurts."

"Hey, look I'm sorry! But swap me back!"

"Sorry, no can do...at least not right now. I think I can do a much better job at standing up for myself than you ever could. How many more years of college do you have? Two? See you in two years then! Oh, and I'm sure you've noticed already but those nipples are extremely sensitive. I've been pumping them for awhile in order to get a more sensual experience. Maybe you can continue that!" He immediately hung up after he finished his sentence.

I'm sure my frat brothers are still on the beach, but if I try to return to them looking like this, they won't believe it's me! Maybe that guy's right. 2 years doesn't sound so bad actually. I won't have to deal with them anymore and if what he said was true, he could give me a much more assertive reputation for after I graduate!

"I guess that's a deal then." I said, absentmindedly rubbing one of my nipples. God that does feel good though. I headed into the stall and starting jerking. I couldn't see my dick and it was a little hard to reach anyway, but rubbing just one nipple was enough to give me all the pleasure I needed to reach max stiffness. The nipples were so sensitive that I actually stopped jerking entirely to rub both of them with my hands, feeling my man tits jiggle with every rub. I didn't stop getting hard even for a second and was able to cum without my hand even touching my dick! I was never able to reach a nipple orgasm with my old body! I could get used to this...

[daddyslilchickenfingers2]

Kinktober (reuploaded)

Jealousy (Chris)

Request: y/n’s been flirting with dudes at a party and chris likes her so gets really possessive and spanks her when she says she loves his big hands on her body and she makes a mess all over his thigh + just a full fic of chris fucking reader doggy style (like i just know that man LOVES doggy) —> or maybe even like times where chris fucked u doggy like the one time u guys did it in front of a mirror, the one time he bend u over the couch etc

Warnings: spanking, doggy style, jealous Chris, slight angst, fighting, daddy kink

Chris’ pov

I really had no right to be jealous, it’s not like Y/n is my girlfriend, she’s my best friend. My kind, beautiful, funny, sexy, and single best friend. Plus it’s a party, all the single people were dancing and grinding on each other, overall having a great time. Well, everyone but me. I stood there in the corner, tightly gripping onto my near-empty Pepsi can as I watched her from across the room. Swaying her hips to the song with some random guy behind her, he was staring at her curves that her dress perfectly showed. I couldn’t take it anymore, I hate seeing her with other guys, especially ones we don’t know. I abandoned my now empty Pepsi can and made my way onto the dance floor to get Y/n. I was going to take her home since were only a few blocks away from her house, we needed to talk. As I approached her and the guy, I noticed his hands were now on her hips, trying to pull her back against him and I got even more angry.

Y/n’s pov

I was at a random influencers house party that was only a couple blocks away from my house just hanging out and dancing when some guy asked if I’d dance with him. He was honestly pretty cute so I obviously said yes, even as the songs got more sexual. I felt his hands on my hips and I was going to start grinding on him because a girls gotta have some fun, but before I could, I felt him get pushed off of me. I turned around to be face-to-face with my best friend. “Chris! What the fuck are you doing!?” I yelled at him over the music. I watched as the guy, whose name I didn’t catch, stumbled back towards Chris, looking ready to fight. He was definitely drunk, but me and Chris were completely sober as we don’t drink or smoke. Instead of causing a scene, Chris just grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the door. He was walking incredibly fast and I could barely keep up with him due to my heels. “Chris, slow down! Where are we going!?” I yelled at him once again, completely unaware of what was happening.

“Shut up we’re going home! C’mon, it’s cold out here you’re going to get sick” he said pulling me faster until I yanked my arm away and stopped. “What the fuck is your problem Chris!? I was having a good time in there!” I yelled again, getting frustrated. “Would you stop fucking yelling! Jesus Christ, let’s go!” he slightly raised his voice, getting irritated. “Not until you tell me what’s going on!” I said sternly. We were only about a block and a half away from my house at this point but I still wanted to know why he pulled me away from the party and why he was so angry. “I’ll tell you when we get to your house! Now are you going to walk like a fucking adult or do I need to carry you?” he asked in a condescending tone, making me feel small. “Fuck you Christopher! Don’t fucking talk to me you asshole!” I yelled, harshly shoving him. After that, I just started walking as fast as I could towards my house, trying not to cry.

I don’t know what’s going on or why he’s acting like this but I don’t like it, this isn’t my Chris. I could hear his footsteps getting increasingly louder from behind me as he ran to catch up with me while I held onto myself, trying to keep warm in the crisp night air. I could hear Chris’ heavy breathing and footsteps right behind me now, as he stood there processing what happened after I shoved him. “Y/n! Y/n, wait! I’m sorry, I’m an asshole, I know! Just let me explain!” he tried pleading with me. We got to my door and I put the code in to unlock it, standing in the doorway and looking at him furiously. “Explain what!? That you’re fucking possessive and can never let me have fucking fun if it involves another guy!? Just fuck off Chris, go home, I’m done with you!” I screamed, letting my anger get the best of me as I slammed the door in his face. I took off my shoes and sat on the couch before I started crying. Thank god I was only really wearing waterproof mascara and some powder on my face, otherwise I’d look like a wreck.

Chris’ pov

I fucked up… I knew that the second she pushed me, I had gone too far. I can’t help it, when it comes to her, I lose the ability to communicate my emotions and just fuck everything up. I just wanted to explain where I was coming from but she slammed the door in my face. She slammed it so hard that her neighbor, an older, gay gentleman in his late 40s, came out to make sure everything was okay. “Christopher? What happened, is Y/n okay?” he asked, relieved to see me outside the door and not some random creep. “I fucked up Rick, I fucked up so bad and I think I might’ve just lost my best friend” I told him before explaining everything that happened. He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled a bit, “Sounds like you’re in love kid. I want you to go in there and make things right, go tell her why you did what you did, and express your feelings. If I know Y/n, she’s in there scared to death of losing you, she loves you more than you know. Go fix the shit you fucked up” he told me.

I was a bit confused as to what he meant by the second to last sentence, but I thanked him anyways. “Thanks Rick, hopefully I can fix this” I said while shaking his hand. “You got this, good luck kid” he replied as he walked back inside. I took a deep breath before putting the code in and opening the door. I immediately felt like shit as Y/n was crying on FaceTime with Madi, who didn’t go to the party. “Y/n/n…” I tried slowly, Madi heard me and said “I’m gonna hang up now, just hear him out and remember what I told you.“ before yelling “You better fucking fix this Chris!” through the phone. Y/n let out a shaky breath, looking at me with tear filled eyes. I move to sit on the couch with her, keeping my distance. “Before you say anything, let me explain. You’re right, I am possessive over you and I don’t like seeing you with other guys, but it’s because I’m fucking in love with you…” I looked up to see no emotion on her face so I let out a shaky breath and continued.

“I fucked up, I know that. I’m not very good at expressing my emotions when I’m jealous, I just know I don’t want you to be with another guy. I-I want you to be with me. It’s stupid, I get it, and I should’ve just talked to you instead of dragging you down the street. I’m really, really sorry. And I’m sorry I’m in love with you” I explained, knowing I probably sound fucking pathetic. I didn’t dare look up at her, scared of rejection and/or causing her more pain. I did, however, look up at her when I heard her quietly say, “I’m not” “What?” I asked confused. She scooted closer to me, “I’m not sorry that you’re in love with me, because it makes it a lot easier to do this” she said before she cupped both sides of my face and kissed me, hard. She kissed me until we were out of breath and forced to pull away. The next thing that came out of her mouth shocked me and sent a shiver down my spine. “I deserve a punishment for not hearing you out and purposely making you jealous, don’t ya think?” she asked seductively, her innocent big y/e/c eyes looking up at me. “W-What?” I asked, wanting to make sure I heard her right, “I think I’ve been bad and deserve to be punished” she teased.

Y/n’s pov

I don’t know why I said what I did, but I was horny and frustrated so it just came out. I looked Chris up and down as he bit his lip, watching his cock slowly grow hard in his pants. I could see the gears in his head turning, trying to figure out if I was fucking with him or not. I was feeling a bit bold and loved the idea of Chris’ big, rough hands on my body, so I leaned it his ear. “Come spank me daddy, I’ve been a bad girl” I whispered before going upstairs to my room. Chris quickly followed behind me, pushing me up against the wall before I got the chance to get on my bed. His hand came up to wrap around my throat, “You’re a little slut aren’t you? Making me jealous on purpose and practically begging me to punish you, how pathetic!” he smirked. I let out a whine after he said that, just wanting to be touched already. “Go get undressed for me baby” he said in a softer tone, pulling away to discard his own shirt and pants.

I quickly got fully naked before shuffling over to Chris, who was sitting on the edge of my bed in his boxers. “So pretty” he muttered as he moved to sit against my headboard. “C’mon, lay across my lap for me” I did as he said and he moved me so my ass was over his lap. “H-How many am I getting daddy?” I asked nervously as Chris rubbed his hands over my ass. “I was gonna do 50, but you’re being a good girl so I’m gonna lower it to 30, and I want you to count. You’re getting 15 each cheek baby” he replied making me whine. Chris started off with soft slaps “One… two… three… four… f-five…” but they quickly grew harder, the sound of each slap getting louder as I felt myself getting wetter. Every time his hand would come in contact with my ass, it would jerk me forward a bit, causing my clit to rub across his hard cock. “nineteen… twe—nty… twenty o-one… tw-twenty two-o…” I managed to count through my moans, however, once I got to twenty-eight, I felt myself unintentionally cum.

I let out an extremely loud moan as I finished counting “t-thirty” I whispered out, my ass now sore and most definitely welted and red. Chris spread my legs a little, rubbing his fingers across my cum covered cunt. “I don’t remember saying you could cum baby” he said seriously, flipping me over so I was now laying with my back against the bed. Chris immediately hovered over me, “You didn’t even ask” he continued, “I didn’t mean to daddy, it was an accident. Never done that before” I squirmed as he stared down at me. “I believe you babe, but if you cum again without permission, daddy’s gonna have to punish you some more” he stated gruffly. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down so we could makeout, Chris quickly won dominance and started to suck on my tongue before softly biting my lip. I honestly didn’t know Chris would be THIS good of a kisser, he ran his tongue across the roof of my mouth. I shuddered and let out a moan as one hand came up to toy with my nipples, whining when he pulled away.

“Remember how you called me possessive earlier? Well I’m gonna be really possessive now and mark you up so everyone knows you belong to me” he growled before harshly biting hickies into my neck, running his tongue across and sucking on them afterwards. I knew these were going to be dark and would take at least a week to go away but I also really liked the thought of everyone seeing how marked up I was from my daddy. Chris pulled away to admire his work and when he did, I asked in a shy voice, “Can I give you some hickies to daddy? Don’t want other girls to look at you” I pouted a bit. Chris nodded and let me suck a few hickies into his neck as he started slowly pumping two fingers into me, quickly adding a third to stretch me out. Once he deemed me loose enough he pulled me away from his neck by my hair, sitting on his knees to take off his boxer. “I want you on your hands and knees, facing the mirror so you can watch yourself getting fucked like a slut” he ordered, I immediately obeyed, loving the thought of watching it through the mirror that was close to my bed.

I watched as Chris spit onto his cock, stroking it a few times before lining it up with my hole. “Ready to get fucked like a cheap whore?” he asked, slightly kneading my ass with one hand. “Please daddy, please fuck me!” I begged before he slammed his full length into me, giving me no time to adjust before he started pounding into me. Chris pulled my hair back so I could see myself being fucked, and it was pretty fucking hot. I was trying my hardest to keep my eyes open but it felt so good and I just couldn’t. “Keep your eyes open slut!” Chris growled, pulling my hair harder, making me whimper and whine from the pain. “C-Can’t! It feels too good, please!” I don’t even know what I was asking for, “Please what baby? You need to use your words for me to know what you want” he said softer. “Need to close my eyes, want my face shoved into the mattress” I pathetically moaned out, causing Chris to let go of my hair and push my head down, making my back arch more.

“You’re doing so good for me, I think your punishment should be over and I should just fuck my pretty girl, don’t you agree?” he asked while moaning. “Wanna be good girl, I’ll do whatever you tell me daddy!” I moaned out as I felt myself getting close, that moan was quickly replaced with a cry when Chris pulled out. “No! No daddy! Was so close!” I said as literal tears welled up in my eyes, but Chris just rolled me onto my back, causing me to wince as my ass hit the bed. “Hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I’m not done fucking you, I just wanted to see that pretty face” he said calmly, stroking my cheek to reassure me. Chris slid back in and went back to his fast pace, moving my legs to wrap around his waist before caging in my head with his arms. “Feel so good daddy! Like this way better, I can see your face” I whined which made Chris smile. “Yeah? Me too, I like seeing the pretty faces you make” he said, making me blush as my nails started to lightly scratch down his back as I got close again. “Can I please cum? You can cum in me!” I whimpered out as I was holding back my orgasm, Chris’ lips came down on mine in a long and deeply passionate kiss.

He only pulled away to speed up his thrusts, “Go ahead princess, cum on my cock, I’m not far behind” he groaned. With his permission, I came, moaning out his name as I did so, “Oh Chris! Shit, feels so good” I moaned loudly. “Fuck! My name sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth like that” he grunted, thrusting in a few more times before cumming inside of me. Chris pulled out but used his fingers to scoop up the cum dripping out of me and bringing them to my mouth. “Suck” he instructed me before grabbing his shirt and wiping off both his dick and my cunt, ridding them of any excess cum. Chris turned off the light while I pulled the blankets back and we crawled under them, I put my hand on Chris’ cheek and turned his face to capture his lips in a feverish kiss. I swear my heart melted a bit when I felt him smile into it before pulling away, “I love you so much, and I’m sorry I acted like a bitch” I said quietly. Chris kissed my forehead, “And I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I love you so much more by the way” he said back, “Cuddles?” I questioned sleepily as I rolled onto my side. “Cuddles” he laughed, doing the same and spooning me, holding me against him tightly as we drifted off to sleep.

All work is subject to copyright

©️ Daddyslilchickenfingers2 2023

Do not steal my work

[tired-hq]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭.

spencer reid x gn!reader

‼ swearing, angst, crying, feelings of worthlessness, hatred of mirrors, fluff towards the end ‼

" i have no idea who i am anymore " you feels lost and you don’t know how to get out of the black hole of sadness that’s consuming you.

Sadness could feel like a small, empty room yet it could also feel like being in the middle of the ocean while in a storm. That’s what you hated most about feeling like this. Or maybe it was because no matter how many people were around you, you felt utterly alone. Sadness was one of the most powerful human emotions, it could kill you or bring you to the brink of insanity. 

Here you are, thinking about your sadness which is causing you to be even sadder. Guess it is true what they say, with knowledge there is sadness. The only person who’s realized your saddened state was your fiance, Dr. Spencer Reid. So many women wanted him. You felt extremely lucky when he asked you to marry him, so why were you so sad? Maybe, it was because he was somebody and you were nobody? Or could it have been that you’ve had a sudden realization of self-hatred? It had been weeks since you have been able to look at yourself in the mirror without breaking down or feeling nothing but disgust. While Spencer is gone you cover the mirrors with blankets and sheets, when he comes home you try my best to avoid them.

Sitting in the window, you hear the front door unlock.

“Hey, honey” His voice echos as he calls out for you, however you don’t answer. Your voice is much too hoarse to reply at all.

He turns on the lights as you were once sitting in the dark. 

“Sweetheart..? Are you alright?” You can hear his footsteps approaching you.

You nod in response, hoping he would drop the subject at hand.

“..No, you aren’t” He answers his own question from my body movements.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head. An empty wine glasses clinks the window pane as you fiddle with it in your palms. Spencer’s sigh makes you feel like you’ve disappointed him, you knew that wasn’t his intention. however, it still made you feel guilty. 

“I only had one glass this time..” You reply to his sigh.

“Drinking won’t help” He told me.

"I know..but it’s better than cutting myself..” The last part comes out of your mouth so quickly that it takes you a minute to process what you said, you weren't thinking...or were you?

His eyes fill with so much concern, “What?”

“...That’s where I am at this point..” You mumble under your breath so he could just barely hear me.

“I’m sorry...” Spencer’s head hung low.

“Not your fault” You look over to him.

“I should’ve been here more..I-” Spencer stops as you cut him off.

“It’s nothing you did, okay love?!” You try your best to convince him.

“Then what is it?”

“I-I...I have no idea who I am anymore..!” You burst out, sobbing.

“And it sc-scares me so bad, because h-how am I supposed to be the person you love if i don’t know who i am!”

“I fell in love with the person you were, the person you are, and the person you’re going to be...I’ll love you through small, empty rooms and stormy oceans. Because you, Y/n Reid, are who I love with my entire soul and body. I love you with all of my entirety, you may not be perfect...neither am I. We can be imperfect together, to me your flaws are outstanding. I asked you for your hand in marriage because you make me feel like no other.”

There it was, the trigger. Next thing you know you're balling your eyes out. But he was there, he held you in his arms, he loved you even if you didn’t know who you is...

-𝙧𝙤𝙧𝙮 ☆!

[littlewinter1917]

★ When am I gonna lose you? ★

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

"𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊."

Words: 7.6k

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: After everything that Billy’s done and been trough, he still struggles with the idea that he could be deserving of love or anything good. So, when his doubts and abandonment issues flare up again, you make it your mission to reassure him that you won’t ever leave, and that loving him isn’t a chore.

Warnings: Major hurt/comfort. A little angst with a lot of fluff. Billy being insecure. Talks about abandonment issues and never feeling good enough. Mentions of Billy’s past abuse, trauma and shitty parents. Some swearing and hints at past self-destructive behavior, injuries and scars.

A/N: The title and some parts of the story are inspired by this absolute masterpiece from the band Local Natives.

Read the story on AO3 here.

Billy turns around in your shared bed with a small groan, before burying his face back into your fluffy pillow and huffs. 

God, this sucks.

A brief glance towards the digital clock on your nightstand tells him everything he didn’t really want to know. 

It’s late. Far too late to be still lounging around in bed like this. So very late, in fact, that you’ll be back from work soon – and he still hasn’t even gotten up yet. 

He knows he should. Knows he should drag his feet over the edge of the bed, and then the rest of his body downstairs, but he just can’t.

He feels exhausted and tired, and, as much as he hates to admit it, scared.

Scared that you’ll leave again.

Scared that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll walk out the door of your shared little beach house on the coast of California, and be gone for good. 

He would get it, he thinks. 

He wouldn’t want to be with himself either, if he’s completely honest. 

And he doesn’t just mean it in an ‘I-wouldn’t-want-to-fuck-myself-kinda-way’, but on a more fundamental level, too. 

There are days, where he can barely stand his own reflection in the mirror, and everything that comes with him being, well, him. 

Days, where he can’t help but feel utterly and terribly selfish for even expecting another person to stick around like that; because if he’s struggling so much with his own company, doesn’t everyone else, too?

If he can’t even bear being around himself, how can you? How can anybody? 

These fears come up sporadically, the voices sometimes loud and booming; sometimes quiet and small, but the truth they spit stings all the same; yet today seems exceptionally bad.

He keeps mulling over the idea that he’ll find you standing in the doorway with your bags packed and a pained look on your face.

“It’s too much,” he imagines you saying, “I love you, but it’s too much. You’re too much, Billy, and I simply can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it; you’re not worth it. What you’re giving me isn’t enough to make up for all your flaws. I thought I could tolerate it, work around the mess you are, but it’s impossible. I get now why your mom left you Billy. I really, really do.”

Billy feels his throat tightening, as his breathing picks up; the mere thought itself has his heart feeling like it’s going to give out. 

And not in a fun way.

Fuck. 

He’s quickly blinking hot tears away, and it makes him hate himself even more. 

Weak, he thinks, with his father’s voice. 

Weak. Weak. Weak. 

Such a disappointment.

And you’re going to leave. Sooner rather than later you’re going to leave. 

He‘s going to lose you at some point in time. It’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when.

When is he going to lose you? 

When are you going to realize just how worthless he really is? How much of a bother, a burden, an impossible obstacle to any happy relationship, his mere presence provides.

How much you’re better off with someone else. 

Anyone else. 

Anyone else but Billy. 

And Billy himself can’t quite say when the doubts and fears started piling up in his mind with such an intensity again, leaving him with a deep and utterly overwhelming feeling full of unease in the pit of his stomach; one that’s so heavy, it almost renders him immobile.

He’s curled up completely on your shared bed, face pressed into your pillow, because it smells like you, and that’s normally something that calms his racing thoughts down a bit.

But not today. 

No, today it feels like even that is taunting him, because how much longer is he going to have that luxury; that luxury of you around and a part of his life. Staining his heart and mind with happy memories that used to be so hard to come by for Billy.

Memories he doesn’t deserve.

And how much longer is he going to wake up in a bed, so utterly soft and warm, with you by his side? There are little pieces of you all over your shared space, things that normally remind him of how you’re still here. Despite how difficult Billy is to love, you haven’t left yet. 

Yet, he thinks, a bitter laugh stuck in his throat.

But you will. 

You will leave, because everybody ultimately does, and he can’t blame them. Not if he’s the one they’re leaving.

His thoughts still linger on the way this all might play out; on the way you’re going to leave him, too. 

Will it be a big fight, like the ones with his dad? Or will you sneak out and vanish in a more quiet fashion, the way his mom slipped out of the shared house, he foolishly used to call home, and then never came back. 

He has to choke down a sob at the memory of his mother –  that part of his past still hurts more than the one with his dad, at least on an emotional level.

Maybe it’s the betrayal, he thinks, because he never expected that kind of treatment from her.

His dad? Yeah, sure. That guy never really gave two shits about him. Depriving him of even the tiniest scraps of affection, or love, or praise, or anything that a kid might desire from the person he looks up to the most.

But his mom? That beautiful and kind woman, with a smile so bright and warm, like the Californian sun. The woman that would kiss him goodnight, lips lingering on his freckled forehead, and tuck him in with a hushed, gentle voice and loving words.

He never thought that she would just leave like that, leave him to fend for himself in the claws of a monster all on his own.

A monster she knew all too well.

A monster she chose, not him.

Nevertheless, she abandoned Billy without much of a second thought, because otherwise, she would have come back for him, wouldn’t she?

But she didn’t and that realization still hurts. 

It's the kind of hurt that burns in his chest like the tears spilling from his eyes. And it has his hands clenching into angry fists, burrowed deep into the sheets.

Hands that are still adorned with scars.

Little scars and big ones, faint ones, and deep ones.

Scars, from all the fights he’s been in and all the times he punched his mirror too hard, in a helpless fit of rage, because he couldn’t stand the person staring back at him.

Because all he could see was a boy worth leaving and abandoning, someone who was actually deserving of all the mistreatment he got.

Scars, from the many times when, in a desperate attempt to keep his frustrations at bay, his hands would unconsciously tighten around a random glass or beer bottle, or anything delicate enough to break and shatter in his unyielding grip, leaving both his floor and his palms bloody and scattered with shards.

But his dad never cared about his hands, only about the stains on those ugly and dusty carpet floors, of all the places Billy has only ever known as hell.

Billy tries to stifle his cries by burrowing his face deeper into your pillow. Staining the fabric with his tears, its baby blue color turning a slightly deeper one. 

Fuck, you’re going to come home soon, he remembers, and he tries not to consider what might happen if you find him like this.

Maybe this will be the thing that has you leaving him, he thinks, and the thought only makes him cry harder. Small sobs shake his strong body, shoulders shaking in defeat, and a deep-seated sadness and fear of never being good enough.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Chomper, your little shark stuffie, sitting unsuspecting at the edge of the bed, and without really thinking, he grabs the little fellow and pulls him close to his bare chest.

The fluffy object smells even more like you, soft and sweet and light. And the tears keep coming while he convinces himself that this is it.

You’re going to leave him.

There’s no way you won’t after seeing him like this, again.

It’s a thought that keeps spinning in his mind, like a cursed merry-go-round, with no means to escape it. 

It had all started this morning, he thinks, when he woke up with unusually many doubts. Small, ugly whispers that told him all kinds of hurtful things.

He knows those voices, like he knows their words to be true, even if he has been able to manage them a little better.

But despite that, he's still prone to believe them when they say that he’s the worst; and that you’re ultimately going to leave him once you’ve come to your senses and realize the truth.

The truth about how deep, deep down he’ll always be an unlovable and unworthy mess; too difficult to love and cherish for even the most patient and compassionate person on the planet.

Which is you. 

In his eyes, it’s always you. 

Always.

He doesn’t deserve you, never has, never will, but it’s nice to pretend that he does sometimes, and occasionally he even finds himself believing that there could come a time, somewhere in the distant future, where he might actually find himself deserving of your love and kindness. 

But not today. 

It seems completely far-fetched now, an impossibility really, and the weight of it all has Billy feeling absolutely crushed. 

Maybe he should have told you, he thinks.

Earlier today, in the morning, when you had woken him up with your usual soft kisses and even softer touches, when you two shared little giggles and loving stares, before you had to get up and get ready for work.

He had watched you, his features full of adoration, as you slipped out of his oversized metal shirt and into a flowy skirt and a silky blouse.

His blue eyes following the quick movement of your fingers as you buttoned up the fabric, and he immediately itched to take it off again.

You had given him a gentle smile through the mirror of your vanity, when he couldn’t help a little yawn slip from his lips. Putting aside the blush you had just picked up; you made your way over to his side of the bed once more.

He remembers gazing up at you, through his long lashes, and the gentle smile that was back on your face made his heart speed up, and his mind a little dizzy. 

“Should I’ve not woken you up, love?” You had whispered, your hand gently brushing some wild, curly strands out of his face, and as usual he instantly leaned into your touch.

Nuzzling the palm of your hand before leaving a lingering kiss there.

The little affectionate action had your eyes soften.

After years and years of abuse, and growing up with the notion that human touch was something to be feared rather than cherished and enjoyed, the fact that Billy’s now actively seeking out the thing he used to hate so much has your heart jump in little leaps of joy. 

God, how you love him.

But you silently notice that he looks a bit tired, and you feel a twinge of worry bubble up in your chest. 

You always wake up together. It’s one of those little rituals that somehow just stuck. Even on days where it’s your time off from work, or Billy’s, you still wake up with the other person.

Today is such a day; it’s Billy’s day off from work at the car repair shop, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for you.

Work calls, and you have to answer, which means you still have to finish getting ready, although you’re putting that on the back burner of your mind for now, as your eyes are transfixed on Billy. 

He’s so pretty, and kind and utterly yours, and you still can’t quite believe it.

You carefully lean over him, brushing your nose gently against his.

“Love you, Billy.” You whisper, “You can go back to sleep if you need to, you still look a little tired, sweetheart.”

“’S okay,” Billy mumbles, voice raspy and tinted with sleep.

The deeper octaves of his voice always have the thoughts in your head spinning around themselves, and this time is no exception.

But before you can dwell on that too much, Billy’s calloused hands come up to your neck, pulling you down for a messy kiss. 

“Stay,” he whispers, as usual, as always, and you can’t help but smile against his lips. 

“You know that I can’t, Billy,” you draw the syllables of his name out for emphasis, before capturing his plump lips back in another searing kiss.

“Even though I really wish I could.”

When your eyes find his again, the look behind yours is earnest.

Still Billy sighs.

It’s not an accusatory sigh, just a little disappointed one.

And he’s not disappointed at you, but disappointed at those mean circumstances of live.

Like the fact that you two have to work for a living, instead of being able to spend the rest of eternity at his two favorite places, the beach, and your shared bed; and maybe his trusted Camaro too, because that’s the first taste of real freedom he ever had, after his mother left. The first safe haven he got, and used thoroughly to escape his father’s abuse.

There were times in his life, where he spent more nights curled up in the backseat of his car than in his bedroom at his father’s house. A place he refuses to call home.

But as much as he hates that man, he unfortunately calls his father, Billy thinks the abusive piece of shit might have been right when he told him about what an absolute disappointment he was.

Not just as a son, but as a human. 

An utterly, disappointment of human.

And a broken one too, if the countless tears he’s shed are anything to go by.

Billy had noticed these thoughts coming up, while you were still playing with some strands of his hair, before untangling yourself from him with a small sigh.

“Gotta finish getting ready, love,” you’d explained, voice apologetic, yet entirely unaware of the troubled war that’s been breaking out in Billy’s mind.

Taking it over and corrupting it.

He continued watching you get ready, but there’s something else swirling around in his stomach now.

Something different than the previous pure love and admiration.

Something a little more ugly. A neediness, a longing, a fear of watching you leave.

He wanted to call out to you and tell you about it, but he just felt so stupid. All he remembers instead is the quick kiss you gave him, before rushing out of the bedroom, while trying to put your earrings in place.

“I’ll try to leave a little bit more early this time,” you had promised, halfway through the bedroom door, turning around to him again and giving him one of your blinding smiles.

“Can’t wait to have you all to myself later, love.” The tone of your voice was teasing, but the look in your eyes was kind and loving, and Billy felt his heart clench at the sight of it.

He doesn’t deserve you. 

And there’ll come a time where you’ll realize that too, and you’ll leave. 

It’s a thought that his mind fixates on, as he literally watches you leave, your skirt flowing lightly behind you with every step you take; every step that’s taking you further and further away from him, as the ugly voices in his head grow louder and louder.

And by the time he hears the front door opening and closing again, he feels like crying. 

You’re in a cheerful mood today, humming a little pop tune as you’re getting home from work, making your way through the entry of your house, excited to reunite with Billy, and maybe enjoy some warm rays of the afternoon sun outside. 

“Billy, I’m back!” 

Dumping your handbag unceremoniously next to your shoes that you just slipped out of, you make your way into your shared living room, but there’s no sight of the man you call your own. 

Weird.

He’s not in the kitchen, and since there’s no rock music blaring from the garage, you’re sure he isn’t in there either. 

Maybe he’s outside, enjoying the ocean you live so incredibly close by, you think, as you make your way up the stairs to get to your bedroom and change into something more comfortable and beach appropriate. 

You’re still humming along to the song that’s somehow stuck in your head while thinking about your bathing suit choices. There’s a new one you’ve got as a little surprise for Billy and- 

You halt in your thoughts and movements once you’re standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom.

It looks exactly the way you left it, roughly eight hours ago. 

The shutters are still closed, light only slipping through its narrow gaps, painting stripes across the bed, and it’s only then, that you notice the rough shape of a body lying in it. 

Billy. 

At first, you don’t think too much of it.

He’s prone to having migraines and sleeping them off even during the day, or at least trying to. He’s also turned away from you in such a way, that you don’t get to see his tear-stained face or any other indication that he’s anything other than okay.

You still whisper his name quietly into the partial darkness of the room, but there’s no reply; no movement, no nothing, and you figure he must be asleep.

You don’t mind the idea of a little shuteye yourself, so you carefully slight into the bed behind your boyfriend. Spooning him tenderly, mindful, not to wake him with any abrupt movements or heavy sounds.

Nuzzling his shoulder softly, your hand finds its way across his bare chest, and you feel your stomach drop, falling from somewhere high up in the sky. 

His heartbeat is going at least a million times a minute; maybe two. 

It’s pounding away in his chest with such intensity, that it has you sitting up quickly. 

Your hand still lingers on that spot, trying to make sense of the thumping underneath your fingertips. Why is his heart beating so ferociously when he’s supposed to be asleep? 

He’s either having a nightmare, you think, alarmed, or he isn’t sleeping at all. 

“Billy?” you whisper, leaning over your boyfriend carefully, trying to get a glimpse of his face. 

And if you felt your stomach drop from airy heights before, it is now sinking to the deepest and darkest part of the ocean floor, as a cold shiver rushes down your spine. 

Despite keeping his eyes shut tight, you can still see the tears slipping through between his lashes, running down his freckled-kissed skin.

You can see the way he’s biting his lips to keep it from trembling and making any sound.

And you see him clutching your stuffie with such despair that you feel like your heart’s now lying completely shattered in bits and pieces somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. 

Oh, this is bad. 

“Billy?” You try hard to keep your voice even, to not let the panic or worry you currently feel fall through your lips.

But Billy’s just pressing his closed eyes tighter together, the tremble of his lips increasing, before hiding his face more in the soft confines of your pillow. 

Oh, this is really, really bad. 

“Sweetheart,” You don’t really think about your next steps, apart from trying to do them as gently as possible. Moving over Billy’s frame carefully, in order to be able to face him fully.

He still tries to hide away from you, but that’s not something that deters you from your plan.

Not after having been with him long enough to know him inside and out. To know that he craves a gentle touch on the best of his days, and he absolutely hungers for it on the worst ones. 

“Billy, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You keep your voice as gentle and as soft as you can manage, while you feel like your world is spinning out of control, worry clouding your mind. 

The man in question just shakes his head, before mumbling, the tiniest, most broken “Nothing,” you’ve ever heard. 

And you both know that it’s bullshit. 

Billy is a lot of things right now; but okay isn’t one of them. 

“Billy, my love, look at me, baby.” 

You nudge his shoulder lightly with your nose before cupping bis cheek with the gentlest touch. 

And you both know that there’s nothing you can’t coax out of Billy with a voice as soft as your touch, so you keep talking to him gently, almost as if you were talking to a frightened child or a hurt animal, maybe. 

And as usual, it works.

As soon as he’s looking up at you slightly, and he’s less curled in on himself, you wrap your arms around him protectively and Billy instantly folds. 

All it takes is another whispered, “Shh, come here, I’ve got you, love,” and the way you tenderly guide his face towards the crook of your neck, and he breaks. 

He completely breaks down in your arms, clinging to you tightly, and his quiet sobs pull on your heartstrings repeatedly and with such an intensity, you’re almost sure they’re going to snap. 

You still don’t know what’s wrong; still don’t know what’s got him so upset. You don’t know if he’s physically in pain or mentally, or maybe it’s an unpleasant combination of both.

You’re going to find out eventually, but right now you just want to help him calm down. Let Billy cry it out and then maybe talk about it, once he’s in a better headspace. 

“Shh, it’s alright Billy. You can cry, I’ve got you. You can let it all out, love. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby.” 

Billy sniffles, tears still dripping down his cheeks and into your silky blouse. You don’t pay it any mind, and even if you did it wouldn’t matter. There’s literally nothing as important to you as Billy.

You keep the stream of reassuring words coming. Your hands are still tenderly stroking his cheeks and playing with his hair carefully.

You’re not sure how much time passes, as you continue your tender ministrations; but the sun’s still shining outside, slipping through the cracks of your shudders, when Billy’s sniffles and sobs finally cease.

He’s quiet for a little while longer, as you keep drawing comforting circles on his back, and then he suddenly mutters, voice hoarse from all the crying:

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

You halt in your movements for a split second, unsure of what he’s referring to. 

“What do you mean, love? Tired of what?” You question gently, looking at Billy for clarification.

“Tired of loving me,” he whispers, and that’s it. 

There are tears in your eyes now, too. 

“Oh, Billy.”

So, that’s what this is all about, you think, as you pull your boyfriend impossibly closer.

You know, he has abandonment issues, that was made pretty clear when you first started dating, but with time and reassurance things have slowly become better. Not perfect, but better.

Billy isn’t as jealous of other people anymore, especially men that you’re friends with. Something that had been a bit of an issue at first.

It had taken Billy a long time to let you in, because keeping you out was less painful.

You can’t lose something you don’t have.

Can’t get left by someone you never truly considered yours in the first place.

But once he did let you in, things weren’t immediately all sunshine and rainbows.

Billy could get jealous, incredibly jealous.

It’s partly because he’s convinced that he’s the worst, and literally anyone would be better than him by default, meaning also that anyone could be a threat to your relationship.

It’s that kind of a fear, that made him turn accusatory, convinced that you’d leave him as soon as a good enough person or chance arose.

But his jealousy and possessiveness were also partly rooted in the fact that he never really got to witness any healthy relationship dynamics.

Because the relationship he had to his father was anything but; and the relationship his father had to women was anything but.

And the only glimpses of a somewhat constructive relationship he ever really got to see was the relationship Max had to her mother Susan, and even that one wasn’t perfect, yet it left him with the bitter taste of jealousy.

And all these influences had an effect on the way he considered you his, and how losing you wouldn’t just hurt his feelings; but also his sense of pride, his ego, his fucked-up view of masculinity and manliness.

Because what does it say about him as a man if he can’t even keep his girl faithful? 

But there are things you can take and there are things you refuse to take, and so you sat Billy down early on in your relationship and made it very, very clear what you’re able to tolerate, and what you simply won’t. 

You know that he’s been traumatized, and growing up with a father like that is bound to leave some lingering scars on both his body and his mind.

But that doesn’t mean he gets to repeat cycles, or fall into unhealthy patterns and make you the scapegoat for his insecurities.

He’s never laid a hand on you - if that was to happen you would be quicker out the door than you can say ‘abusive piece of shit’, but Billy still had things to work through.

Anger issues, jealousy, an impulsiveness paired with a complete lack of risk awareness, and self-destructive tendencies that you can’t just eradicate like that.

As someone who struggled with some of the same problems, you would know. So, you always understood parts of his troubles, know how difficult those impulses truly can be. How overwhelming the need for some kind of relief can be in the heat of the moment without really thinking or caring about the consequences that might follow.

And, you know, Billy’s trauma has him preprogrammed to believe that he’s the worst, a failure, an unlovable mess, and overall, just one big disappointment.

How could he not get that impression when that’s all he’s ever been told by his father, who happened to be the only constant in his life.

You loved Billy - still do, of course, and so you always considered him worth it; worth the work that it took to get him to change some of those behaviors and beliefs.

Unlearning things, relearning things, but some things will always linger around in his mind to some extent.

Like parts of those ugly and persistent voices that are quick to judge him, and the self-destructive impulses that might follow in order to get them to shut up. 

So, all you can do to help in those moments is trying to sooth him. Sooth those whispers in his head and get him out of that ugly cycle of self-loathing and hatred.

Make him see and realize that you’re there, and that no matter what, you won’t leave; that your love is a lot stronger than the voices in his head. Reassuring and reminding him of your feelings, your unwavering commitment to him, and all the things you love about Billy.

Because you do. You really, truly love him.

He’s the best man you’ve ever known.

And you try to make him see that; see the person that he really is, and not the failure that his mind keeps taunting him as. 

“Oh, Billy,” you repeat your hushed whisper.

“Oh, Billy, no.” 

“Billy, I won’t ever get tired of loving you. In fact, not even three million eternities will be remotely enough. Nothing ever will be. I’ll never get enough of loving you, sweetheart.”

You carefully play with some of his curls, fingers grazing the nape of his neck, and Billy cuddles up more into you. He’s been starved of loving touches for so long, that it sometimes still leaves his mind reeling. 

“I’m never going to leave, Billy,” you promise in a quiet whisper.

“How would you know?” Comes Billy’s broken mumble, and on a regular day he might feel ashamed of being so needy, so clingy, so utterly hungry for any kind of validation, but right now, he just wants to hear you say it, and maybe silence those ugly voices in his mind.

Remind him that he’s human even if he feels like a monster, even if he feels completely unworthy of your love. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whisper, voice patient, and soaked with love, dripping with love, absolutely overflowing with love. 

‘I know this, because I love you, silly.’ You want to say, but you know, that that won’t be enough, so you try to remind him of something else, that might make him see the man you see, and love and cherish with absolutely no bounds. 

“Remember our first trip to California?” you mumble, your breath tickling Billy’s ear. 

He hums as he curls up closer, hands tightening around you. 

Of course, he remembers that trip. It was quite a few years ago, back in the mid-eighties, the summer after he had turned 19, he thinks, or maybe it was 20. He had finally managed to safe enough money to get out of the ugly claws of his father, and by some miracle, you two also had enough cash put aside for a small road trip to the west coast. 

“We weren’t together then,” you remind him softly, “You were still keeping me at arm’s length at first.” 

Right, Billy thinks. What a complete fool he was back then. The two of you had started out as a seemingly unlikely pair of friends, but it quickly grew into something more; something you both had been in denial about.

Billy most of all. 

Well, he did know that he liked you, like a lot. 

He just never thought you would reciprocate his feelings, and besides that relationships never actually work out, so why try them at all, really? 

And it would save himself the heartache of watching you leave again.

“We were sleeping in your Camaro a lot, because we couldn’t afford even the stingiest motel rooms, and you would torture me with Metallica and I would torture you with Van Morrison, and I would literally have to fight you to get to play my Janis Joplin tape, you absolute buffoon of a music critic.”

You playfully poke Billy’s side, and a little laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest.

“I remember that,” he admits, “You know I never actually thought she was that bad, I just liked to annoy you, I guess.”

“Oh, I know, babe. I know.”

You look at him lovingly, and Billy feels his heartrate pick up, but this time it’s not in an act of anxiety, or worry; he just really, really adores you, too.

“And I still remember how we were cruising down the coastline, windows open, music blaring, and we were both singing our hearts out to More Than a Feeling at the top of our lungs.”

“Oh god,” Billy croaks out with a small groan, “I remember that too,”

The little smile on his face is earnest, and you trace your fingers gently over his freckled skin.

“And it was electrifying because driving with you always feels a little bit like flying. It’s quite the near-death experience, really. And you wanted to show me that one particular beach, like really, really badly, remember?”

“Yeah,” Billy whispers now, because he thinks he knows where you’re going with this.

It’s the night of your first kiss. 

“And we would drive up to that place, but one of my stupid Flip-Flops broke, and you had to carry me to the beach because the sand was just so fucking hot.” 

“And you were a giggly mess, scared that I might drop you.”  

“I sure was, but you didn’t. You promised me you wouldn’t drop me, not for anything in the world, and you didn’t.”

Billy’s eyes soften at the memory and the vulnerability of your voice.

“And you didn’t tell me why you wanted to go to that place in particular, but I knew that it must have meant a lot to you at some point in time.”

Billy nods his head in agreement. It was the beach his mom would usually take him to, but you didn’t know that then.

“And the view was absolutely breathtaking! But we were both such idiots that we forgot our beach towels in the car, and neither of us wanted to go back, so you stripped yourself of your t-shirt in order to make me a makeshift one.” 

Right, Billy had completely forgotten about that detail, if he’s honest.

“We would sit by the water, and just talk, until a little boy ran up to us, because he couldn’t find his parents. And he was distraught, and scared and crying, and we were both struggling to calm him down again. But for some reason he ended up being mesmerized by your fucking earrings, and the traces of your skull tattoo. And when he saw the scars on your back, he asked completely in awe-“

“Are those from fighting monsters?” You both finish the sentence, voices emotional.

“And Billy, you looked at him with tears in your eyes, and whispered, ‘Something like that’ and from there on out the little guy was completely taken in with you.” 

Billy’s quietly crying again, and so are you, sniffling away and using the sleeve of your blouse as a stop to your tears, before Billy’s hands gently come up, cupping your cheeks, and wiping away the salty specks from your skin, with the most tender touches. 

“We searched the whole fucking beach for his goddamn parents.” Billy continues, with a faint laugh. “And he would hold on to me for dear life, and his hand was so utterly tiny in mine.”

“At some point he was getting really tired, so, you decided to pick him up and carry him, and he ended up falling asleep on your shoulder; That probably was the softest thing I’ve ever witnessed.” You admit, voice, and gaze full of adoration for the man in front of you. 

“When we finally found his parents, they were so utterly grateful. Yet you still observed the interaction warily, when the boy ran up to his dad, because you thought he might get scolded.”

“But he didn’t. His father just hugged him really tight, and told him how worried he was and that he loves him very much.” Billy finishes with a small sob.

He remembers that interaction so vividly, because it still stands in such stark contrast to his way of growing up.

It somehow serves as both, a painful reminder of what could have been, and a hopeful one of how he wants to do better.

Of how he can do better.

Not every father or man has to be as inherently bad as his.

And so, he doesn’t have to be either. 

“They wanted to treat us to dinner, but we both refused, and the little boy, Nick! Nick was his name, wasn’t it? Well, he was waving at us with the biggest smile, when they left.” 

“Yeah, and I broke down crying afterwards.” Billy adds, slightly embarrassed, but you shush him gently.

“You had every right and reason to. That whole interaction brought up a lot of stuff for you.” 

“That night I talked to you about my mom for the first time.” Billy whispers. 

“I know, and we were both bawling our eyes out by the end of it.” 

“I had never told anyone else about her before. And I was so scared to admit that I still missed her, because I thought you would judge and see me as weak and fragile and a joke of a man.” 

“But I didn’t, because you weren’t. Billy, you were never weak for missing your mother, or crying about the mistreatment you had to endure from both of your parents. And Billy, you’re not weak now either. Because crying doesn’t make you weak; being scared to lose something you love doesn’t make you weak, and it also doesn’t make you a burden.” 

Billy curls into you again, face pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, his breath shaky. 

“Billy, I know you still struggle with coming to terms with what happened. Trying to make sense of the abuse you had to endure. Trying to figure out what you did to deserve this, but here’s the thing, Billy: You never deserved any of it.

There’s nothing you could have done as a child, that would justify the mistreatment or abuse you had to endure. There’s nothing that justifies the way your father tormented you for the first twenty years of your life.

And it’s hard to wrap your mind around that truth, when all you’ve ever been told is that it’s your fault, that you’re too much, a disappointment, an unlovable burden. But none of that is true, sweetheart.

None of it.

You’re a caring and sensitive soul Billy, you never deserved any of that. Not as kid, not as a teen and not now in your 20s either.” 

“But I was like him then,” Billy croaks out, voice breaking once more. “Maybe I deserved it because I was so much like him then. Max could probably write a thousand essays on how I was the worst back when-“

“Oh, Billy,” you mumble, because you know that’s another sore topic for the man sniffling quietly in your arms. 

“Billy, the way you repeated the cycles of abuse wasn’t right, but that’s also all you’ve ever grown up with. It’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and even still that doesn’t warrant the fate you got.

You didn’t get abused because you were abusive. You were abusive because you were abused. There’s a difference. You were a victim too, a victim turned abuser, but you’re not that anymore. You made amends with the people you hurt the most, remember?

Do you think Max would be in regular contact with you now, if she still considered you the threat that you were back then? Do you think she would come down here for visits if she still hated you or resented you in that way?

Billy, Max is in your life now because she wants to be. Because she cares about you. Just like I am in your life because I want to be. And neither one of us is going to leave you. None of our friends are going to leave you, and as much as you struggle with the ugly fear of getting abandoned or left behind, that’s just not going to happen.

Not anymore, because now you have a support-system who loves and cherishes you for the dorky and sensitive, car-obsessed metalhead you are.”

Cupping his cheek carefully and taking a deep breath, you state:

“Billy Hargrove I’ve loved you from the day you bandaged my foot in the changing cabins of Hawkins community pool, because I slipped on a fucking ice cream package paper, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

But you managed to make me laugh and get my mind off the persistent pounding inside my sprained ankle. And you drove me home that night, and I made fun of your shitty music taste that’s not actually that shitty.

And I fell in love with you the more I got to know you. The more I got to see you smile earnestly at my dumb little jokes and witness you open up to me more and more about your past, and your present, and your future, until I couldn’t imagine the latter without you.

Until I couldn’t imagine a future without you in my life, because you’ve been such a fucking blessing.

And on that day at the beach when nighttime rolled around and we were both lying in the warm sand, that still radiated the heat from the day, with Hawkins millions of miles away and freedom in every breath of summer night air,

you told me about all the things you’ve been through, and I admired you even more, because I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that after everything you had to endure; after everything you had to go through, you still turned out into that man I wholeheartedly love.

And I remember burrowing my feet in the warm sand, as I watched you get up to chase the waves again. And I was giggling because that’s such a stupid past time activity, but you were having the time of your life, laughing, and after having seen you cry so much that day, seeing you smile like that could have mended any heart. 

And I remember you standing there, hair a salt-water kissed mess; the sky a midnight blue above us, adorned with so, so many stars. And the deep dark sea mirroring it, with the tiny lights of random ships sailing through the night. It was like they were getting lost in each other, as I was getting lost in you.

And the ocean was all we could see, and I knew that I wanted you.

I knew then that I could not, and would not be able to live a life without you in it, without you being my most important and cherished person and-“ 

“Then you ran up to me and kissed me,” Billy finishes with tears in his eyes.

“Then I ran up to you and kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it was the most tender and beautiful kiss I ever experienced. And I am so fucking lucky that I’ve been able to share those kisses with you every day since then.” 

You gaze into the loving blue eyes of your boyfriend.

The man you’re so proud to call your own.

His eyes are still glossy, but those are different kinds of tears.

These are tears of fondness, of love, of sheer disbelief about how lucky he got.

These are happy tears.

You watch the growing smile on his face with a steady pounding in your chest that lets you know just how much you’re head over heels for this guy.

But you’re not quite done with your little speech, so you cup Billy’s freckled cheeks once more between your hands tenderly, before saying:

“Billy fucking Hargrove, there is no scenario in my mind, in which I’m walking out that door for good without holding your hand clutched tightly in mine, got it?” 

Billy laughs, and it’s hearty and earnest and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. And you know, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to get to hear that sound as much and as often as possible. 

The golden rays of the setting sun still slip through the gaps of your shutters, and it paints warm stripes across Billy’s freckled skin. You watch them move, as he leans down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a loving kiss. You can still taste the salt of your shared tears on both of them, but it’s okay. Because you’re okay, and you know Billy will be too. 

He’s still going to have his bad days, of course, but like the gentle changes of the wind, and the slow turning of the tide, even those will pass, and make way for a more sunnier and happier days. 

When you break apart again carefully, you find yourself smiling at your boyfriend, as an idea crosses your mind.

“So, do you want to spend the rest of the day here or…?” you question, while patting the soft sheets of your bed. 

“Or, what?” Billy inquires, eyes and voice gentle and loving. “Do you have something particular in might, hm?”

“Maybe,” you tease, smile a little mischievous, before pulling him back down again for another kiss. 

“And what exactly would that be?” Billy mumbles against your lips. 

“Well, I was thinking, how about a battle of chasing waves, again?” 

That is not what Billy expected you to say, and you both know it, but before he can call you out on it, you’re up and excitedly slipping out of your bed. 

“Come on, cali-boy, the sun isn’t going to wait for us,” and with that, you’re running off, stripping yourself of your blouse, as you jump down the stairs, two at a time.

Billy’s close behind you, chasing you with a soft laugh; and it doesn’t take long for him to catch you, in the middle of your living room, arms wrapped around your waist, as he twirls you around like a child. 

“You little minx,” he scolds, but it’s playful and loving and light.

And when the room stops spinning, he pulls you in for another kiss.

One that has you weak in the knees, but luckily Billy’s there to steady you.

Because, of course, he is.

He always is.

And by the time you two make it through the sliding door of your patio, Billy’s hand is held securely in yours, as you step out into the warm sand of the perfect Californian beach, golden rays on both of your skin, and bright smiles on your faces. 

You’re going to be okay. 

____________________________

And, that's it! If you made it this far: Thank you, I love you and I hope you enjoyed my little story!

[sirendeepity]

[ Multicharacter; part ii ]

A/N: So I chose violence 😈 After ages, I finally forced convinced myself to finish the second part (mind you, 2 paragraphs out of 3 were already written, so it didn't require much effort). And maybe by the end of next week you'll have the third and final part, too? Asking for a miracle here, but still

T/W: -

W/C: 1k

Nesta cracked open an eye, only to find herself surrounded by debris and darkness again. She didn’t know why she expected something different, didn’t know why she expected anything at all. Pushing herself off the ground, one shoulder pressed against the wall at her side, Nesta rose on unsteady feet. She had to stop her ascent a couple of times to catch her breath, although standing was not supposed to be that hard. Nesta took a tentative step but halted soon after. She was on the second floor when the first wave hit, but she had no idea where she was now. She couldn’t just wander around, it was too risky. But she couldn’t even stay there and do nothing, waiting for someone to find her—if they ever managed to do that. Time was, apparently, not on her side.

“Logically,” Nesta said, no one but fallen books listening to her, “if I’m uninjured it means that I must not be far from…”

Nesta sighed. What was she even talking about? She had no clue what was where. Her head was swimming and her intestines were tied up in knots and—

A sob escaped her, followed by a second one, filling the cloud of silence engulfing her.

And she just wanted Cassian to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.

He had this annoying habit of always seeing the best outcome possible, always looking at the bright side. Nesta loved it so much it unnerved her. But Cassian wasn’t there to haul her out of the pit once again, was he?

With one hand glued to the slimy wall, Nesta put one foot in front of the other and began walking.

[ * * * ]

Cassian reached the House at the same moment Azriel did. His shadows were buzzing, frenetically twirling around his figure in a way Cassian had never seen before.

“Tell me there’s a way in,” Cassian asked, scanning the damage before his eyes.

Little was left of the House itself: the life he’d built with Nesta now lay buried under columns and memories. Nothing but red ruins.

“Not from here,” said Azriel, confirming his worries. The grounds were not secure yet, and moving things around would only increase the damage, upsetting an already delicate balance.

“We need to find a way in.”

“I know.”

“Nesta is in there. And Gwyn and Emerie and—”

“I know.”

“Gods, the entire House is—”

“Cassian, I know.”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, forcing his gaze away from the wreckage of his home. Azriel's hazel eyes were a mirror of his own, worry creasing his brows. It was unsettling, Cassian realized, seeing so many emotions on his brother’s face. Five hundred years he’d known him, and Cassian could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Azriel so shaken, so unapologetically scared.

“Tell Rhys to get his ass here right now.”

[ * * * ]

Nesta had no idea for how long she’d been walking, or how much distance she’d covered. She kept close to the wall, mostly because she couldn’t very much stand without it. She had seen a beam of light at some point, or so she thought. She couldn’t see it anymore, and Nesta couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what was not. Was she starting to hallucinate? Her head had begun to throb painfully, so much so she had to stop to take a breather on more than one occasion.

“I’m here.” Her voice was a weak little thing, barely more than a rasp. Nesta swallowed and tried again, with more effort, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m-”

A sound came from behind her, and Nesta turned, squinting into the dark.

“Hello?” She tried. “Is anyone here?”

It came again—a moan, or the echo of it. She stepped in its general direction.

“Where are you?” She needed them to talk, to make some noise, anything to make her focus on something that was not—

Cold light filled the space. From a faery light on the wall, its metal handles crooked. Somehow it was still working. It was flickering, there one moment and gone the next, but it was better than nothing. Nesta had to blink multiple times to adjust to the constant on-and-off, but even with her unfocused gaze, she managed to make out part of her surroundings. Books littered the floor, and some of the bookshelves had collapsed entirely, but overall the space had survived the shocks pretty well. If one did not count the huge chunks of wall blocking the passage every which way. Nesta leaned her forehead against the dark wall.

It shouldn’t have been that dark.

She gazed at her palms and found them coated in black ooze, the same sticky substance leaking from the wall itself. She wiped her forearm against the top of her head, trying to clean herself, but it only made her want to gag even more.

“Hel..p..”

Nesta halted her frantic movements, pushing past the screaming inside her head to focus on the noise—the voice.

“I’m here,” she whispered. She must’ve passed this way before, didn’t she? But she hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen anything. The faery light hadn’t even sensed her presence.

Off. On. Off. On. Off.

There.

An upturned shelf was partially blocking them from view, but those were legs.

Nesta picked up her pace, ignoring the pulsing darkness, or the slickness of the walls, or the pounding inside her chest.

Her knees gave out, hitting the stone at her feet with a dry pop. Choking on a sob, Nesta crawled those last few feet separating her from- from-

The air left her lungs in one, long exhale, the breathy sound ricocheting around the space. Tears blurred the face she’d come to love so dearly.

Nesta’s mouth filled with saliva, her throat working, as dizziness sized her body. She knew what was coming, and she bent over Emerie’s broken body, bracing herself as the world shook once more.

.

.

.

TAGS: @lady-winter-sunrise as promised (I didn't forget!!)

[makingspiritualityreal]

I just wanted to say that I'm unfollowing you. You speak of self love and femininity and love for your body if you really loved your body even just one bit, you wouldn't stuff yourself like a trash can so that you look like you’ve been stung by thousands bees. Self-love begins with self-respect and you obviously don't have that how else could you do that to your organs, your bones you know that all your organs faten even your brain, it's almost funny that you just think you can present self-love and femininity if the only thing you present is is MC Donalds then you are also outraged when you get comments that people don’t want to see your naked fat body and you force them to see you as beautiful my tip self-love begins with respect stand in front of a mirror and first recognize who you are

At first I wanted to ignore you, since some things are just not worth the time and attention, but then I realised people like you are exactly the reason why I do what I do.

Surely you must have thought you were invited into a world of clichéd photoshopped Astrology babes, but that is not who I am or want to be. I live to trigger people like you.

There are so many women out there, feeling bad about themselves. Of different sizes, with different problems. What if I was a burn victim, or was battling a serious disease? Should I hide, or should anyone else hide because of that too?

Our bodies change and reflect what is happening to us in our lives. Mine bears the mark of many years of abuse I suffered. Depression and suffering can make people drastically put on or lose weight, and what you should worry about is their well being, nothing else. There was a time I suffered in a different way, and looked androgynous because of it, had a completely different form. Was I happier? I barely looked my gender, I was medicated. Hardly. Being comfortable in my skin as a woman was a process and a discovery for me. One that I cherish. It's something I fought for and won on my own, and quite frankly your stupidity and short sightedness can't take that away from me. I'm happy about every curve. One day life may take me to a different place again, I never know. I'm sure I will have a reason for that too.

Our bodies tell a story. They show what we have been through and who we are. The modern standard of beauty only allows women who are demure in a particular way. It's like having all trees only allowed to grow a certain way. But the world is diverse, and that's just not the reality of things.

My goal is to show one shouldn't be ashamed of themselves just because they bear the mark of the difficult things life put them through. So many people are ashamed, to the point they don't want to leave the house. My body bears the mark of exhaustion. Of having little to no means to care for myself, and absolutely everyone being against me just because it was more convenient for them. It is not going to look chiselled and polished. If I was a garden, I would be one that has no gardener and has broken branches after it suffered from years of a constant hailstorm. That is naturally going to show. And I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I'm not going to be silenced into pretending I was fine my whole life, even with my life improving. Because that would be supporting my abusers, who tried to silence me, just so that they can be comfortable and get away with things.

People go through things, and that affects what they do. My personal pet peeve is seeing people who did a lot of plastic surgery, but honestly, I don't really go out of my way to judge them. Because they also cover their scars with it. I don't know their story. Sometimes life is just so bad you don't want to be who you were before anymore, and it makes people go to drastic means, to change that.

You have no right to make any assumptions about how I lived my life, and what you said is complete bs. I was raised in Poland, where food is healthy and organic. And laughing at people who eat fast food can make you double cruel, when you realise some people in the United States, where I live now, simply have nothing else left to eat, as prices of healthy food here can be punishing, and they're forced to substitute on fast food. It's not how I live my life, but some people have it worse than I do. They are homeless and struggling, some of them resort to drugs out of despair. Watch your mouth before you insult someone like that.

I detest the hypocrisy that is put on food enjoyment. If a skinny girl enjoys fast food, she's "a hot girl enjoying herself" or worse she hears "give her another burger, she needs to eat more" which honestly is just as bad as your cruelty towards me. I always felt sorry for those women, who simply can't help their genetic disposition.

Life exists to be enjoyed. Food exists to be enjoyed. Historically, on certain holidays throughout the year, people used to do rituals related to the blood of animals and stuff themselves. Now, society has stigmatised it...so people are doing the same thing, ashamed, lonely and unhappy, getting sick inside their houses. People don't acknowledge the animalistic part of themselves. They're afraid to admit they don't want to just eat work have polite relationships and sleep. There is a part inside every human that wants to gorge on life. It wants to devour, fuck, ravage, pillage and burst through. I love these parts of myself together with all the other ones. Can you say the same for yourself?

People who don't love themselves to the core suffer physical ailments. Caring for your organs means acknowledging your mental and emotional state also has an effect on them. I personally know best the number one enemy of organ health is stress and hardship, because then you can't properly process even lighter foods. Repression is not anyone's friend. There used to be a worldwide culture about celebrating that. Now, people don't acknowledge it. It is absolutely my goal to talk about it and expose this part of human nature, as equally worthy to everything else.

The only right thing to ask people whose bodies have changed one way or another is if they're unhappy or why. It's to inquire what is happening inside them. Because that is the root of anything you see happening externally.

It is people like you that made me feel self hate for the longest time, for the fact that I was carrying things that were so punishing on me. I am not innocent or inexperienced, or untouched anymore. But now I take it as a badge of honor. I have the courage you never will. I feel sorry for you and your narrow mindedness. Someone must have hurt you once upon a time. Leave your assumptions about me or people who are coming to my space, trying to heal, alone, on your way out the door.

[mirrorballtales]

I don’t need therapy.

Yes I need therapy but I don’t need someone to point out everything wrong with me. I do that every waking moment of my life. I don’t need another being to analyze me. I don’t need it. I do that every second. You think after years of everything I wouldn’t sit here and ask why? Not why me? Just why? Why did it happen and why am I so fucked up?

I don’t need to pay someone to tell me what I already know. I don’t want to talk. To anyone. I try not to starve myself just because they won’t talk to me but I think this is the only thing keeping me alive. I wish I could articulate, paint a map and point where it all went wrong and the path I’ve chosen. How do you draw a map of your suffering when your pain is such an imposition? Where would I even start? Does my story begin before conception? After? When I pried my little hands from that man choking my mom when I was five years old? Or does it start when I tried to die at seven? Maybe I could draw out that huge gap of memory I have. The one that starts with me being a little girl in a little red convertible with a man and his hands on me and him buying me candy? Then it goes black. Or do I begin at eight when they’d starve me and slam my head onto the wall because I refused to stay quiet? Maybe when CPS made their visits and my mom made me lie? Or should I start at 12 years old when I returned from a funeral and my mom gave me the silent treatment and the scumbag of my biological father punched me simply because I was failing a class? Or do I start at 13 in August when I first lost any and all control and I left my body for the first time? At the hospital where I felt safe? May 27, 2007? Or my 14th birthday? Maybe September 11, 2007? Where do I start? Tell me where do I begin? I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to forget everything. I wish I could drown. Never come up from the pool. Maybe I should get some sleep.

I think a lot about these days. And everything in between. I think about the days I stopped living. The days that blur together. I think about how I had to survive. Not live. Survive. What I did to survive. How I starved myself. Cut myself. A saboteur in training. And I think about how I think maybe as much as I am living I’m still surviving and maybe that’s all I get to do. And maybe I am the problem. Maybe I don’t get to blame them anymore. Maybe I’m the problem.

I know I push people away. I can’t help it. It’s automatic. Like my entire system functions on me pushing everyone away. As much as I need them I force them out and isolate myself. While I have trouble trusting I don’t trust myself anymore. Afraid I’d let anyone love me and then they take it away. That’s all I’ve ever known and sleeping in the dark seems so much safer now. I think for so long I believed I did deserve to be loved that when everyone ripped it from me they also ripped away my entire belief system. I look in the mirror and in that reflection I realize maybe I’m not meant to be loved. In any capacity. I’m meant to be tolerated. That’s me. It’s safer to admit that and to accept it. I’m begging to be the footnotes in the stories of their lives. If I know where I stand with people, if I tell myself they only tolerate me out of pity and they give me their bare minimum then it won’t hurt when they leave. Not as much. It won’t devastate me the way it always has because I love so deeply and it’s something I’ve begged for since I could breathe. I am really tired of fighting for people to love me just the same.

It’s easy for people to retort and say no no that’s not true but it’s easy for me to tell you that actually it’s very true because the very people who swore they loved me and would never leave actually did that the first chance they got. I know why. I’m so hard to love. You go low I go straight to hell. I go for the jugular. I fight dirty. I fight hard. My bite is stronger than my bark, it leaves bruises and scars and maims. My words shoot to kill when I’m mad. Who wants the memory of knowing me? I’ll tell you this is who I am and I can’t change and I’ll tell you it’s me spiraling and I’ll push you away because it’s all I know because I cannot for the life of me let myself believe that people actually want me in theirs. They don’t. Maybe my grandpa. I think he did. To be fair I was probably not as fucked up then but honestly, I think melancholia was fed to me and it runs through my veins.

Want an example of how fucked up I am? Want to know how fucked in the head I am? When my mom kicked me out, when I left and my only choice was the street I called the only person that would pick up, the person that had been abusing me that past four years. I begged him to pick me up because everyone else had a fucking excuse. Well maybe not one friend. She did let me stay with her and her mom was an angel but I overstayed my welcome. She never said I had but I just knew they’d say it soon, so I left. I called him begging him to get me and he did. I was out of my mind in so much pain I didn’t think of the consequences of this. I didn’t think I was in any danger until it was too late. I had tried call the only other person I believed would get me and he didn’t come, I emailed incessantly, begging him to just take me to a safe house, his response, “I am on the verge of breaking and I can't be of more help to you. I am relying on you. I am sorry that I cannot do more for you and that I am tangled up with other issues this week and then going out of town. I am so sorry for all of this. I hate that this is happening and that I can't do more for you.” Yeah he was sorry just not sorry enough to drop what he was doing to help me. So I called the person I hated the most in the world.

He drove in his gray, BMW, with the heated seats, and I sat in the front seat after being coaxed like a fucking abused dog. And he brought me to that apartment again. The one with the wooden door. With his ugly leather chair and sofa, his ugly carpet, the ugly speakers, the ugly old dining table for four. His homemade paintings that lacked any soul. His wall of Lakers memorabilia. His pictures of his youth. His empty bedroom he said I could have. His broken lamp, the one he never bothered fixing after I threw it at him, his corner with the Rolex he said I could have if I wanted. The ring box he said had a ring because he’d convince me to marry him one day (somehow this I find the most disgusting out of it all). The comforter he placed over the large window in his bedroom because he said he needed it dark. His tattered burgundy comforter on the mattress. The nightstands where he laid out beer years before and shoved down my throat. The reason I can’t stand the smell to this day without throwing up. I have that bedroom memorized that if granted the gift I could draw it for you. Not missing an iota of a detail. I remember the smell of him permeating that godforsaken place. I seldom think about this time. I think of the before and the after but it sickens me that I begged him for any help because everyone else left me. There was only darkness. I didn’t eat. It surpassed my eating disorder. I simply couldn’t function. I could not eat. He actually encouraged it. He said he’d help me get to 70 lbs because that was my goal. I was close. So close. I’d weigh myself every hour. 90, 89, 88, 87. I don’t think I ever broke 85. If he saw me eat he’d tell me to go throw it up so I’d feel better. For a split second I thought maybe, just maybe this is as close as I’d get to ever being taken care of, mind you at this point I was out of my mind in love with a guy. The guy that emailed me and told me he just couldn’t come get me. Don’t worry this detail is incredibly important. See, when someone rapes you repeatedly, you disassociate. You leave your body. You think of Paris. You forget to breathe and you go silent. All you hear is yourself reciting numbers. You go 1,2,3. 1,2,3. You think about the letters in Paris. You think about how you might kill yourself tomorrow. Then it’s over and you go shower and try to rid yourself of everything. You cry and beg to die. I locked myself in that room as much as I could. It was summer so he was on his break. And he’d bang on the door until I’d finally answer and I would be dragged from my mattress all the way to the bed. I had no strength. I don’t even know if I fought back. In my head I did. I threw up that night. It seemed to give me a respite for about two weeks. Then all the lights were turned off. The guy I was madly in love with, without abandon, let’s name him Henry (it’s not Henry but I would never write his name and I don’t know a Henry anyway so it works) well Henry was getting really tired of me. He said and I don’t blame him, “Maybe you need to heal. Maybe in five years. . .” And I would say in five years what? What, when I’m not fucked up? I praise him, boy, he really thought I’d be here in five years, I wasn’t sure I’d make it five days, and he just said “I can’t do this I can’t deal with this, it’s a lot” at the time I was so angry he said this. He knew how bad it was. He knew everything. Well not everything. He knew a lot. And he just said he couldn’t deal with it. He’d started his first adult job in his chosen career and I was not what he needed. Looking back I don’t fault him. I don’t. But my heart was breaking. I wanted to be in his room. In his bed. In his safety and even though he said he loved me everything he did after said otherwise.

Back to my abuser. He found out about Henry because I had a different tumblr account back then (I still own it and I look at it from time to time) and I documented everything. I forgot to delete my history and he read it. I think part of me wanted him to know that everything he’d done didn’t rob me of falling in love. That my girlhood was still mine. That I was still a teenager capable of loving someone just never him. It’s one of the worst mistakes I ever made. For a spectrum of reasons. I won’t go into detail. I have photographs of the bruises and how hard I fought back. Then he found out where he lived. And his number. I was no longer interested in my survival. I didn’t care. I knew Henry was washing his hands of me but I couldn’t let him die in the crossfire of my life. So my abuser told me I better drink and put up or he’d kill him. To this day I believed him. He had an empty stare I couldn’t shake. He brought a bottle of alcohol and said start drinking. No food in me, skin and bones, he made me drink half a bottle of vodka. Maybe more. Things blur at this point. I remember I went to the bathroom and hit my head on the tub. I fell twice. I called Henry begging for him to get me. I wanted to die. But not here. Not with him. He did come. He hadn’t left for his trip yet. I ran down the stairs and this part I’m telling from what he told me. He says I fell crossing the street to his car. He said I had a black dress on and he said I was out. Not moving. Just slumped. He says he took me to his apartment and tried waking me up and I wouldn’t respond. He says he shook me and he knew I was close to death. He called 911 and he says as soon as they got there I threw up over and over and over again. He said they rushed me in the ambulance. The police came that night to talk to him and ask him who’d given me alcohol. I was only 18. He was obviously drinking age but he’d never provide alcohol. I’d teased him that he was such a goodie two-shoes. He followed all the rules. He was fundamentally a good person with ethics and morals. Followed all the rules in the book. He called my godmother. That’s where his part ends. Sort of. I woke up the next morning. Alone. I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the light, the room, clearly drunk still. The doctor came in and asked how I felt. Like shit. Where was Henry? What happened? I was so confused. I was cold. I couldn’t move. I asked him what was going on. He said, they had to pump my stomach, my blood alcohol level was, get ready for this, I’ll never forget the number, .42. He looked at me, he was a good looking doctor actually, he looked at me and said, “Were you trying to kill yourself?” How could I answer this? I wanted to die. Just not like this. Not that day. I told him the truth. I said no. He asked me what happened. I had bruises everywhere, I said I must have fallen even though those were there before the alcohol was in my system. To this day I’m not sure how I survived that. Henry saved my life. He did. And for that I’ll always be grateful for him. What he did after though, still hurts me. A lot.

I woke up alone, like I said. Scared. No one was there. Apparently my godmother had come and seen me but left. Surprise. She called my mom who didn’t bother coming. Surprise. She said she’d give them my insurance information through the phone. I called her. I was seven years old again and begging for my mom. I was crying and begging her to let me go back. I told her I didn’t want to go back to another family’s house. I didn’t want anyone. I just wanted a hug from her. I told her about the teacher. I told her everything. I begged her to come see me. She said in such matter of fact manner that she was done with me. She said she was disgusted with me. I was too. She said, “You’re no longer my problem, I have two other kids to worry about. With you gone, we’ll be better for it.”

I hung up and cried. I remember going to the restroom after. That catheter was disgusting and I made them remove it immediately. I just needed to feel human. I remember wanting to rid myself of any alcohol. I drank copious amounts of water but couldn’t keep it down. I kept throwing up. Finally, I’d mustered every singly ounce of energy I could and called Henry. I knew I’d called him the day before. I knew he said he was coming to get me. That’s all I remembered. He answered. He was so quiet and withdrawn. I was apologizing. Telling him it wasn’t on purpose. Begging him to believe me. I don’t know if he did. I told him what happened. I told him I was fucked up. That much I knew. I knew I didn’t deserve him and he didn’t deserve this. I was sorry for getting him involved. Still I wanted him to come hold my hand. I wanted him to love me. I needed him. I needed it. I needed for someone to come tell me I wasn’t losing my mind. To pick me up. In every sense of the word. I needed him to take me home and at that point home was him, and I just needed to see him. I needed him. But he didn’t come. He said he was really sorry but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle me or this. He said the police knocking at his door was his final straw. It wasn’t a break up. It felt like he was just erasing himself from my world. He was ripping any memory I had of him and shredding it. I told him I had no one. I had no one to get me. I had no clothes. No shoes. Nothing. I told him I really needed him. He didn’t come. I was so angry. I’d loved him for how gentle he’d been. He promised to always be there and then he wasn’t. He asked me not to call him and to leave him alone. He’d be going on a trip and wouldn’t be available to be reached anyway. He wished me luck and told me he loved me. I wish the doctor had asked me again if I wanted to die. I would have said yes. I just wanted to die when he hung up. I called again and it just rang. Over and over and over and over again. I’ve forgiven him. It wasn’t fair to place this on another person and as much as it hurt me I know it was really too much to ask him to love me back but it killed me.

I was in a hospital bed and after answering a million questions and convincing this crisis guy that I wasn’t suicidal (although I really was) I did the only thing an abused puppy does. I called the guy that put me in the hospital and begged him to come pick me up.

I still remember his laugh. It was maniacal. Like he’d been waiting for the gauntlet to drop. He had worn me down and broken me so much that no one would ever want me and I’d have to call him for help. He was a master manipulator. A master at his craft really. He came into the room and showed me a picture he’d taken of me when I was drinking. I was wearing the black dress, the one I remember buying so Henry would think I was pretty. Now covered in my vomit. I still have that dress. My niece asked to have it. I told her it was hers whenever she felt she had a place to wear it. I’ll never wear it again. It wouldn’t fit me now anyway.

He brought me back to his apartment. The mattress was missing from that room. It was his bed or he’d kill me. Henry was gone from my life. I had no fight in me. I was depleted of life. It was just bones and skin roaming this world. Days blended and I think I slept and was in a world of darkness for weeks.

Some time during those first couple of days back, though, I went to Henry’s apartment. I was angry. Hurt. Confused. I felt like I was being abandoned by someone I let in. Even if I’d only let him in halfway. I didn’t have it in me to go with grace so I showed up to his apartment. I thought maybe if he saw me he’d change his mind. He’d take everything back. He’d tell me to stay. He’d beg me to stay. He let me into the building. That was a good sign, I thought. Then I knocked at his door and he let me in again. His apartment was pristine. Decorated with soul. It was a warm hug. Not some college frat room with a tv, and a mattress on the floor. He had a headboard. He had a nice set of towels. He had an organized kitchen. Every piece in that apartment was thought out and placed with care. I was the antithesis of this. And he knew it.

I twisted myself in threads to be here and he just sat there. Staring at me. I didn’t want him to look at me anymore. It felt like he was disgusted with me. Or worse, he felt pity. I broke down. I had a panic attack. I saw it in his eyes. He really meant what he said on the phone. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. It was his choice. Again, looking back, it wasn’t fair to him. I couldn’t see that then. I remember taking off the necklace he’d given me on my birthday. I little heart with tiny stones. I held it for him to take and he said “it was a gift.” But I didn’t want gifts. I didn’t want reminders of this. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out. I just wanted the sweetest words to remain. I left the necklace on the counter. We fell asleep. I woke up to a note. He was really leaving the next day for his trip. Under the note he left me money for a cab ride. And the letter I’d written him months before. His note said, “Despite what you think I am sincerely trying to do what is best for you. Your safety and well-being is all I care about right now. I know you probably feel like I am letting you down. I am sorry. I am doing all that I can. I know my decisions often times upset you but I only make them with the best of intentions and with your safety as my number one priority. We can figure everything else out later. Please understand where I am coming from. We need to make sure you are in a safe situation and have a safe place to stay. That is what I am focusing on right now-- please understand that. I am sorry that I cannot do more for you. You’re strong. You will get through it even if you’re alone. I just can’t be a part of it.” Fuck being strong. I hate when people tell me that. I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted to be safe. He wanted nothing that would remind him of me. So I left. I left no trace of myself. I’d become nothing but a ghost to him. He was fine losing me. Everyone was. Everyone is. I couldn’t find my pulse anymore. I never knew how to be something they’d miss.

Then Henry emailed. Then he called. Weeks later. He wanted to know I was alive. At this point I was getting ready for college, with the assumption I’d escape this place. Yeah, my abuser essentially kidnapped me or abducted, guess I was an adult then. But what other choice did I have. No one wanted me. No one wanted me in their life. I just needed to survive then I’d figure out my life. But, Henry called and he said he’d been wrong that day and overwhelmed and being someone who never did anything wrong having the police in his apartment was too much. I believed him. I really did. He was careful. I was careless. He was calm. I was chaos. And I loved him. I didn’t know it then but I just wanted him to ask me to stay with him. Not literally. Just in every other sense. I wanted him to tell me it would get better but it think he knew there was a big fight ahead of me.

That summer I did escape. The teacher had finally left for a week to Vegas and he thought I wouldn’t leave. I took my things and a cab ride to Henry’s. I gave him every piece of me. Willingly. And he took it. Then I did what I’ve always done. I ruined it. Late September it all became too much. I tried to leave everyone and everything. Took my entire bottle of pills. It broke him. I was out for three days. Although he said he would wait until I was conscious enough to hold a conversation he left me, again. Then, we had the conversation and everything I’d believed crashed into me. I didn’t regret anything. I felt free for just those few times. I think he thought I was selfish for wanting to die.

He’d grown up in a perfect world. He didn’t understand mine. Sometimes it feels like none of it was real. Like he didn’t exist. Like it was just a movie. It was so lovely to just lay there with him and feel like I could live. Like I could fall in love. I could sit in comfort. I couldn’t even recall the last time I was kissed. Long story short I survived. That heartbreak was different because I know it wasn’t one of malice. I was just too broken. I still have the letter I wrote him. The one he didn’t want to keep. I left with scars and he came out without a scratch. I think he saw me as a sad song he got tired of listening to it. I gave him my best me’s but all I did was bleed. I was fading and I was begging him to say something, to risk something, to choose something. He became my Gardens of Babylon. I don’t begrudge him though. I was just left feeling like a crumpled up piece of paper. With words no one wants to read.

I’m hurt but I no longer blame him. I was too young, 18, my frontal lobe wasn’t even fully developed. I have always been too much. In the end, I’m glad to have been able to walk away. I don’t begrudge him. I don’t. It’s like at that point - I needed that temporary relief to feel human again. The skeletons in my closet fucked it up. It was nice to believe even for a moment that someone thought I should stay alive. It was nice to believe in a moment, although fleeting, that I was light in their darkness. That they were okay with the way I was. I don’t even recognize who that was. There was happiness because of him. I will never regret that. And really the story wasn’t about him anyway, he was just a road I took. A mere diversion. A pause. A respite to my hell.

And I still feel it everyday. Like I am too broken and because of it no one can ever really love me. I think every single relationship in my life, every single one, from the youngest to the oldest, from my family to friends is surface. I’ve been rejected and now I just know that I’m broken inside and who wants this in their lives. So yes every single feeling I have stays hidden inside. I’m all over the place. Fallen from grace. I feel like I’m just lost in this place and all I do is cry. I think Henry would laugh and say “told you so” and yet here I am, wanting so badly to have anyone, anything, to just hold me, and tell me I’m not alone. But they don’t know about my past and even when I give glimpses I hide things like this because nothing is meant to last. Not in my life. I want so badly to just jump off the edge and believe them when they say I should stay but there’s no solid ground below. I don’t even think there’s a hand to hold. Every time I think I should just reach out and someone will grab me to safety I pull my hand back because I don’t even want to be left alone in a hospital room again begging for the same man who ruined me more than anyone to come save me again. I’m so afraid I’ll need someone again and no one will answer but him. I won’t survive him again.

There’s nothing I’d love more than to believe I am loved. If my mom called and said she was sorry I’d nurse her to health. I’d tell her I’d be the mom she needed. There’s nothing more I’d love for them to say “yes your past is ugly but you’re not and I want you to stay. Here. With me.” But this darkness has fooled me. And I think all lights have turned off for me. I don’t think I’m the character people want to save. I don’t think I’m the character people want to love. I don’t think I’m the character that gets to live. She just gets to survive in silence. At least that’s what I see in the mirror. I will never ever ever become an imposition again. Never again. So I’ll push you all away and I’m sorry for that. Who would want me here anyway?

I read the emails where I was begging, BEGGING with such fervor to be loved. To be held. To be safe. To be wanted. To be protected. By anyone. By everyone. I will never do it again. Never again.

Sometimes I think fuck if I could just find a reason. I’d stay. But I’m broken. And I don’t need a therapist to tell me what I know. So no, I won’t stay.

[bleakbluejay]

I wanna rant a little, I guess, about the moment I realized I was obsessed with the Mandalorian.

It was actually the 2nd to last episode of season 2. I mean I really liked the show up until that point, certainly, but that episode, where Din, Cara, Migs, Fennec, and Boba all go to the refinery so they can figure out where Grogu is, it stuck with me in my little brain and exploded and bloomed.

Specifically when Din decided he had to take his helmet off if he was going to save Grogu's life. The hesitance at first, letting the scanner try his helmet first. The determination, next, of letting it scan him so he can get it over with before anyone noticed. It's very resolute.

Then... the panic.

The absolute panic and fear freezing him when Valin Hess begins asking questions. This guy can't move, he can't talk. He can just stare with wide-eyed terror, speechless, and what little he can say isn't right. The increased panic as he realizes he's failing, he's failing this social interaction, he's failing Grogu, and he's failing himself, and he freezes. It looks like he's fighting back tears, almost, like he's moments away from breaking.

Which is the same way I handle panic and anxiety attacks. As an autistic person, my fear/anxiety response is just freezing, going nonverbal/semiverbal, and hoping that the stressor will just go away. I very, very rarely see this in fiction, and especially rarely under the exact circumstances being portrayed. I went from merely loving this character to thinking this is me, he is me. And that empathy link got intensely established.

I kept thinking about how traumatic this entire situation must be for him. How stressful the circumstances. How he, someone relatively zealous, forsake one of the most important tenets of his faith, showing his face to other living things, and there's nothing he could do about it. For the first time in easily 20-30 years, he was seen. He was vulnerable. There was no durasteel, no beskar, no protective shell separating him from the hard world outside or prying eyes or judgement or failure. Suddenly, his facial expressions mattered, facial expressions he didn't need to worry about mirroring or faking in decades if ever. And they didn't just matter the way they matter to a ND person like me in regular social situations. This was life-or-death.

I remember about two years in quarantine and masking during COVID took me soooo far back in terms of how well I "mask" my autism around allistics. I barely do it at all, now, and I have trouble forcing myself to. It made me very insecure of my face and expressions because I couldn't do them right anymore. That was just two years. What could 20-30 years do?

So I sat there, suddenly extremely connected, heart-to-heart with that tin man, metaphorical spear through my chest as I watched all the stages of grief pass over his face during that scene, and my whole brain chemistry was being altered. I finished the episode, finished the season, finished Book of Boba Fett, and then rewatched the Mandalorian, with this new perspective. Then I rewatched it again. And again. And every time I felt more and more connected to the guy. His tenderness, his gentleness, his strength, his courage, his love, his light, his fear. He became my favorite fictional character, and in so, so short a period of time. In just two weeks. And all sparked by Pedro Pascal's fucking 🥺 face.

(And of course, Din isn't canonically autistic but yes he is <3 I said so and I know everything.)

[badnew2005]

rehashing this post from right before s15 like. hm !!!!! first half of the post died like hoodie gate and dennis in macs room turned to be Nothing. i’m still maintaining they fucked over quarantine (SINGING HAPPY SILLY LITTLE COUNTRY LOVE SONGS ?????? country mac vs mac) but. dennis is still emotionally in north dakota. he’s still fight or flight. he’s learnt he can’t survive without mac without the gang and still had to come crawling back to philly But he’s not emotionally back. he’s not accepted he’s back and this is Who He Is. that he couldn’t survive as someone else once again. he’s terrified mac and the gang can see through him. he still wants to run. the gang go on holiday. go where PURPLE ??? that’s not a place !!! vocal stim of all time. they go to ireland back to their Roots. they’re an Irish bar. macs so aggressively american irish. let’s tell him he’s dutch. to shut him up. need to confuse him, spin him around, give him a different focus other than Me.

mac and dennis barely interact in ireland. dennis’ obsession with authenticity almost killing him. he’s trying so hard to be Real to be a Real Person. not Himself of course. someone real here. s14 health scare dennis NOT vigilant about covid ???? REFUSING to admit he had it. because it wasn’t authentic. wasn’t Real. because he spent 2020 hiding away with mac, slowly falling back into old routines, back in love back to being see through. fuck. that’s Not what ireland was for. dennis being the one to point out charlie’s dad died from covid. weird washy vision. dennis the “Only One” who didn’t get vaccinated. s14 health freak out dennis more about mac than anything else. he wanted Everything to be The Same back to when they could read eachother BUT he’s terrified of being Seen by mac. by mac who can Now see himself as gay, what the fuck is he finally going to be able to see in dennis. macs been spun around by dennis so he just goes to i’ll look after dennis Directly when he asks. i don’t want him running away from me again. also pizza poisoning. building back up that codependency. dennis needing anything else than Mac to blame all his mac problems on. Macs priest journey he’s thinking about Himself he’s Looking After Himself. not dennis. big mo should we quit the game. if you’re not having fun anymore. he’s not. everything with dennis is more Pain than anything else. being suffocated by his own love. sorry about the delusional maccricket hopes. mac and cricket ex boyfriends i’ll never stop believing in you though. macden using cricket as a middle man instead of just fucking eachother. den and charlie trying to spin him around confuse him saying he’s not irish. okay. next aspect of my identity is catholic. i’ll just go Full into that. the wars over. the storm has stopped raging. maybe. it’s complex. but it’s easier than dennis. feeling unfulfilled by the church though. this isn’t what i wanted this isn’t filling my dennis shaped hole. coming back together on the mountain. to help charlie. finding the truth. they lied to me told me i wasn’t irish just because they thought i was annoying? heartbreaking. DEVASTATING honestly. fuck you im leaving. i don’t have to help you. you’ll never help me. all i’ve been DOING is trying to Look After Myself so you wouldn’t have to. macs whole LIFE trying so desperately for someone to Love him. fuck man.

but back in the pub. mirror of paddys. we’re never escaping paddys. but why would i want to. we’re always running out into the world looking for treasures when everything we need is right here in the bar. their own ecosystem. and we carry out country (us. giggling like yeah the United States US and just. Us as a relationship) with us wherever we go! BECAUSE WE LOVE HER! and when you love someone , you can’t BEAR TO LEAVE EM BEHIND” watch dennis. face journey. he realises before mac. he loves philly he loves paddys he loves the gang he loves mac. HE CANT KEEP RUNNING AWAY. it’s okay to stop and be stationary. it’s okay to be who you are. “not ever” he’s ran away so many times. even this holiday with the gang he’s running from them. mac looks at him. mac knows. it’s okay that mac can read me that he can see through me like this. it’s good. i missed it. i’m weak and tired of running and I’m Sorry. everything i’ve done to you because i hated myself because i was scared of myself. they go to charlie. it’s the big game. they’ve embraced who they are (american) (Who They Are) and that’s when you WIN. dennis was in north dakota during the big game. wasn’t part of it. was still running. i’ve said it a thousand times sure he’s physically back in philly for years but emotionally he was still running. he’s stopped. laid down to rest.

i don’t want to hypothesise about s16 too much but after the first two eps are out i feel confident saying. the cat is poking his head out of the wall. he’s missing mac. i’ve said before end of clip show SINISTER “we’re back to normal” it’s dennis’ fantasy he wants so badly to become reality. he’s the best at monitoring reality and pulling one over on the gang. because that’s all he Ever does. that’s all he’s been doing. they’ve only just caught on or directly challenged him or tried to live in their own fantasies. i don’t know if dee’s cat is fully coming out of the wall but he’s poking his head. barely saw macden apartment last season because they were running away from her. sterile. in the season Opener we saw Her Insides. the fridge. casual domesticity. throwing out all of their furniture and sleeping on a blow up bed together. he’s stopped running. when you embrace who you are then you WIN. but. macs moving on. it’s been too long. took dennis too long to adjust. that happens. i’m so scared to tinhat about johnny but. i’m still your leading man. macs got another leading man. he’s being replaced maybe. it’s me it was always me. i think we’re gonna see more of that. i have always trusted the structure. i don’t think it’s going to be fruitless. yeah i think i’m out now. he’s BACK from north dakota he’s working on himself. macden doorway in inflates mirroring macdenbreakup. we don’t need to tell you our business. he’s protecting himself protecting their relationship. he’s not getting angry anymore. working to be a person. not letting small things blow up anymore. but it’s not going to be enough. he needs to Show Mac he cares More. it’s going to be difficult but. i trust the structure

[atinyjules]

LIMBO - YEOSANG PT. 2

Pt. 1 is over here

Like I said, it ended up becoming a little too long so here's pt. 2 please enjoy! (づ￣ ³￣)づ

I let out a sigh as I pressed my uniform for the last time. Our last classes ended last week and I had one day left before I graduate high school and as excited and sad as I was, the adrenaline of going off to college felt real. But at the back of my head, there still lingered Yeosang. And as much as I wanted to forget about him...the memories keep appearing and the worry of whether he was okay or not still haunting me.

It has been almost two week since I last spoke to Yeosang...properly and there was little to no news of him. Even though we aren't friends anymore, I was still worried for him. But I held myself together and continued pressing my clothes because, why should I worry about him? He was the one in the wrong so what he does or where he is currently shouldn't worry me.

I smiled after I cleanly pressed my uniform and put it up on the hanger and hung it in my room. I was leaving for Seoul in a couple of days after the ceremony so my room was basically empty at this point. I decided to move because, well...I want a break from this place so I'll spend my break in Seoul and then enroll at a college over there.

"I'm gonna miss this." I said implying to my bedroom.

Yeosang's

The graduation ceremony was tomorrow but I had no plans of attending so that was the least of my worries right now. I couldn't go to the graduation ceremony...not after everything that happened and not after the damage I caused. So I just spent my days staying at home and not moving an inch out of the bed, only getting up for water and the washroom.

At this point, I looked terrifying.

The last time I ate a full meal was maybe two weeks ago. And after that I could barely eat two spoons and discarding the rest. So I had dark eye bags, my hair was dirty and messy, I was really frail and could barely talk.

I felt horrible so after successfully getting myself up, I carefully walked to the shower and turned on the tap as I slumped against the wall. The water hitting my skin as I felt a wave of freshness hit me. I let out a content sigh, the water easing the throbbing headache I was having.

I felt my eyes getting heavy due to the feeling of the water hitting my body when the world suddenly went black, the sound of my phone ringing being the last sound I heard before my body hit the ground.

__________________________________________________

Yeeun's

I smiled at my reflection on the mirror after I finished touching up my face. Putting on my tinted lip balm after which I stood up and spritz myself with a refreshing and sweet perfume.

Today was the day I graduate and start a new chapter in my life. But why was I feeling so uneasy? As if something was wrong? I don't know but I focussed on getting ready since mom told me that it was probably the butterflies in my stomach due to the excitement of graduation high school today.

After I was ready I headed to the school where I was engulfed into a warm hug by San.

"You look gorgeous! Omo...can you believe it?! We're graduating today! TODAY!" He exclaimed making me giggle.

"I know right!" I said excitedly when my eyes went to the empty chair by the window next to mine.

"D-Did Yeosang not come yet?" I asked San as he patted my shoulder and smiled.

"Wooyoung went to get him, so don't worry he'll be there." he said making me let go of a breath I didn't realise I was holding.

"Okay, that's great." I said with a small smile.

Even though we might have ended on a bad note, I wanted Yeosang to be present at the ceremony. I remember how we used to imagine our graduation day when we were kids and how excited he was for this day so if he couldn't be present I would be sad.

As we took our seats in the school auditorium I couldn't help but feel worried at the absence of Wooyoung and Yeosang.

What's taking them so long?

I sighed and looked at my phone, we had 10 more minutes till the ceremony began. And there was still no sign of any of them. After five minutes I finally had enough and pulled out my phone and dialled Wooyoungs number.

"Are you calling Wooyoung?" San asked as I nodded when the doors siddenly burst open to reveal Wooyoung who at the sight of me came running towards us with glassy eyes.

"What's wrong? Where's Yeosang?" San asked as I grew more worried at Wooyoung's expression.

"I think something's wrong with Yeoasang. I went to call him but no one answered and he won't pick up his phone. His landlord told me that he hasn't come out even once since I last visited and there's tones of untouched food out in the garbage bin." Just those words were enough to get me riled up as I quickly stood up and ran out.

"Yeeun!" Wooyoung and San called out but I ignored their calls and ran out of the auditorium, ignoring the calls of my teachers, family and friends.

Yeosang...you better be safe!

I quickly made my way to his apartment where I was greeted with a bin full of untouched takeout. I quickly banged on his door.

"YEOSANG?! KANG YEOSANG! OPEN THE DOOR!" I exclaimed loudly and felt my knees get weak when I received no response. I sat their quiet for a while when I took note of a dripping sound from inside his room making me freeze.

"Y-Yeosang...?" I put my ear to the door and felt my heart rate spark up when I indeed heart the sounds of water flowing.

I quickly stood up and started banging on the door.

"KANG YEOSANG!! OPEN THE DOOR! I'M SO SORRY FOR EVERYTHING! I'M SO SORRY FOR LEAVING YOU!" I cried and banged on the door when I suddenly remembered something.

"Key!...K-Key!" I exclaimed and fumbled with my fingers as I searched for the extra key he had given me. I let out a sigh of relief when I found the key and tried to quickly put the key on the keyhole and proceeded to open it.

As soon as I opened the door, water poured out of the house as I quickly made my way to the source of the water. And that's when I found him unconscious on the ground. Frail and weak.

"Yeosang! Yeosang, are you okay?!" I exclaimed shaking his body trying to sense any form of life in him. Freezing when he coughed out water. I then proceeded to hold him in my arms.

"Yeosang! Hey...don't worry I'm here!"

"Y-Yeeunie..." he whispered loud enough for me to hear him.

"Yes! Yeeunie! It's me and I'm here now! Okay?! You're okay now!" I exclaimed and quickly dialed 911.

__________________________________________________

Yeosang's

I opened my eyes slowly, shielding my eyes from the bright rays of the sun. Taking in my surroundings, I slowly got up and coughed as I looked around the room to realise that I was in the hospital with a sickening number of pipes in my arms. I tried to recollect the recent events only to wince in pain due to the headache I was having.

"Ah, good to know that you're awake." I look up to see a senior nurse holding a stroller with some things I couldn't identify.

"How long was I out?" I asked as she counted the days.

"Around two weeks. When you were brought here you were extremely malnourished and dehydrated. And you had high fever." she said as I tried to remember but failed.

"Who brought me here?" I asked and took a sip of the water.

"A girl, she was crying so much that we had to calm her down. She was really worried for you. You should take care of yourself boy...she along with your friends and family were extremely worried." she said as she did her job and left.

"Was it Yeeun?" I asked myself and looked out the window. The sky was clear and the sun was shining brightly. I was dwelling in my thoughts when the door opened.

"O-Oh...you're awake." I looked up to see the girl I had been desiring to see holding a bag wither her hair tied into a low ponytail.

"I brought you some soup." she said and placed her bag on the chair.

"Yeeun-" I tried to talk but was cut off by her.

"I need to leave in a while so have it quickly and rest." she said and placed the warm bowl of chicken soup infront of me.

"I'm-" she cut me off again.

"It'll get cold." she said as I sighed in defeat and tried to pick up the spoon but failed, causing the soup to splash on my pjs. I was going to pick up the spoon when she took it from my hand and took a spoonful of soup and blew on it softly and brought it to my lips. I drank the soup with a shaky breath.

After I finished all the contents of the bowl she quickly packed her bag making me panic.

"Yeeun-"

"I'll get going now." she said cutting my words.

"Yeeun we need to talk-" she cut me off yet again.

"I don't want to talk." she said making me panic as she continued walking to the door.

"Yeeun please! Hear me out!" I exclaimed as she stopped.

"I heard everything I needed to hear so let's leave it at that." she said as I felt my eyes glisten.

"You can ignore me and hate me all you want but please...hear me out just this once and I promise I'll stop pestering you and you can ignore me how much you want. But just let me explain myself...give me a chance please, just one chance." I said and started to lose hope due to her lack of response when she spoke up.

"5 minutes...you get 5 minutes to explain yourself Kang." she said as I heaved a sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry for everything Yeeun. Everything I said and everything I did was out of pure confusion. I thought that I was unsure of what to do after I join college, but I realised that it was the feelings of not knowing what to do if you wouldn't be by my side in college and my life...

I wasn't sure if my feelings for you was love or gratitude but once I realised it was love I couldn't help but feel angry at myself for not noticing it early enough. And now that we're stuck in this situation...I blame muself for everything and hope that you'll forgive me one day-" I was cut off by Yeeun's voice.

"You're 5 minutes are up." she said and rushed out leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her Peony perfume.

"It was worth the try..." I mumbled to myself as I closed my eyes to avoid my tears from falling.

__________________________________________________

Yeeun's

It has been exactly one month since Yeosang's confession and life has become harder and harder to get through everyday. The desire to run into the warm and encapsulating embrace of Yeosang was stronger than ever . But after leaving him there, how could I go to him and act as if nothing happened between us?

I looked out the window of my university library. After everything that happened I decided to remain here and discarded the idea of going to Seoul. So after getting my own apartment close to the University I began to hang around the library 24/7.

"Hey, Yeeun." I turned to see Wooyoung who had a solemn smile.

"Hey...funny seeing you here in the library on a sunday." I said as he chuckled and put his hands on my shoulder.

"Go to him...I'm sure he misses you and I know you do too. So go and clear it out...tell him how you feel and give him a big ass hug." he said making me chuckle as my smile faltered.

"I can't...not after how coldly I treated him." I said making him smile.

"You did that cause you were cold...so why don't you let him warm your heart up like he always does? If he loves you, he'll allow you to come inside of his heart and if he doesn't...he's probably a wuss." Wooyoung said making me chuckle as I hugged him.

"Should I?" I asked as he scoffed.

"Of course! Now go get your man!" he exclaimed pushing me towards the door as I ran out to find him and not even a little while after I ran out it started to pour....heavily.

"Shit...where am I supposed to find him?" I asked myself as I walked in the rain, clothes drenched. I was going to take out my phone when I found my umbrella. Even though I was already wet I shielded myself from the rain in order to not get more drenched than I already was.

As I walked in the empty streets an image suddenly appeared in my head.

Han river?

"Where do you always run off to?" a younger Yeeun asked a younger Yeosang.

"Han river...whenever I feel low I just go there and look at the scenery or fly my drone."

"Sooo, you'll always be here when I can't find you?" she asked as he smiled at her.

"You bet."

"Han river!" I exclaimed and ran down towards Han river.

And as if by coincidence, there he was sitting in the middle of the rain holding something.

Yeosang's

I sighed and looked at the single withered peony in my hand.

Peonies...she loved and adored them. Told everyone she would rather reincarnate as a pink peony than as a human.

I would do anything just to hear her voice again.

"There you are..." I froze when I heard the familiar voice. I hesitantly turned back to see Yeeun drenched in rain holding a single umbrella between us.

"You just got discharged from the hospital...do you want to spend the month at the hospital again?" she asked me as I managed to give her a smile.

"As long as it means that you'll come and take care of me all over again..." I said as my voice cracked.

"You probably don't want to see me....so I'll-" I cut her off by pulling her in for a short but sweet kiss. After I broke the kiss she looked at me with glass eyes as her tears fell and she pulled me in for a tight and warm hug.

"Please don't leave me." she cried as I held her tightly.

"Never...I promise I'll never leave you again, Yeeun."

Although the clouds were dark and the rain was pouring it was the complete opposite of how we felt for each other. Love held back from months all let out under the pouring spring rain. I wouldn't have want it any other way.

UwU...and that's the end!

[grimdarksora]

Personal gender vent under the cut. System-wide stuff, but my blog is most relevant (and private). Lots of negative body image and dysphoria issues.

(and when I use 'I' it's meant to be used for the entire system)

I wish I could admit out loud to regretting starting T. If I had one wish in this entire world, it would be to undo the changes from testosterone. Not money, not fame, I would wish to have never started T. I hate not being able to cry so much it's driving me mad, I hate my facial hair, I hate my voice. I feel like I can't properly be any of the genders I am because I'm a mix of all presentations at once in a really dysphoric way.

I genuinely feel so uncomfortable in my body I'm considering laser hair removal. I think if I have to go through life with this beard I just... I can't. I would rather die. I want to peel my skin off each time my stubble comes in, yes even the men in our system. Even they hate it, it's painful at worst and uncomfortable/itchy at best. Lack of facial hair was never a thing I felt dysphoric about, if anything I feel so dysphoric with it. I feel repulsive to myself. I like facial hair on others, but mine makes me want to cry. I can't even take compliments on it, I tune them out and auto-reply with a thanks.

Even now I worry about how that comes off, as if thinking myself disgusting will make other trans people who look like me think I'm thinking of them that way and I'm not. It's just... Not who I am in such a deep, visceral way that I don't even look at myself anymore. I avoid my face in the mirror or reflective things, only looking at my eyes. I just don't want to know what I look like because it's so far from what I picture and want.

Trust me, I love people with weird and complicated genders. That's just not how I feel comfortable presenting. I wish my gender presentation was one where I could wear a dress with a beard and hairy legs because I think that's such a badass look, but that's just not me.

Rarely there are days where I own it and feel comfortable in it, but they're so rare. I'd honestly be more comfortable being dysphoric about my... Gendered traits from birth than from my T results. I hold on tight to the thought that maybe top surgery will help? Maybe if I'm more aligned to one binary gender then it'll feel less uncomfortable even if the gender itself isn't always the right one?

If I could do it all over I would never start it. But I can't and I'm here. I feel like I'm betraying the trans community for my thoughts too, like I'm a bad person because I can't just own being gender weird and out about it. But my gender presentation is very specifically binary, not both or something in between.

The only thing that makes me feel okay is that some people think I'm attractive. Maybe if I'm more involved in queer communities IRL it'll help? To see more people like me? But I feel like it won't help that the way I look is not me. It's not any of us, it's like a stranger.

Sometimes I tell myself "maybe it's bc I'm a bottom and bottoms are generally clean shaven and smooth" but like. I know that's not true! Bottoms can have hair! I don't feel like any less of a bottom! I instead feel soul-deep, identity-based dysphoria about it. It's barely even about gender most of the time and is more about how "that's not how I want my face to look!" Yet I can do nothing to change it at this point.

And did I mention it's PAINFUL? I shaved less than 12 hours ago and I'm in sensory hell feeling the stubble starting to come in under the surface. The texture of my skin will never be the way I want it to. Where my facial hair is has grown less sensitive, less soft. Touching it, the sensation it receives is unpleasant and it's so tender after shaving.

I think I really should have taken into account that I didn't want any secondary sex characteristics. No beard, no tits, nothing. That's my Ideal to feel more comfortable. I would do anything to undo this. I was so focused on following the traditional transition route I didn't think about my individual needs.

Sort of related, but lately I'm even less hateful of my dead name, some of us love it in fact! I had system members considering using it, almost going so far as to request people close to me use it for someone, but trans allies try to hate your dead name for you so I just couldn't. I lost that to testosterone too I guess.

I'm not a woman, but I wish I'd done more soul searching to realize I'm not a man either and that rejecting femininity so hard would backfire and force me towards masculinity. Which isn't better or less dysphoric actually!

I'm just so unhappy about my transition and it feels transphobic to express that even if it's MY BODY and MY GENDER. I feel so trapped in this body I hate more and more with each time I have to shave.

[bunny-j3st3r]

su/ici/de mention under cut and depression stuff

I think I’m ready to talk about some stuff in my life that’s been happening as of late.

About two-ish months ago I had a rather large relapse in my mental health, I was thinking of the future and getting myself scared, I was thinking how I can’t afford to live on my own and if something happened to my folks I would be homeless, I was thinking how my dogs are getting older and I already lost two dogs due to health issues in a short span of each other, I don’t think I’m mentally prepared if my chihuahua passes away this year.

I was thinking about old photos I saw once, my mom showed me a picture of my great aunt and she looked exactly like me, it was like I was looking in a mirror, my mom told me she died due to weight issues that gave her a heart attack in her 40s, it scared me as being someone who is very overweight due to things that happened in my past that gave me bad habits today.

I was thinking how I can barely afford to live anymore, how I have to beg for help and hope strangers will be kind enough to give money to me to pay for groceries that I can barely afford anymore, how I’ve not really gone out and enjoyed myself for months because I’m so scared that even spending money on a new book is money I could of spent buying much needed food and essentials.  

I relapses very severely, I was going down hill further and further and I had planned on taking my own life when my parents were on holiday so no one would be around to help me.

I had planned it all, worked it out and I had it all sorted for last month, was going to just down as many of my parents left over medication as I could, regardless of what it was, didn’t know what half of them where, I just knew there was a bag of medication that my folks had planned to return to the chemist after there holiday since that had a surplus supply they didn’t need. 

I sat there on I think it was thursday, I remember it had been raining all day and I sat at the back door, watching how heavy the rain was, I had the bag in hand and a large glass of water ready and I just sat and watched.

And then all my dogs started to sit around me, watching with me as I just watched and then our puppy who we didn’t have that long laid her head on my hand that I was gripping the bag in.

I felt myself starting to cry, I don’t remember much, I remember crying so much to the point I was sick a few times, I remember wheezing and then just collapsing on to the couch, burying myself under blankets and all the dogs trying to get on to the couch with me to lay on me.

I remember falling asleep while crying but smiling because a special friend to me sent me a dumb meme as I was going through this, blissfully unaware of the events that I had just planned.

I don’t think I woke up till late that day, the sun was shining, the weather was warm as if my family looking down on me were telling me that the moment had passed.

I stuffed the bag back into the closet and messaged my mom, her and dad still don’t know what I had planned and I don’t think I’ll ever tell them.

I had a bath, I cooked a decent meal and played video games most of that day while also working a little bit in the garden.

In the end I decided to book my first holiday abroad that will be by myself, something I can pay of monthly, I brought myself the new zelda game and have spent a good chunk of time away playing that.

I also started to walk more, I do a 5k hike every few days into the woods and across the fields and just take everything in as I’m going, I want to better myself.

I’m still struggling atm, I’m still finding it hard to talk to most people or be involved in things my friends are all involved in but the matter of fact is I’m here.

I’m here and I’m alive and I am trying to become a better person for myself, even with all my struggles, I’ll work it out, I’m still scared but I’ll work through it.

[wool-f]

Let’s have a real chat about mental health

I have a secret. 

I have had a secret for the last ten months. 

My secret is that despite my outward presentation, I’ve been really struggling with my mental health for the most part of 2022. 

I find it difficult sometimes to be open and vulnerable about it, because I feel that so often my own issues and struggles are so much less severe than other people out there, and that I have enormous privileges that other people don’t have access to. 

So in that vein, I want to first acknowledge and express with the greatest gratitude the luck that I have in having great parents, understanding friends and a roof over my head. I am surrounded by people who care about me, and I have access to food, hot and cold running water, and a great job that I enjoy doing most of the time. I have everything that a person needs in their life to be happy and healthy, and yet I still struggle with my mental health. 

So let’s really talk about mental health, self care and the trend of toxic positivity. 

Throughout the pandemic, my circumstances changed (by my own choice) and for the most part, I was happy and can honestly say, I built a number of health habits that I maintained throughout the lockdown period, that I carried through until we were well and truly out of the worst of it. 

I went through a phase at the beginning of this year, where I got a new job and started working In a role that I had never even thought possible for me just two years prior. I am now a paid journalist, working in Melbourne, and I get the opportunity to do some really cool things during the week while I’m working. 

At this time, I was also recovering from Covid, which I also link to my decline in mental health, as a few things happened on the peripheral of my life at that time, which caused me to really think about who I was spending my time with, and where I was sharing positive and supportive energy. 

Throughout the following months, I started to really retreat back into myself. I was spending more and more time at my parents house, I found little joy in the work that I was doing, I fell behind in uni and stopped doing the things that I loved to do. I also stopped following the habits that I had so carefully maintained and built throughout the lockdowns in Melbourne. 

I think it was only in August of this year, where I really stopped myself and looked in the mirror - I was a person that I barely recognised anymore. I had lost my zest for life and I was really not enjoying anything. My body had changed, due to lack of healthy physical activity, and my focus had strayed from anything productive. 

I journaled and tried to start doing all the things I knew would help to pull myself out of this self-made hole, but to no avail. It came to a head at the end of August, when I moved back into my family home, and I had the space to really let myself relax, feel safe, and heal from the inside out; until I got to a point where I could look at what was going on inside my head from a space where I could actively do something about it. 

What I have found is that despite the fact that everyone is constantly trying to be “that girl” or portray a life of perfection and constant positivity, it truly is not conducive to a healthy relationship with yourself. I know that is not by any means an original thought at all, but the more I notice it, the more I can’t un-see it. 

I have clocked it in myself, that when I am attempting to portray a life of perfection and pure joy 100% of the time, it is in fact when I am the least happy, And when I am trying to convince others that I don’t care about a potentially hurtful situation, I am actually more often than not, very upset about it. I can’t speak for anybody outside of myself, but I think it’s worth saying - that it’s ok to care about people and things. 

My generation particularly, and from what I am seeing of the following generations, are so caught up in trying to care less, and pretending to be too cool for things, because the whole cult of mindfulness has been only partially absorbed - when something is genuinely upsetting, you are allowed to be upset about it. People treating you badly is a very good reason to be sad, losing an opportunity that you really wanted is disappointing, and not being exactly where you expected yourself to be right now can be extremely disconcerting. Pretending that you’re fine when in fact you are struggling, are sad, are unhappy or uncomfortable, or just generally annoyed, is stifling your ability to express yourself in a healthy way. 

I noticed after moving back into my family home, that I had found myself in a place where I didn’t feel comfortable expressing myself fully in any other environment. And among other things, the little voice in my head that I normally keep wrangled in a genie lamp, had become so powerful and loud, that it was all I could hear and all I was listening to. And it was at that point, that I was actively able to step away from the negative self talk inside my own head, and start doing things that would allow me to recalibrate my brain. 

Obviously this is not an all in one fix or solution, and for many other people they need more assistance than a journal and a couple of weeks in a safe space with more than 4 hours sleep a night, and I probably could use the help of a therapist. But for now, I am truly trying to do my best to feel emotions as they come to me, and to not suppress them. I am doing my best to counteract negative and invasive thoughts with my own active positive thoughts. I have started doing things I love again, I have started making lists and enjoying the life I am living again. I am trying new things, and realigning with my goals and dreams again. I am truly moving back into the old self I had cultivated in 2020, and it wasn’t by pretending everything was fine and I was perfectly happy with the way it was going. 

I’m not saying this is for everyone, but I really want to try and be as open as I possibly can be with my own mental health struggles, because I feel as though everyone talks about them on a surface level, but never really tries to tackle them in depth or go into them in a serious way. This was very much just a rambling post about where I am in life with my mental health and I’m not really sure I said anything helpful, but it’s helped me in a way, so someone else out there might need this too!

Anyway, that’s all for now, I’m going to be a lot more active on my social platforms from this week going forward, so you’ll hopefully be seeing a bit more from me. If you’ve gotten to the end of this post, thank you so much for being here, I love and appreciate all of you that take the time out to consume what I create. Please feel free to reach out at any moment in time, or comment down below what struggles you’re having currently - a problem shared is a problem halved. 

Good night, love you all. 

G xxx

[im-a-sokka-for-you-ooh]

TW//

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Discussion of B*dy D*sm*rph*a

So did anyone else grow up flat-chested and learn to kinda love it??

My whole life, despite being plus sized, I've always been lacking in that department. I was born afab but I now (only in small circles where I know I'm safe to) identify as nonbinary. Growing up as "a girl", I was meeting some benchmarks too early, like for weight and height. For puberty things, I was "late". I "never developed" like the other girls did, got my period later than most (eighth grade was late for some weird reason idk), but the one that bothered me the most was my chest. Girls would go bra shopping and I'd just smile and nod and say yeah when in reality I was getting "granny bras" that barely have cups and have absolutely no underwire. Girls never bullied me about it but sometimes boys would and I'd pop off with a dick joke to mask my insecurities by shaming them with theirs. Now that I'm in my early 20s and I've come to my own conclusions about my gender identity....I don't know how I feel about it anymore. Like I've always joked that my college graduation present would be a boob job, so I could finally fit into a B or C cup...but somedays, I want to be as flat-chested as possible. I want to have no breasts at all because sometimes I feel more comfortable presenting masculine (which to me means an absence of breasts entirely). And I honestly can't tell if I'm having body dysmorphia or euphoria when I wear sports bras that make me nearly flat, or on days when I'm feeling more feminine presenting, I'm either looking like I have breasts or I don't. It's really weird and I don't really understand enough about body dysmorphia and euphoria to really be using that terminology but that's how it feels. And sometimes, I look in the mirror and feel a disconnect from myself and my body. Idk, I feel like I'm rambling at this point but I thought maybe someone else might understand.