#I wish I'd known about this my whole life

[kyofsonder]

Happy International Wolf Day!

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I always think about how in multiple episodes it's basically canon that Blanche is bi but considers dating women to be more hassle (which is a whole rabbit hole to go down - does she struggle with societal homophobia when she's with women? Has she only been with fellow high maintenance femmes when shes really after a Dorothy type? Has she internalized the idea that her attraction to women isn't 'real'? Her reaction to Clayton adds to these questions). Not to mention how this goes together with her relationships with the girls; making to kiss Rose that one time (and Rose multiple times seeming very aware of Blanche's proclivities), begging Dorothy for 'relief' and being convinced she's attracted to women too.

Yes, anon! It’s really interesting to delve into Blanche’s psyche about all this stuff!

I started writing down my thoughts and ended up with a long ramble -- allow me to place it all under a cut, so I don't clog up anyone's dash, haha.

Personally, I think she has some strong mental blocks when it comes to her sexuality because of the way she was brought up. I mean, she grew up in Atlanta approx in the 1930s/1940s — I’m sure I don’t have to detail the kind of casual bigotry she must have seen around her during her formative years! Just look at the story she recounts in S1E13 A Little Romance:

“Now, you have to understand that in those days in the South a lot of things were still taboo. Certain people were not to mix. So Benjamin and I had to meet in secret. Oh, we knew if any of the bigots in town found out about us, there’d be a terrible scandal.”

And all of this because Benjamin was a yankee… can you imagine what ‘the bigots in town’ thought about homosexuality? Yeah, I’m pretty sure Blanche learned to suppress that part of herself very early on. We know she turns to denial when she’s faced with uncomfortable truths and emotions she can’t deal with, so I think she likely just refuses to acknowledge that part of herself most of the time, and it only comes out (pun intended!) when she’s not paying much attention to things, or when there’s something more important going on. See the two examples you point out: when she tries to kiss Rose she’s concerned with not being kissed at midnight, and when she propositions Dorothy she’s, well… she’s desperate to get some, if we can be frank.

When she’s in a more rational state, her reactions tend to be more measured… but not by much. She does advise Rose not to date women (S3E10 The Audit):

“Oh, no, honey, don’t do that! No job is worth having to date women!”

But she’s also really flattered at receiving lots and lots of phone calls from women, after her appearance as a ‘lesbian’ on TV (S7E15 Goodbye, Mr Gordon):

“By the way, Dorothy, if I were a lesbian, I sure would be a popular one. Look at this, 20 calls.”

And of course we can’t forget her reaction to finding out that Jean has a crush on Rose in S2E5 Isn’t It Romantic?:

“Jean has the hots for Rose? I don’t believe it, I do not believe it! […] To think Jean would prefer Rose over me? That’s ridiculous! […] Now you tell me the truth: if you had to pick between Rose and me, who would you pick? Who?”

All of these are (likely) intended to be jokes about her vanity and her libertine nature (in the same way as Rose’s observations are), but considering a lot of the writers of this show were queer themselves, it wouldn’t seem strange to me if they were intentionally peppered in to suggest that Blanche might be a bisexual in denial. It certainly fits her character!

I haven’t spoken about her reaction to Clayton’s coming out yet, but that’s immensely interesting too, of course. I think Blanche has the same attitude towards homosexuality that I see in a lot of (mostly older) people in my Country nowadays: it’s fine as a general concept, but when it comes to her family (or, God forbid, herself) then the problems come out. See for example what she says about Jean:

“Well, I’ll never understand what Jean doesn’t see in the opposite sex, but if that makes her happy, that’s fine by me!”

Which isn’t a homophobic attitude at all! If anything, if you take her upbringing into account, it’s pretty accepting. But then, when Clayton comes out to her (S4E9 Scared Straight) and tells her he wants to get married (S6E14 Sister Of The Bride), this is what she says:

“Oh, Clayton, please be serious. You're just saying that so I won't set you up with any more women. […] Well, then you're saying it 'cause you're trying to get back at me for something. Clay, I know you too well for this. After all, I know it can't be true. You're my brother. […] Clayton Hollingsworth. You look me in the face and tell me you really are… what you just said you are.”

“I'm having a little trouble putting this all together. Clayton, I just feel like I don't know you anymore.”

“[…] Dorothy, that's different. We're talking about going out in public. Oh, what are people gonna say?”

“Will you tell me why you want to put yourself and Doug through this? You know how people can be.”

“Oh, look, I can accept the fact that he's gay, but why does he have to slip a ring on this guy's finger so the whole world will know?”

Quite the difference from her attitude towards Jean, wouldn’t you say? I think there’s three elements at play here.

1) When Clayton comes out to Blanche, she feels disoriented because this is life-changing information Clayton has never shared with her before. While her reaction as a whole isn’t ideal, personally I think it’s understandable. Clayton is her baby brother; she’s known him as straight all his life, he’s been married to a woman for years before his divorce, and she recounts an episode from their adolescence when he was on a date with a woman and very clearly implicated having a physical encounter with her. He's done everything in his power to pass as straight until this point in time -- I don't find it strange that Blanche would be shocked at his coming out, especially given her upbringing (and the fact that this is set in the 80s! We can't expect modern sensibilities from the characters!). Once again, her reaction isn't the best (she can't even bring herself to say the word 'gay' at first...), but the shock per se isn't that surprising, imho.

2) Blanche is scared because of societal implications above all. She doesn't necessarily see being queer as something wrong, but she's been taught it's not socially acceptable and acts accordingly. Notice how she's worried about what people are going to say, and she struggles to accept that Clayton wants the whole world to know about his relationship with Doug.

Societal expectations in general are a big theme for Blanche's character, and often drive her development; another big example of this is her attitude towards Rebecca's decision to get artificially inseminated, but it's a bit of a baseline issue for her, I feel. She has this whole thing about her beauty and her (supposed) youth and her attractiveness that has some inherent elements, but it's mostly an issue of how other people perceive her, I think, and her response to her brother's coming out is easy to relate to this theme. I mean, she even says it to Rose in S7E15:

"Well, I don't mind being labeled a lesbian, honey, but since I'm not, you just ruined my social life."

So yeah. I think it's safe to say her main concern is societal disapproval of queerness: she wants to be accepted and celebrated by the people around her, and she thinks that being openly queer will destroy her place in her social circle (and she's worried about the same happening to Clayton too, of course).

3) This is sort of related to point 2, but it felt distinct enough to treat it separately. I think she might have reacted so badly to Clayton's coming out (and especially to his showing up with a partner) because he's open about his sexuality, and she's not ready to face what that means for her. My lovely mutual @\hecatesbroom recently published her latest amazing work the odd one(s) out, on the relationship between Dorothy and her brother Phil and how Phil's open queerness might have impacted Dorothy; I think a similar situation might have occurred between Blanche and Clayton after his coming out.

Blanche has a sort of advantage on Dorothy because of her bisexuality, in the sense that she has 'passing privilege' (I really dislike this concept, but allow me to use it to make a point): it's painfully clear that she loved her late husband with all her heart, and she's obviously attracted to men as well, so she can pretend not to like women without too much of a hassle (whereas, if you believe Dorothy to be a repressed lesbian, her situation is much more complicated).

The issue with this is that this 'advantage' is a double-edged sword: she might have the comfort of being socially acceptable, but she's had to suffocate a big part of herself to obtain that comfort. And so, what happens when Clayton -- her baby brother Clayton, the one who's always been just like her, who's grown up with her same environment and influences -- begins openly living as a gay man? I'm sure the situation must have had a strong impact on her, even if just on a subconscious level; I've always found it curious that she seems to have a harder time accepting Clayton in S6E14 than she does in S4E9 (she even calls his sexuality a phase), and while a part of it may be attributed to the higher social exposure Clayton's commitment to Doug brings, I think this may be a result of her inner conflict, provoked by watching her brother live openly while she's been suppressing a part of herself all her life.

Here I'm assuming she's never acted upon her attraction to women before, but there's some space to believe she has done so and has decided it's too much of a hassle, as you say -- likely because she'd for sure do it in secret, given her fear of societal condemnation. If she has been with women before, and decided to give up on it, I still think she'd be greatly impacted by Clayton's coming out: it means her baby brother is a) braver than she is, and b) going to openly face (and likely suffer because of) the same social issues she's run away from. In this lens, I find it interesting that she cautions him about how people can be, almost as if they've both experienced it.

Whew. Wow, this was a lot more than I'd originally meant to write, haha! Seems you sparked a big train of thought, anon! I think all of the Girls (with the possible exception of Sophia) are really fascinating to analyze with a queer lens, and Blanche is always interesting to me, of course. As a final note, I'd like to point out that she does come around to Clayton's sexuality and his relationship, in the end: as often happens, she just needs the Girls' help to put things back in perspective, understand she's hurting someone she loves, and correct her actions. I'd like to think living with the Girls might lead to her becoming more accepting of herself, too.

[lizard-dumbass]

Guess who finally found out they have athlemaphobia lol

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VI

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your schedules don't match

You love Alexia.

You were only little when your father died. You didn't quite understand it.

Your father was a football fan, a big Barcelona supporter so all of his daughters got taken to games with him.

Alba was never that into sports, even just watching them.

Alexia was definitely sporty. You think she was what your father really wanted. She plays football and she adores it.

Your father was already sick by the time you were born. He was already struggling but he still took you to matches. It didn't click with you like it did with Alexia but he could still some athletic speck in you.

He took you to a tennis match instead. He'd never had much interest in tennis but he seemed to know what would appeal to you. You were tiny and Mama had been worried that you wouldn't be able to sit through a match.

But you did.

You sat through a whole match and fell in love then and there.

You were still little though and your father was still sick but he took you to as many lessons as he could.

He was a football fan but he could learn tennis for you.

He never could in the end, not when he died so suddenly.

But then Alexia took over. She didn't understand tennis and she still doesn't understand but she took you to every lesson and went to every match.

You just wish she understood the difference in your schedules.

She was getting ready for another round of Euro qualifiers even though Spain had already qualified. You were at Wimbledon, trading shots with Iga on the practice courts.

"Have you called your sister yet?" She asks, sitting down next to you as you guzzle down your water.

You roll your eyes. "In a minute."

"Do it now."

"What are you? One of my sisters?"

You're teasing her.

Iga is the world number one, by a lot of points. You sit just outside of the top ten. It's a little annoying, your own inconsistency. You can pull it out of the bag during big matches like Grand Slams but you suffer a bit in some of the less grand tournaments.

You're officially the youngest player this tour so you know you're getting babied by some of the other players, Iga especially.

You hadn't thought she had even known who you were until your coach told you she was the one who pushed him to take you on.

She thought you were on your way to being one of the greats.

She also thought you would make a great doubles partner one day.

It was different moving to Poland, away from your Mama and your sisters but Iga made it easy.

She was easy-going and you practically lived at her place so, yeah, you guess she took the more sisterly role in your life with Alexia and Alba at home in Spain.

"Go and call your sister," Iga laughs, spraying you with her bottle until you shriek and run off," And grab me a protein bar or something!"

You roll your eyes but head off, pulling out your phone to video call your sister.

It rings for barely a second.

"Hi Jenni," You say," Can you give Alexia back her phone? I need to talk to her."

"You don't want to talk to me, mini Putellas? I'm offended!"

"If I wanted to talk to you, I'd have called you!"

Jenni laughs before Alexia appears on screen, snatching the phone away from her ex.

"How are you?" Alexia asks, cramming her face onto the screen.

"I'm good!" You laugh," You look good too. Covered in sweat."

"You can talk," Alexia teases back," Have you just had a workout?"

"Practice pitch with Iga," You say," We've got matches coming up."

Alexia frowns. "What do you mean?"

"We've got matches in the next few days. It's Wimbledon, remember?"

Alexia shakes her head. "No. That was last year."

"It happens every year, Ale," You remind her," Me and Iga are competing and then it's a quick turnaround for the Olympics."

Alexia's frowning. "No, because I've got a match on the twelfth. You're flying out with Mama and Alba."

"The Wimbledon final is on the thirteenth. I need to stay."

"What?"

"Iga's out and I've got a real chance. I could really do it."

"But...What about my match?"

"What about mine?" You counter with a sigh," Ale, our schedules just don't match this time. I'm sorry."

"But..."

It's clear to the other girls in the room that Alexia's getting a bit distressed as her mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate a response.

"But..."

"Listen, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait-"

You put the phone down and Alexia just stares down at it, frozen as she looks at your profile picture.

"What's up with the long face?" Jenni pokes her in the cheek. "You're more frowny than usual."

"Nothing. I just...My sister can't come to the game."

"Well, duh, Alexia. She's got Wimbledon to win. She can't just fly out to us."

"I know but..." She blows out all her air. "Never mind. I'm just...I'm gonna go."

When you were little, Alexia tried to go to as many of your matches as she could manage. Sometimes she would come straight from her own games, still in full kit to catch your last ten minutes or so.

It was difficult but it worked.

You've gone professional now and branched out, travelling the world to take part in tournaments and games so you can work your way up and become the world number one.

She shouldn't be upset about you missing her match and her missing yours because that's just how sports work. So many went on at the same time that it was impossible to make every match but, still, a deep pit forms in Alexia's stomach as she thinks about missing your final.

Across the world, you prepare.

You practice on the courts with Iga and your coach. You eat well. You sleep well. You watch Alexia's match on the tv and wish you could be there but Alexia's no longer the only athlete in the family.

She had her career and you have yours.

Paolini is who you face in the final and she keeps you on your toes the entire time. She hits hard and fast and you go one set down immediately.

You pull it back though, managing to equalise the next set and then it's all to play for.

You take a few gasping breaths as you guzzle down your water, leaning back in your seat.

You look up at your box, where your family is watching.

Mama is there, of course, and so is Alba. Alba looks incredibly bored. You know she only comes to the tennis because of you and you're glad she's trying to be supportive but she truly looks like she's about to fall asleep in her seat.

Mama looks much more engaged. She'd told you once that she preferred the pace of tennis to football. There was less risk of injuries in tennis, no one around to slide tackle you or crash into you.

The most harm your opponent could do was smash a ball into your face and that rarely happened. Sure, you could slip and fall but it's not like footballers didn't do that too.

Out of the two sports her daughters played, Mama always found herself calmer at the tennis.

Mama waves at you and nudges Alba in the ribs so she can look up from her phone to wave too.

Your brows draw together in confusion.

There's an empty seat between them and you can't understand why.

So, you just kind of stare as you puzzle out who could be sitting there.

It's not until she comes back, with two beers and a hotdog that you realise who is filling that seat.

She looks exhausted. You can tell even through those stupid big sunglasses and the even stupider hat she's wearing.

She must have gone straight from her match to the airport to get here in time and crashed in Mama and Alba's room to keep it all a secret.

So, Alexia sits in her seat and you grab your racket.

You've got a set to win.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR THINGS FRIENDS SAY TO EACH OTHER *  assorted dialogue for a multitude of friendly and platonic conversations and situations ranging from soft to dramatic, adjust as necessary

of course i love you. you're my best friend.

i really couldn't do this without you.

did you just call me your best friend?

that's what friends are for.

if you know me so well, what's my favorite color?

remember when they mistook us for siblings?

you're the only person i've ever trusted.

i know i can count on you for anything.

do you approve of them?

there's nothing i wouldn't do for you.

if something was wrong, i would tell you.

i can tell when you're lying.

okay, now tell me the truth this time.

i'm not leaving you behind.

i don't know what i'd do if i lost you.

let's not fight like that again.

i always knew you would accomplish amazing things.

that wasn't fair of me to say to you.

i'm sorry i upset you.

i know everything about you.

maybe we should go someplace fun.

will you be in my wedding?

we've been friends for years. you think i didn't know?

i figured you'd tell me when you were ready.

you called me your best friend.

if it matters that much to you, we'll do it.

i just want you to be happy above all else.

you deserve a whole lot better, you know.

i wish you could see yourself the way i see you.

you've always been there for me, no matter what.

i'd risk my life to save you.

we need a girls trip.

i know you better than you know yourself.

you don't think i can tell when you're lying?

you can't get anything past me.

as your best friend, i have to step in.

that's wrong, and you know it.

i love you, but not in that way.

we need to get out of here. just us.

you mean the world to me.

you deserve better than the way they treat you.

i think i have a right to express my honest opinion when it comes to my best friend.

the only way we survive this is if we work together.

you trust me, don't you?

we could sit for hours in silence, and i'd still love the time we spent together because it was with you.

i can tell you anything, and you won't judge me.

maybe we should take a trip together, just us.

i'm so happy for you and the life you've created.

you know me so well.

one day we'll end up in rocking chairs on a porch together, complaining about everything.

you're like a sister to me.

you're like a brother to me.

you're practically family at this point.

if you asked me to help you hide a body, i would.

no one messes with my best friend.

excuse me, but i'm your best friend. i think i have a right to know.

i've known you all my life.

i hate it when we fight.

[lafemmemacabre]

When I first started to see the very blatant signs that I might not be "fully straight" I thought my life was over.

Truly, I should've known I wasn't even into guys at all, but with all the indoctrination both religious and secular I was under, it's no wonder I just assumed I liked boys "too", but if realizing that I liked girls was scary and life-ending on itself, just the thought that I maybe ONLY liked girls and not guys at all was the most terrifying, suicide-worthy possibility to me.

I fainted for the first time the morning my mom told me she'd read the stuff I wrote venting about the looming terror of my own possible "bisexuality" and she was very clearly not happy about it or with me. Like, full on just everything went to black, my body went cold, pins and needles, paralyzed, and I lost consciousness for a few seconds.

I wish my almost 33 years old self could travel back in time and tell my 15 years old self that yes, not only are you not straight, you don't even like boys, and that while you're suffering a lot for it right now and want to kill yourself over it, your life will be amazing with time, and the lesbianism you're currently cursing and considering killing yourself over, is pretty much 95% of the reason you have anything good going on in your life now.

I wish I could tell my 15 years old self that through lesbianism they'd meet the love of their life, and that this beautiful butch lesbian, the real life incarnation of all the things society and their parents taught them to despise while subconsciously desiring it, would change their life around in ways they never imagined would be possible.

I don't know if my 15 years old self would've believed my time-traveling current-self about the incredible joy and fulfilling happiness lesbianism has given me. Knowing me, I might have trusted my older self's words but not felt the hope in my heart at the same time. I just still wish I could tell them.

It's heartwarming that now, for a lot of people, realizing that they're a lesbian is a moment of shocking joy and liberation, or even coveted mundane normalcy. It's great that what used to be a near death sentence for lots of us back in the mid 00s and earlier, for people younger than us, it's more and more common for it to be a positive discovery or just a neutral fact of life. But it's not always the case, even today, even in liberal urban centers.

To all the people coming to terms with their lesbianism less like receiving great or mundane news, and more like being told a loved one is terminally ill, please know lesbianism can end up being the greatest reason for your future joys.

I suffered so much back then. I legitimately, non-hyperbolically, thought my life was downright over. That I'd never be able to have a normal life, that my parents would forever despise me for who I was unless I lived the whole rest of my life in hiding, that everyone around me would look at me with utter repulsion at knowing who and what I was, and I myself was disgusted and ashamed of what I was starting to realize I might be. I wanted to die if I couldn't just be normal about one (1) thing for once; if I couldn't have a husband, if I couldn't find a way to feel emotionally and sexually fulfilled by a man like I was taught I should be, unless I was monstrously broken in some detestable way.

But I'm glad now. I'm glad to be who I am now, I'm glad that I couldn't find that emotional fulfilling ever with a man because if I could maybe I wouldn't have met and married my wife, and regardless of gender, I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone other than them.

And maybe, some day, you'll be glad to be who you are too, like I am now.

Thank you, lesbianism. Sincerely and seriously, thank you so fucking much.

[weaselle]

RECOVERY

I spent a lot of my life depressed without admitting it to myself and then i spent a year so depressed i could hardly make myself do the bare minimum to keep my body alive, and now it's about 3 years since i got up from that lowest point and while i am still struggling with myself things are objectively a lot better.

and i just want to put a couple things i've learned, both to remind myself of how far i've come, and in case any of what i've experienced helps anyone else.

You can't run from the darkness

When you're super depressed it's easy to focus on how much you don't want to be depressed. When everything is darkness you tend to wish you could escape that darkness.

but you can't. The darkness is all around you. You can't run away from it without running deeper into it.

instead, follow the light.

don't think of it as escaping depression, think of it as seeking joy. Don't run away from the darkness, walk toward any lights you can see.

At first it will be very small things. The taste of a food. The way your favorite color looks. A smell you like. For me one of the first things i could find to remind me of joy was the way a warm shower feels.

I would just stand in the shower and lean into the tiny, tiny joy of that feeling. I would describe it to myself, how it felt good, what about it felt good. It didn't cure me, it didn't make me less depressed, but it was a little point of joy to focus on, to breathe into like a tiny candle flame in my darkness.

I would memorize that feeling, so that later, when i felt like nothing ever brought me joy anymore, i could think, no, that's your depression lying to you, you felt joy, however small, right there in the shower just yesterday. And, maybe there is more somewhere else.

Even today, it's been a hard week, i'm feeling a lot of hopeless and helpless feelings clamoring away at me, but... i have spicy soup. And spicy soup is a NEW joy. I found spicy soup joy as i was following any little light i could out of the deepest part of my depression.

I never put hot sauce in soup before then. But today i am drinking the broth of a very spicy soup and as much as everything else is complicated and difficult and scary and dark, there is a bright mote of joy in this sip of spicy soup. And in the next one. And the next. I enjoy it, i love it, all the more that it is new, and if i had given up four years ago, i never would have known this small joy, this new favorite tiny thing.

Who knows what other little joys i may find?

If you have come to a place in life where you have lost the knowledge of how to feel joy, it is important to remember that feeling joy is like anything else in life. The more you practice, the better you get, the more of it you can do at higher levels.

And there are only so many minutes in the day. The more of them you spend acknowledging what feels good, the less of them will be left for feeling bad.

you can't escape the darkness by fleeing from it, but you can find the light by moving toward it.

Chop Wood Fetch Water

Another thing i learned was a truth about the exercise advice you always hear.

For where i am in my recovery now, common exercise has very little impact. I don't really get the endorphins people talk about, and i don't tend to feel better about myself after i work out unless i already feel pretty okay about myself to begin with. i don't mean to say there is no point in me exercising, but, i walk about ten miles a day holding onto 8 energetic dogs and i do a fair amount of lifting and bending and stuff for my job, and it's fine but it's not, like, doing a whole lot for me at this point in my recovery (tho i do think more recreational exercise will come back into play a stage or two on in my healing process)

HOWEVER

There was a year there where i was only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. When i was only able to force myself to eat just enough each day to stay alive because i'd made a promise to myself, and that promise was almost all i had left.

and the right kind of exercise is what pulled me out of that.

the RIGHT kind.

See, someone close to me needed help with a physical job. That was an important part and why this method is known historically as some variation of Chop Wood Carry Water -- it's intensely physical, which is important, but also, it helps the people around you. These days our personal communities tend to not need wood copped and water carried the same way. But you can get the same effect helping someone move all their furniture, doing all the yard work for your friends and/or family, volunteering for a charity that builds housing for homeless people, SOMEthing physically taxing that helps people.

In my case, my aging father needed help re-shingling the roof. So i promised i'd help.

So i got up every morning because he was expecting me. And i climbed the ladder because he would see me if i didn't. And i lifted and carried and hammered and worked hard. It took a week of six to eight hour days.

Right away, the fact that it was helping someone else made it not matter so much that it didn't feel like it was helping me at first. I couldn't deny that i was doing something good, that my existence had positive meaning, however small.

But very soon, it changed something fundamental in my state of depression. You can't do physical labor in the sun 7 hours a day without drinking a bunch of water. Without working up an appetite. Without getting very tired at the end of the day.

See, i had been struggling to make myself drink enough water, i was fighting to make myself eat even one small meal's worth of food each day, and i couldn't get a good night's sleep to save my life. And these things all made my depression much much worse. You think you get sad or angry from skipping a meal, consider being chronically undernourished. You think your mental state is worse after pulling an all nighter, think about what never getting a good night's sleep does.

But a couple days into this job with my father, and suddenly i was hydrated, i was eating full meals, and i was sleeping soundly at night.

THAT is what pulled me out of that deepest part of my depression.

So in a way, it was exercise that saved me. But not how people often say "have you tried exercising?" More like pushing myself physically to the point that my body demanded the things that previously i couldn't get it to want for itself.

Instead of forcing myself to eat i was craving food. Instead of staying up to all hours and then tossing and turning, i was physically exhausted and slept early and hard. (and, weirdly, being physically exhausted was somehow a relief from being emotionally/mentally exhausted)

Lastly

Healing often isn't noticeable while you're doing it

"healing is a process" is something you hear a lot, but i think it's more helpful to say something like

"Healing is like growing your hair out from short to long. You can look in the mirror every day and not notice it happening. And even when you can tell for sure it's longer than it was, you still can't really do anything with it, and it may seem pointless. But then one day you can tie it back in a ponytail and you realize how much it's grown and how many options are open to you now and you're really glad you stuck with it"

Now excuse me while i go meditate on the joys of my remaining spicy soup.

[infernalwitxhcraft]

All About: House Spirits

Well, it's about time I brought them up once again, in their own post. This guide may be on the lengthy side, but it's here to explain what they are and how to begin working with them.

What the hell is a house spirit?

House spirits come from all different cultures and folklore. Known as, you guessed it, guardians of the home. They protect the house itself, the land around it (they get along with the land spirit(s) most of the time), and they also protect the family if treated right. A home certainly doesn't feel like one without these presiding spirits helping. In fact it gives the home a life of it's own.

What do they look like? Are there types?

Across many cultures, there are these spirits and the folklore varies for each. In my tribe, we consider them to usually be little dwarves or goblins that must be appeased, otherwise they will cause bad luck or even resort to curses. Regular offerings are required. Then there are the land spirits, which is a whole other topic. If given regular offerings and respect, we believe that they will not only generate good luck and events for us, but protect us and help with our daily lives. For the witches of the tribe, they will often assist in rituals and spells. That all being said, this has carried over into my personal beliefs. Many cultures describe house spirits assisting with the same things and if they are displeased, bad occurrences following. As far as looks go, it depends on the folklore surrounding your area and your cultural background(s). You may believe in one or two types or an entire spectrum of house spirits from the realm of the fair folk. You could have one house spirit or twelve. It's entirely up to your home. In some cultures, there are door spirits (yes, that guard the doors) and ones that work in the kitchen, among others for different functions of the home.

Okay so, I live in an apartment building. Can I still work with them?

Yes. When I used to live in apartments, I found it was an either/or situation regarding how many were there. Some buildings have only a few that roam around, sometimes only one that protects the entire building, or there may be multiple hanging out in one apartment. Most complexes have multiple however. And then for the lucky buildings that have one for each apartment...those are nice. I've included a short offering ritual at the end of this post, which you can use to ask questions about whatever you wish to know, including how many there are in the building.

What kind of offerings do they like?

Milk, honey, bread, and herbs are a safe bet. They especially like bread baked by you, as they see it as a labor of love and that your energy is in there. Taking time to tend to the garden and taking care of your property & home in general are things they like to see. Don't leave the house a huge mess, as many prefer a tidy atmosphere. Not an offering per say, but important to mention nonetheless.

What should I put on their altar?

I keep my altar for them in the kitchen, as it is in a place that is undisturbed and can't be torn up by my land shark (aka, my dog). I also feel that most of the house spirits I have worked with in my life enjoy hanging out in this area of the home. They seem to like assisting in kitchen magic and cooking in general and the warmth of the stove. You may also want to include a small area near the front door if you believe that there are separate spirits for there. I'd recommend a shelf, as it won't take up as much space in the entryway.

Okay, back on track. Plants (if the space gets enough light), a cauldron, candles, offering bowls, a chalice, glass, or mug of some sort. A special spoon to stir the drinks or potions with. Decorative pieces from nature. Things you craft by hand.

How can I begin working with them?

Anytime, in reality. However, you do have to develop an actual relationship with them. This can take time and the more you speak to them, give offerings, and invite them in as you cook or clean, the more they will be willing to help with your spellwork, wards, and healing. Try the introduction ritual I've included. See what happens. Document it. Try again another time the following week. And just...keep going. Make sure that they know you haven't forgotten about them by leaving a small nightly glass of milk out before you head to bed. It doesn't have to be filled to the rim (hey, cost of living is ridiculous right now). It can be a splash with a squirt of honey added. Or a sprinkle of herbs on their bowl. Or maybe a small helping of what you whipped up for dinner. Point is to show them that you acknowledge and respect their presence. That will be the biggest component. Do the ritual once a week until you start seeing signs of contact. Once you do, make your own ritual with them. Incorporate them into your daily life. Ask them to help with blessing your cooking. Ask them to make sure your wards are in tact. Ask the door spirit to purify the energy of anyone that walks in & make bad people resist coming by. Start seeing if they'd like to sit in on a ritual, if you feel comfortable with that idea. Ask for a blessing when you clean the house & to assist you in removing all the bad energy.

Brief introductory ritual

To introduce yourself to your house spirits, I recommend sitting in your kitchen. If you consider your hearth to be the living room, you can choose to do it there. Make sure to bring offerings with that you feel will be applicable. Freshly baked bread (from your own hands) and some milk with honey stirred in would make a wonderful first treat. I usually introduce myself in a new home by bringing these treats to the location of choice, and start by speaking my intention aloud which goes something like:

"Spirits of the home,

Guardians and Protectors of this dwelling,

Please come sit with me and enjoy these offerings.

I wish to have a working relationship where we can honor, respect, and help each other."

I usually spend about ten-twenty minutes meditating after this is spoken aloud. Sometimes you will feel a strong presence. This is the time I take to set up my kitchen altar as well. If there is a place that I am able to create a mini-altar by the front door, I do so there for the door spirits. The land spirits get their own little thing out in the backyard. I've found in the many places I've lived, they almost always work together and some house spirits spend quite some time out there too!

From here on out, you'll develop your relationship with regular offerings and take it from there!

[brackenfur]

okay so i kind of.......wrote a lot more than i really intended to, but long story short - years ago i had this headcanon/au of sorts that birchpaw/fall saw ashfur and hawkfrost at the lake together, standing over firestar. mostly because when you squint at that whole sequence it kinda doesnt add up in canon, but its not canon that birchfall saw anything - it's just me taking this what if scenario and expanding on a side character

anyways this was kinda a quick project so its not perfect buuuuuut i wrote something so ! enjoy :)

birchpaw is back at camp doing everything he can to avoid the worried looks of his clanmates when his mentor stops him.

"hey, birchpaw," the fur on the back of birchpaw's neck stands up, and he slowly turns to the other tomcat. "are you okay?"

birchpaw does the best he can to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he answers: "i'm fine, ashfur. really. i- uh, i mean, i really just wish i had...been faster, that i had..."

he can't look at ashfur's face. not now, maybe not ever again. he knows that as soon as he meets his eyes, he won't be able to stop asking questions:

what were you doing with a riverclan cat? why didn't you help firestar? did the other cat threaten you? did you-

"you did the best you could, birchpaw," ashfur tells him gently; he pauses, flicking his tail-tip, before murmuring: "come on, let's go over to the apprentice's den to talk. i can tell you're shaken up."

and you're not, birchpaw wants to say, but he's a coward. this is his uncle, his mother's twin, and he doesn't really know what he saw, anyways. maybe ashfur had been standing there, sure. and maybe firestar had been clearly injured, clearly dying - well, ashfur isn't a medicine cat. he couldn't have known that, even if birchpaw had been making a lucky guess. but maybe hawkfrost threatened him, or maybe he lied to him-

you don't believe that at all, he thinks.

but he follows his uncle all the same to the apprentice's den; whitepaw is comforting her father at the medicine cat den while leafpool treats firestar's wound. no one is around - they're all either out searching the territory to make sure hawkfrost didn't have any accomplices, or with firestar's family on the other side of camp.

"you did the best you could to get help as soon as possible, birchpaw," ashfur tells him softly; birchpaw is staring at the grass between his paws, not looking at the other tom. "everyone knows that. i'm sure firestar does, too."

"right."

"but i could scent your fear-scent," ashfur continues, "and it does seem like you didn't go straight back to camp after telling firestar about blackstar. why?"

birchpaw's whiskers quiver. he shouldn't be scared - if anything, ashfur should be worried. he's the one who didn't do enough to help.

but the look in ashfur's eyes. the blank, distant stare as he watched firestar gurgle at his paws.

even the badgers didn't look at sootfur like that after they killed him, birchpaw remembers.

"i....," birchpaw's voice wobbles. "i thought i scented another cat, and i was worried," he clears his throat, trying to stop the shakes, "about you. i thought- i thought maybe you were...in trouble, and i...."

ashfur is quiet for a long time; if birchpaw wasn't so scared - why should i be scared? he's my uncle and my mentor, he wouldn't....he'd never.... - he'd look up, joke with him. pretend like it's all a big joke.

but those eyes. that look. the sounds firestar was making.

"so you didn't go straight back to camp," ashfur says with a disappointed sigh, "and firestar lost a life."

birchpaw's heartbeat skips. his paws shake. "wait," he says, his voice becoming shrill. he doesn't want anyone else to hear, but- what ashfur's saying, it's not...that's not right. that's not how it went. "wait, i- i did go back, as fast as i could, and i told squirrelflight-"

"you waited to tell her, you mean," ashfur tells him, frowning. "and he lost a life because he lost too much blood."

"but i didn't....i'd never..."

"it probably wasn't your intention," ashfur murmurs. "but that's how it happened. what if it was his last life? firestar and i trusted you to do one simple task, and you couldn't do that. you can't even look your uncle in the eye when he's talking to you."

birchpaw quivers as he slowly lifts his eyes to look into his uncles. ashfur's dark blue eyes stare back at him, just as emotionless as they did hours before.

"that's better," ashfur tells him, but it doesn't feel better. all of this is wrong.

"i was just trying to help," birchpaw whispers. "i didn't....i saw..."

"what did you see?" ashfur asks him, with a tone that birchpaw's never heard him use before: it's low, angry.

it's terrifying.

"um," birchpaw stutters. "i don't- i don't know. i don't know what i saw."

i saw you. i saw you and hawkfrost.

"if you don't even know what you saw," ashfur says slowly, "then maybe you shouldn't say anything. not to me, or to your mother. not to firestar."

birchpaw slowly lowers his gaze. how did today end up like this?

"you didn't see anything out there, birchpaw," ashfur continues. "you're an apprentice - you don't know your left paw from your right paw."

"okay."

ashfur stares at him for a long moment, sighing. "i'm not trying to scare you, birchpaw," he murmurs, "but i don't want you to get in trouble for firestar losing his life. sometimes we make mistakes; i don't want this one to be the defining moment of your apprenticehood."

shame burns through birchpaw - shame that he can't stand up to his uncle and tell him that this is all wrong.

but more shame that there's a part of him, deep down, that knows ashfur is right. if birchpaw had been quick enough, firestar wouldn't have lost a life. hawkfrost would've been stopped quicker.

and maybe....maybe ashfur was just trying to help firestar. maybe in some way, he's embarrassed because he couldn't help him, either. is that what this is about? trying to save face, because brambleclaw once again saved the day when ashfur couldn't?

"i want to be a good apprentice."

"and i'll help you do that," ashfur tells him, his voice becoming warmer. "and we'll start by making sure that today stays behind us, forever. okay?"

"okay."

it doesn't feel okay.

--

the rest of his apprenticeship goes by largely uneventfully. ashfur isn't exactly the same as before he and squirrelflight drifted apart, but he never speaks to birchpaw the way that he did the day firestar was injured.

he becomes a warrior by the name of birchfall. he makes friends, falls into an easy routine. he even still spends time with his uncle - with each passing day, the events from that afternoon become a faded memory. sometimes it plays out differently in his mind - there's days where he thinks he did see ashfur try and help firestar. where he heard him tell hawkfrost to go away.

(and maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought it was back then if the memory keeps changing. if it really was so awful, wouldn't it be the same? was he just trying to make ashfur out to be a bad cat?)

everything in thunderclan is mostly calm, until ashfur gets lionpaw as an apprentice.

he's heard cats joke about being jealous when their old mentor gets another apprentice - how it's weird, seeing the cat who taught you everything teaching someone else the same things, telling the same jokes.

he's still ashfur's nephew, so he knows that his former mentor still holds a special place in his heart for him - but it's not exactly that jealousy that other cats talk about that he feels towards lionpaw.

he feels...strange, seeing them together; there's this weird fluttering feeling he gets when he catches ashfur's expression as lionpaw walks away from him.

sometimes he can hear a voice in the back of his mind, screaming at him to go and get between the two of them. to protect lionpaw.

but ashfur....well, it's ashfur. outside of that one afternoon moons before, he's a normal warrior. he wouldn't...

so birchfall does what he did over a year prior; he buries the feelings. he can't trust his eyes - that's what ashfur told him before. he doesn't know his left paw from his right paw.

(except that he's a warrior now, and a damn good one, so why-)

that changes one day, when the talk of thunderclan is how lionpaw and ashfur got into this huge fight - claws drawn, teeth bared. ashfur scratched up pretty badly, spiderleg had told him, shaking his head.

i knew that was going to happen, he's not a medicine cat or particularly gifted, but he knew. he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

i knew he was going to hurt him, birchfall watches as lionpaw trudges into camp, surprisingly fine physcially - ashfur is the one with the injuries, blood dripping on the camp floor as he trudges to leafpool's den.

lionpaw is standing there after all is said and done, after cats talk to him to ask him if he's okay. standing there in the center of camp, alone.

birchfall is only foxlengths from him, watching, and the thought slips into his mind easily: i should tell him that i know what ashfur is really like. that i saw the same look in his eyes that he probably saw. that he watched firestar die inches from his paws and did nothing to help him.

he almost does it, too. the memories from that day come back, flooding his vision - ashfur's dark expression. the white flash of hawkfrost's teeth. firestar's gurgles.

i'm so sorry, firestar.

"why are you staring at me?"

birchfall snaps out of it quickly; lionpaw is staring at him, amber eyes narrowed.

"what?" birchfall blinks. "i wasn't staring at you."

"yeah, you were," lionpaw tells him, shaking his head. "weirdo." lionpaw hisses under his breath.

and before birchfall can say anything, do anything, hollypaw and cinderpaw bound up to him to talk to him, stealing the moment away.

birchfall watches the apprentices for a couple more seconds before he turns away.

he didn't see anything that day. it's his fault that firestar lost a life, anyways. that's all anyone would be able to see - firestar is one pawstep closer to being gone forever because of him.

--

birchfall keeps his word for the moons to come; lionblaze becomes a warrior with hollyleaf and cinderheart. whitewing - his longest friend, the molly who withheld her warrior ceremony for him, just so he wouldn't be alone,

(and was there for him on the nights when all he dreamt of was the lakeshore, never asking him what woke him up shaking)

well, they become closer and closer until they're not really just friends anymore, and one morning she bounds up to him to tell him that she's carrying his kits. that leafpool had just told her moments before, and she couldn't wait to find him.

and it finally feels like maybe birchfall is at peace - maybe starclan isn't angry with him after all. maybe that one thing that birchfall didn't do years ago - it'll be okay. firestar is alive and happy, with grandchildren now.

the fire rages through thunderclan not long after, but thankfully there's no casualities - he grew up hearing the stories of the one from years ago, back in the old territory before he was born, and he's glad that everyone was okay this time.

well.

he heard berrynose say that everyone had been looking for squirrelflight, her kits, and ashfur for awhile - that ashfur had turned up, laughing. he wouldn't say what was so funny, though.

he didn't think much of it, until he saw the way ashfur was acting after the fire. the way he leered after squirrelflight and her kits; hollyleaf's eyes glaring back in defiance, lionblaze's hackles raised, jayfeather's avoidance.

i don't want any part in this, he thinks, focusing on whitewing and their future together. i didn't see anything. i don't know anything. ashfur isn't dangerous.

he repeats the mantra more often than he'd like; at night, he dreams of the lakeshore for the first time in years and wakes up shuddering against spiderleg's side. his older brother shakes him off, confused, but birchfall can't meet his gaze, or anyone elses.

i didn't see anything. i didn't see anything. i didn't-

and then just like that, one day ashfur is found dead on their territory.

someone said that a patrol found him in a river, throat torn out.

it doesn't feel real to birchfall until he sees his uncles body laid out in the center of camp, with ferncloud's muzzle pressed into his fur.

that's my uncle, he thinks as he watches spiderleg lead icepaw and foxpaw to their mother, trying to comfort her. he was my mentor.

you don't know what you saw. it's ashfur's voice, clear as day in his mind as he watches his clanmates gather around the tomcat. you don't know your left paw from your right paw. you're just an apprentice; how can anyone trust you after what you did?

firestar walks over to ferncloud and dustpelt, murmuring a few kind words to them. birchfall can hear his leader's voice carrying over the wind, mentioning something about dogs, about bravery.

he watched you lose a life, birchfall wants to scream, but he can't move. he stood there and watched you gargle for breath and did nothing.

birchfall shuts his eyes. no. no, it was because of me, because i decided to take too long to go back to camp, his mind can't decide what's right or wrong. it's my fault, that's what....that's what ashfur says, and...and now he's dead, so....

"birchfall," whitewing's voice is soft; he jolts, eyes wide as he looks at his mate. she leans against him, whiskers drooping. "this is so sad. i mean....ashfur, i just- i just talked to him yesterday. he was asking me about the kits, if i was feeling okay..."

you wouldn't want to be with me if you knew what i did, ashfur had never threatened him after that day, but birchfall knew that was what his uncle was conveying to him every time they talked after that day. that he could tell everyone, and everyone would know it was birchfall's fault that firestar lost a life.

or....or wait, maybe that wasn't right. not anymore.

maybe he should blame himself for not saying anything all these years. he could've told firestar and had ashfur punished, and he didn't.

the realization burns deep in his chest; he can barely register what whitewing is saying.

ashfur knew that if you said something, any cat could probably figure out that something about his story didn't add up, birchfall thinks, his heart thudding. and you were just too stupid to realize you could have said something years ago.

"birchfall?" whitewing says, frowning. "hey, birchfall. are you okay?"

birchfall's fur raises. "i'm okay," he tells her, taking a deep breath. "all things....you know, considering, i..." he shakes his head. "i'm gonna get some air, okay?"

whitewing touches her nose to his. "i'm here, you know that, right? i've been here for you since we were 'paws."

that stings more. i could have told you years ago, birchfall touches his nose back to hers, and turns away. i can't say anything now. she'd never trust me again, i kept this secret from everyone because i was too scared of my uncle. and now he's dead, and now....

birchfall resigns himself not to think about it anymore. he can't.

he can't. he won't.

--

after his daughters are born, birchfall wants this to be his new purpose in life.

forget about the lakeshore. the foxtrap. hawkfrost. ashfur. firestar is fine now; thunderclan is fine. sure, maybe there's been some earth-shattering secrets that have been revealed, but- all in all, they're mostly fine.

ivypaw and dovepaw mean the world to him; he can't imagine being without them.

he looks at them and wants to do right by them; they'll never know the fear he's carried for all this time, the same.

he'll teach them to say something if they see something; to be outspoken, brave.

but he can barely keep his head above water; it started when he met a cat from the dark forest one night. who promised him that he could make up for the mistake he made years ago; that he could do right by firestar. by thunderclan.

he trains every night but it doesn't make the shame go away. it won't scrub off after he bathes himself. nothing works.

it's not until the wall is lifted over his eyes - after his daughter, ivypool, a warrior grown - tells him what the true intention of the dark forest was.

all the moons he spent there, training, trying to prove that he could make up for what he did - gone.

and after the battle with the dark forest, both his mother and firestar are dead - killed by the cats that birchfall wanted to impress. wanted to show that he could be better, that he could be stronger.

how did everything go so wrong? he thinks as he watches his father crouched over his mother. dustpelt won't even look at him; he doesn't know about firestar, but he knows about the dark forest. and he hates him - despises him for training with the cats who are responsible for ferncloud's death.

he's right.

"birchfall," whitewing's voice jolts him out of his thoughts. "please. i want to talk."

it was inevitable - he knows that it's over between them at this point. he follows her out of camp regardless, deep into the territory. there's birds in the trees, chirping quietly amongst themselves, and everything is in bloom, yet nothing is beautiful to him at this moment.

whitewing turns to face him, her green eyes sad. "can you just tell me why?"

birchfal looks down at his paws, just like he did years before when ashfur told him to keep quiet.

"i'm sorry," he tells her, and she scoffs.

"i'm sorry isn't an explanation," she meows. "just....why, birchfall? why would you train with cats like that? and why- our daughter was there too, why wouldn't you try and convince her not to? what's wrong with you?"

i'm a coward.

"that's still not an answer," he hadn't realized he said it aloud. he finally looks up at his mate - probably soon to be ex-mate. "you need to talk to me. you're not a 'paw anymore."

and for some reason that burns more than anything else.

you're not a 'paw. you should have said something. you should have told everyone what you saw. and you didn't. it's your fault. all your fault. everything-

"i need to tell you something," he finally says; the story is bubbling at the surface. ashfur is long dead. firestar is dead. his family hates him. whitewing is going to leave him anyway; what else does he have to lose? brambleclaw might exile him, might not; he might not care what birchfall does.

whitewing is silent; birchfall opens and shuts his mouth a few times, trying to find the words, until he meows:

"i saw what happened to firestar on the lakeshore, that day when hawkfrost from riverclan died."

whitewing frowns; she looks taken aback, and blinks a few times.

"i....ashfur...he told me that he scented blackstar on our territory," the memory comes back hazy at first, but starts to clear as he goes on: "he said to tell firestar about it. i did, but....a few minutes later when i was heading back, i could scent another cat. and i remembered ashfur was out there, and i was worried for him, so i followed him and the other cat so i could protect him. and..."

the gurgling. the look on ashfur's eyes. the sound of the water lapping at the shore.

"ashfur was standing with hawkfrost over firestar's body. he was caught in the foxtrap and....ashfur, he...." birchfall shuts his eyes. "you should've seen how he looked. he didn't care at all that firestar was dying. i ran away, i didn't....i didn't know what to do. i thought maybe i didn't see anything at all, so i just told squirrelflight what ashfur had said about blackstar when i saw her. i thought....i thought maybe if she caught ashfur and hawkfrost, it'd....she'd know what to do, more than i would....."

birchfall stares at his paws. "when i got back to camp and brambleclaw had killed hawkfrost, ashfur told me....he said i didn't see anything, and it was easier to pretend i didn't see anything. and he was...he was right - i should've just gone back to camp right away. i should've just done the right thing, not been a stupid 'paw. i should've...it's my fault that firestar lost a life. he'd still be here right now if i just had listened back then, 'cus he'd have an extra life, and..."

birchfall trails off, shaking. "so that's...that's why i wanted to train at the dark forest. because i let firestar down. because i didn't say anything all these years, and i should've....i mean, what if ashfur had hurt someone else? and i just sat there and let it happen."

it takes him a moment after everything spills out to realize that whitewing is very quiet; he finally looks up at his mate.

she looks so sad watching him; and there's a bit of anger in there, too.

"he threatened you?" whitewing finally says; birchfall winces.

"i don't....maybe, it doesn't really matter."

"you were his apprentice and his nephew," whitewing tells him firmly. "of course it matters. he knew he was manipulating you, and that you just wanted to please him, so you'd do anything to make sure you wouldn't make trouble."

whitewing's tail lashes, and she shakes his head. "that- i can't believe he did that to you, that he made you think...."

"whitewing, it's-"

"it's not your fault, birchfall," her voice is gentle, yet he can tell she's holding back so much rage, rage for ashfur, pain for firestar's death. "if you really think for one second that you have anything to do with firestar laying in that clearing right now, you're completely wrong. that was tigerstar, first of all, and ashfur's fault years ago."

"but-"

"you went to help your mentor, and you were intimidated into keeping this a secret," she tells him, stepping closer. "and now you think that because you didn't say anything, that that's worse than what he did."

"i should have said something," birchfall tells her, harsher than he means to. "i mean - for starclan's sake, whitewing, i- i saw, and i didn't do anything. i'm no better than he is-"

"you are twice the cat that ashfur was," whitewing meows firmly. "and if i had even....if i saw him right now, i'd slash his ears for doing that to you."

whitewing shakes her head, looking at him. "all these years," she whispers, frowning, "all these years, and we- when you were in the apprentices den, having nightmares..."

"you couldn't have known," he mumbles. "i didn't tell you."

"and then....birchfall, i..." she presses her noses into his neck; birchfall is stiff from shock.

"i thought you were breaking up with me," he tells her, aghast; whitewing sucks in a breath, pulling away.

"what?"

"why not? after the dark forest, all of this...."

"i'm disappointed in you for training with the dark forest," she tells him softly. "but your mother is dead, and you....you've been holding this in for years, birchfall. i can put off asking you about the dark forest for awhile; i.....i didn't know. all these years, and i had no idea you were punishing yourself for ashfur's crimes."

when she puts it like that, a small - a tiny one, really, nothing huge - light begins to flick in his mind.

i've been punishing myself, he thinks, and it strangely makes a lot of sense - thinking about the lake all these years has felt like punishment. refusing to get close to firestar out of shame was his way of punishing himself, telling himself what he did was wrong.

"i don't know if i can tell anyone else," birchfall tells her in a whisper; whitewing nods, brushing her muzzle against his.

"that's okay," she meows, "because now i know, and now i can shoulder it with you."

"it's not a very romantic secret." he doesn't say it like a joke, but she still smiles a little.

"it's not," she shrugs. "but no one helped birchpaw back then; i'm here for you now."

[y13evie]

Hi so I saw that you are open to write for house md and I'd like to ask for a chase fic. Like reader is house's kid and either works at the hospital too or gets admitted there but also knows chase and is in a relationship with him. Plot can be fluffy, smutty and/ or angsty I don't really care but I'd like to know how house would react if he sees them interact etc.

Idk if you see this or like the idea but I wish you the best and I really like your fics

hiiiiii anon!! i love this idea sm and i LOVE ROBERT CHASE WITH MY WHOLE HEARTT. dad house is so sweet and cutesy. i tried my best for u

tags: robert chase x houses kid! reader, one use of y/n, house is stubborn but loves u, just fluff

this is embarrassing. never in your twenty-five years of life would you imagine yourself in the hospital that both your father and boyfriend work at. yet here you are, with a 4 cm laceration on your right hand. the triage nurse had just sent you off and notified you that a doctor will be with you shortly. from your room window you could see dr foreman patting a familiar face on the back, probably saying something along the lines of “this case is yours bud”.

as soon as chase read the report he hurriedly rushed into your room. you shot him a sheepish grin and lifted up your hand to reveal the gash.

“my god, y/n”, he sat down next to you and took your hand gently into his gloved one and inspected the wound. he looked up at you, as if asking for an explanation.

“maybe i shouldn’t garden alone. i picked up this clay pot. the way it was sitting had been bothering me for a couple days now. i’m guess i’m not as strong as i thought i was because i dropped it and as it shattered, it cut me up pretty good.”

chase sighed at your stubbornness, something that had drawn him into you since early in your relationship. he took one of his gloves off and gently stroked your hair. he rambled on about how you should really be more careful and call him if you needed anything too laboring done. you weren’t listening. you were staring into those blue eyes. you weren’t into all that cheesy romance stuff but god, those eyes are stunning. your moment was quickly put to an end when harsh tapping could be heard from outside your window. you knew that sound from anywhere.

“you decided to be the one to doctor on MY kid”

house, or dad as you call him, hastily shuffles into your room and gives you both a judgemental look. robert rolls his eyes,

“foreman gave me the case first, i'm just doin’ my job”.

house hobbles over to check your vitals even though it’s a minor issue compared to what they deal with on a daily basis. you know your dad loves you and cares but he’s not the best at verbally expressing it. you knew he would probably just sit there and observe, so you turn back around to your extremely, worried boyfriend.

“soooo” you drag out the ‘oh’ sound, to show him you’re not worried. “whatcha doin after work handsome?”. chase runs a hand through his blonde hair and lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“i was planning to go on a cute and sweet date with you, but instead i’m gonna be dr. chase for another 12 hours”.

he sounded tired but you knew he was more than happy to care for his darling. just as you two were planning out your evening, your father and robert’s pagers began harmonizing. chase gives a quick but passionate kids to your temple. house makes his gag be known, sticking a finger in his mouth for dramatic effect.

your dad lingers in the room for a moment, giving your shoulder a squeeze. it’s still gonna take time for him to adjust to the fact his child is dating his co-worker. but you’re not his little baby anymore and he knows it.

when he heads out his parting words are,

“i’ll have someone stitch you up kid, stay put”.

you lean back in the bed and continue to add pressure to your wounded hand. a few minutes pass and your sweet boyfriend stops by again. and takes a seat at the stool beside your bed. he has the tools to stitch up your hand. to distract you from the pain, chase sparks a conversation.

“your old man..” he chews the inside of his cheek. you know exactly what he’s gonna ask. “does he like me? and not as a co-worker. does he think i’m a good fit for his kid?”. your heart sank at the thought of robert thinking he’s not enough. truth is, your dad did like him. though he would never admit it, the fact robert makes you happy, makes your dad happy. he’s real bad at showing it, but you know it’s true.

“he’s a grump, chase. he likes you. he might never admit it. but the fact he hasn’t beaten you to death with that cane of his really says something.”. you can tell your reassurance helped. you loved robert, and he loved you too. before you knew it the stitches were finished. he pulled out a sling from a cabinet so you won’t irritate the stitches too much.

“hey, i’ll get your discharge papers. we’ll have you out of here soon”.

chase pressed a kiss to your lips this time, and he stayed there for a minute. hand on your jaw to keep you steady. you moved your lips in unison, running your free hand through his hair. a sharp pain stabbed your hand and caused you to pulled away and gasp. he reminded you to take some pain medication once home.

before he headed out the door, robert whips around and sternly demands,

“i don’t ever wanna see you in here again.”

[jewish-vents]

(I'd like this to be anonymous)

I'm exhausted. Ever since October I've been fearing for my life while juggling this insane idea of "yes people around the world wish for my death since I'm Jewish and live in Israel but if my online friends knew they probably wouldn't want me harmed?"

Fandom spaces are unwelcoming. Content creators spend every day talking about how bad Israel is. I go on discord and have to mute whole channels to avoid being told how bad I am. Every drop of empathy I have left goes to the families in Gaza that are suffering, but it's SO hard to not succumb to hatred. It's so hard to not just go "you know what fuck you too" whenever people post about jews being bad and zionism and israel and genocide. Fuck you. My family is still recovering from the Holocaust, don't talk to me about genocide. My cousin is in Gaza and my aunt hasn't known rest since he went there, don't talk to me about families hurting. My mom is constantly sick from overwork just to take care of us during this time, to make sure my siblings can be safe, so don't talk to me about Israeli people being monsters. All we want is to live. And through it all I just hear people discuss the war like it's a fandom war. Like it's their favorite character vs some villain. This is my life. I'm so tired. We're all so tired but never once do I hear anyone claim they wish ill on the people in Gaza. We just want to live. We wanted that less than 100 years ago, more than 3000 years ago, and now. I just want to exist without having to prove to someone I deserve to.

.

[scribblescrabbledepartment]

this one isnt my best writing (the story itself is goofy but it was taken directly from a dream so whatever) but i think the illustration came out good enough

[ID: an illustration of a dead guy slumped over on a table, decomposing flesh and slop all over the place. a guy who appears to be some sort of investigating personnel stands beside him, prodding his shoulder with a pen.]

story under cut:

I never really cared for livestreams. It always seemed like a hell of a commitment, sitting down and watching somebody in real time, not being able to turn my focus away lest I miss something exciting. They always seem to stretch on for hours, too. Who has time to watch all that? Well, I guess if somebody has time to stream it, somebody has time to watch. Anyway, that doesn't make a difference to me. I don't have time to sit around watching a four hour stream. I liked this guy's videos, though. That's why I decided to take a look.

I had no intention of sticking around for the whole thing, of course. I popped in a few minutes after it started to see what was going on. The title advertised some new game he was planning on sharing, but he hadn't started yet. I had stuff to do, and I didn't feel like sitting and waiting while he dicked around, so I closed out. I'd peek in again later to see if anything interesting was going on.

The next time I opened the stream, he was dead.

It hadn't been more than twenty minutes, but there he was, hunched over, face down on the desk. Lifeless. The chat was frantic. I could barely read the messages as they sped by, but I gathered that he'd been like that for a while now. Chilled and bewildered, I closed the stream again. I didn't know what to make of it. What do you do? What can you do? Unsettled, with a vague feeling of responsibility for the situation that I couldn't do a damn thing about, I went on with my chores.

I carried on with my day, feeling disoriented and unable to get the image of the dead gamer out of my mind. What the hell could have happened? As I mindlessly scrubbed away at the pan that had been soaking in the sink since last night, I wondered if the stream was still going. I wondered if he lived alone. How long would it go? Until somebody found him? Until his equipment stopped working? Hours, days? Would he decompose on the internet for all to see? Would people watch?

Unable to stop thinking about it, I gave in to curiosity and tuned back in. There was a woman in the frame now, sniffling wetly and speaking softly to somebody just out of the shot. The dead man remained still in his place. I gathered that she was his wife, and that whoever was in the room with her–aside from the corpse, I mean–was some sort of first responder. That was about all I could gather; the conversation was nearly inaudible.

A sudden wave of disgust came over me. I had no business watching this. A complete stranger's grief and horror at the loss of her husband, the undignified slump of a man who could no longer present himself, vague murmurs of their private life. I quickly exited the window and shut my laptop. I hadn't bothered to look and see if anybody else was still watching, but I didn't have to; there was no doubt that somebody was. Probably a bunch of people. I couldn't blame them. It was morbid, certainly, and invasive beyond words, but who wouldn't be curious? Interested, even?

As a matter of fact, I was curious. I was interested. I lasted a while longer, but the pull grew too strong to resist. Once again, with a hesitant hand, I reopened my computer.

There were a number of people in the room now, police, EMTs, what have you. Most of them were just milling about, but two were examining the corpse. Christ, didn't they realize they were live? Could nobody see the camera? Wouldn't the wife have known he'd be streaming? I nearly closed my computer again, disturbed by the unintentional broadcast of such a private moment, but something caught my attention. I wish it hadn't.

One man was knelt beside the body, poking and prodding and dictating notes for another to jot down on his pad. The examiner began feeling around the back of the dead gamer's neck, and as he did, the skin and meat began sloughing off in wet chunks, sliding away from the tendons and leaving clean bone behind. Nobody in the room seemed particularly alarmed by this, but I was dumbfounded. He'd only been dead a few hours, if that long! What the hell could make a person rot like that?

I watched as the examiner continued maneuvering the body around. In spite of his careful movements, the corpse continued to come apart, flesh sliding off like unset jello, skin opening up like wet paper to reveal caverns of pus. I couldn't see the wife, but she was still in the room; I could hear her crying. It was a funeral sort of crying, soft and subdued, not the horrified shrieks I'd expect of somebody watching her husband rapidly decompose into a pile of chum, but then, nobody seemed all that horrified.

At this point, I was invested. I turned up my volume, listening closely, hoping to pick out something that might explain the gruesome display, but with no success. The conversation was hushed, sounding almost as though it were coming from another room, and while I could make out a fragment of a word here and there, the rest was unintelligible. How that was possible was beyond me; the dead man had a fantastic microphone, and the sound had been fine at the start of the stream. As a matter of fact, even now I could clearly hear the sound of birds chirping and cars passing by–not outside my house, but his. Dogs barking in the distance, the footsteps of a jogger fading in and away. The background noise was perfectly clear. The chatter taking place right in that very room, however, was muffled ambient noise.

The impromptu autopsy taking place all over the living room floor was nauseating to watch, but I didn't have to endure it much longer. The stream ended without warning. Maybe his computer died, or somebody knocked a connection loose, who knows. I felt a sense of relief in knowing I couldn't peek back in again, but I also felt thoroughly shaken. What the hell? What the hell had just happened? I couldn't make sense of it, and I supposed I'd make myself nuts if I tried. I closed my computer. I had a feeling I wouldn't open it again for some time. I remained there for a moment, staring blankly at the wall. Then, with nothing better to do, I pulled myself up and got back to washing the dishes.

[crash-and-live]

So I haven't written anything in a long time, let alone published anything, but I thought I'd give things a try with @bunnyreaper's Secret Santa writing fest. My recipient is @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff. Hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: John Price x GN!Reader (male pronouns used) with slight John Price x Reader x Simon Riley but a lot is left up to insintuation.

Summary: You're a civilian with a curious neighbour whom you rarely see, yet manage to get roped into taking care of his place when he's gone. You've known him for a while and your relationship slowly develops as the festive season approaches.

Domestic fluff mostly, playful banter and all but essentially a nice lil feel-good fic. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

The night air was warm as you walked to the door of your flat, reaching into your pockets for the familiar feel of your keys. Pulling them out, you click open the lock before glancing over at your neighbour’s door. You hadn’t seen him much over the years, even less so recently. There were about two times you could recall hearing him move around the small flat in the past couple of months, before he vanished again soon after. He’d always been nice to you, in a gruff sort of way. Asked you to mind his plants on his balcony next to yours which wasn’t too hard. It clearly meant something to him as he always left a thank you note under your doormat with a small token of gratitude. 

He had said he travelled for work, and he wasn’t kidding. Every small item he’d left on your doorstep had been from a different country. Either a small trinket or stamp from places all around the world. You almost wished you could leave him something, but whenever you heard him next door and made plans to visit the next day, he was gone again. It tugged at your heart slightly, the amount this man, John, he’d introduced himself as that first time you’d met him, spent at work. It seemed to consume his life. He’d never had a visitor. Never gotten a parcel or a letter. Not once. No friend or relative ever knocked at your door asking for a ‘John’. It made you wonder… just who exactly was your neighbour? 

Shaking your head, you pushed your way inside and closed the door behind you, locking it before dumping your bags onto the small table before sprawling onto the couch, groaning in relief. Today had been hard. Not only had work been tough, but approaching the busy period brought a whole new level of stress. You could already feel your eyes fluttering shut before you heard a crash coming from next door, followed by a gruff noise. You couldn’t fight the grin that spread over your cheeks as the tiredness left your body. He was home. 

✯

“Sorry that I disturbed you.” His voice was husky, like you’d remembered as your eyes traced his face. His skin was weathered and his beard quite bushy, as if he’d been unable to access a mirror for a while. You’d gone over just to be friendly, to welcome him home because he must be lonely, to check on him and be nice. Or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself. 

“You didn’t, truly. I’m almost glad I heard you. It’s been a while.” A soft smile spread over your lips as you took in his rugged appearance. Whatever he’d been gone for, you could tell it had taken a toll on him. Lines were heavy on his face and his shoulders were slumped. His eyes weren’t focused like they usually were, instead choosing to check every corner of the flat as if he were expecting something to jump out of the shadows. Your brows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” 

“Don’t concern yourself with me, kid. I’ll be fine.” He shuts down the conversation because it could even begin. Pursing your lips, you nodded in acknowledgement. It was the one thing you’d noted about him. He was fine talking to you, asking about you and your life, but immediately shut the conversation down when it came to him. “Just been a rough few months.” 

Kid. He always called you that. A constant reminder of how he saw you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed, but practically, you also knew it would never work. So, you sucked it up, soaked in every chance of communication you could with this man. “Anything I can do to help?” You tried to keep your voice neutral, but there was a hopeful lilt to it. John simply chuckled, shaking his head as he did so. 

“No, kid. You’re fine. You do enough for me.” 

“I water your plants, John.” You mused, fingers clutching at the glass he’d slid across the bench to you. “I think I can be a little more of service if you need, even if it’s just company.” 

John smiled, kindlier this time. “You calling me lonely, kid?” 

“Am I wrong?” The corners of your mouth quirked up into a smile in response to his own. 

“I have friends. All of them are like me though. A little off the grid, rough around the edges. Work consumes my life. I don’t have a lot of time for anything else.” His response was measured, as if warning you not to press any further. As if he’d already said enough. You sucked your teeth and gave a half-hearted shrug, letting the matter drop. 

✯

The next time you saw him was a few weeks later. You were bringing groceries in the late afternoon as he was leaving, heavy bag slung over his broad shoulders. He smiled softly when he saw you and you couldn’t help but flash a wide smile to him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” You said, placing your bags on the front of your door. 

“Had no chance to tell you, kid. Got in late last night and already been called out again.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t really bother him. He would be used to it, you guessed. Didn’t mean that it didn’t take its toll. 

“Ever heard of taking a break?” You gave him a cheeky smile, cocking an eyebrow as he let out a breathy chuckle. 

“Not in my line of work. Always something that needs to be done.”

“Do you need me to do anything for you?” You asked again, hoping he’d take you up on the offer. This time, John remained silent for a beat before nodding. 

“Actually, yeah. Was meant to be home for a bit longer so I bought a bit of food. Take what you want and chuck the rest from the fridge. Don’t think much of it will keep.” He held out his key towards you. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced between his eyes and the key in his outstretched hand. You nodded in response, reaching out and taking the key from his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm. 

“Thanks.” His voice pitched down slightly, the gruffness sending a shiver down your spine. John gives you a slight nod before glancing at his watch. “Gotta run. I’ll knock on your door for the keys when I get back, yeah? Or if it’s easier, chuck ‘em on my balcony. I’ll get in either way.” And then he was gone before you could even say goodbye. 

You stood there, looking down the corridor where he’d turned the corner before glancing down at the keys in the palm of your hand. It was plain, with two keys and a leather strap with no markings. But it was him. Closing your fingers over the cool metal, you turned to your groceries, picking them up and taking them inside, set on composing yourself for a few moments before you ventured into his flat. 

You’d been in his flat a few times before, but never been past the open plan of the main area. This time, you resisted the temptation to snoop through his belongings, despite the nagging curiosity. He was clearly a private man, who didn’t like to share his personal business. What kind of betrayal of trust would it be for him to hand you his keys, only for you to be nosey and intrude? You didn’t want to think about that. Instead, you dutifully went to his fridge and cupboard, and emptied them as he requested. 

That became a part of your regular routine. He left you his keys when he went away, told you to help yourself to whatever remained of his food. At first, you harboured some sense of guilt over it, taking his food. But as time went on, you convinced yourself he’d been buying more food especially for you, even going as far as to buy a few packets of your favourite treats that always went untouched by him, saved for you. Your cheeks burned at the thought of him thinking about you. So you repaid the favour in kind, making a few extra meals and placing them in his freezer, so he’d have something to eat when he came home.

✯

Amid your usual dinner preparations at the end of the working week, a sharp knock rang through your flat, impatient, and demanding. John never usually knocked like that, you thought, furrowing your brows as you made your way to the door. Maybe he’d had a rough time at work and was more tense than usual. Upon opening the door however, your eyes widened as you noticed a giant of a man, a black balaclava with white markings on his face. The only part of him you could see was his eyes, dark and steely as he held out his hand. 

“Keys.” His deep voice was cold as he stared down at you imposingly. 

“I’m sorry?” You wished your voice was a little firmer but given the sheer size and presence of this man, you could forgive yourself. 

“Keys.” He said again, more impatiently. “For the guy next door. Sent me to grab them for him.” Brows pinching together, you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Don’t be dense.” He snarled, stepping closer to you, eyes narrowing as he pushed himself over your threshold. Breath hitching, you stepped back, trying to close your door on the stranger, but he barred it with his arm. “Need the keys for John’s flat. Now.”

“Simon!” A familiar voice snapped from down the hall. “Don’t be hostile. He’s not a threat.” John appeared around the corner, hugging his side as he groaned, leaning against the cool stone. His face was pale and bruised, causing your eyes to widen further. 

“John!” Not caring about the stranger in your doorstep, you pushed past him, rushing towards your neighbour. “Are you okay? What happened?” Your voice was panicked as you rushed over to him, hands fluttering around his battered body. Letting out a weary sigh, John pushed off the wall. 

“‘M fine, kid. Just been a rough few days.” He placed a large hand on your shoulder reassuringly, squeezing it tenderly before nodding over to the man by your door. “Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t got manners like me.” 

You flushed slightly, looking back at the other man, Simon, as John had called him. Tracing your eyes over his face, you could see him squint and cock an eyebrow, as though waiting for you to comment. But you don’t. Instead, you reach into your pocket and grab out the keys to John’s flat, throwing them to Simon. 

“The deadbolt is the gold one, door handle is the silver.” Simon nodded and turned to John’s door as you looked back around to face your neighbour. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you anything. First aid? Towels?” But John shook his head. 

“No, kid. I’ll be alright. Got Simon.” He said weakly, pushing off the wall as Simon stomped over, hooking John’s arm over his shoulder before he rushed inside, kicking the door shut with his heavy boots, causing it to slam in your face. 

The next morning, you were out on your balcony with a coffee when John pushed open his door for his morning cigar. He stopped when he saw you out there, before glancing inside hesitantly. 

“Your friend doesn’t seem to like me.” You mused, guessing that was the cause of John’s wariness. Your sly remark was rewarded with a hearty chuckle, cut short by a wince as he clutched his side. Your brows pinched together at the reaction and he noticed the concern laced in your features. 

“I’m fine, love. I’ve had much worse than a few cracked ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Heat coursed through your body at the term of endearment. He’d never said that to you before. Suppressing a grin, you met his warm eyes, crinkling slightly with a reassuring smile as the cigar smoke surrounded him. “And don’t fret too much about Simon. He’s a just grumpy lad.”

“He could do with taking a few etiquette lessons.” You grumbled, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards and was met with yet another hearty chuckle from John, the sounds making your heart race.

“You’re a good lad too. Thanks for taking care of the place. I appreciate it.” The mood softened between the two of you as the cold morning wind picked up. You shivered. “Tell me, why’s your heating unit not been on? Weather’s been right chilly.” Inwardly, you cursed that he’d noticed, but of course he would. He’s been far more observant than any person you’d come across. Shrugging, you replied.

“Broke a few days ago. Haven’t been able to get anyone in to fix it, being so close to Christmas and all. Everyone’s either finishing up for the year, or already fully booked.” John clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Can’t be having that now love, can we?  I’ll give it a look later but, in the meantime, come over to mine. Want to make sure you’re warm in this weather.” Blinking, you raised your head to begin to protest, but he’d already stubbed out his cigar and turned to his door. “Come on, love. It’s almost Christmas after all, no one should be alone and cold. Let us warm you up.” Was all he said before stepping inside and closing the door behind him, leaving you to ruminate.

Exactly ten minutes later, you were outside John’s door, stomach twisting as you thought about his earlier words. Us. Meaning he wasn’t alone. Meaning Simon was still here. Running your thumb along your knuckles, you debated heading back into yours when John’s door was pulled open. Except it wasn’t John standing there, but Simon. His large, hulking frame taking up most of the space in the doorway, and making you tilt your head up slightly to look into his eyes, the only part of his face visible under the mask.

“You gonna stand there gawkin’ at the door all day?” His words were gruff, but the sentence might have ended with a huff, as if he were making fun of you. Your stomach twisted even more at the rough timbre of his voice. Biting your lip, you decided to throw a bit of cheek to him.

“You gonna slam the door in my face again?” Your ears didn’t deceive you this time as Simon let out another huff, this time leaning against the door frame as his arms folded and head tilted, eyes carefully focused on yours.

“There were more important things to do than chit-chat.” Right. That was a fair point on his part. The two of you entered a silent stand-off, which mostly consisted of you looking anywhere but him as his hard eyes drilled into you.

“You letting the lad in or what, Simon?” John called out and Simon chuckled, eyes crinkling as he stepped aside, head cocking to gesture you in. As soon as your foot entered the flat, you moaned in relief, the warm air circling around you, unsticking your cold joints. Your face instantly heated as you realised the noise you’d let out in the presence of the two men and you ducked your head.

“That good huh?” Simon said lowly, brow raising slightly as he brushed past you, chest against your shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. John had an arm looped over the back of the couch, smiling, waving you over to join him on the couch. Once you sat down, John placed his strong arm around your shoulders.

“Better, yeah?” He asked, raising his brow enticingly. “Can’t be having my sweet neighbour cold when he’s taken such good care of me.”  You face hadn’t quite calmed down from your slip up before, but John’s words brought it all rushing back.

“You didn’t have to.” Your voice was a mumble, eyes glancing over at the telly as it played some holiday movie.

“I did though, love. I really did.” He squeezed your shoulder firmly and you felt your knees weaken at his strength. “Noticed you didn’t do much last year over Christmas and couldn’t have a repeat of that. Not when you’ve been taking such good care of me.” Finally, you picked up the courage to meet his eyes and you saw the intensity there. “Let me take care of you for once, yeah? Let us take care of you.”

Glancing up, you noticed Simon lurking in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes carefully watching the pair of you. Swallowing, you glanced back at your neighbour, his eyes boring into your expectantly. And you only had one answer for him.

“Yes. I want you to take care of me… sir.” John grinned, eyes creasing as his head threaded through your hair to cup the back of your head.

“There’s a good lad for me. Gonna take real good care of ya.”

If there are mistakes, please let me known. As I said, it's been a hot minute.

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

[artist-issues]

You're my new favorite blog! You have no idea how I wish I could peck inside your brain like a chicken. 😭😂😂 I am a Catholic and a recovering agnostic. I struggle with letting go of my old way of life and philosophy constantly, I have been struggling with it since the day I decided to revert - that was back in 2017. (I think you would like to know my journey back to the Faith started after watching HBO's The Young Pope! 👌🏼) At this point I don't know if I'll ever be the person the Lord wants me to be, oh well, I'll die trying and I know that will mean something.

I just know I can't go back to being a non-believer, because as Carl Young said, now I don't just believe, I know. The irony is my struggle to believe in something I know to be objectively the Truth.

I have a question for you though, actually I hope for some advice from you. How do I reconcile with the reality that I haven't become who I dreamed to become (like career wise), but now that a new career has been shoved upon me (a career my parents wanted for me - and they valued safety and stability over "following my dreams" I suppose)? ...which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it is an extremely noble profession and it pays quite well.

The thing is, as much as I try to accept my new career, I keep telling myself and to others that I'm doing this for my parents and not because I want to be here. I feel terrible about it. But, again, it's not like I am unfulfilled (I am unhappy though, but that comes with the work culture/environment, I feel like I am surrounded by 40+ year old teenagers); as a matter of fact, I do think I know - objectively - in my heart that this is exactly where the Lord wants me to be? But I keep fighting against it, keep struggling against this sense of vocational calling that I'm feeling towards my new job, instead I desperately wanna give into my want to go "live the life I want." Like throw this all away, get new training and start all over with the career I wanted all those years ago.

I want to be better, to be sacrificial like Christ on the Cross. I've always known I had a little depression (comes with my disability from a young age and this whole dream thing); I have been suicidal over this, I actually used to joke with myself that I'd kill myself if I don't achieve my professional goals by the time I turned 25. I will turn 30 this September and even though I haven't been literally dead, I feel like I've been in a vegetative state - mentally - ever since the day I turned 25. I hope that makes sense.

I started seeing a therapist 2 weeks ago since my mental health started affecting my new job - she did say I have depression and is trying to help me but I just don't know if I want to be helped at all, because I am unable to do the exercises she tells me (like create a routine, exercise well, write down good thoughts, etc.) I feel like I'm failing myself, my parents and, most importantly, my Heavenly Father.

I apologise if this is nonsensical, I apologise for dumping all of this on you - random stranger on the internet - but idk I felt like maybe you'd have something wise to tell me to knock some sense into me (without a bump to prove it hehe).

Thank you and God bless! 🥰

You’re very kind, and I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share all this with me! I really never have anything good of my own to say, or any wisdom to offer, except what I “steal” from God…and I guess what I mean is, if I ever say anything helpful or good or true, I’m just the messenger. I didn’t come up with it. On my own I have zero wisdom or good things to offer.

Anyway, I was surprised reading this because I have gone through (been going through) a similar sort of mindset. I went to school for the career I dreamed about (still dream about) and I worked hard and I wanted it more than anybody around me (very Mike Wasowski in MU of me) and it hasn’t happened the way I planned, or in my timetable.

I mean, in all humility: I work with a studio making a tv show, but it hasn’t got off the ground yet, and I work for a company that writes movie reviews, but neither of those things pay my bills. I have a third job, working with therapists, that’s nothing like what I always wanted to do. That’s my “career,” but it’s not the career I’m passionate about and working toward. And I wonder if I’ll ever do anything “major” in the line of work I love and went to school for. And when I do, I have gotten into some really dark mental places.

Forgive me for not using the words “depression” or “suicidal.” I hate using those words because they’re overused and romanticized and flooding the culture. But more importantly I hate using them because the only thing I identify with is Christ, not any mental struggle I try to slither back into, like a snake trying to put back on old skin. I’m not my overthinking—I’m not my depression—I’m not my suicidal thoughts or emotions—I am one with Christ. Those are things inside me that are defeated and dead—the teeth have been knocked out of them. They just gum me from time to time. So I want you to know I empathize with you, but that’s my point and that’s how I want to answer you:

The only thing about you that really matters is Christ.

Who He says you are, what He has done and how He lived, which is applied to you because He said it is, by grace alone, through faith alone. No matter how you feel.

And I say that to you, as the answer, because I think you and I focus too much on what could be and what “should be” as if God has a set path for us, and if we don’t figure out what it is and walk it, we’ll have a less-fulfilling life. “If I stay at my therapy job and just work with teenagers and write on my blog for the rest of my life, I’ll be fine, but I won’t be as good as I could be.” Or for you. “If I stay in this career I’m in, the one my parents backed me into, I’ll make it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll never be as happy as I want to be.” We’re both thinking, every once in a while, “This is career is what God wants for me, and all my misery is coming from not submitting to it, and if I could just wrestle my contentment into place and give up the thing I want, and submit to what God wants, I’d be fulfilled.”

But how do we know any of those thoughts are true? How do we know God wants us in these boring old careers we wouldn’t have chosen—didn’t choose? Or, how do we know these boring old careers are what we’re stuck in because we didn’t take the plunge and work harder for our “dreams,” which were what He really wanted us to do? How do we know either of those things?

We don’t. We don’t get to know. That’s the point.

Because that’s not how God works. Not from what I can tell in the Bible.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”. Colossians 3:17.

Whatever you do. Not “the one specific thing you figure out He wants you to do.”

My mom described it to me once when I was in a really dark place trying to figure out what He wanted me to do, paralyzed with indecision, afraid He wanted me to do something I just didn’t want to do, like this: “God doesn’t hold out one flower and say, ‘this is the one I want you to have, so you can either take it or take something worse.’ God makes a field of flowers, and He says, ‘Which one do you want? Pick one, and do it with excellence for Me.’ Then just trust Him to make it good.”

It sounds like you’re in a career, but you are wrestling with whether or not to pick it, now that you have some autonomy as an adult, or to pick starting over. Well. Pick one. Just pick one. And trust God to take care of you. Trusting God looks like thinking it through with excellence, then making the decision—and making the decision means letting go of worrying about the thing you didn’t pick. “Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ.” Once you make a choice, make it all the way, and don’t let your mind wander anymore to “what if this blows up in my face? What if I should’ve stayed back there at the crossroads, or gone down the other path?” It’s going to be hard and God is going to take care of you, no matter what you pick. So don’t let your mind go to those places where you worry; acknowledge the worry, and every time, ask God to help you remember that He’s got you.

Because here’s the point, here’s the thing: He does have you. Because ultimately, your career really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Neither does your dream. Not ultimately. And now I’ll say “our” because I need to hear it too. Our dreams and careers are not the point of us, and our dreams and careers are not what God means when He says “I’ll take care of you.”

What He means is, “I’ve already taken care of you.” Because the most important thing isn’t our job or our dream. The most important thing is, we’ve been rescued out of eternally being trapped in our broken desires, and now we get to live for Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. That’s the major. And that truth is where our fulfillment is supposed to come from, what our lives are meant for, our purpose. As long as we pick one, and do it with excellence to make the name of Jesus famous, with that goal in mind, we’ll be emotionally fulfilled. We’ll be satisfied. Because that’s the goal. Not making movies, or whatever it is you want to do. Not having secure means of living. Just…living our lives to make who Jesus is famous. We can do that wherever.

So then the choice? It becomes a minor, not a major, and the pressure of “will I be happy?” is off, because happiness isn’t found in that stuff. And whenever I forget, and start looking for happiness in my dreams, goals, career, that’s when it all starts to feel dark and stressful and hard and crushing. Because it was never meant to give me happiness or fulfillment—that’s a need only Christ can fulfill.

Don’t misunderstand me. He cares what you do. He cared about every decision you make, and He does have a plan. But that’s going to happen anyway. So just pray, consider which option is a) wise to go for and takes care of the responsibilities God has entrusted you with, b) which option you genuinely want, when your wants are not influenced by fears, and then c) step out and do it in faith. And do it with the mindset of, “I’m doing this, and I’m not thinking about the alternative if I can help it, and I’m also not putting all my happiness-eggs in this basket, because even if it crashes and burns, hey, I’m still one with Christ and I can still make Him famous no matter what road my career goes down.”

I hope this helps. It’s a subject I’m hamster-wheeling around in my mind right now a lot—but when I just fix my eyes on Christ and think about how the most important things, the things that give real joy and happiness, are already and forever taken care of and I can’t mess them up—then can get off the hamster wheel and enjoy the life He’s given me, right now, today, without worrying about the future.