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wangquest · 6 years ago

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Trans Oral History Project

Back in August I was interviewed for the Trans Oral History Project, and they created a transcript of my interview. As the only person (so far) that they were interviewing who was pursuing a phalloplasty, a lot of our conversation revolved around the medical side of my transition, which I was happy to talk about.

As it’s very long, I’ve put it under a Read More.

Interviewer: This is a oral history project centered on the experiences of trans identifying people. It is August 25, 2018, and this is being recorded at my apartment. So can you tell me a bit about your experiences with accessing medical transitioning? Me: Sure. So, I’ve been very lucky and very privileged with my access to medical transitions. I have a very supportive family--though I wasn’t covered under my parents’ insurance for some of my medical procedures because they were under Texas Blue Cross Blue Shield before the ACA. They had an explicit transgender exclusion, so my family paid for my top surgery and they paid for my hysterectomy which was nice. I wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise. So I’m extremely, extremely privileged in that way. My mom came with me to San Francisco when I got my top surgery. She came up here to NYC to sleep on my couch when I had my hysterectomy. That was really good, as it was an extra caretaker. But now I’m getting my phalloplasty and for once I’m now on an insurance that covers it, which is great. The issue is that now I’m learning about the amount of gatekeeping that goes into that. So, for some context, I’m in a unionized job. And because of that they have a very robust health insurance. And because I live New York City we’ve got the human’s rights laws protecting me in New York City. We got human’s rights laws from New York state as well. We’re very covered. Even if federal protection were taken away or stripped away, I’m still definitely going to be covered which is really good. The only issue is that they are asking “Do you qualify for these procedures?” I need to jump through a lot of hoops. I need to have two letters from medical mental health providers. One which is preferably is an MD or PhD. I need to have---at least one of them is supposed to have a specialty in gender therapy. And it’s very hard to find someone who has explicitly a specialty in that. Then I also have to get a letter from my physical healthcare specialist saying basically, “Yeah he’s been on hormones for a while” which is easy for me since I’ve been on them since 2010. So that’s not hard, but the really hard thing is finding all the mental health stuff because there aren’t a lot of the people who are working as gender therapy practitioners and things like that. It’s also really awkward, because therapists who focus on gender dysphoria are usually focused on people who are at the start of their transition. Just coming into their understanding of things. I don’t want to say “far down their transition” because some people don’t want a phalloplasty. And that’s fine, but for people who are in a place where I am who do want it---what am I supposed to say? Most of us has been on hormones for a while. Most of us, have been socially transitioned for a long time. It’s really frustrating to be forced to go through gender therapy at this stage of my life. I joked with my wife, “Can I just send them a picture of my beard or something?” And that’s not saying having a beard is inherently masculine. But what do you want from me to prove you that I’m a guy? When I’ve been socially transitioned and on hormones for over 7 years. Why do you need this extra hoop? Don’t you think I would’ve had second thoughts already? And that’s really frustrating to me. That sort of thing is really frustrating about the insurance requiring these sorts of very specific letters. Interviewer: Do you have to seek out gender therapy on your own? Me: I got a referral. Everyone was really nice and really helpful and stuff like that, but finding someone who specialize in gender therapy and who had open slots was hard. I had to go to Jersey. Especially because I had to have two letters from two separate people. I’m just like, “Why? Why do I need this much proof to show to you?” I just…I don’t know the statistics of how many people seek out a phalloplasty and don’t want it, but I’m pretty sure if you’re gonna go through something that’s this intense you probably know you want it. And that’s really frustrating to me. The nice thing is that my doctor is really cool. I’m going to be with Dr. Curtis Crane who’s very experienced. The really good thing is that his practice is in Austin as well as San Francisco. My mother was very excited about that because she lives near Austin, and so she can see me without having to fly. So she’s very excited about that. So yeah, I’m kind of dealing with that aspect. I’ve been very lucky because of the fact that I used trans friendly doctors a lot so I haven’t had a lot of horror stories of really bad doctor experiences because of the fact that I work with a doctors who are explicitly for LGBTQ communities. But it’s the amount of gatekeeping that’s happening with my insurance now has been really frustrating. So that’s kind of where I’m at there.

Interviewer: How’s the social and emotional environment seeking phalloplasty or even wanting phalloplasty?

Me: It’s hard. I knew that when I first kind of started looking into it, though. I mean one of the most famous magazines for transmen was literally called “Original Plumbing.” Which gives an idea of how people view trans guys like me who seek phalloplasty. There’s a lot of stigma and there’s a lot of shame centered around men who want a phalloplasty. There are people who will call them ��Franken-penises.” The amount of shitty things that I hear people about them is so much that most phalloplasty facebook groups, most phalloplasty social groups in general, are incredibly secretive. Often you have to prove that you’re in the process of trying to have one because otherwise they’re so inundated with people who basically come in to either gawk and treat you like a freak, or to come in to talk about how phalloplasty is inherently bad. They say things like “they’re just obviously going to be badly done,” and “you’re not going to look right.”

Interviewer: Just to clarify, this includes transmen?

Me: Oh yeah, this heavily includes transmen. There are a lot of transmen who--for whatever reason—who have decided to be really shitty to people with phalloplasties. And I’m just like, “I don’t know why.” I understand why some people don’t want it for themselves. That’s cool, that’s your own choice, but there’s this weird vitriol against men who decide to get phalloplasties. I think that part of it that the results of phalloplasty used to be less similar to how cis men’s penises look like in the past. There are a lot of people who think that they still look like that, and they still work like that. So some people are either upset that they can’t get one or they see it as people doing something stupid. Then they kind of let that out onto people who are doing them.

And the thing is, the technology for phalloplasty has actually gotten really good. Like, full sensation is very, very common. It’s almost rare now that you don’t have at least some sensation. There’s a number of different techniques for whatever configuration that you want for your junk. There are still high rates of complications, but they’re usually complications that can be dealt with and can that can be fixed. And they…if what you want is to have genitalia that looks similar to cis man’s they are very good. I’ve looked at pictures and I looked at videos and in person. They look very, very similar to a cis penis. And if that’s something you want, if that helps your dysphoria, then that’s great. And it will help me, it helps my dysphoria to have something like that. That’s what I want, and it’s just really frustrating to me that there’s so much stigma and animosity against it. There are just a lot of people who view as this procedure as “why are you trying? Because it’s not ever going to look right.” And it’s like one, you’re never going to know what I want. Don’t talk to me about looking right. And two, if what you mean by looking right is looking cis then actually yeah, you can get that. That’s not an impossibility. That’s my screed.

Interviewer: So you’re talking about phallo, and we’re just gonna talk a little more about the other medical procedures trans masc people go through.

Me: Yeah sure. So, I had a laparoscopic total abdominal hysterectomy, so I only had four tiny little…incisions that were each 5 millimeters long, and they were on my stomach. One was in my belly button and one is a little bit above my belly button. Then there were two on the sides of my belly button. They basically just used a robot blender to cut things up very, very fine and then took it all out. So I didn’t even stay overnight. I walked out afterword. It was a full complete cleaning out. It got rid of all the organs in the area like the cervix, ovaries, uterus, and fallopian tubes. And after I just walked out. I waddled out, let’s be honest. Then I was walking around within a few days. I had to wear sweatpants for like a week. And that was basically the entirety of my recovery because it was all internal damage. So the recovery was easier in a lot of ways because it was mostly just the fact that you’re just getting a lot of internal trauma due to the laparoscopic nature of it. But it heals pretty quickly, and it heals pretty easily in most cases. At least my case. I actually got it for a lot of different reasons. Partially because I didn’t want kids. I didn’t want kids biologically, and I didn’t want kids period. So it wasn’t really a loss for me. I have friends who are trans dudes who have kids while by pausing their testosterone temporarily, and they were fine. I have one friend who has two kids that he had with his trans partner, which was like awesome and great for them. I have a cat, and that’s all I really need. But one of the really big things for me was the risks of internal atrophy. So testosterone will often, I think it’s a 45% chance or so, have a rate of causing uterine and vaginal atrophy. Which means that you can get some internal spasms. You can sometimes get issues with fibers growth similar to PCOS--they’re not exactly the same--on like your various organ parts. And that can cause pain or that can cause issues down the line. So it’s the sort of thing where if you want to keep your organs there are ways to do that, and there are ways to mitigate those effects. I didn’t really look into them because if I didn’t really see any reason not to take them out. Atrophy is also an issue that isn’t just about internal organs. Atrophy also occurs on the genitalia due to testosterone. The problem with that is you get little fissures, like little tiny fissures internally and externally on your junk. The problem with it is that the traditional way to treat it, like when you go to the doctors, is that they say, “Well we usually use topical estrogen to treat that” because it occurs in women who have low estrogen. And I was like, “Ok but no.” Some guys use it and they’re fine with it, that’s totally chill. That’s fine. But in my case scent is very important to me, and it does change your general scent to something that’s not going to be testosterone related. For me, that is just like a 100% hell no. So I did some research, and I learned that you can treat it externally if you use a silicone lube that has vitamin E in it. So I use Uber Lube. I feel like I’m doing product placement now, but you can use a small amount of it and do it every night on your junk, and it made it so I wasn’t getting fissures anymore because the vitamin E was helping with elasticity and stuff like that and the moisture helped with any dryness issues so that was really nice. So that’s what I would suggest if you’re having that kind of issue and you don’t want to use the traditional topical estrogen method. It’s frustrating because those are the things we never get talked to about. If you take testosterone you’ll grow a beard, and you’ll like sweat more, and you’ll have this stuff and that stuff. No one talks about how you might develop atrophy. Like, no one talked to me about this. It’s not like it would’ve changed my decision to get on hrt, but it would’ve been cool to be prepped! [laughter] Also, I know some guys will sometimes do stuff where they keep an ovary in or something like that because they want the option to being produce estrogen if they choose to go off testosterone or something like that. Because the problem is you do need one of the two hormones. You need to have estrogen or testosterone in your system to be healthy. So if you ever choose to go off testosterone when you’ve had a full hysterectomy that includes taking an ovariectomy and everything you really do need to start take a type of hormone. Like you need to take estrogen or you need to take testosterone even if it might be in lower amounts or something. That’s why people have issues when they go into menopause; they’re not getting enough of one of those hormones. For top surgery, I don’t know. I feel like my advice for top surgery is the same advice I have for any major surgery ever. Which is that there are these little patches for anti-nausea that you put them behind your ear, and they work for three days or so. The medications that you get for pain killers will make you nauseated. So my doctor made sure I had one of those on for my first week after surgery, and I never had nausea issues. Thinking about how much, you know, stuff was probably going on with my chest at the time because I just had a major surgery, I mean, I lost four pounds. [Laughter] I was very large chested, and if I ever had to throw up during that time it would have really sucked. And I was on a lot of Percocet. My poor mother. I was so demanding because I was extremely high on all the pain meds. In those first three days I’d be like, “Give me tea!” and my mom would be like, “I literally just put a cup of tea next to you” and I was like, “A different tea!”. And I threatened to—oh god—whenever she would do something and it wasn’t fast enough I would threaten to squirt her with my drains. She was like, “One: Ew. Two: You literally can’t squirt people with your drains. They’re not pressurized where you can squirt things. You just empty them into a sink. They’re not pressurized into a thing that is possible,” But I was just silly. I was like, “I don’t know, I’ll make it happen. I’ll make physics do what I want.” Which leads me to, if you can, if you have top surgery, or you have a surgery like phalloplasty, or even a metoidioplasty or anything like that, have someone who’s a caretaker that you know because you’re going to be real high at first. You need someone who loves you, or at least is a friend who won’t want to murder you after those first few days where you’re going to be real high and real helpless. I’m very lucky that I had my mom, and now I have my wife with me. My biggest concern for her is caregiver fatigue. One of the reasons I’m happy my family is there too. My sister is there, who is a doctor, which is great. There’s my mom, you know, and there’s my dad. There’s people there who can take some of the burden off of her and give her social interaction that I won’t be able to do if I’m in the middle of healing and stuff like that, so I really want to make sure that she’s not having all the pressure on her. Once again, this is one of those things that demonstrates my privilege. I’m incredibly privileged. I have a family who will help. A lot of people don’t, and that’s a big privilege that I have. I have the funds to be able to travel, all the way down to Texas for my surgery to get the doctor that I really wanted. I have a job that gives me 3 months of paid time off. That’s a huge privilege. These are all things that like having to balance different aspects of your life. This is why we have so many GoFundMes for procedures like this, and that’s why I always try to give to those GoFundMes because there’s a lot of privilege that comes with my personal interactions with these procedures. Because of the support network that I have, because of the monetary situation that I’m currently in, and there are a lot of people who can’t get the treatments that they need because of the fact that they don’t have the funds. Even though they’re being covered by insurance, right? They’re being covered by insurance, but are they being covered by the time off they’ll need for optimal healing? The worst complications happen in the first two months. So I’m able to be right by my doctor for the first two months, but a lot of people can’t be. They have to go right back home because they have to go to work soon. That’s a lot, that’s a lot. And having a dedicated caregiver, having my wife there, having someone who has a job that can allow her to be with me. Because of the fact she’s a cartoonist and writer who can move her job because she works from home. That’s huge. So that’s the sort of thing that I feel like if there’s anything that I’d advise to people who are friends with trans people who are going through surgery or something like that, to reach out and try to offer help. Even if it’s just like, “I will make you dinner” or “I will come and be with you and be present with you for like a day” or something. A lot of people don’t have the support network that I do, don’t have an ongoing relationship that I do. And allowing them to have that is important. I know that I’m going to be asking for that from friends of mine who live in the area of Texas that can come hangout with, my wife. I love her a lot and she’s going to be having a lot of stress, a lot of burden, and I don’t want her to be isolated. The fact that she’s willing to do all this is huge and I’m very lucky to have her.

It’s gonna be a very big procedure. It’s one of the things also that I feel very lucky that I’m with someone who is so okay with all this. I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing this for my own dysphoria. And I feel very lucky that I’m with someone who likes my penis now and is excited about my penis later [laughter] and doesn’t have kind of issues with either. And yes, part of that is the fact that she doesn’t have genital preferences so she’s like, “I don’t care” and that’s a comforting thing with our relationship. But it’s not true for everybody. So some people have to not only having to process this all by themselves, they’re also having to process their partner’s emotions and dealing with that so it’s harder on them there too. So I feel very lucky that she’s gung ho for all kind of wang…That’s probably not the best way of putting it. It was funny when I was in the doctor’s office. He’s a cis man, but he’s been doing this for quite a while. And one of the things that I saw when I was reading up on him was that people were like, “Well he seems very callous” but I think it’s because he has a sense of humor about it at this point. His bedside manner was exactly what I needed. It was great because we were talking about it, and one of the things we talked about was why am I getting RFF I’m getting. Which is good for people who are heavier because I’m a little heavier. He mentioned one of the reasons why it’s good that we’re doing that is because if I was doing ALT (taking from the thigh instead of the forearm) there might be issues with a bit of a “coke can” problem where it would be a little bit too girthy because of my weight. So he was like, “I’m glad that you want that because I think that’s the best for you.” And he just gestures at my partner who’s in the room with me saying, “It’ll be good for you and it’ll be best for her” and it was just this really funny moment. I can understand why some people would be like, “That’s very cavalier to be saying something like that” but it made it feel like it was less stressful. It was the sort of moment like, “Yep, this is the the moment where we acknowledge that we’re talking about penises.” We all know that at one point my intention is to use it with my partner, and no one is awkwardly avoiding that fact. I think her response to him saying that she wouldn’t want something massively large was actually, “You don’t know me.” which was really funny. She was like, “You don’t know me.” And he conceded that point and we all laughed. So relationship wise I feel I really lucked out with her. She’s so supportive throughout our relationship. I talked to her early on that this was something I’d probably want years ago, but it was always the sort of the thing where I wanted it to get to the point where I felt comfortable with how far the technology has gotten. Even just comparing the last 5 years phalloplasties have gotten better and better. Success rates have been higher. Glansplasties becoming more common were a big thing for me. For me, aesthetics are very important, and aesthetically a glansplasty is really, really beneficial. Medical tattooing is also a thing that I’m going be doing to give proper coloration and such. I was like, “Can you do medical tattooing before sensation comes back?” and the response was “not usually”. I was like, “Oh no that’ll be terrible.” But I’ll deal. The only problem is going to the laser places. These aren’t people who are used to doing one arm. Just one of your arms. It’s just always awkward because they’re always like, “Well don’t you want the other arm?” And I have to say, “No this is for a medical procedure.” Sometimes they push to try to get an answer that’s more detailed and sometimes they don’t. The ones that push I’m like, “It’s for a penis…it’s for a penis, ok?” and that will make them stop pushing at me. But I usually don’t want to open with, “It’s gonna be a penis!” You don’t need to know that about my life, stranger. So now I’ve got this thing where I’m walking around with one arm that’s bare because I’ve been doing lasers and electrolysis so I don’t have a wooly wang. It’s really funny looking. I think that having a sense of humor about something that’s scary is helpful for me. I was rubbing lotion on my arm after a particularly painful electrolysis session and my wife was helping me with it. And I was like, “Is this basically a handjob from the future?” and she replied with saying fondly, “You’re going to be a penis soon, it’ll be good” and pats my arm. I was like, “Thank you for talking to it. Confirming its desires.” And she nods sagely and said, “Yeah it knows…someday”.

I do comment sometimes that I feel like I’m getting this phallo partially for dysphoria sake and partially so that I can make a lot of dick jokes now. So many dick jokes. And that is why we’re all here today.

Interviewer: I think just a question you’d like to…especially since we’re talking about transman issues and you’ve been giving a lot of advice. Is there anything…doesn’t have to be medically related or even trans related really. Is there anything you’d like people a little bit younger than you to hear? Me: I guess one of the biggest things is that I realized that I was trans when I was 18 but I didn’t start socially transition to living my life as a man until I was 23. And the reason why was because I thought I wouldn’t look right so people would never see me as a man. I think that my biggest advice would be: People look all sorts of ways. Cis people too! You don’t have to look a certain way to be a guy or girl or whatever. This is especially for people who are binary identified because I think this is a big fear of a lot of binary identified men and women. I think there are a lot of people who are scared to transition because they feel they’ll never be seen as a “real man” or a “real woman.” But trans people are real. Even if you do not look like what you perceive a cis person “should look like” that doesn’t matter. Also you’d be surprised. People don’t necessarily look at someone and immediately try to decide whether or not they’re trans or not. Like being short. There are short cis dudes all over the place. Or maybe you’re a trans woman who’s butch and you’re like, “But if I transition will people really think I’m a woman because I’m butch? Do I suddenly have to wear frilly clothes all the time?” There are plenty of butch cis ladies. Like you can be a butch trans woman. You can be a femme gay trans dude. I know examples of both of these, and there’s no one way to be a man or a woman. There’s no cookie cutter sort of way of how you have to look like. There’s no height that you’re supposed to be. There’s no amount of facial hair that you have to have. I know plenty of guys who are cis men who can’t grow a beard, and I know plenty of cis women with mustaches. These are not things that mean you’re a man or a woman. If I could have gone back in time and told myself when I was 18 that I could’ve been happier and healthier by transitioning when I realized what my gender was instead of feeling so scared that people would reject me or that I wouldn’t look the right way. I really wish I could because I 1) Was really having a lot of stress and upset feelings during that time that I could’ve avoided. 5 years of me basically knowing that I trans and being really upset about it. And 2) I also missed out on things. Like one of my friends, the first thing he said when I came out as a man was, “I’m really sad you didn’t come out during college about being a guy because I would’ve been so excited about having you as a frat brother.” I know that he’s telling the truth because of the fact that there’s another trans dude in our friends group, who he did in fact have in his frat house. And this wasn’t a really one of those shitty frats, it was basically the nerd frat which is why I had so much crossover. It was absolutely full of nerds. They were really nice. And I could have had that experience, I could have had the sort of connection with him that I don’t get to have because I chose to not be myself because I was so scared. And so I think that my biggest caveat is “if it is safe,” because if it’s not safe that’s an understandable thing. If you don’t feel safe to be open about your gender, that’s ok. But I was in a very safe environment, I was in a liberal college, I have liberal family. I would’ve been ok. I was scared about ridicule, and I was scared that people would think that I wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t a safety thing for me, and I feel like I could’ve had a less stressful 5 years. So I guess my biggest thing is don’t be scared that you won’t be good enough. It’s ok, especially as people understand trans people a lot more now. And I also get that we have a very scary environment right now because of current politics. So if you are scared because of that, that is valid. But if you have a safe environment that you can transition in, and you’re worried that you won’t be good enough at being whatever gender you are; you are. There’s no one way to be a man or a woman. So I guess that’s what my big final piece of advice would be.

#trans #phalloplasty #medical transition #Trans Oral History Project #transgender #trans man

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iamindeedasmartypants · 7 years ago

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I Found, Chapter 2

Warnings: None yet.

Pairings: Dean/OC, Crowley/OC

Summary: Finn has a run in with the Winchesters, who are also looking for the mysterious Sarah Klein.

CHAPTER TWO: FINLEY JULY

One hand held her burger while the other poked at her phone, leaving a greasy smear on the screen. “No new messages,” it mocked her, though she couldn’t claim to be surprised. After the last text two days previous telling her to bring back Sarah Klein at any cost short of the woman’s life, and another telling her to be discreet about it, Crowley had refused to answer any of her twenty-seven follow up texts. Finn knew she should probably cool it, given that her situation with the King of Hell was a bit precarious, but it irked her that he wanted her to jump through any and all hoops he could think of without even an inkling as to why. She should have expected it, given the source, but even for Crowley this was surprisingly tight lipped. Just what the hell was so special about Sarah Klein, anyway?

“That’s the fourth demon this week, Sam.”

That was a word you didn’t hear every day, and Finn paused in her chewing to listen harder. The other man said something she didn’t catch, and she cursed the other people blissfully chatting over their own lunches. Had her own chair not been so close to his, she probably never would have heard the first man. There was always a chance that the word “demon” was being thrown around metaphorically, but Finn doubted that- though it did raise some new questions about her own “mission.” The demons, for the most part, answered to Crowley. If he had sent his henchmen to Utah to look for Sarah Klein as well, then what did he need her for? A demon was a match for any run of the mill human even on their worst days, so it should have been an easy open and close case. Unless Sarah Klein wasn’t a human, but if that were so, then what was she?

“You still think its related to the Klein case?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Finn’s head snapped up so fast she dripped BBQ sauce on her pants, just inches from where she had smeared toothpaste on them that morning. Surely Crowley hadn’t sent another errand bitch out to find the woman, so what was the likelihood that someone else was also looking for this target?

“You don’t? A car skids off a mountain pass on a perfectly clear day, leaving behind only one survivor, who by the way was quoted to be ranting about several people standing in the middle of the road?” The speaker was a tall man, with shaggy dark hair and the sort of looks that Finn would describe as cute, but wouldn’t be her first pick for night’s end. He was typing on a silver laptop, fortunately not noticing that she was watching. She glanced toward the other man, but his back was to her, and she wouldn’t have been able to turn without being obvious about eavesdropping. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away and picked up a wet wipe packet, ripping it open and dabbing it on the fresh stain on her pants.

“I don’t know. You heard the nurse at the hospital- Sarah was in shock, she just lost her family. She could have been ranting about a herd of hippos in the road for all the sense she was making, and apparently she’s been going to therapy for a few months for ‘visions’ anyway. I mean yeah, it’s weird that demons seem to be vacationing in Utah, but I’m not so sure this is related.”

“I just wish we could track her down and talk to her, maybe make a little more sense out of all of this. I just… have this feeling that the two are related.”

“Yeah, maybe, but why are demons looking for a botany student? Not exactly the holy roller of Satanic worshippers, botanists. Besides, you saw how well that went- I have a bruise from that shotgun barrel her mother shoved me with.” He raised a burger to his mouth and took a big bite out of it, a few pieces of lettuce falling to the tabletop.

Why indeed? Finley thought wryly. She tossed the wipe onto her half empty plate, frowning at the wet patch before glancing back at the men. Her appetite, so ravenous before, had abandoned her completely. Apparently Crowley had tried to obtain the woman through his demons, but something had stopped them. What?

“I don’t know, but I do know how we might be able to talk to her. Look at this: the funerals for her husband and son are tomorrow.” He flipped the laptop around, showing it to his companion. Finn shifted in her seat, trying her best to read the tiny font and not succeeding, but she could see the words “Kinner Funeral Home” plastered across the top in what appeared to be Edwardian Script. “You want to crash her family’s funeral?” The man’s distaste was evident- Finley didn’t even have to be able to see him to understand that much, it was in every syllable.

“Not really, but it may be the only chance we get with her mother guarding her. We can sneak in, pose as mourners, and hopefully catch her alone. It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one we’ve got right now.” Frustration and impatience were etched on the speaker’s face as he pushed a fry around his plate without moving to bring it to his mouth.

“That seems a little low, even for us. Besides, what if her mom sees us? I think she was pretty serious about that ‘come near my daughter and I’ll shoot you’ thing. I don’t really care to die again, Sammy.”

Whatever retort the man named Sam had for that died on his lips, and he made a jerking motion with his head in her direction. “Dean.” His companion turned around, and Finn fumbled desperately for anything to say that might salvage the situation, hoping to make her eavesdropping less obvious, but she came up with nothing. Her job wasn’t the type that usually yielded competition, and she hadn’t been warned that there would be any here. She shoved her hand in her pocket and fumbled for the crumpled bills she had put there that morning, moving to push herself out of her chair- only to find herself chest to chest with the man she couldn’t see previously, and what a chest it was. Finn tilted her head back to get a good look at him, which was quite the task given he was over a foot taller. She felt like a child next to him, and not for the first time, cursed her petite frame for not being more imposing.

“Do you like to eavesdrop on private conversations, Barbie?” Dean’s tone was conversational, but the look of mistrust he was giving her was anything but. Sam was behind her, keeping her from an escape, which left one of two options, as far as she was concerned- screaming and making a scene, causing problems for them but herself as well, or complying until she could get away. Given how many times Crowley had stressed haste, it appeared that Finn would be taking option B. She had seen up close what happened to the people that kept Crowley waiting too long.

“Sometimes. I was more interested in the… scenery.” She smiled prettily up at him, but his expression didn’t change. It wasn’t the right time, but she couldn’t help but notice just how damn gorgeous this man was, and had she not had the feeling he was about to attack her, she would have reached up to run a finger over his sharp cheekbones playfully. Finn’s self-interest in survival was only slightly stronger than her libido, however, and she glanced once more at the door. “Speaking of, I can explain everything if we can just take this somewhere more private?” It was a lie, but stalling for time until she came up with a plan was the best thing she could think of. Hell, maybe one of Crowley’s demons would be outside if they were truly as plentiful as these two claimed, but she doubted it. Her luck had never been that good, and the demons held no interest in her, she was forbidden fruit.

“What a great idea,” Dean said sarcastically, taking her wrist as Sam led the way outside. No one paid them any attention, no doubt thinking they knew one another, and Finn was once more struck by how oblivious humans could be. They had barely made it into the parking lot before Finn was struck in the face with water, and she spluttered in surprise, shaking her head.

“Well, she’s not a demon,” Sam stated, putting the empty water bottle back into the pocket of his jacket.

Finn glared at him, pushing wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “No shit!”

“Still doesn’t explain why she’s eavesdropping on us. Hear something interesting?” Dean leaned back against a classic Impala, watching her every move. Finn raised her brow, her silence sullen. He wanted to throw Holy Water on her and then demand answers? Good luck with that. “Silent now? You were so willing to ‘explain’ a minute ago.”“Yeah, before you gave me a shower. What the fuck?”

“I suggest you start talking.” Sam’s voice was gentler than Dean’s, but still brooked no argument. Finn turned her glare on him instead. “You were very interested when we started talking about Sarah Klein. Why? Do you know her?”

“No.” There was no use lying on that front. They would find out the minute their questions got any deeper than “who is she to you?” “Are you two crazy? Don’t you think that anyone is going to be looking at you strange for talking about demons and funeral crashing in public?” She used the hem of her shirt to mop the last of the water from her face, showing off her pierced navel. She was mildly sorry to see that Dean’s attention didn’t waver from her face, like a dog on point.

“I don’t buy it. Most people, when they think someone is crazy, don’t nearly fall out of their chair trying to get a look.” She had to give it to him, Sam was observant. It was quite annoying, but she supposed that was how he had survived this long. The hunting world wasn’t one that was very big on second chances, and for him to speak so casually of demons definitely told her he was a hunter since he obviously wasn’t a priest. “Something we said got your interest. You’re not a demon, so what was it?”

She folded her hands over her chest, looking between the two men. Inside her pocket, her phone buzzed, and she groaned inwardly. Only one person had her number, and trust him to find now an excellent time to answer her. “If I answer you, you return the favor?”

“This isn’t a negotiation. Get talking,” Dean ignored the look Sam gave him. Finn wondered whether he was always this irritable, or if she was a special case that brought it out in him.

“Fine. I’m a demon hunter.” Oh, what a lie. She was sure if Crowley could hear her now, he would nearly piss himself laughing. “My name is Finley Morris, I’m a Leo and I detest long walks on the beach, happy now?”

“What do you know about Sarah Klein?”

“About as much as you do, honestly.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “For what it’s worth, I do think there’s some credibility to your belief that she’s tied up in the sudden demon appearances here, but I haven’t seen her or talked to her. Hell, I just got here a few hours ago myself.” Dean was still looking skeptical, but she could see Sam at least partially believed her, and she sighed more out of relief than exasperation. “What? Do you want to frisk me or something?” She raised a brow at Dean, who glanced at Sam before shaking his head slightly. “I think the least you can do is tell me who you two are after kidnapping me from a perfectly good lunch.”

“I’m Sam Winchester,” the taller man stated, holding out his hand to shake hers. “This is my brother, Dean. Sorry about that, it’s been a rough few days.”

The Winchesters? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell fuck. Finn didn’t know whether to be in awe or vaguely sick. Everyone who hunted anything knew who the Winchesters were, but that was a double edged sword as well. A case the Winchesters were on could hardly be called discreet, and it definitely made her anticipated Houdini act with her target all the more difficult. “If ‘a rough few days’ can lead to kidnapping, I’d hate to see what a good day brings,” she joked, forcing herself to stay calm. Her phone buzzed again, not helping the situation. “If you two want to give me a few hours to get settled and find something a little more appropriate to wear, I’ll tag along with you to the funeral home. Before you object,” she nodded to Dean, “I’m going either way. I just figure since we’re all looking into the same case, we should work together. More eyes, you know?” She pulled her bike key out of her pocket, the goldfish keychain winking in the sunlight. “I’ll meet you here six- we can work out our game plan then.” She turned on heel before either of them could respond, the gravel crunching under her boots as she walked away. Part of her figured they wouldn’t turn up that night, but that was inconsequential. Neither of them followed her, and that was all that mattered. They might not trust her, but they weren’t in her way for the moment, and they had given her her first lead on Sarah Klein. It wasn’t the best case she had ever worked, but it was a start, and as she swung a leg over her bike, Finley whistled to herself cheerfully. Time to find some new clothes, a hotel, and to see what Crowley had to say for himself.

#dean/oc #dean winchester #crowley #crowley/oc #supernatural

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sincerlyyme-blog · 7 years ago

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Group Therapy (CONNOR MURPHY x READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: hello!!!!! i am back!!!!!!! i wrote this little thing, in hopes of making it a multiple part series. so this is just part one! but if you guys dont like it, let me know and ill just leave it as it is. I also want to take a moment to say that i am back to UPLOADING A FIC OR HEADCANON ONCE A DAY!! when i first started this blog, that was my uploading schedule. life got in the way, but im back baby!!!!!

Word Count: 2.4k ish

TW: suicide, suicide descriptions, swearing, therapy groups , etc

PS: i have been to many group therapies, so this is all just based purely on personal experience. so if this is triggering to you, please dont read any further!!!!

Connor Murphy was special. Not special in the way you would describe a rare artifact or gem. He was special like the waves in the ocean, the colours in the sky, or oil paint on a canvas. He was special because you knew what to expect. Like a wave in the ocean, you expected to crash. Like the colours in the sky, you expected to fade out after hours of daylight. Like oil paint on a canvas, you expected to dry and harden after creating something beautiful. Connor Murphy was a synonym for beautiful; only the rarest of poets could find in a dictionary. He was the sound that rolled off of the tongue of a politician. He was the feeling of warm laundry, draping around your body. Connor was all of these things—which is why his downfall was to be expected.

You had tried numerous group therapies in the past. None of them seemed to improve your feelings or behaviors. But they stabilized your health, which is all you could really ask for. There was something equally pleasing and eerie about joining group therapy. It was oddly satisfying to hear everyone bitch and complain, but also eerie that the painted beige walls would contain a group of kids who tried to kill themselves. Talk about a Suicide Squad.

You drove yourself to group therapy. This one was named Youth Wonders: Group Therapy and Psychiatrics. The name was slathered on the brick building in bronze lettering. It looked ancient. Maybe it looked cool back in 2002, but it made you roll your eyes just at the sight. You were 5 minutes early. Your keys were still lodged into your car ignition. This was the hardest part: getting out of the car. There was always that part of you that was tempted to ditch, go eat some McDonald’s for the hour, and go back home to tell your dad that everything went well. The feeling of guilt spread over your stomach just at the thought. You have lied to your father many times before. He didn’t deserve to be lied to again.

Finally, you slumped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the horrid building. It smelt like old carpet and candle wax. Kind of like a church. But nothing Holy grew an abundance to you whilst walking through the halls. A white, thick door was stood open with a brick. On the inside if the door, facing you, a pink slip of paper was taped up.

“TEEN YOUTH SUICIDAL THERAPY GROUP”

They really don’t sugar coat anything here. Your footsteps grew heavier as you walked through the door. Plastic chairs were all set up in a circle. Inside there were only four teenagers, and a woman who had a strange resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg.

“Name, please?” her scratchy voice echoed off the walls. Her dry hands where clutching a clipboard and her pink pen was held between her fingers, like a cigarette.

“Oh, uh, Y/N L/N,” you frowned, taking a seat across from her.

According to the amount of chairs set up, there were only six people in the group. You, an empty chair, Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, and an empty chair. The empty chair was to your left. You stared at it, feeling cold. The awkward tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took this moment of silence as an opportunity to look around the room. All of the teens glared at their feet.

The girl next to you had red hair. Her face was populated with cystic acne that looked painful to the touch. Her ginger locks were pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a large men’s sweater that hung off of her skinny body. Sitting to her left was a large Filipino boy. He wore a purple sweater and old hiking shoes. The toe of the boots were worn out and his big toe peeked out. His hair was greasy, and he looked in need of a shower. Down the line, in the circle, sat a Latina girl. Her hair was done perfectly and her ears were pierced. Big golden hoops dangled from the lobes, reaching her collarbone. She was chewing bubblegum, and wearing a croptop – even though the temperature was just above freezing. Finally, in the corner sat a very pale white boy. He was short and skinny. He looked like he was 12 years old. His minecraft shirt had large orange stains, and had blonde whiskers growing in on his upper lip.

Whoopi-Goldberg-lady took a final sigh, clicking her pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, another person stomped in.

“You finally decided to join us…” the woman looked at her clipboard before reading out loud, “Connor?”

The boy grunted in response, throwing his body down onto the chair next to you. You winced at the sound. He had long hair. The ends curled into the collar of his denim jacket. Your eyes trailed up to his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he grinded his teeth together. The Whoopi-lady stood up, smoothing out the material of her chiffon blouse.

“Welcome, everyone. My name is Liz,” she spoke above her gravely tone.

Her name was Liz. Finally, you could stop referring to her as the Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, in your head.

“I will be your counselor and guide for this group. Within our 9 weeks here, I expect all of you to hit a few goals. The first being: opening up. I want you to share your story, knowing that whatever is said in here, stays in here.”

You could hear the boy next to you, practically scoff.

“So the first thing we are going to do is; go around the room, say your name, age, and explain why you are here.”

You could feel everyone tense up.

“Let’s start with,” Liz glanced at her clipboard. “Jamie.”

The red-haired girl sat up straight. She removed her fingers from her mouth, as she was just chewing on her cuticles moments ago. Her bleeding fingers dove into the sleeves of her sweater.

“Hi, I’m Jamie,” she spoke softly, almost like a robot. “I’m 15 and I’m here because I overdosed on sleeping pills.”

Liz nodded, “Ok. Great. Thank you, Jamie.”

Next in line was the boy in hiking boots.

“Hi, I’m Leroy. I’m 16 and I tried to hang myself from a tree,” his voice was a deep baritone. But was quickly cut off by the Latina girl beside him.

“Did the tree break, fatty?”

“Andrea,” Liz warned. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

“Ok, yeah, whatever. I’m Andrea. I’m 18. This is my third time here. I took too much meth and blacked the fuck out. So I’m here,” she snapped her gum, fingering the golden hoop on her ear.

“Daniel, your turn,” Liz looked at the small pale boy.

“Hi, um, I’m Daniel. I’m 16 and I, uh,” the boy began to sob violently. Your heart broke a little bit. The boy next to you, Connor, scoffed. You were almost in disbelief at his heartless gesture.

“It’s ok, hun. Take your time,” Liz spoke softly.

Daniel continued, hiccupping and telling the group how he tried to end his life just two weeks prior. After many tissues, Liz continued down the line.

“Connor?”

The boy next to you, shifted in his seat. He was now sitting up, straight. His long legs tangled over each other. His large, black combat boots looked heavy against his skinny shins. He was wearing a lot of layers.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Connor. I’m 17. I tried killing myself 3 weeks ago.”

“How? You have to say how,” Andrea twirled her hair around her finger.

“Why? Do you get off to people’s backstories or some shit?” he hissed back.

Liz waved the two of them off, gesturing that it was okay to keep those details private. Next was you. And you could feel your breath become heavy. All eyes landed on you.

“Well, uh, my name is Y/N. I’m 17, also. I tried killing myself last year, but I’m here because my therapist told me to,” you spoke softly.

“That’s fucking boring.”

“Andrea!”

You were pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup, rubbing the drowsiness out of your eyes. It was the half-way mark through group therapy. The group is given a 15 minute break between the two hours, and there is a small table full of shitty snacks and coffee.

“Coffee at 1pm?” a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see that Connor boy offering you a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “Well it’s shitty filtered coffee, and no one drinks coffee in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you spoke while moving to the side, putting creamer and 8 packets of sugar into the small cup. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gaped at the amount of sugar you put in.

“It’s good, you should try it some time,” you mused, taking a small sip.

Connor shook his head, pouring some of the filtered brew into a cup of his own. “No, thanks. I’d like to live well into my thirties.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of why you’re here?”

“Touché.”

The rest of the afternoon went as expected. Red-haired girl went on a rant about her dad never loving her, Daniel cried some more, and Liz gave us homework to complete for next week. The green folder full of worksheets will be added to the pile of therapy homework that you never do. You have other things on your plate. You have a job, school, and university to think about.

While walking to your car, you see the tall boy leaning against the hood of your car.

“Uh, hi?” you spoke, raising on eyebrow.

He jumped a little bit, not seeing you at first. “Oh, hey, can you drive me home? My dad is at work and my mom…” he trailed off, looking at his feet.

You scratched the back of your head, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, I barely even know you. I should just walk home-“ he began to ramble, grabbing his messenger bag from between his feet.

“Get in,” you sighed, unlocking the car.

“Wait. Really?”

“What’s your address?”

The car ride was pretty silent. It contained the sound of your humming motor, and the small murmurs of directions from Connor. You had asked him what street he lived on, but he just told you that he would direct you there. He lived on the outskirts of the city. By following his directions, you drove into the suburbs. The houses were all parallel to each other. Each of them very large, big two-car garages, and nicely trimmed lawns. It was the type of neighborhood that would give out the good candy on Halloween.

“It’s the house on left, here,” he mumbled once again. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head.

“This one?” you took one hand off the steering-wheel to point to the house in front of you. It was gigantic. It was painted yellow with a dark blue door. It must have been at least 4 stories high. The backyard, from what you could see, was massive. Two large pillars on other side of the front door, reminding you of pictures in textbooks about ancient Rome.

As you pulled into his driveway, Connor picked at his nail polish. “What? Are you surprised?”

“A little,” you laughed, looking over at him.

He began to pick up his bag, looking over at you. The sunset in the sky casted a pink shadow in your car, making everything a rose colour.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you next week,” he spoke, stepping out of your car.

You watched as the goth boy walked into the giant, yellow house. It was a sight to see.

Next week rolled around, and you were five minutes early. You sat in your car, rubbing your temples. Another night without sleep. It was beginning to take a toll. Sitting in your car became a ritual you had. It gave you time to mope, before having to put on a brave face for wherever you were going. You let out a large sigh. Your head was pounding. Placing your forehead in the palms of your hands, you laid them down on the steering wheel. Closing your eyes, you were grateful to have a second to decompose.

It was quiet until you heard your passenger door open and slam shut. You let out a scream, sitting back, looking at the man who just entered. It was Connor.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Chill the fuck out.”

“CONNOR, YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.”

“What? Get in someone’s car? I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You began to go on a slight rampage, telling him about how many girls get abducted by leaving their cars unlocked. He responded by telling you to ‘lock your fucking car, then’. Before you could shout another witty response, he shoved a cup of hot coffee into your hand.

“Here.” “What… What is this?”

“Coffee, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know. But why?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip out of his own cup, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“So, why do you sit in here?” he mumbled against the warm lid of his beverage.

“It’s just nice, I guess?” you spoke out softly, rubbing your eyes.

Connor nodded, drinking his coffee quietly. You did the same.

Lunch time came around. Therapy had been going well. But you couldn’t help but find yourself staring into space every other minute. It was no group participation. It consisted of Liz telling everyone that how they were feeling is “okay”. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before.

You stood up the moment Liz said that your 15 minute break began. You walked over to the snack table, pouring another cup of coffee. Connor watched you from his seat, chewing on his bottom lip.

No one else had picked up on your caffeine habits. Rather, the rest of the teenagers fought over the sugar cookies that were lined up on the table. You walked back to your seat, sighing loudly as your butt hit the chair. You took a large gulp of the cheap caffeine, letting your eyes settle close for a moment.

“You know, I never got to hear your story last week,” you spoke softly with your eyes still closed.

“Well, same goes to you, I guess,” he mumbled back, slouching into his chair.

You cracked an eye open, looking at him. “Mine isn’t as recent.”

He shrugged back, watching you as your eyes flutter shut once more.

“My family is shit. My parents hate me. Some kid wrote a weird letter about my sister. I freaked the fuck out. It was just kind of the last straw, I guess?”

It was quiet for a few more moments. You opened your mouth to speak, then Liz clapped loudly, asking everyone to return to their seats. Group began again, and Connor avoided your eyes at all costs.

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toycarousel · 7 years ago

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If you have therapists like that, shouldn’t you try looking for different therapists that’d actually listen to you?

Totally, if it were my personal choice~! Unfortunately, this is the only dialectical behaviour therapy (DBT) program in my Province that’s covered (DBT is the main treatment for borderline personality disorder, which I was diagnosed with a couple years ago, but have had almost my entire life). In this program, we don’t get to choose our therapists as we go. We are initially given a short list, of, like, 2 psychologists – with a paragraph-long bio for each of them – and once we choose, we’re stuck with that choice throughout the whole program (the program lasts for about 2-3 yrs per patient; I’m a severe case, so I’m on the longer end of that timeframe).

Like, if something is wrong, we (patients) can theoretically switch therapists, if we make a plea, but… that basically doesn’t end up actually happening for anyone (there are a LOT of hoops to jump through if you try that, and the therapists in the program all tend to be very similar to each other wrt rigid beliefs). I had the initial choice between my current psychologist, and a guy who is an adolescent-specialist. Since I started puberty so late (19), I did consider him.

But, the psychologist I chose had aaaaaaaaaaall this trauma-therapy experience written in her bio (techniques I hadn’t even heard of – and I had high hopes for those treatments, before my psychologist said she wouldn’t even try them out with me, after I’d chosen her and became stuck), so that’s why I picked her, before I knew… I didn’t know she’d take the easy way out and never deviate from some set of ABC tactics that clearly aren’t working for me. I thought I’d really get the chance to work with someone who had all this therapeutical knowledge that I actually hadn’t tried yet (and I’ve tried a Lot of different types of therapy, so her brief resume was impressive to me at that time).

This program is complex. And I have soooooooooo many issues I want to challenge the facilitators/medical professionals on. :’) I’ll get into those points as I go, but probably only in bits and pieces – if I wrote everything right here, right now, it’d be the equivalent of 15 pages of text, at least.

But yeah. I’ve talked to other patients about my psychologist (since a few of us happen to have chosen the same one), and it’s V E R Y difficult to switch out, according to firsthand experience on their part. It’d be about 3 months before they’d even consider it, in all likelihood.

And as I mentioned, there are no other treatment programs for BPD in my area that are covered… and the ones that aren’t covered, well – I haven’t heard good things about them, in addition to not being able to even afford them… we’re talking over $15,000. I don’t have that money at all, but let alone enough spare cash to risk wasting on a program that might be just as terrible, or worse, than this one. : (

Oh!!! And an important note: They’ve threatened to kick me out of the entire program if I dare to see any other mental health professionals who aren’t part of this specific clinic (or if I even try to obtain mental-health related medications from my family doctor). They’ve got me trapped. I know some of the skills I’m learning from other patients, and in Skills Group (DBT) can be helpful. That’s why I haven’t left of my own accord; that’s why I’m forced to play by their awful rules (rules that they just make up along the way too – not the ones that we as patients were warned about beforehand).

Unfortunately, that means I end up having to lie a whole lot. Which isn’t conducive to therapy… I’m just. In a tight spot. :’)

#therapy -#ask to tag -#anons #scotchasks

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thedeadflag · 7 years ago

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Looking For the Magic (Pt 4)

Tentative title for Option B, the magical Witch Fic WIP one-shot I’ve been struggling to finish. I’ll be posting blocks of this with the tags #lookingforthemagic and #witchfic, in case you don’t want a few thousand words muddying up your dash. I think mobile still doesn’t use the ‘read more’ function, so I figure this would be as good a workaround for folks.

Content Warning (for the story as a whole): transphobia, cissexism, physical assault, misogyny, sexual content

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Part 4 under the cut

Anya stood in front of the slightly foggy bathroom mirror, hands on the sink, letting her body cool down a bit to where she could think straight. It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex before, but this was bigger in some ways, and it was the first time she'd had a partner who seemed as into her as she was into them. It was the first time a partner didn't look to expect her to be the so-called 'dominant' one of the two, the 'aggressor', the 'top'.

Not that she couldn't pull it off somewhat convincingly if pushed to, she had in the past, but there had always been a large part of her that wanted to be able to let go completely, and she couldn't do that when she was completely taking care of a partner in a very specific way and performing a role they needed of her. She always had to keep some part of herself hidden away. Usually a major part.

Fact was, yeah, she was a warrior. She was one of the coven's primary weapons, and she'd bash skulls and use her powers to ruin any threat she came across, but when she got back home, she wanted to let go. With her powers, her role in the coven, she always had to be this pillar of strength, and being trans, she had to be bulletproof and fierce to hold her own and keep from bringing about another referendum on her womanhood.

It was tiring. She took care of her coven every day, she protected herself every day. It shouldn't have been too much to ask for someone to want to take care of her, to protect her, even if just sometimes. It shouldn't have been so hard for people to accept that she could be strong in some less traditional ways.

Costia always said being vulnerable, truly vulnerable and open in front of someone, was a show of incredible strength. Maybe it had taken six months of therapy and a being helplessly bedridden for two weeks to bring her around to the idea, but Anya believed it. She wanted to be strong like that for someone, where she wasn't forced to show that vulnerable side of herself, but instead could willingly trust it with another. She wanted to be with someone who could handle that kind of strength from her instead of wanting her to be something she wasn't.

Clarke, as unlikely a candidate as any, seemed up to the task. She seemed to want her for her, no masks, no roles, no fetishistic shit, but Anya just wanted to be sure. Thus, the breather.

"Okay...I can do this. Clarke's apparently always been attracted to me, and was only put off because she thought I leaked her secret. And she's been nice and remorseful since we figured shit out...and I know I've always liked her, except for when she was trying to kill me and when I thought she was transphobic enough to out me. I know there's a risk, but is it wrong of me to want to give this a shot and see what comes of it?" She rambled to herself, taking a few deep breaths before shaking her head. "I hope it's not. I just want this to be okay. She likes me, I like her, and...and she already knows about me, so we're good. We're good. I can at least give this a chance. I deserve a chance at happiness."

Mind made up, Anya grabbed her things and made her way to the bedroom, brow furrowing as the sound of some sort of music met her ears from behind the closed door. Curious, Anya creaked open the door and peeked her head in, being met with the sight of Clarke sitting at the end of the densely towel-covered bed with a pile of pillows at her feet, soft tinkly nature music playing from the old speaker system.

"Clarke, may I come in?" She asked, prompting the woman at hand to shoot up from the bed, posture stiff and nervous.

"Of course, yeah, absolutely, come in!" Clarke let out at a rapid pace, her blushing clear even under the dim, candlelit conditions. "I, uh...I spruced the place up while you were gone."

Anya shot the other blonde a smile, even if it twisted a bit with her confusion as she took in the sight of spare water bottles stacked atop the dresser. "You didn't have to do that, Clarke."

"I wanted to. I know it's really fast, but I like you, and if you want to tone it down and go casual, or go slow, we can do that, too. I just...I wanted to try and make it special. Or as much as I can." Clarke explained, vocal pace slowing there at the end as the woman's gaze fell to the ground.

Anya was almost glad Clarke didn't see the utter shock she displayed at the words. "Special?" She asked, voice dropping to a whisper as she closed the distance to Clarke, enough to reach out and lift the woman's chin with the tips of her fingers. "You wanted to make it special? For me?"

It was unfathomable. Sex had never been very special for her in the past, and now it was her former nemesis taking the initiative to make their time together special. It was both absurd and heartwarming, and had Anya gravitating ever closer to the beautiful blonde before her.

Clarke let out a heavy breath and nodded, eyes still downcast and averted, even after Anya stroked a thumb across her cheek. "I don't understand it all. We go from enemies, to...something else...and my mind's been trying to figure out what you are to me, and every time I make a decision, it keeps telling me I'm wrong, that you're even more important, that I need to be closer. Until now. When I had you in my arms, I just...I knew that's exactly where I'd have to be for us to figure it out together...and I want to figure it out with you. And you deserve better than some quick screw on the couch, Anya."

Astonished, Anya stepped away from Clarke and made her way to the dresser to take in the candles. Some of them were scented, but it was lilac. She liked lilac. "And you think I deserve, what...romance?" She asked, baffled that Clarke jumped through hoops to set a mood for the both of them. It was entirely new territory for her.

"This? Not romance. It's a crude facsimile of it, but it was the best I could do in fifteen minutes with what I could find in the cabin. And the music's not romantic, but it...you know, I'll just go turn it off, actua..." Anya had been mesmerized by the other blonde's rambling up to the point where Clarke started towards the old iPod dock.

Her instincts kicked in quickly. "Clarke!" She yelled out, freezing the other woman in place. Feeling sheepish for yelling and maybe ruining the mood, Anya stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper as she moved up beside the sound system. "Please don't."

"It's just music I use when I paint. I go out and into the woods and nature, and I see so many things, and take pictures and sketches that can't capture it, I need paint. But I can't paint out in the rough, so I come home, and I use this to get back into the feeling, the memories, and...I...I'm sorry it's not more romantic." Clarke finished her rambling with a sigh, head dipping in apparent defeat, contrasting heavily with the adoration blooming in Anya's chest.

"No, don't apologize. Clarke, I love it. It reminds me of simpler times, it's soothing...and it makes you remember your passions." Anya countered, trying to lift the other blonde's spirits, because it really had been a thoughtful touch.

Clarke's head lifted slightly, enough for the woman's sparkling sapphire blue eyes to peer at her through her lashes. "I don't think I'll need to draw on any of my passions if I have you here with me." Clarke murmured, stepping into Anya's space and wrapping arms around her waist. "So what did you have to go get?"

Anya swallowed hard and nodded, shifting back to reality, where everything could potentially fuck up again. "I don't get real wet, or at least it takes time for me to get really wet, so...all the rubbing and friction...it'd start to hurt more than anything soon enough, so I got some lubes. We don't have to use them, we don't have to do anything sexual, we don't..."

"Anya, babe..." Clarke interrupted, lifting a finger to Anya's lips, silencing her. "If you're not ready, that won't change anything for me. We can still be close. We can still figure this out. But if you're ready, then I'm on board. And I'd want you comfortable, and not hurting when we're trying to feel good. I like using lube, too, so it's not a problem for me. Do I need to know anything else?"

She let her eyes slip shut, adding the slightest pressure against Clarke's finger with her lips as she let herself be at ease. Clarke was mindful, and sweet, and showed all the signs that she wanted them both to enjoy each other. That was enough for Anya to push past the last of her major inner defenses.

"I don't stretch all that much. I'm working with a bit more than seven and a half inches of depth. If you're gonna penetrate with something other than your hand...so long as you ease me in, I'm good with most sizes, and if you want it rough anywhere, I'd prefer it be anal, please." Anya spoke once Clarke's finger vacated her lips. She felt a little self-conscious, never having had anyone ask about her sexual boundaries before, even if she usually ended up giving them uninvited. It was reassuring that Clarke took the initiative. "Past that, I really like kissing, my scalp is sensitive in the best of ways, and I'm like a dog...if you play with my stomach, I'll love you forever."

Honestly, she added that last bit in mostly due to nerves and anxiety kicking in, but the way Clarke smiled afterward had Anya feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

"What about you, Clarke? I want to make sure I don't do anything that could hurt you or make you uncomfortable." She added, wanting to make sure Clarke felt included and cared for as well.

Clarke let out a faint "oh", mouth practically a perfect circle before the other blonde gave a nod. "I'm, uh, pretty easy going. Receiving anal's a no-go for me, and my breasts are too sensitive to bite, especially around my nipples. And I need to take my meds before I fall asleep...and if this goes like I think it will, I'll want to fall asleep with you in my arms when we're finished, but I need to take my meds. I put them on the nightstand, I'm set for another dose in two hours, or maybe later if need be. I know they're my responsibility, but if you could help me out?"

"Of course, Clarke." She answered immediately, knowing how important keeping to a schedule was with medication. The last thing she wanted was for Clarke to end up in distress.

"And, uh...I guess maybe Costia saw something like this coming, because I checked under the bed for Lexa's candles, and right beside them was my toy box that I lent her a month ago. Not sure how I feel about them anticipating this, but...maybe it might be interesting?" Clarke asked, teetering her weight from one leg to the next, and back, clearly a bit nervous.

Honestly, outside of some little tricks Indra taught her to make, Anya used toys pretty often. "Can we take a look?"

Clarke ducked her head slightly, blushing hard again. "I...yeah, for sure. Just don't judge me or anything, okay?"

Wanting to try and break whatever anxious haze Clarke was knee-deep in, she took hold of the underside of Clarke's chin and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to her lips, waiting until she could feel the tension release before stepping away and moving to the large box beside the bed.

It was a decent size, and apparently for good reason as she opened it up and took in the sight of Clarke's collection. Wow...ankle spreader, flogger, restraints...someone's into bdsm...ooh, cute paddle with heart indentations... Anya mused to herself before something big and shiny caught her eye.

As soon as she realized what it was, she picked it up to get a better look at it. "Ohhhh my g...okay, so that...that, uh, it's..." Clarke sputtered out, clearly worried about what Anya might think, for whatever reason.

As if it was the first time she'd ever seen a butt plug. "It'll definitely do. The fact that it's capped by a heart-shaped gem is a little precious, but maybe it's a nice break from my more utilitarian set back home." She interjected, allowing herself another moment of studying the cute gem before meeting Clarke's eyes, smiling at the relief there. "Clarke, I'm single. I have been for some time. I told you I like anal. It's not very comfortable using my hands directly for everything, so..."

"Okay, I get it, I'm an idiot." Clarke laughed, lighting her hands in mock surrender.

"Perhaps, but a moderately enchanting one at least." Anya threw the offhanded compliment out as she went to her luggage by the door and hauled it into a free corner, pulling out her lubes. "These should do nicely. The rest can wait for later."

Oddly enough, she didn't startle when Clarke's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, the other woman having approached silently. "So...later on, if I want to use a strap-on..."

Anya let out a low laugh and leaned into Clarke's body a little. "Please, if that's what you want, I'm happy to oblige. And don't be concerned about size, obviously...regardless of your choice, I'll be fine." She answered, holding up the steel plug in hopes of making her point from the circumference of it alone.

"Of course you will. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I'll take good care of you." Clarke murmured, head dipping forward to plant a pair of kisses to the crook of her neck, only further searing those words into her heart, Anya deeply wanting that to be true.

The way Clarke's hands splayed out across her abs, the gentle press of the other blonde's frame into hers, the sweet kisses on her neck, it all had Anya feeling she could trust this.

That just maybe, she could be entirely free with Clarke.

Clarke was riding a bit of a high as she pressed kiss after fluttering kiss to Anya's neck and shoulders, not just to show her affection for the other woman, but to buy time to calm down a bit. Anya had taken a good long look into her little treasure chest and hadn't blinked or flinched. No, Anya just pulled out the way oversized booty-bling butt plug she'd been given as a gag gift by Octavia. And when she'd stammered out nervously, Anya had reassured her.

And that helped, but damn if she wasn't still working on getting her nerves under control. She wasn't quite sure how to handle Anya. On one hand, she'd never seen Anya so shy and soft, but on the other hand, the woman was still very certain with her words, and her body language had Clarke under the impression that the aggressive, powerful Anya was resting right beneath the surface, ready to pop out at any time.

And while that could be exciting, maybe it wasn't what she wanted tonight to be. She'd initiated so much of the pain sent Anya's way. She wanted to be the one to initiate the healing and to earn Anya's trust in recovering their connection.

Still, she had to be careful, and as much as she wanted to go overboard like she so often liked to, Clarke held that part of herself back as she brought her hands to Anya's jeans and unbuttoned them. "You good to get this started?" She asked softly, pressing another kiss to Anya's neck.

"I believe so." Anya mused openly, turning in Clarke's arms while pulling her top off. Clarke watched the woman back away and sit down on the end of the bed, hardly needing a second to pull off her jeans. Two, three seconds later, with Anya stark naked on the bed, Clarke was unashamed about the gay sweats her body was kicking into high gear.

"Goddess help me..." Clarke muttered to herself as she peeled her leggings off and threw her dress over her head and off to the side. Anya's eyes were wider as she refocused on the woman, and took that as a good sign, and maybe a cue to slow it down a wee bit for her partner's benefit, taking her time in reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Clarke rolled her neck and slowly, carefully pulled her bra free, and tossed it behind her as she stepped up to Anya, standing between the woman's legs. "Care to finish the job?"

Anya was peering up at her, breaths coming out a little heavy, cheeks dusted pink, pupils dilated slightly in arousal. Once upon a time, she dreamed of Anya staring up at her, remorseful and apologetic, but this was exponentially better. Anya wanted her, and she sure as hell wanted Anya; it was all she could do to contain her gasp when she felt the brown-eyed beauty hook her thumbs under her panties.

That gasp broke out into the bedroom air when soft lips kissed her belly, Anya using the momentary distraction to slide her underwear down enough for it to drop to the floor.

"Crafty..." Clarke mused, biting back a laugh at Anya's playfulness.

Anya just began crawling backward on the bed towards the headrest. "Couldn't resist. You've got a cute tummy, Clarke Griffin."

"Shut up, I work hard on it. Just because it's not chiseled like..." She started back, only for her words to still at the sight of Anya's hand and half-lidded eyes beckoning her closer.

"You shut up. You're very kissable, Clarke. All over, I promise you." Anya murmured, eyes growing wider, hands gesturing a little more impatiently, even as a smile bloomed across her face. "Coming?"

Clarke laughed and crawled onto the bed, slowly crossing the distance. "You promise? Because this is all pretty new. Did you have a thing for me even back then, in the dark months?"

The dark months. Well, better to refer to it with a name than to just ignore it. "Clarke, I hated a lot of things, but it could never change how beautiful you are. If being around you didn't hurt so much, if your eyes weren't so cold when looking my way, I could have...anyways, I want you, Clarke. All that you'll share with me."

"You'll get me soon enough, Anya. For now, I want to share this..." Clarke noted, taking hold of the butt plug Anya picked out earlier, along with the woman's coconut oil, figuring it'd be better suited for anal than the water-based one. "Shall we begin?"

Clarke's mouth turned into the Sahara as she watched Anya's hips lift up, the woman practically folding in half as her feet rested at the sides of her head. "Ready when you are."

She fumbled a bit with the lube as she fought to get some moisture into her mouth. If grabbing a water bottle wouldn't have made her look foolish, she would have guzzled half of one back already. Clarke had not been prepared for how limber her partner was, not in the goddamn least.

Clarke was just coating the plug with oil when Anya cleared her throat, instantly capturing her attention.

"Clarke, I know I'm no stranger to this, but...please...be gentle." Anya's voiced trailed off to a mumble, but her sheer focus on the woman had her hearing every word as clear as day, leaving her confused as heck.

"I will. It's not like this is your first time, babe. But if that's what you want..." Clarke started, any additional words dying in her throat as she watched Anya's face flicker with something that looked too much like either fear or sadness for her to bear. She barely had the mind enough to cut off the lube supply before it started flooding onto the duvet.

"You promised you'd take care of me, so...it may as well be." Anya clarified after taking an agonizing few seconds to school her features, voice coming out flat and emotionless. No, distanced.

The last thing Clarke wanted was for Anya to feel she had to do that with her.

"Oh, hey, no...no, I didn't mean it like that, I just...Anya, please." She stated, cutting herself short when she realized none of her scatterbrained pleas were even registering.

Clarke set the oil and plug on the nightstand and shifted to the side of her partner, prodding Anya's legs enough for them to flop back onto the bed. She nestled up beside the woman, angling Anya's head until they were face to face. "You always intimidated me. You're so strong, in so many ways, and I honestly came in here thinking we'd be pulling some cheesy fan-fictiony thing with our tongues battling for dominance, and then that'd escalate given our histories, but like...Anya, I made a shit assumption, and that makes me a bit of an ass, but I want this to work. I feel we have something. So please, talk to me."

Anya blinked slowly and let out a quiet huff. "People always expect me to be this powerful, manly 'top'. Sometimes I'm okay enough to do that for them to an extent, if I'm desperate enough for someone to want me I suppose, but I'm never given the option to be anything other than a bunch of fetishistic stereotypes and fantasies. Just barely woman enough to count as one, and more than male enough for them to live their fantasies and shit through me. I just...I want to be free to be me. I want to be seen. People always want the dominant top they fantasize about, for me to essentially be the man they're not comfortable actually being with, so I'm the closest thing they can have and still get off to. I don't want to be some stand in for a cis dude, or the freakish masculine non-woman creature people sometimes think of me as...and it's gotten better since I had surgery, because no one can see me as a walking talking penis anymore, but...they still don't see me any different. I'm not a whole woman to them, not when they treat me like I'm male." Anya explained in heart-wrenching detail, the slightest tremor in her jaw stilling after a clear moment of focus. "They only ever want that. No one ever wants me."

Clarke was astounded with her willpower that she was able to make it through the entirety of Anya's explanation before pulling the woman into a kiss that channelled every ounce of power, every ounce of passion, every last goddamn bit of reassurance she could muster into it. The moment she shifted in position to get better leverage, Anya's legs were sweeping up and locking around her hips, pulling her down as Clarke kissed Anya into the mattress.

It wasn't fair. Even when Anya was her nemesis, she held disdain for those who pigeonholed Anya outside of womanhood, and she loathed anyone who only saw coven members as their roles, as their abilities. Anya was more than a warrior, more than her powerful body, and certainly wasn't the gross fetishistic and transmisogynstic male power fantasy wearing a woman-suit she imagined Anya's past sex partners wanted her to be. She'd be happy to take anyone who could look at Anya and fantasize about her as if she was a cis man, and throw them off a goddamn bridge in the depths of winter.

That didn't mean Clarke knew all the nooks and crannies of what made Anya who she was, at least not completely. No, she'd have to learn the hard way, by putting in the effort, by making Anya comfortable enough to show her. And damn it, she wanted nothing more in that moment.

"Goddess, Anya, I will take care of you if you let me have that honor. All I want is to be close to you, to make you feel good, and to figure out what's between us. You're safe with me." Clarke promised as soon as she pulled away, foreheads touching and noses grazing each other.

At this distance, she could see renewed faith in Anya's eyes, and felt a rush of fulfillment when the woman confirmed them. "I believe you."

Clarke took the plug and oil back in hand and waited for Anya to get back into position. "There we go, beautiful. Gonna take this nice and easy for you." She murmured as she made sure there was a nice coating of lube on the plug, and for good measure slowly pushed a nice-sized glob of it into her. "Ready?"

Anya let out an affirmative hum, and so for only the second time in her life, Clarke Griffin was inserting a butt plug. From personal experience, she knew going in too quick would just hurt, especially with something so big, so she took her time, slowly stretching Anya out minute by minute. One hand eased the plug in and out, a little deeper with each endeavor, while her other hand gently caressed Anya's hips, not wanting to waste any time she could be tactile, intermittently leaning forward to kiss the woman to help keep that connected feeling going.

She watched as Anya stretched more and more, halfway fearing it'd be too much and there'd be damage, but then all of a sudden the rest of it went in, and all that was left was a pretty red heart-shaped gem resting between Anya's ass cheeks.

"Mmmh, that's such a nice weight, holy shit." Anya let out, legs dropping back to her bed so she could roll over onto her stomach. "Oh wow, yeah, I'm gonna like this one."

Clarke was thrilled Anya was enjoying herself so much already, but her eyes were stuck on the sight of Anya's butt and how goddamn ridiculously cute it was. "Baby?" She asked hazily, gaze still fixed on that gleaming red heart peeking out ever so slightly. It took a moment for her brain to catch up enough to freak out, knowing pet names weren't exactly common so early on. Her mind was racing too fast to catch the pleased questioning hum from her partner. "Oh goddess, I...I'm sorry if I offended you, or if it's too fast, or..."

"Clarke." Anya called out firmly, cutting off all other thoughts as she turned her gaze upward, meeting Anya's as the woman peered over her shoulder. "Clarke, I'm here with you. I want you, awkwardness and all. If 'baby' is the only pet name that comes out from you tonight, I'll be all smiles. I honestly prefer it to most others I've been given, considering the circumstances."

"But it's not ideal." Clarke chimed in, catching Anya's drift that the woman was good with it, but it wasn't her top choice.

Anya rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. "All the more preferred ones wouldn't be appropriate, we're not in love. So 'baby' will be just fine, Clarke. I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable with something...trust me to tell you, and trust that I'm good if I don't. Please don't think too hard, I accept you, quirks and all."

Clarke couldn't help but beam at Anya, thrilled at the reassurance and that familiar soft expression. Most of her past partners had balked at showing any vulnerability given her magical affinity, most held trust at arm's reach, but Anya was there offering it freely, without hesitation. Her mind kept assaulting her with a single word: Closer, closer, closer. She let that word reach her hand over to cup Anya's butt as she crawled up over the woman's body, pressing kisses up her spine along the way, cherishing the content hums escaping her partner.

"Let's get you warmed up, baby..."

Thirty minutes.

Anya wasn't entirely sure just how much time had passed since Clarke kissed her way up her back, but it had been at least thirty minutes.

She'd always been a bit of a slow starter, perhaps the fault of her meds, but no one had ever really cared before. No one had ever really made sure she was fully primed and ready to go in the past, for a number of reasons Anya didn't really care to think about. Clarke, though, was more than content to take her time and work Anya up, and it was both novel and reassuring, on top of goddamn sexy, that the other blonde was so patient.

Honestly, Anya felt like she'd halfway ascended, with Clarke nestled up at her side. From the feeling of Clarke gently rocking against her hips, to the hand that worked her nipples to crests of pleasure only to ease off the throttle with some delectable focus on her stomach, to the arm wrapped behind her neck, angling her in for kissing, Anya cherished the slow build up Clarke was working her over with.

And Anya, well, she was all too happy to guide Clarke's hips against her, and let her other hand roam wherever Clarke needed it.

At least, until Clarke's hips bucked a little erratically for the third time in less than a minute. "Clarke..." She spoke as she took in a breath, capturing the other woman's attention quickly. "My thigh, hand, or mouth? Your choice."

Clarke just grinned and pulled herself and Anya up to a seated position. "This is just me getting my engine revving too, babe, so I'll take your thigh for now. Though I could use your mouth somewhere else..."

Anya rolled her eyes and shifted Clarke halfway onto her lap so her partner was straddling her thigh. She was all too happy to oblige, bringing Clarke's right breast into her mouth as she took hold of her lover's hips, caressing and guiding them, feeling dizzy with pleasure.

In the past, it'd all been easy enough, just doing as expected and going by rote memorization on what her partners wanted, but there in that cabin, she was supremely far out of her usual position, her body was thrumming like never before, and she was increasingly intoxicated by every sound that escaped Clarke's body, by every otherworldly movement of her lover. Clarke had always been a passionate woman, but it was as if that passion overtook every fiber of her being, and it left Anya breathless with desire and anticipation.

"Oh goddess, right...right there!" Clarke moaned, arching backward to give Anya a better angle to work with, not that she wouldn't gladly suffer a neck kink to hear those words again. "C-close..."

Anya swirled her tongue around the nipple, letting her teeth graze it before she pulled away. If Clarke was going to climax, she wanted to watch it happen, watch the beautiful blonde unravel. Maybe that was selfish, but she'd make it up to Clarke soon.

"You're so beautiful..." The words escaped without her permission, but she could hardly will herself to care when a blissful smile spread across her lover's lips. Spurred on by the growing molten pit of arousal in her core, Anya reached up a hand to pull Clarke forward, close enough to kiss her, using her other hand to hold her lover by the small of her back. "Let go, darling."

All at once, Clarke's hips jumped up her thigh, Clarke let out a sharp gasp, and those sapphire eyes went wide as she'd ever seen them. Clarke's lips were on her before she could react, the woman's hips furiously grinding away at her as Clarke poured herself into Anya. She was all too happy to swallow her moans, to hold Clarke almost close enough for them to fuse; there was a fullness growing inside of her, warming her and rendering her nerves more and more electric the closer she grew to Clarke.

She'd never felt so naked and vulnerable in her life being used as an instrument of desire, but every press of lips, every stroke of her cheek, every hand that ran through her hair and pulled her close, it all told her that Clarke was the reason for it, that Clarke saw her, knew her.

That she was safe, in that moment, as Clarke's head fell back, a sharp cry escaping her mouth as her hips jolted against Anya. The climax rolled through her lover head to toe, all seizing muscles and soft cries as Anya held her close and slowly worked her through it.

It was a nurturing feeling, if Anya were to be honest, holding Clarke and aiding her through the orgasm, murmuring sweet words into her lover's ear, combing a hand through her hair, fluttering kisses against her face.

Sex had never felt like that before. Leading a partner to orgasm had never felt like that before. Her heart had never felt as full as when she felt Clarke in her arms, falling into climax and trusting her to hold her together. Her soul had never felt so light at the feeling of Clarke clinging to her like a lifeline, Anya's name the only word leaving her lover's lips for that brief minute or two.

If this was just a precursor, as Clarke asserted earlier, then Anya was entirely unprepared, but willing to have her mind blown, because if it meant more of these feelings, more closeness with Clarke, more delightful sounds and sensual touches, then she wasn't sure she'd ever leave the bed again.

"I'd almost feel...embarrassed that a...single goddamn word from you...could make me come, but..." Clarke spoke as she worked to catch her breath, Anya more than a little confused over what the beautiful blonde was going on about, but more than happy to give her time to speak her mind. "...but I swear, baby...I just really want you to call me that again. I don't care what it takes."

Anya leaned back enough to meet Clarke's gaze, trying to decipher the meaning of the woman's words. "You don't have to beg for anything with me, Clarke, but what word are...wait...'darling'?"

She watched Clarke visibly melt as the word filled the air, and knew that she couldn't deny it to her lover if she tried. "Definitely that one."

"Then it's yours, Clarke. And..." Anya started, only to remember the other thing she'd brought in her luggage that she'd considered bringing out if all went well. And despite it all being mostly foreplay so far, Anya was certain that it was right to offer her lover another option. "...and I have something for you."

Anya went to get up, but Clarke promptly threw her body weight at Anya and held her flat down on the mattress. "Easy there. I don't want you leaving this bed 'til you're satisfied. You got my motor purring, I can get whatever you need me to get."

With an amused roll of her eyes, she pointed to her luggage. "Wooden box in my luggage. Can you bring it to me?"

Clarke leaned down, meeting her in a languid kiss that had her heart soaring before her lover was rolling off the bed and striding to her luggage. Clarke didn't need long to recover it, plopping down beside her a few seconds later. "What's in it?" Her lover asked, looking at the featureless box for some way to open it.

Anya took hold of it and pressed a hidden spot on the box, unlocking it and cracking open the lid. She pulled out both items inside, the clear glass flask full of a translucent liquid, and the larger leather bag. "I was taught how to make this some time ago. I don't use it very often, but it can be wonderful. I want to share it with you."

Clarke looked over the two objects as Anya set the box on the floor at the end of the bed. "What is it?" The woman asked, tugging on Anya's arm until she clambered up onto Clarke's lap.

"The liquid in the flask was made with transmutation magic." Anya started, Clarke's attention immediately shifting away from the flask and to her eyes; that form was rare, so it was understandable that Clarke was intrigued. "Essentially, it's a very minor spell, which is why I can manage it despite not having an affinity. I suppose my abilities are close enough in alignment for me to be capable. But anyways, it alters the nerves of whatever it touches."

"How so? Like does it..." Clarke started, before her eyes grew wide as saucers. "No way."

Anya just laughed, lightly bonking her forehead against Clarke's and leaving it there. "Maybe this is heavy, but I've never felt like this before, Clarke. I've never felt so cared for in this sort of thing, and...all I know is that every bit of pleasure I feel, I'd like you to feel it with me. This can help with that...but only if you want to use it. I won't ask you to, or demand you to, or anything...I'm just offering."

"Baby, at this point, I think I'd wait as long as I had to for you, so if you think this could make us feel closer, and that's what I want...and that's what you want...then of course I will. You're kinda the best, okay?" Clarke asked rhetorically, but Anya couldn't quite manage to contain her scoff.

Clarke immediately pulled her into a kiss that had her feeling weightless and had those resurfaced insecurities running for cover, loving the way Clarke's nose nuzzled against her own ever so slightly as she pulled away to approach at another angle, adoring how the pads of Clarke's fingertips would gently trail down the curve of her jaw like she was drinking her in.

"Nothing but sweet sounds and confidence, okay? You're not the only one in uncharted waters, Anya. I haven't felt comfortable being in a relationship for a long time...it's all just been one night flings, and I just...I don't get that feeling here with you." Clarke stated, eyebrows rising as if to challenge her to deny that claim.

"This doesn't feel like a one night stand. This feels...more." Anya admitted with a hard swallow, finding some confidence in the way Clarke's smile just beamed up at her.

"Then believe me when I say you're the best I've had already. I've never felt this close to someone, and goddess, at the same time I just feel like there's so much more ground to cover between us, and I want us to cross it together." Clarke said, voice shaking ever so slightly as she took Anya's hand and placed it over her heart. Anya could feel the organ thrumming wildly in Clarke's ribcage. "I'm so excited, and scared, and over the moon happy, and I'm so ready for this as long as you're here to hold my hand."

Anya leaned close and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lover's lips, lingering there as she stroked a hand down Clarke's blushing cheek, and took Clarke's right hand with her other. "I am. I will."

"Then why don't you show me how to work this?"

As much as Clarke loved Anya's laughter, she couldn't help but keep her focus on her hand, marveling at the sensation even as she blushed from the sound that left her lips a mere few seconds ago.

"The look on your face is priceless, Clarke!" Anya added between laughs, and she honestly imagined it was, because there truly was nothing like feeling a jolt of arousal from rubbing your thumb and fingertips together.

It was one thing to imagine what it might be like, but an entirely different magnitude to feel it for real. "This is so weird. So...what did you use this for, again?"

"Mostly to ramp up quicker than usual. It can take me over half an hour to get going, normally, but with this, that time's cut down by a decent chunk. I'll put some on a finger or two, dip them in melted chocolate or maybe icing, and get to licking. But it can be nice if I'm fingering myself, too." Anya explained as she laid herself back on the bed, tugging Clarke to straddle her. This substance of hers opened the door to so many possibilities, a mass of them flooding Clarke's mind over how to use something like that.

Maybe it was a little egregious as far as a sex aid, but it did seem handy. Pun absolutely intended.

"Mmmmmn, and if I'm giving you a hand job?" Clarke asked, bringing their knit hands to her lips as she held Anya's mirthful gaze.

"Never experienced it. But I promise, you'll know how it feels when I do." Anya answered with a broad grin, bringing her leg up and using her heel to pull Clarke atop her, skin on skin. "And honestly? I've got a good feeling about it."

Clarke laughed and dipped down for a quick kiss, loving the way that Anya wrapped around her however she could. For such a fearsome warrior, she was damn adorable. "Don't let go?" She murmured as she pulled away. The tremendous warmth in Anya's eyes had her knowing her lover wouldn't fail her.

She took a deep breath, excited to get this started and to keep growing this thing between them. Carefully, she shifted to Anya's side, pressing fleeting kisses to her partner's jaw as she reached down, gave a quick glance to check her instincts, and then let her forefinger and middle finger slowly glide up Anya's slick folds.

By the time she'd neared the clitoris and rendered it exposed, Clarke was breathless, body buzzing and stunned from the sensation. Certainly a bit more sensitive than rubbing her fingers together, she'd have to get used to it. "Oh my goddess, babe..."

"Is it too much?" Anya asked, sounding worried. As if there was anything to worry about.

"Nah, not at all, just unexpected. Between this thing, and getting to feel you for the first time, I...I'm really excited, and I just need a moment." Clarke answered swiftly and with as much assurance as she could channel into her voice.

That seemed to be enough, tension leaving Anya's body. "Take your time, darling, I'm not going anywhere."

The use of the d-word only compelled Clarke to rub her thumb just around the edge of Anya's clit, cheering internally at the sight and feel of Anya's hips arching into her touch. "Maybe you're not going anywhere, but I'd really like you to come with me."

Anya's head fell back with a dull thump against the mattress, another glorious laugh escaping her lover. "That's so fucking cheesy!"

"Don't lie, you like it." Clarke shot back with a grin, giving Anya's core one more quick swipe as she gathered as much oxygen as she could. Just the sensitivity of her fingers on Anya's vulva was doing a number on her, ratcheting her arousal up notch by notch with each touch. Something told her she wouldn't be too pleased with her stamina over the next little while.

Hopefully Anya wouldn't be too embarrassed for her.

Clarke reached for the lube, applying a bit to her fingers in prep of what she knew would be an entirely new experience for her. Let it never be said Clarke Griffin was a coward.

"Clarke..." Anya's voice brought her attention to her lover, the sheer reverence making her heart tremble in her chest from the pure heat the word had cascading through her body. "I trust you."

Teeth firmly pressing against her lower lip, Clarke gave Anya a small nod and decided to go for it, plunging two fingers into Anya.

Clarke gasped alongside her lover, arching a little from the feeling of Anya's walls around her digits. For a brief moment, being engulfed in Anya, feeling very intimately and intensely every single muscle spasm against her fingers, even the hardness of the nearby butt plug, took her focus.

But just for a moment.

Clarke caught her breath, adjusted to expectations, and pulled out slowly, recalling Anya preferred a more sensual approach up front, and she was all too happy to employ that. Just feeling Anya wrap around her had Clarke wanting to be closer, as close as she could get. It was only made more fortunate, knowing that if the sensations from her hand kept up then she wouldn't be able to be upright; resting against Anya while she pleasured her was best for the both of them, and would give Anya plenty of access to her.

Clarke set a languid, steady pace, working her fingers at Anya's upper wall as her thumb rolled at the edge of her lover's clit, getting close enough to build her up, but not so much to jolt Anya towards an unexpectedly quick orgasm. She wanted to take her time, pulling Anya into a quick kiss before trailing her mouth across her jaw and down her neck, kissing and nipping and licking her way to Anya's pulse point.

Maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was that rare territorial side of herself coming out to play, maybe it was how the overwhelming pleasure from each thrust of her hand was slowly sending her into a blissful haze. Whatever the reason, some signals in her brain must have crossed because after nipping a delightful spot on Anya's neck and hearing her let out a delighted mewl, Clarke found her lips latching onto her neck and sucking for all she was worth.

The last time she'd given someone a hickey was in high school, so she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks as she hastily pulled away, words already at the tip of her tongue as her brain worked at formulating some apology. But then a hand was pressing at the back of her skull, pushing her face back into Anya's neck, a throaty whine rumbling out of her lover.

"Please...darling..." Anya spoke in gasps, her lover's hand shakily and slowly combing through her hair, adding enough pressure to let Clarke know she was wanted there, not that the words alone didn't immediately have her heart racing and body buzzing.

Clarke dipped forward the half inch to press a kiss at the base of Anya's neck, letting her lips linger as she soaked in how Anya's legs gripped her tightly. She could feel a minor tremor of pleasure run through Anya's body from her neck all the way to her toes. "Tell me what you need, baby..." She murmured, slowing the pace of her thrusts enough so that she could be sure to recognize an answer past the heady pleasure buzz and the sensation of her arousal dripping onto the toweled bed.

"More of that...more...and faster, just...mmmnh...just a bit, please..." Anya laboured, stirring those long dormant and contained urges she'd always done well to hold in check.

Quickening the pace of her thrusts was easy enough, having mostly adjusted to the feeling of Anya's magic serum. She didn't have to keep herself from a premature climax anymore, at the very least, even if she was closing in on that ledge little by little. But indulging in something she'd warded herself off of had her feeling both enticed and cautious.

"Anya...pretty sure you can't magic away a hickey." Clarke noted hesitantly, applying just enough pressure to get Anya to release the hold on her head. She needed to look Anya in the eyes for this; even if it wasn't a big thing for most, she had a hard time stopping that particular sort of instinct once she'd gained enough headway. "Baby, I just don't want to do anything you'll regret later."

Her lover immediately reached down and stilled the hand between her thighs, and if Anya didn't already have her complete attention, she certainly had it now. "I'm not ashamed of this, Clarke."

Clarke let out a huff, anxiously trying to find the right words to describe her predicament, and mostly failing at her attempts. "It's...I mean...I know you're not, it's...well, a lot of people don't like them. And I mean....I'd be marking you. And I haven't done that in forever, because...well, once I start, I have a hard time stopping, and I don't want to freak you out with all the possessive junk that comes with it, and I'm just..."

Honestly, there were at least another hundred words left in her rambling, but feeling Anya take hold of the hand that Clarke had buried between her thighs, and slowly lift it out and up, up, all the way to her lips, a breath away from Anya's mouth? That killed all those leftover words, and she doubted she'd mourn their passing.

"Darling, hush. You're over-thinking this..." Anya started, eyebrow cocking at the tiny scoff that escaped her over the assertion. "I'm serious. What, do you think I'd balk at the notion of you getting possessive over me?"

Clarke shrugged, not quite having revived her vocabulary yet. "Most people get freaked out, given my affinity and all. Last one really didn't like it, and practically threw me out."

"And I'm not that person. You need to stop second-guessing yourself, stop presuming you know what I want better than I do. Just listen to me, Clarke...I'll always let you know what I like and what I don't. And if you're comfortable being...well, possessive...with me tonight, then let's see where that goes. It's not a hard or soft limit for me." Anya clarified, the amused crinkling of her eyes just barely warning Clarke in time as Anya's soft tongue blazed a trail up her hand, sending an intense ripple of pleasure down her spine.

She was already soaked, but she could feel a fresh rush of arousal, both from the lick and the notion of Anya accepting her, not to mention the vulnerability involved. Still, she waited until she caught her breath again to make one final argument, to make sure Anya knew where she was coming from.

"I just...I guess you've been treated like an object by other partners, and I wouldn't want to do the same to you. You deserve better. You're a person. You're not something I can, you know, have or claim for myself." Clarke said, eyes half-lidded and head feeling hazy as Anya took one of her digits into her mouth, tongue swirling around it. "Goddess, if you keep doing that, I won't last long, baby."

"I don't care how long you last. One, two, twenty orgasms...whatever we feel like. I just want to spend the night with you, I want us to enjoy ourselves. So...if it makes it easier for you...as far as I'm concerned, I'm yours tonight. And you're mine. Doesn't mean you own me...just means I'm sharing myself with you. I trust you to take good care of me, darling." Anya spoke, flicking her gaze between Clarke's hand and her eyes, before settling on the latter. "And if you want to suck at my neck, if you want to say I'm yours, or any of that...I'm good with it. I'm not scared, I trust you."

Clarke gulped, heart hammering in her chest, yearning to break out and find Anya's. Ever since her affinity had been made known, everyone she'd dated had been wary and generally unwilling to be vulnerable with her. Even if she'd insist that she could only control people after casting, most still suspected that she could influence and manipulate thoughts and emotions on a more subtle level, so it was rare for anyone to be really open with her. It was why she adored her friendships with Lexa and Costia, who did trust her.

So Anya willingly opening up to her and trusting her? Wanting to share herself, even after everything they'd been through, even after experiencing firsthand what Clarke was capable of? It had her breathless and yearning to just hold onto this magnificently strong woman. Everything in her soul was screaming at her to make love to Anya, to take her to such heights where Clarke's name would be the only intelligible sound spilling from her lips, to pepper kisses across her blushing face as she came down from her final climax, to wrap her up in the afterglow and maybe carry Anya to the shower if her lover needed or requested it.

And maybe that was getting ahead of herself, but it wasn't bad to have some goals at the ready for the rest of their night.

"Then let's get back to making this a night to remember, baby."

#witchfic #lookingforthemagic #clanya #clanya fanfiction

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protego-et-servio · 8 years ago

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The short answer: No. Absolutely not. Precedence and evidence has shown us Trump is not, and will not, be a good president. People who say that he has the potential to be have their head so far in the sand, their intestinal tract is filled with dirt.

But let’s go into details. (Though Trump doesn’t have to jump through hoops to prove his qualifications, his dissenters have to pull out receipts just to be taken seriously.)

Let’s Look At The Man Himself

No, not physically look at him. Let’s look at his actions. (A lot of these will be touched upon later on.)

He is racist. As if wanting to build a wall on the US-Mexico border and put all Muslims in concentration camps wasn’t an obvious indicator of this point, there’s tons of other examples. He’s racist against black people, against Native Americans, against Latinx, against Jewish people, against Asians. Not only that, but racists feel empowered with Trump in office.

He is homophobic. He wants to repeal the Marriage Equality act and he has one of the worst anti-LGBTQ+ advocates as his vice president. He removed LGBT rights from the White House website.

He is ableist. Don’t we remember how he made fun of a disabled man? The fact he wants the Affordable Care Act dismantled – though his back-up plan is still not released – will result is so much suffering in death of the disabled.

He is misogynistic and violent toward women. He’s grabbed women without their consent, criticized women on their looks, and even said he’d date his own daughter. Ugh… (More on this point later, though.)

And he is a opportunistic liar. He says what people want to hear in the here and now. It doesn’t matter what he said two days ago, all that matters is he has your attention and your admiration in that moment. He. Is. A. Liar.

The Company He Keeps

Let’s look at some of the people he has appointed to positions of power.

Mike Pence – Vice-President. This guy is an utter shitstain. Anti-LGBT and pro-conversion therapy (aka torture.) Climate change skeptic. Used political donations in 1990 for his own personal finances. Once described himself as “Christian, conservative, republican – in that order.”

Steve Bannon – this guy is an advisor to Trump. On top of all that, he’s also a Nazi (though hides behind the term ‘alt-right’) with an anti-Semitic website.

Betsy DeVos – appointed to head the Department of Education. Sister to Erik Prince, a literal ex-mercenary and Trump campaign adviser. Donated billions to his campaign. Anti-LGBTQ+. Has no clue how she’d handle the position.

Jeff Sessions – appointed to Attorney General, who heads the DOJ. Known for racist remarks against black people. Deemed too racist to be a federal judge in 1986.

Mike Pompeo – selected as director of the CIA. This guy is Islamophobic, pro-government surveillance (hello 1984,) pro-torture and doesn’t like women having the right to choose.

Rex Tillerson – selected for secretary of state. A CEO of ExxonMobil who has ties to Russia. While being CEO of ExxonMobil, it shouldn’t be a surprise Exxon is at fault for multiple oil spills, yet a big advocate against climate change.

Scott Pruitt – Environmental Protection Agency nomination. Climate change skeptic and ally to fossil fuels.

Suffice it to say, Trump has picked ignorant, awful, or just plain bad people for these positions. Plus there’s a dash of nepotism in there. But, hey, what do you expect from a guy who was trying to get security clearance for his kids?

Cut Off From the World

Let’s not forget the fact he just axed all ambassadors the day he got inaugurated. Which could leave 80 foreign policy ties hanging in a state of limbo for months.

These Issues Don’t Make Him Or His Colleagues Money

Not even a full 24 hours after his nomination, certain issues were removed from the White House website. LGBT Rights, Civil Rights, Heath Care, and Climate Change. Now, plenty of people argue that a prior president’s pages are moved to archives so a new president can place their issues in their own words. Bullshit on Trump, though. His team has had months to write up something for those issues. It also doesn’t bode well, since the Department of Labor removed the “advancement of LGBT rights in the workplace” from their website, as well.

Yet, oh boy, we can sure check out Melania’s jewelry line. (Conflict of interest? Nepotism?)

Grab Them By The P*ssy

Remember the legal troubles Trump got into during his campaign? I’m not talking about Trump University, though the fraud does deserve note.

I’m talking about the sexual assault and rape allegations pitted against him. One of the cases alleges Trump raped a woman, when she was 13-years-old, in 1994. There’s various women taking him to court for sexual assault, right now.

His overall list of sexual assault and misogyny is much, much longer.

That’s not all for his foray into misogyny, though. Trump wants to cut funding for Violence Against Women programs.

According to the Department of Justice website, those grants funnel money to programs “designed to develop the nation’s capacity to reduce domestic violence, dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking by strengthening services to victims and holding offenders accountable.”

So, he’s going to make it harder for victims to get help and make it easier for offenders – who share so many qualities with him – to grab people by their privates (and worse) without consent.

The man is utterly disgusting.

One Person Does Not Equal One Vote

The CIA and FBI agree: Russia helped Trump get in the White House. Trump benefited from conservative gerrymandering of the lines, along with another troubling fact. This was the first election where the Equal Voting Rights Act wasn’t in full effect since it was enacted.

Regardless, we know Hillary won the popular vote by 2.8 million votes. That means 2.8 million more people wanted her, rather than Trump. The only other time when the electoral loser won the popular vote was in the Gore v. Bush election. Gore only won by 500,000 votes, though. 2.8 million is a huge anomaly and the fact Clinton “technically” lost is a travesty of democracy.

Censorship: A Fascist’s Best Friend

Trump is a huge proponent of curtailing criticism against him, also known as censorship! Which is common in fascism.

This is terrifying, just an FYI. Trump banned the National Parks Service from tweeting after it posted a picture comparing the size of Obama’s inauguration crowd compared to Trump’s crowd size. (Obama’s was bigger; it hurt Trump’s ego.)

The National Parks Service had to issue an apology when their “tweeting privilege” became reinstated.

Overall

He is in no way qualified to be President of the United States. He has multiple failed businesses. (I know you “but he’s a great businessman” apologists want to pull that out of your bungholes.) He’s a self-admitted sexual offender. He’s a puppet for Russia. He. Is. Not. Qualified.

Yeah, it’d be great if he turned out to be a great president, but we cannot ignore precedent and his sustained actions.

Past evidence has shown us he is misogynistic, hateful, bigoted, racist, xenophobic, a liar, an oppressor, ableist, a sexual assaulter, and lacks any decorum. And he aligns himself with people who are just as bad, if not worse.

Do not stick your head in the sand over any of this, because your wishful thinking and “ignorance is bliss” attitude will get marginalized groups killed.

If you’ve ever sat through a history class, listening to the horrors of genocides and slavery and lynchings; if you’ve ever thought “I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history,” now is the time to take a stand. Now is the time to be politically aware, to know what is going on in your government. Now, is the time to be critical.

Otherwise, you’re obstinately ignoring the terror that’s descending on marginalized groups and our nation, as a whole. You’re the people who enable oppressors to maim, hurt, and kill the oppressed with your determined ignorance. You’re quietly allowing the wrong side of history to remain in power.

If you remain silent and willfully oblivious, you are on the wrong side of history.

#donald trump #politics #usa #united states #I got really tired of hearing this statement

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cynthiajayusa · 7 years ago

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Kelly Clarkson Talks Artistic Liberation, Confronting Anti-LGBT Parents

During her 15-year career as your friendly pop spirit-lifter, Kelly Clarkson has prescribed a cheap alternative to therapy: anthemic pick-me-ups like “Since U Been Gone” and “People Like Us,” songs that impel a transcendental, fist-raised state.

Late-night Facebook Live sessions are also her thing, and recently, the American Idol alum geeked out like she’d just won “Idol” all over again about her soulful rebirth, Meaning of Life, released on her new label, Atlantic Records. It was just Clarkson chillin’ on the couch with a glass of red wine that was much deserved, considering the artistic sacrifices she had to make post-“Idol,” when she felt creatively stagnate as a Top 40 machine for RCA Records. But aside from a fat glass of red, Clarkson has other strong urges too.

Due, in part, to her simply being so damn cool, Clarkson – who drowned the world in their own tears right along with her own as she was crowned the inaugural “Idol” winner in 2002 – tells me she feels so compelled to stick up for her LGBT besties she literally wants to go door-to-door and talk some sense into her friends’ homophobic parents.

Because her friends ask her not to, she doesn’t. But here, with the ever-outspoken and now-artistically-liberated Clarkson leaving almost no opinion unturned, the Texas native makes that point loud and clear. Before getting back to being a mom to River Rose, 3, and Remington Alexander, 1, as well as husband Brandon Blackstock’s kids Seth and Savannah from a previous relationship, Clarkson spoke like one. Even her simple “diva” request – a “pretty dress to sing in” – is enough to make you wish you were on that couch with her and a bottle of Pinot.

Mariah, P!NK, Kesha – so many female artists have gone through the creative struggles you have.

Oh, every artist. It’s so not unique in any way.

How good does it feel to finally be yourself artistically?

It just feels freeing to make an entire project and, in its entirety, I’m 100 percent excited about it. There wasn’t any compromise. It’s how I feel the creative industry should feel. There’s nothing like working on something you’re so proud of.

Please tell me you at least got a little sloppy at a gay club to celebrate the end of your contract with RCA.

(Laughs) Brother, I got four kids and a career, I ain’t got time to go to clubs! I’m rockin’ a 1-, 3-, 10- and 16 year-old, man. You know what club I go to? The club of playing board games with my family…which, actually, I love.

Plus, you have your farm just outside Nashville. You’ve got chickens to raise!

We’ve got our chickens, our honeybees, and our orchard. We love our farm.

Have you sent RCA Records head Clive Davis a copy of the album?

(Laughs) Be like, “This is what I was wanting to do this whole time!” Yeah, no. (Laughs) You know what’s so sad: I was so excited to work with him. You have no idea. He worked with so many of my favorites: Janis (Joplin), and he worked with Bruce Springsteen way back in the day. All these artists who were very innovative in their time, and I was so excited. That’s been one of the saddest points for me in this industry – just figuring out that someone I really look up to just was not what they seemed. That was a pretty big blow. I was pretty sad about that. Like, we don’t always need to meet our heroes.

In some ways, your story of artistic suppression is relatable to the LGBT community. As an ally, do you recognize that affinity?

Talking with my gay or lesbian friends over the years, I can’t imagine. I’ve always said I can’t imagine not being able to be myself in and out. And, yes, while I can relate a bit musically to feeling like you’re going over massive hurdles to try and get to a compromise that you’re happy with, that’s nothing in comparison to hearing my friends talk about (being gay), especially in the South where I grew up, and then the faith thing comes into play.

I had one friend wait, and this is the saddest thing ever: I don’t think she ever felt comfortable in her skin because her parents were older. So, they passed away and then she finally felt free. I thought, “What a horrible feeling to have to wait until people aren’t around to be yourself.” I could never ever relate to that. I feel horrible that anybody has to go through that. It’s almost like when people ask me about other artists who have all these shticks about them and I’m like, “Oh God that would weigh on me if I had to keep that up, if I had to keep doing shit to make everyone happy.”

Walking onto the stage in, like, a pretty dress to sing, that’s really the extent of my diva, or just my experience on the stage. I’ve always just been very simple. Even in situations, musically, where I really had to fight or jump through hoops, I still was able to be myself, which I think people didn’t like because I was very open. But I have to do that. I have to express myself. Literally, I would go in such a downward spiral of depression if I weren’t able to, and that’s why, honestly, a lot of friends, especially who are gay and lesbian, felt that way. I pray to God my children never have to feel that, that people around me don’t have to feel that. I always hope that I’m always the one person going, “If they’re upset about it, screw it. It’s your life. You can’t “not” be you. You can’t suffer just because you’re trying to make somebody else happy. That’s not a life.”

That sounds exactly like something Kelly Clarkson would say. And I wonder, as someone who has this large, far-reaching platform, what does it mean to you to be an LGBT ally, and when did you know you had the power to be one?

I always laugh at the concept that people are like, “We just love what you say; that’s why we love you,” and I’m like, “Why is everyone not like that?” That’s what boggles my mind. Why would you not say what you want to say?

(In our last interview you) asked me if my daughter or son, or any of the four, ended up being gay, how would I take that, and I’d be like, “Awesome!” Honestly, in a world that is so hateful sometimes, I don’t care where my kids find love. Hopefully with a loving and respectful and kind person, but I don’t care if they’re a boy or a girl. It just doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me.

I do want my children to fall in love with people who are loving, but I feel like our priorities are silly-ass backwards. Like, I want to go to my friends’ parents who just don’t want to talk about it. They know, but are like, “We just can’t talk about it,” which is so demeaning to their (children’s) existence. And I want to knock on their door – I don’t, because (my friends) ask me not to (laughs) – and be like, “Do you know you’re missing out on an exceptional human because you can’t get past your own ignorance? It’s just silly to me that you want to miss out.” I want to tell them, “I didn’t have a dad and it had nothing to do with me being gay – it had to do with, he was a shitty guy. And you have the opportunity now to not be that parent and embrace your child. That’s your DNA. You love your children. What’s wrong with you?” It just makes me so mad, more so than anything.

This past June, you helped two gay fans get engaged during one of your meet-and-greets.

Oh my gosh, it was exciting. But I was nervous! Like, what if he was gonna say no?! (Laughs)

How would you live that down?

Literally, before I was like, “Wait. I do not want to be put in this situation where this guy might say no. Are you sure he’s gonna say yes?” And he goes, “Well, I hope so!” He was nervous. I probably didn’t help any. (Laughs)

Do you hope gay couples just start routinely getting engaged in front of you?

I was like, “I need to get ordained!”

For the sake of gay couples everywhere, why are you not?

I don’t know if that would be authenticated! I don’t know if people would question that! One of our friends – my husband also manages Blake Shelton – was like, “I wanna marry y’all” and I was like, “I want it to be, like, credible. You don’t actually have a following, or a church!

I have a feeling people would go to the Church of KC.

Oh, Lord, that would be a funny church.

So, as much as I love talking about music, it’s hard not to acknowledge the screwy state of the world during interviews these days.

Yeah, everything is obviously impacted by it.

How are you? I know you’ve always stood up for what you believe in, but in this politically divisive climate, do you feel an even greater responsibility to stand up for the things that are important to you?

The hard thing for me, specifically: I always hate when people bring up, “Oh, you’re a celebrity, you shouldn’t have an opinion.” The hard thing in that for me is, I’m not just that. I’m a mother, I’m a daughter, I’m a woman. And it took a long time and a lot of women to pioneer that way for me, to even have a voice. So, for me to not use that is so disrespectful to those before me who worked so hard for it. For me to not take advantage of that seems like a cruel irony.

Why would I not voice my opinion as a mother? Why can’t I say this is a really hard time to have a 10- and 16-year-old, guys? Because I don’t know what to tell them when they hear certain things on TV. They’re smart enough to know what’s going on. I can’t hide them from that. So, it’s a very hard time to explain things away. It’s a very hard time to have the discussion about any kind of bigotry or racism or elitism. It’s a very hard time because a lot of things are happening that are making crazy, insane, irrational moments normal, and it’s a very hard time to raise kids in that environment. Forget me even being a celebrity. As a mother – just as a mother – it’s a very hard time.

I’m glad, at least, that everything is all coming to the forefront because it’s now pointing out – like, I had no idea we had white supremacists. I have never come across people like that. Not even as a child in a small town in the South, and even then, that town has blossomed and they’re more progressive now.

It’s 2017 – why are we still having these conversations? But we’re having them because they do exist, and it’s insane. It’s insane that somebody just doesn’t go, “Oh, I’m sorry, but yeah, we don’t want that here. You should go somewhere else. This is a country of many cultures, many faiths, and open-mindedness. That is why people came here.” It’s amazing to me that we just don’t have grown-ass men and women in the public eye of politics going, “Absolutely not. I’m not even having this conversation because that’s not even OK. There’s no way to validate what just happened.”

Reflecting on all your work for RCA: Which album are you most and least proud of?

The album I’m most proud of in that whole section is the Christmas album (2013’s Wrapped in Red), and that’s just because it was 100 percent me. It was Christmas and it was OK for me to make decisions (laughs). They let (producer) Greg (Kurstin) and I do whatever we wanted, so it was a lot easier to accomplish my goal with that album.

My least favorite? Man, I mean, maybe my least favorite was my first one (2003’s Thankful). I just say that because of the experience. I was very young and very excited about making a record. It was my first time doing all of that, and it was also my first time realizing, “This is gonna be really hard because there are so many cooks in the kitchen and they don’t care that you’re not allowed to be one.” It was my first experience in the industry going, “Oh, wait, this isn’t what I thought it was gonna be like.” So my ignorance led to that and me being young and excited, I guess. Not that I don’t love the album – it’s just that I didn’t love finding that out.

Do you ever get tired of singing your first single, 2002’s “A Moment Like This”?

I never sing it! Because the song wasn’t meant for me – it was meant for the winner. I never would’ve been like, “This is a great record” (laughs). I get the moment it was for. That was the perfect song for that moment. I totally address that, but that song doesn’t fit in my tour setlist.

It still takes me back every time I hear it.

Totally. The nostalgia. For me too. It was a beautiful moment. I’m very thankful and blessed for it. But it wasn’t a song that was meant for me. They just wrote it for whomever was gonna win, so that doesn’t make me feel special. (Laughs)

With Meaning of Life, your hair on the album cover is giving me some serious Mariah vibes.

That Drew Barrymore-to-the-side-’90s vibe, yeah – it’s completely calculated. (Laughs) I literally was like, “I want the hair for this album to be talking to God.” It fits with the record. It’s so sassy and confident and diva in the best sense, and so I really wanted that ’90s hair. All my inspiration photos were of ’90s hair. Whether it’s the artwork or the music, everything on this album is influenced by the ’90s, which was my favorite time in music.

From “Since U Been Gone” on through “People Like Us” and “I Have a Dream,” your anthems have been empowering to LGBT people. What song on this album do you hope becomes the next big gay anthem?

It’s always my gay boys who come up and go, “Oh my god, I love ‘Whole Lotta Woman.’” And it’s so funny, because I’m like, that is so ironic and amazing! (Laughs)

Based solely on the track’s name, not even the fact that it’s a celebratory anthem, you can’t possibly be that surprised.

(Laughs) Honestly, I didn’t think about it! But then we performed it impromptu at the “Today” show just for the audience there in New York – not for the televised show, just for the audience – and it was so funny because all the gay boys were dancing more than anyone, even more than the women! It was so fun. It’s such a fun audience that just loves sass and confidence, and I just love being surrounded by an audience with that kind of energy.

That song definitely shut downs, once and for all, your social-media shamers. What advice do you have for LGBT people who experience the bullying that you’ve experienced?

We have a 16-year-old girl and a grown-ass woman was being horrible to her. She was just being hateful and passive-aggressive online and I had to be real with (my daughter). I said, “This is gonna happen so often, so this would be a good time to learn to take the high road. Block them or whatever you want to do to not see it, if you don’t want to see it.”

Bullying is gonna happen, so we tell our kids, “That’s gonna happen. I can’t protect you from that. There’s nothing we can do about that. There are no bullying cops.” It’s an epidemic that’s horrible and it needs to be addressed, but at the same time, when you have kids coming to you, I just have to teach her to rise above it.

It’s one of those things I always describe to fans, too, in meet-and-greets because they always ask, “How are you so confident?” It’s because, at the end of the day, I really don’t care about anyone’s opinion but mine and the people I know who love me and really do want the best for me. You can’t base your entire existence and every decision off how people are gonna feel about it. That’s a giant check list; there’s a lot of us. (Laughs) So, just be happy with your decisions, and sometimes know you’re gonna be successful and sometimes you’re gonna fail. And whatever. At least you were steering your ship.

source https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2017/11/30/kelly-clarkson-talks-artistic-liberation-confronting-anti-lgbt-parents/ from Hot Spots Magazine http://hotspotsmagazin.blogspot.com/2017/11/kelly-clarkson-talks-artistic.html

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