#fuck it common tags will do for now I'm still having trouble believing this shit

[brainmaniaman]

Odd request, but Ricky grieving a dead s/o if you can? Neutral terms preferred but whatever is fine.

I have been waiting for a Ricky request and this is such a good one, I have such a good idea. Gender neutral terms? I got you.  Pairing: Ricky Lafleur/Reader Tags: Reader death, alcoholism, drug abuse, angst, guns, cops Authors Note: I typed this up in a flurry. I'm sorry if it's not as in-depth, I made it in like two hours. I really liked this idea! I took a different approach, if that's okay. Word Count: 2,882 Summary: Ricky doesn't handle grief very well.

LATE MAY Ricky loved Lucy, he really did. Well, he loved her the best he could love her. It was hard for Ricky to not love the mother of his child. But Trinity was really the only thing they had in common. Ricky was nothing short of a deadbeat dad, waffling in and out of Trinity's life - though he was trying. What did it matter when he could always trust Julian to handle it? Julian always dropped by to see Trinity, he was basically her uncle, so what the fuck did it matter if he needed to slip off and get piss drunk? Life used to be more fun, but that was so long ago - way before Ricky ever really considered Lucy as an option. You were everything he wasn't - smart, driven, and destined for greatness. And, unlike others, you actually truly believed in him.  And God knew that Ricky loved Lucy in the best way that he could - but Lucy wasn't you. "Why don't you take Trin and I out to the park, Ricky?" Lucy inquires. "You know I hate this fucking season," Ricky waves Lucy off, lighting the cigarette between his lips. "I hate the fucking rain and the sunshine and the wet grass and butterflies and shit, it's fucking annoying."  "Yeah, that's what it is." Lucy responds shortly, "You know, why don't you ever talk -"  "There's nothing to fucking talk about Lucy. What do you want me to do? Tell the butterflies to fuck off and the sun to stop shining? News flash, I already did and fucking spring is still here." Before Lucy can express any concern over Ricky, the door to their home is slammed shut, bouncing a few times before it finally clicks closed.

┆ �� ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° 1989 ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

"What are you doing out here during school hours?"  Ricky is leaned against the water fountain, a cigarette placed gently between his lips. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? I'm smoking a fucking cigarette. What's it to you?"  "You're not supposed to be skipping class. Or smoking a cigarette on school property."  "Well fuck me officer, sorry for breakin' the law. What are you anyway, the fucking hall monitor?"  "I am." You're scribbling writing down furiously onto the notepad issued to you by the high school. You stroke him a ticket, ripping it off the pad and handing it to him. Ricky takes it despite the fact he's unable to read. "Yeah well, you wanna know what I think about your fucking ticket officer?" He rips it into pieces, throwing it into the water fountain. He slams his elbow down onto the water fountain, spewing water all over the paper. It grows wet quickly before breaking apart, stopping up the drain. "Fuck you, that's what I think about it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some fucking dope to sell. Or you gonna stroke me a ticket for that too?” ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° You two didn't exactly get off on the right foot - but then again, nobody got off on the right foot with Ricky. He was a troubled kid who ran his mouth too much. He had expected that interaction to be the last between you two, but it wasn't. It seemed like everywhere you turned, Ricky was there - causing fucking problems. It only got worse when, in a last-ditch-effort to keep Ricky in school, your math teacher had begged you to tutor him. You had worked wonders with other kids like Ricky, so why not try? You didn't want to at first but with a bit of a convincing, and monetary payment, you had agreed to tutor Ricky. If Ricky remembered correctly, he skipped the first tutoring session. He thought that that would be the end of that, but the next day you had confronted him in front of all of his closest dope-fiend friends after school. "I can't believe you wasted my time like that."  "What the fuck are you going on about?"  "We were supposed to have a tutoring session."  "You seriously fucking thought I'd show up to that stupid shit? You've got to have shit for brains. I don't do schoolwork."  "I'm your last chance to pass math, if you don't show up to these tutoring sessions then Mr. Richards is going to fail you without a question."  "Do you think I give a fuck if he fails me? Tell him to fucking fail me, I don't give a fuck. I'm not even gonna finish my grade ten. I got a good dope-sellin' business, I'm makin' a lot of money. I don't need this shitty fucking place."  "Do you plan on doing anything with your life other than growing dope?"  "Nope."  "What's it going to take to get you there, Ricky?" You couldn't help it. You just loved a good challenge. "Nothing."  "Nothing at all?"  "You know what, if you took me out to that buffet off of second street for every tutoring session and paid, I'd show up to it."  "Done."  There's a silent pause. "Are you being fuckin' serious?"  "Yes."  "You'll pay for me?"  "If you come and actually work."  "I mean shit, why not. Free food is free food. When should I show up?"  "Tonight at six." 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° From the way Ricky ate, it was obvious that food was a scarcity at home. So much for making a good living off of dope. But it seemed like food was a good motivator. Ricky sucked dick at math, but at least he was trying - well, as hard as Ricky could try. Threatening to end your sessions seemed to be good enough to scare him into complying, and over time it really seemed that Ricky was actually improving in math. He was nowhere near passing, but the fact that Ricky could bring his grades up from a straight 0 to 40 was impressive - even to Mr. Richards. "Why do you do this anyway?" He asks one session, out of the blue. "Everyone deserves to have someone in their corner rooting for them. If food is what it takes to get you to get your grade ten, then I'll empty my pockets. You think you're stupid Ricky, but you're not. You just need someone around to give you an extra push." 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He's hitting the palm of his hand against his forehead, eyes pinched close. The thoughts about you had died down years ago - why was it coming up just now? He takes the joint between his fingers and brings it to his lips, inhaling and then exhaling. "I need to get fucking drunk tonight."  "Maybe you should slow down on that smokin', Ricky. Why don't you come over and watch some cable? WWE's playin' tonight." Bubbles offers Ricky an alternative to drinking and smoking. It's usually around this time of the year, late May, when Ricky gets antsy.

He never brings you up and even claims to have forgotten about everything but his good friend Bubbles and Julian know better. Ricky usually gets more belligerent around late May. Julian guesses that it's a form of PTSD, and at one point he even tried to sit Ricky down as a friend and explain to him all of the symptoms of PTSD that jail counselor told him about, but Ricky never listens because "it's not that big of a fucking deal." So it's around this time Julian and Bubbles take a step back to give Ricky space and try to help him make it to June. But it's typically a hard task. "No offense Bubbles but that sounds like a terrible time I'd rather get piss drunk with Ray."  "Come on Ricky, you know how bad your dad gets when he's drunk. If you're gonna get drunk, at least do it in my trailer." Ever since he got out of jail, Juilan has been trying to avoid drunk get-togethers - but this is a different story. "I know exactly what you're doing Julian and I'm not fuckin' havin' it" Ricky shakes an accusatory finger at Julian, "I don't need your fuckin' pity."  "It's not pity, Ricky. You're telling me you don't wanna come over, get drunk, and eat chicken fingers?"  "Are you buying the chicken fingers?"  "Sure," Julian concedes, "I'll buy the chicken fingers."  "Then fuck yeah I'm comin' over." 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° It's around this time of year that no amount of liquor can get rid of the nightmares and the memories. Even piss-ass drunk leaning over Julian's toilet hurling, every second of your relationship with him flashes through his memory. Some of the memories are good. "Remember that time (name) and I got caught fuckin' around with Lahey's yard flamingos? That shit was so funny. He was so pissed." Julian rubs Ricky's back, listening to him blabber on about the memories in between dry heaving and vomiting. "Or the time (name) beat J-Roc in a hotdog eating contest? That shit was -" Ricky stops talking so he can hurl out the fifteen chicken fingers he ate against better judgement, "- that shit was so funny. Or that time we blew off homecoming and drove out to make-out point and . . ." Ricky pauses, half a smile cracking his lips, "You know, (name) -"  "Alright Ricky," When Ricky lifts his head up, it's obvious that his skin is soaked in tears. Julian doesn't comment on it, though. Ricky would only deny the fact that he's been crying. "I think I'm allergic to these fucking chicken fingers, they're making my fucking eyes water."  "Uh-huh" Julian is wiping down Ricky's face with warm water, cleaning up his mess before helping his friend stumble onto the couch. Some of the memories are bad, though. Memories of arguing flash through his head. 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

"You can't fucking drop out to sell dope! You've worked too hard for this!"  "You mean you've worked too hard for this, I know Mr. Richards is paying you to tutor me. I bet he's paying you to date me, too!"  "It's not like that, Ricky!" You plead, "Yes, he was paying me to tutor you! But he's not paying me to like you, Ricky. He's not paying me to love you."  Ricky seems taken aback by the comment. It's the first time you've told him you loved him. For a second, he thinks about apologizing, about kissing all over your face and promising you that he'd never talk about dropping out again. You had a future together, you were going to graduate together, grow old together, and die together holding hands. But Ricky always lets his anger get the best of him. "No, you know what (name)? Fuck you. Fuck off. You're just saying that so you can get more money from Mr. Richards."  "Ricky, I love you, I swear -" Ricky waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just fuck off already and get out of my hair. I don't want to see you again. In fact, I wouldn't want to see you if I was on my fucking deathbed breathing my last fucking breaths." 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° "They shouldn't have been there Julian, they weren't supposed to be there." Ricky rolls forward, his head placed in his hands. Every time Julian opens his mouth to speak, Ricky is speaking over him in frantic sobs. It's not typical to see Ricky like this, only in late May. "It was just a dope deal gone wrong, they shouldn't have been there, they shouldn't have been there. I didn't know they were going to be there. It was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened and it's all my fucking fault, it's all my fucking fault, it's all my fucking fault." 

There’s not much Julian can say to soothe Ricky. He’s tried, but it’s never been enough. The only thing they can do is make it through the rest of the month.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

You weren't supposed to be there. In fact, Ricky had thought the fuck off was enough to keep you away. But there you were, coming around his house in the middle of the night. You didn't think much of the other two people who were hanging around Ricky on Ray's porch. You just assumed it was Julian and Bubbles. You were here to beg for him back, to tell him how much you loved him and how much you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. Young love, right? The guys on the porch weren't expecting visitors. There weren't supposed to be visitors. Ricky hadn't planned for visitors. Ricky had told them there wouldn't be anyone around. So as you walked up the steps, a commotion broke out. "You said there wasn't going to be anyone around! Is this a fucking sting? This is a fucking sting!"  "No officers! I swear, I didn't know someone was coming. No-one is supposed to come! Wait! Wait! Wait! Put the fucking gun down! That's just my friend! Fuck!"  Ricky can't get to them fast enough and a gunshot rings in the air. The moment the two cops realize it's a teen crumpled up on the ground and not an undercover agent, they're rushing to their car. "You shot (name)! You shot them! Get the fuck over here and help us!"  "Sorry kid, we gotta go! We can't be seen around this shit or we'll lose our jobs and go to jail. That's how these things go. word of the wise, you shouldn't have friends you actually like if you're gonna be in this business, kid."  Ricky is left alone to tear off his shirt, pushing it against the bullet hole right in your abdomen. Blood seeps through the shirt, soaking it. People are leaving their homes now, rushing to the scene of the crime in a panic. There's a large commotion, though Lahey breaks it up. "What the fuck did you get into, kid? What the fuck have you done?"  "I didn't do shit! If you're not gonna help Lahey then fuck off! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Don't you dare fucking die, if you die I'm going to have to bring you back and fucking kill you myself! Just hold on a bit longer."  But you were already gone.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° "Those fucking cops. Those fucking cops. Those fucking cops." Ricky repeats like a mantra. Julian helps lay Ricky on his side, bringing a glass of water to set on the side of the coffee table.  Julian remembers how the death was swept under the rug, simply labeled as a "drug bust gone wrong" - if you could call two cops shooting a teenager thinking they were going to lose their career in a sting operation a drug bust gone wrong. They ended up taking matters into their own hands, but still. That wasn't enough. "It's all my fault, I should have said something, I should have done something, I should have told them I love them - God, fuck," Ricky presses his head into his hands, "They should have never met me. All that shit Lahey spews is right, I'm no good." It's the only time Ricky seems to express any sort of understanding of where he was in life and who he was. The only time he really seems to take full accountability. He still remembers the way your parents cussed him out and blamed him for what happened. It's the only time Julian saw Ricky sit there and take shit without blowing up. All he could do was sit and nod and agree with every awful thing they said to him. They were right - you were on the path to being a valedictorian. You had so much to give to the world. They told him that they prayed to God the next person he started seeing didn't end up an chalked outline, too. He didn't need to be terrorizing the general student body, dragging them into business that wasn't his own. He agreed, so he dropped out. It was the only way he felt he could truly reconcile what happened. A warm spring breeze passes through the open window, rustling the curtains and filling the room with the smell of wet grass. Julian doesn't say anything. He can't say anything. Nothing he's said ever really seems to soothe Ricky's seasonal grief. The counselor in jail had talked to Ricky about maybe distracting himself during this time, spending time with his family and trying to find the joy in spring, but he can never seem to get over the hurdle of actually dealing with the trauma. Ricky doesn't do handling grief. Instead, he liquors himself up in an attempt to forget. It doesn't help, though. All it does it land him crying and puking in Julian's bathroom, rattling off about how he should have done better, how he should have told you he loved you sooner, and how things might've been different.  The only thing they can do is just get through late May.

[ohmygod-stillhasapersonalblog]

Why is it always I ask someone about how to write something and then I find out I am that thing, huh

Me: hey how do I write an aro character?

Me, later: *lies awake in bed at night because I realized I'm arospec*

Me: hey how do I write a character with plurality?

Jay, later: hey you've been a system for at least two years we just didn't tell you before now

[generallybarzy]

hey there, stranger. vi

one, two, three, four, five

an: two months after you first met mat, you’re back in the same little coffee shop, in much heavier moods than last time. // So after last chapter, i'm sure you're all upset about what's happening to our favorite cute new couple. What began as a cutesly fluffy fic is turning into something a lot more serious and tough. Because all relationships come with hardships, and working through them together is something they're gonna have to do. Another thing, please comment and send asks about this story!! Even though this isn't the biggest fic I've planned so far, I'm putting all my love into these characters and their situations hit close to home, and I'd really appreciate some feedback.  warnings: mentions of domestic problems and violence (mostly verbal and mental), relationship doubts, talks of fear and self-worth tagging some lovely people:  @sunflowertimothee @deleausvp @dunnwithlyfe @smit41 @softboybarzal @fallinallincurls @matbaerzal @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @hockeyhughes11 @folkloreflyers @nazdaddy word count: 2.3k  

You hadn't always been afraid of love.

But maybe you had, for as long as you could remember.

It began with your parents. They were unhappy, they argued, they fought, they pulled others into their arguments and eventually drew so far from each other that they were distant and cold to even their children. They seperated, violently and in the dead of the night, in the middle of your school year, and threw your life into a rollercoaster. It scared you. Made you feel, even as a young kid, that love just wasn't something that happened. Relationships didn't exist, love didn't exist without violence and arguments and fights. A perfect love was just not what you believed in. And even though it's true that every couple has their arguments, you believed that the fights were common. The yelling, the jealousy, the coldness, the raised voices, the fear. 

The last time you truly, honestly were in a relationship, it was your highschool sweetheart. If he could be called that. You were 17 when you got together, you got in trouble together, turned 18 together, and graduated highschool together. He started out amazing, as amazing as teenage boys could get, but somewhere along the way he changed. But looking back now, you could never truly call him your sweetheart, even at his sweetest. 

While you were studying endlessly to graduate high school with honors and applying to all the colleges and scholarships you could, your boyfriend was out partying and drawing further and further away, turning cold and careless. And though you hadn’t found out until afterwards, your boyfriend had spent the last six months of your relationship sleeping around with countless other girls behind your back. You didn’t find out until a sweet girl came forward and told you what he’d done, and that she was sorry and didn’t know he was taken. 

“He’s not, not anymore.” 

You found more proof. He didn’t even try to hide it, but you were too busy with school to notice all his tagged posts on Instagram, all the pictures of him openly kissing other girls while you foolishly had his name and a heart in your bio. You felt humiliated. When you finally confronted him, he laughed. As if he didn’t care that you found out. As if he was proud. “Maybe,” he looked at you with absolute lack of care in his eyes, “Maybe if you weren’t so fucking prude and put out a little more, I’d still care about you!” 

The only thing you did right in that relationship was to break it off right there. You’d think, after saying he didn’t care about you, he’d leave. But even after you walked out that door for the last time, his number was one that constantly popped up on your phone. “Wow, running away like always, huh? Fucking bitch.” “No wonder no one wants you” “Always such a clingy bitch but never wanted to fuck. Maybe if you would’ve slept with me I wouldn’t have to find other girls to satisfy me.” “You did this to yourself.” He’d send you pictures of himself with the other girls, taunting, saying “This is what you’re missing out on.” He’d flaunted the fact that he cheated on you, as if wanting to humiliate you. As if it’s what you deserved.

And, for a long time after it ended, you believed him.

Did you think Mat was like that? Deep down, no. But something made you fearful to open up to any man ever again after what happened. You’d truly loved someone, as blind as you were, and it all blew up in your face, and now, you were convinced love only ended with a broken heart. 

Mat sat across from you now, in this familiar little coffee shop, his eyes heavy and his brows furrowed in worry, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he watched you. His hair was the same as when you woke up tangled together this morning, dark and unruly after his morning skate, and he sat with his big hands resting on the table, just inches from your own, playing with his fingers- a nervous habit that you realized as of late and loved. Watching him scratch his wrists and crack his knuckles and fumble with his fingers was a strange sort of calming, and made you want to hold his hands in yours and kiss each joint and feel his skin against yours in that wholesome, comforting way. But he didn't reach out. He thought he did something wrong. He thought he ruined your relationship. He thought it was his fault. 

“That's not how I imagined our first morning together would go.” He gave a sad smile, always one to try and lighten the mood, while his mind drifted to the daydreams he had had of waking up surrounded by your warmth and your arms and getting to kiss and snuggle into you before practice. He had always dreamed of that. The softness, the domesticity, it's what he craved. But before you could find the words to make it right, his voice dropped and shook. "So, our first 'talk', huh? What did I do?" 

You couldn't find the words, and you just dropped your gaze to the table. His sad eyes made you feel so bad. "I'm so sorry, Mat."

"Why'd you run off?" The fear in his voice was enough to make your throat squeeze tight. He shouldn't feel this way. You really didn't deserve him. 

"I just…" your mind raced to find an explanation for yourself. "I freaked out." 

"About what? Help me understand. So we can fix it. Let me fix it, please." You looked up again, thinking you owed him at least your attention. His hazel eyes were glossy and as beautiful as always, searching yours for an answer, any answer, and you wanted nothing more than to tell him how amazing he was, to tell him this wasn't his fault. Someone as amazing as him should never feel pain. But you knew you had to open up to him.

"Listen." You reached your hands out on the table, centimeters from his own, and stopped just short of his fingertips, focusing your eyes on the smooth surface of the table. "You have so much love in you." You began. "That's one of things that I asked Rebecca for, remember? A big heart." You glanced up for only a brief moment to see his lips turn up a bit. "I need someone with a big heart, and I thought I could handle it right now, but…" When you trailed off, Mat spoke up softly, carefully, hesitant to interrupt you, but desperate for an answer.

"You can't handle me? Am I too overwhelming? We can slow down, even back up  if you want-." 

"Mat-" 

"We don’t need to hang out as much as I’ve been trying to-”

“-Mat-”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for interrupting you. And for being overwhelming."

There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice like there was in your exes, not judgement, no daggers, only pure care and genuine sorry. He hadn't raised his voice at you once, hadn't yelled at you for leaving a cold, empty hole next to him this morning like your ex would have. You found it refreshing to have a man speak to you so calmly, so gently, and carefully, and you realized that the last thing Mat wanted to do was mess this up. 

And you felt the same.

He was quiet now, after his little outburst, waiting for you to say anything. "Maty," his eyes shot up to yours at the sound of his nickname leaving your lips. You chose your words carefully, as carefully as Mat handled your emotions, as if one wrong word could shatter something amazing. "You're not overwhelming. You're amazing. It's me, it's my fault I can't handle it." There it is, Mat mused to himself, The 'it's not you, it's me'.

"No, don't say that..."

"Listen…"  I've been hurt before. I'm sure you have too, but I got messed up." Mat let out an upset little huff, his eyes going even more soft and watching you gently, as if he wanted to make it all better and erase any memories of pain from your past relationships. "The only other guy I was ever seriously with… he made me feel like shit. Like I'm… unworthy of love."

"You're not." He spoke up fast, urgent, but delicate.

"I feel like I don't deserve how amazing you're being."

"Stop, (Y/N), please. Just shush." Mat shook his head, absolutely heartbroken you hear your confession. "I know what it's like to be hurt, shit, do I know. But you deserve so much better than any of your exes have given you. I know that."

Your throat was suddenly tight at his reassuring words. "He hurt me, a lot. I'm still so broken because of him. He humiliated me, made me afraid. Of men, of relationships, of love. It hurts, Mat… It hurts to try and love again when I've loved so hard and only known broken ends. It's hard for me to trust people, and it's so, so scary to jump into a relationship like this." You glanced up momentarily to meet his gaze, feeling absolutely embarrassed to be spewing all of this dramatic sob-story to him.

"You're not…? (Y/N), baby," he whispered, shaky, as if it might be the last time he called you that,, as if by tomorrow you'd be nothing more than strangers again.. "You're not… breaking up with me, are you?" Before you could respond, Mat continued one, as if he didn't want to hear the answer that he automatically assumed would be bad. "If you are, if you need some space or some time away from dating, that's alright, I'll respect that. But I think we can work this out. I'm willing to try." 

For a second, you imagined going back to being single again after everything Mat had given you. You would never be able to forget him, forget what was, and what could’ve been. So you shook your head. 

"No, Maty. I don't want to break up." 

"Fuck, oh, thank god." He finally smiled, releasing the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding all day. 

"The reason I freaked out so bad this morning, it wasn't the kiss, not really the cuddles either. I enjoyed those, even though they were a little awkward, being our first time and all…" you shared a little smile at that, at the memory of the first time you'd curled into each other and giggled and squirmed and talked, the most intimate moment of your relationship so far. "I like being with you, I just freaked because…. Well, Mat, I don't even know if you remember, 'cause you were asleep, but last night you said you love me."

It was a few long, quiet seconds, watching him process it in his mind, the look in his eyes going even more worried. His eyes widened as he sighed a nervous breath of air. "Shit, I did?" He reached up for a moment to scratch the back of his neck and his cheeks went a little red as he scrambled for his words. "I, uhh, heh." He let out an awkward, forced laugh. "I didn't mean for you to know so soon. I'm sorry." 

"You don't need to be sorry about how you feel."

"Yeah, then neither do you." His fingertips grazed over the cool surface of the table and up to your warm hands, slowly, carefully, asking for permission. When you didn't flinch away or tense up, you felt his hands cup your own, and there, cradled in the palm of his hand, you felt okay. "You don't need to feel bad about panicking at that. That's a big thing I said, even I can understand that. We can back up a bit. Maybe I'm pushing too hard to force feelings. Let's just take it easy, alright? Just hang out casually a little longer before calling this a relationship. Just see where things go. That sound better?"

You shook your head, and Mat's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, wondering what else he could suggest. "No, Mat, I'm not suggesting we step back from this relationship. I still want to be with you, I promise. I still want to be your girlfriend." 

His head dipped down shyly as he grinned at the table, still overjoyed at the thought of being with you. "I still want to be your boyfriend." He squeezed your hands in excitement, in content.

And you squeezed back. 

"Good." 

You knew Mat wouldn't kiss you, not before having that conversation about your boundaries, so you lifted his big hand to your lips and pressed a little kiss against one of his knuckles. He watched, his eyes wide and a content smile on his face, and slowly brought your own hand to his lips, reciprocating the appreciation. 

"Well…" he spoke gently, lips moving against your skin. " Then what do you want to do? Continue as we were? Slow it down a little?" 

"Just a little. I just needed you to know what you're dealing with with me. How scared I am to try this out again."

"Baby, we've all got our histories. Trust me, I would know. We all need different things in a relationship, okay? I'm not going to judge you for them. If your heart needs to be handled carefully, I can take it." 

"Thank you." 

"Can I kiss you?" 

"Please." 

And so, he leaned across the table and cupped one of your cheeks with a big hand, his fingers still tangled with yours, and pulled you into the sweetest, gentlest kiss you'd ever felt. From the moment you brushed noses, a smile lit up your face. And in that kiss, you could feel his promise. That he'd treat you better than your exes, that he'd give you what you deserve, gently, carefully, and with your heart in mind. And you brought your hands up to trace his jaw, promising the same thing back.

"So," he smiled as he sat back down, cheeks pink from the kiss. "That last thing I want to do right now is rush this, but I uh, I got you a ticket for our next home game. Call it an early Christmas present. I was planning on introducing you to my friends afterwards, but I feel like you're not ready for that." He smiled, showing you that it was no big deal for him. He was adaptable. If you needed a change, it was easy. "It'd mean a lot to me to have you there, if you want to come?" 

He still wanted you there with him even after you showed him just how broken you were. And you still wanted to be there, support him, share the passion he had for hockey. Watch him do what he loves.

You smiled, your thumb drawing gentle hearts on the back of Mat’s hand.

"There's nothing I want more."

[thedeadflag]

Hiya, just reading over your reply to my post about the trans-lesbian discourse and I wanted to say thanks before I forgot to do so (Sorry if that sounds flippant I have memory problems, and I'm about to go out). From what I've read so far, and comparing it to other posts in the tag, I really like the points you've put forward and I feel like you're dedicated to issues facing trans women, while being aware of cis lesbian concerns. You've given me a lot to think about (pt 1 sorry again)

No worries.

I mean, it’s just a frustrating situation. 95+% of the time, the people posting shit saying “If you won’t sleep with trans women, you’re transphobic!” are

1) Cis people who were too overzealous and uneducated to pay attention to what we’ve actually been saying, and have just peddled their interpretation of our words around

2) People who aren’t cis, but aren’t trans women, making the above mistakes for similar reasons.

3) TERF sockpuppet/troll accounts trying to stir up trouble. These are the ones that tend to seek people out and make these remarks in their askbox or in reblogs

4) People who have taken word of mouth as gospel, and who are too lazy to source-check. This is very, very common when it comes to people villainizing trans women. I’ve read countless posts where people say that, for instance, Riley J Dennis or Zinnia Jones “…said that if you won’t fuck a trans woman, you’re transphobic” or “…said if you won’t suck a dick, you’re transphobic” when that’s provably false. 

Like, I’ve literally made a post where I said that it’s not real important in the end if an individual needs certain genitals to get off/be sexually satisfied (having a fetish doesn’t make you a bad person), and have had comments responding to that along the lines of “So you’re telling us that if we don’t suck dick, we’re evil transphobes?!” I have made posts about how believing trans women aren’t female is a sign that you’re dangerous to us, and have had responses like “You can’t demand lesbians to suck your dick!”

Honestly, a certain segment of feminism is really, intensely, disturbingly focused on trans women’s genitals. And they’re very, very loud about it.

Anywho, people love twisting our words and making us out to be predatory, or homophobic. Hell, Caitlyn Jenner, as much as I hate her, has supported same gender marriage for years now, and people still insist that she doesn’t because Ellen lied and said she doesn’t. The truth apparently doesn’t matter. All it takes is one cis person with a decent amount of rep to lie about what we said, and a huge shitstorm can come from it.

On top of that, TERFs have a vested interest in combating any talks about cissexism. In truth, the reason we have these discussions on politics of desire are because TERFs derailed our discussions on cissexism and twisted our arguments to cast us as predators, that we’re just trying to coerce cis women into sex. 

That drew a response from cis folks on social media, and suddenly discussions on this started cropping up, and because our allies didn’t understand what was going on, they’d make misinformed, misguided remarks/answers to confused/concerned people’s comments/questions. Which would only spur more. And more. 

And TERFs saw an opportunity to derail our discussions, to fearmonger, and to work at naturalizing cissexist views within politics of desire. Which is why you see this type of conversation more often in the wlw community than in the mlm community. Not because it’s not an issue there, as well (cissexism is an issue everywhere), but because TERFs gain from driving a wedge between cis women and trans women. It’s not trans women who are driving these discussions. It’s not us that are demanding anything unreasonable. 

We can’t corral all our supposed allies when they fuck up, we just need to trust that people will decide not to trust the word of mouth and hearsay, and go to us and hear our voices on the matter. 

Folks who are our allies, who claim to care about us? Will go to us, will listen to us, will recognize what’s going on. Those who don’t care about us? Hard to care, when they’re clearly not ready to unlearn their cissexism or transmisogyny anyways.

Either way, the concerns a lot of cis lesbian raise generally aren’t well founded, since we’re either (A) not the ones causing those concerns (in which we’re generally facing misdirected hostility and prejudice as a result), or (B) their concerns are based in cissexist ideology that harms us (so those concerns can be roundly dismissed). I’ve only rarely come across concerns that were caused by trans women, and were cause for concern, but those ended up being miscommunications that got cleared up pretty easily, usually vent posts taken out of context.