#i made some stupid partner choices but never used sex as self harm

[nostradamousse]

I'm all sorts of fucked up but if you really think about it I'm surprisingly sane considering the shit I've been through.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Jason’s Room — Jason Todd x Reader (+ Dick Grayson)

SUMMARY: “Yeah?”You hear music; it’s loud, deafening probably, but you don’t have to worry about waking up your partner.Dick is out patrolling, and the bed is now cold. You try and warm yourself up in the duvet. Still doesn’t help, but there’s a rush that slowly burning up your body.No one talks, but you’ve seen the caller ID; enough to make you worry after checking the time, see if it was an emergency. But Jason seems to be frozen.“Jay, I saw it was you. Everything alright?”

WORD COUNT: 2140.

TW: Angsty, toxic relationship implied. Some cheating can be read, but is not acted on. Jason Todd is not portrayed as a good person on this one.

A/N: I have no excuse for writing this, other than really wanting to, which I think it’s a good step, seeing as I’ve abandoned writing for my own pleasure completely. So yeah, just have this.

LYRICS COMPLETELY TAKEN FROM “Marvin’s Room”, by Drake.

Bitches in my old phone

I should call one and go home

I've been in this club too long

 He’s really so fucking drunk. He shouldn’t be allowed to go out on nights like that, but he still does.

(Maybe clinging to the idea that someone will call him up and say “hey, don’t go, I know you’re bad, let’s talk?”.

 He’s stupid, really stupid. Stupid enough to-)

 No, he’s already drinking up another shot, from that lined up column of alcohol in front of him. Jason’s pretty sure he’s at a new club, but he can’t say for sure: nothing is familiar and yet everything echoes in him for a reason: faces, blurred-out expressions of joy and a world going too fast around him; music beating too hard in his chest, making his heart almost leap out of it; laughter that he’s not sure that’s coming out of him really, even as he feels his smile growing, a charismatic and cocky attitude coming out of him.

He could have anyone he wanted; Jason knows he doesn’t have the suave attitude of the family, and yet “the bad boy” always attracts a certain crowd of girls he feels like he could go in for that night.

Jason knows he could, but doesn’t. His hand moves up and down this gorgeous girl at her side, a bronzed goddess, but his eyes move to check up his phone: no new messages or calls.

It’s obsessive really. It must have been the third time he’s done that since his last shot, but… It’s infuriating to know he’s not needed.

 (He is; there’s always that stupid booty call, the fucking vigilante stuff he feels less and less like going in for – it now means something different, something that wrecks him up inside – or the casual reaching out he’s not really interested in deepening.

Just not by that one person he hasn’t heard anything from in the last weeks.

And you said you’d call by now (“in a week or so”), and yet--)

  The woman that I would try

Is happy with a good guy

But I've been drinkin' so much

That I'ma call her anyway, and say

 “Yeah?”

You hear music; it’s loud, deafening probably, but you don’t have to worry about waking up your partner.

Dick is out patrolling, and the bed is now cold. You try and warm yourself up in the duvet. Still doesn’t help, but there’s a rush that slowly burning up your body.

No one talks, but you’ve seen the caller ID; enough to make you worry after checking the time,  see if it was an emergency... But Jason seems to be frozen.

“Jay, I saw it was you. Everything alright?”

“Fuck, I-Fuck, no, I’m-Agh, I’ave to get out of ‘ere… Excuse YOU!” He drags out the vocals; tone is sleazy, lazy, and you would recognize that anyone, of course.

“Are you drunk? Jason?”

You feel incredibly naked, even with your thick pajamas out; you’ve lived this out too many times, and you can almost see him climb your bed.

It’s been a long time since he’s done that, but it’s something you will always remember: the creaking of the wood, springs of the bed, rustling of sheets as he tossed sheets here and there all night.

(The stupid “I love you’s”, the lazy and very drunken make-outs, while groping each other).

“Jason, are you okay or not?”

I know you still think about the times we had

I say fuck that nigga that you think you found

And since you picked up, I know he's not around, oh oh

I'm just sayin' you could do better

 Cause even if those VERY BLURRY nights that you can’t almost remember were nice, there were also the others; those which kind of made you hold onto Dick tighter in bed, at dawn when he sneaked in, cold skin, occasionally bruised. He felt so precious and delicate under the first rays of sun, as his dreams started to die under his eyelids, barely any movement in his body save the soft breathing out of his mouth. Too precious, and too yours.

You loved him entirely and completely. He made you feel so happy you wanted to cry at times; there was nothing lacking, not the sex, not the affection.

 But Jason doesn’t think the same.

What about the rush, what about the times you’ve had?

“Why you pick up?” I know he’s not there, he implies, but doesn’t say. She knows too. “It’s late. Thought you were now reformed; no phone after 2AM or something like that, right?”

“Some of us have jobs. Unfortunately, I don’t have a fortune to fall back on”.

“Ouch.”

It’s very easy to just talk. They laugh, and she gets up on bed; Jason can picture her, duvet up to her chin, propping up her pillow (the best he’s had), to talk better, while still charging the phone. He hears the rustling on her side, meaning she’s staring at the side he used to sleep in. She always loved to sleep tucked into his chest.

“You still haven’t answered.”

“Right back at ya’. Are you okay?”

A really difficult question for a drunken and very honest man at 3AM in the morning.

If he was a better man, he would wish her a goodnight and hang up; no more talking, no more suggesting, no more playing with fire. If he was a better man, he probably wouldn’t be drunk-texting girls to “cheer him up” after this call, and he would just go home, sleep it off, and go at it again another night.

But he really is not, and it’s too late to go back now. That’s at least what he tells himself, what he tries to entitle himself into: he feels too much, he’s had it bad the last couple of weeks without you. So, he is owed that.

And that is his mistake, for no one is entitled to anything over anyone, no matter their own personal suffering.

“I guess.” Vague; but enough to let her get out, not dig in. Which is really a trap when he knows of your good nature, but he tells himself that it’s your choice (your fault!) for asking about it.

“That’s… Comforting, I guess. Friend calling at 3AM, probably lost and unaware of where he is right now, fucking drunk and in a completely safe neighborhood, I’m sure…”. There’s a sigh. He hates hearing you sigh; it’s always cause you’re so tired of him, he knows, he knows. And he hates himself for it, makes him feel so useless. “Just send me your location, I’ll guide you home.”

‘But aren’t you on Blüdhaven?’, he naïvely wants to ask, just to almost punch himself right after. She means the safe house or whatever place is near, that she might have still saved as her favorite or most usual locations at Gotham.

Tell me, have you heard that lately?

I'm just sayin' you could do better

And I'll start hatin' only if you make me

 “So, why you pick up?”, he asks again, just enough sober. His stomach is in knots from the alcohol (and not waiting for your answer, just hearing your voice and talking to you). He’s on a taxi, and the yellow lights on him are making him sleepy. “I answered.”

It’s 4.38AM. Sending a cab there was easy enough once you had his location and Jason swore he wasn’t moving anymore. Bless technology, you think to yourself now a bit irritated for wanting to sleep and not being able to. Your lids are heavy, and the sheets too soft.

“Obviously cause’ I’m an idiot who forgot to silence their phone.” It’s a half-joke. If you had done just like Dick had suggested, you would not be having that conversation. You change sides in your bed, now looking outside, to the window; Jason’s sigh is audible. You almost feel a heavy and ghostly arm bracing you from behind. “If the info is correct, you should be arriving home soon. Wanna hang up?”

“I miss you.”

A beat.

Breath knocked out of your lungs and silence only interrupted by your dramatic mouth breathing. You literally forgot to breathe; that’s how being with Jason used to make you feel.

As exciting and exhilarating every night out or in with him was, it was not good for you. The nights that were good, but the bad ones, really made your feel like shit. And if someone loves you, they will never hurt you. You know, you so know, how bad he’s had it: but that’s not an excuse for his shitty behavior, his stupid harmful jokes or the way he made you feel.

“Jason, it’s been a long week, I know.”

“No, I know, I know-I’m not-I’m not trying to-“. A sigh. His sighs always broke you: too tired, too broken. Jason always had a way with words, but you managed to sometimes kill that off too. “I don’t want to start out anything. I just want to say sorry. I wanted to, but I know-fuck, I really KNOW-“

“Don’t scream, please.” Firm. Cold.

He’s losing you.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an ass.” He laughs; it’s self-deprecating and you hate it, but you really don’t have the energy right now. “I…”. Nothing comes out. There’s a long silence. Inhale, exhale (“Jason, just breathe, please”): “I love you. Probably more than I would ever admit to do, and you mean so much to me, but I fucked up big time. And I know, I know-” He emphasizes, without elevating his tone. “-I know you’re so happy with him, fuck! It’s disgusting. It’s fucking bizarre to see you two together.” Poison that he spits, that’s eating him out; acid destroying everything inside, every little nerve of sanity still inside. “And yet, I can’t stop-I really think I don’t want to stop thinking on whatever we had, on the kiss we shared-“

“Jay, that was not-“

“No, I know. I know, but we shared it, and it brought me memories, and you closed off! Fuck, I had you to myself, we were-fuck.”

He curses out for a bit. You let him vent, sighing and putting your hand over your eyes, as if to stop everything from happening. No more 3AM calls.

Had it been pretty shitty of you to get with his “brother”? Maybe, but it wasn’t on purpose or with a malicious intent. It really had been pure coincidence that you had hit if off on one of the galas where Jason stood you up, with a considerable hangover and too sick to move anywhere. That, with the argument you had been having more and more often… Jason wasn’t sure you were even going to show up, but there they had met, and he regrets it every day.

 (But sometimes…

 Sometimes they look so perfect that he thinks they might just have been destined to happen, one way or another. If it was not in a gala, maybe a rescue, maybe a touch on the street, a crush, a rude Gothamite exchange of words as you clashed onto each other.

 Whatever. It just happened and now you two were together.)

 “Jason, I was never… “Only yours” to have.”

“On that we can agree. We never really settled, and I didn’t ever treat you nice.”

Not like she wanted; he knew. They were just… Casual friends who fucked every two weeks, who occasionally kissed and got jealous over the other receiving attention from the opposite sex (sometimes same sex). Despite what everyone else thinks, he is quickly to see others social intentions; her whispers on his skin, the brightness on her eyes whenever they would do it with such intimacy, the cuddling… No, he knew, of course he did, that she wanted more.

Jason just wasn’t ready for it. He might never be, but it’s not your fault; never was, never will. And he might just have lost forever the one thing he wanted.

But that’s the thing: everyone wants the chocolate scoop. But what they might need for a change is something they’ve never tried before.

“I don’t know what you’re babbling on about ice cream, Jay. I really…”. She’s tired, he knows. From him, from Dick and his waiting (she never really liked him going on rounds); from just having to bear with all the weight of the world on her naked and frail shoulders. “It’s not the time for this conversation. Can we… Talk another time?”

A beat.

Inhale, exhale.

“Yeah.”. Tired, so tired. Lids closing off,. “I’m here anyways, so I’ll hang up…”. Silence; insufferable silence. He closes his eyes for a second. “Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Jason.”

He’s not there, but he will be soon. He hopes for that, at least; everything will be easier.

[writingawaymylife]

NSFW Alphabet Higgs 18+

A/N: This has me now writing a Higgs smut. So that’s exciting! Also, everything under the cut because this is mature shit - so please be aware of that!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He isn’t one for cuddling or gently helping you come down. After you’ve both come undone he’ll hover over you, or hold you on top of him for a moment. Just enjoying the comedown, and the heat and warmth of it all. Eventually, he’ll need to either get off of you, or get you off of him. Might go have a shower, get something to drink, have a smoke - whatever he feels he needs in that moment. 

If it was a particularly rough session, he would probably be more keen on how you’re doing. Asking if you’re alright, sticking beside you and just talking. No cuddling. He doesn’t really enjoy clammy, hot bodies after it all. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t really have a favourite of his - but, if he had to chose, it would probably be his hands, or his tongue. This man has got some big hands, and those fingers? Just as skilled as his tongue. This man knows how to use his hands and mouth. Trust me.  

Higgs loves your neck and jaw. Leaving marks along your throat, a small bruise underneath the corner of your jaw. Drives him crazy seeing those pretty little marks once they start appearing. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Loves coming in your mouth. The way your lips press a little tighter around him, how your throat constricts as you try to take it all down. And when you come up, and some slips onto your lips and you lick it off? This man will turn to putty just at the sight - or go absolutely feral. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tie this man up. Make him your whore. He tries to act like he is 100% into only having control, that he would never let someone make him scream. But if you give him that look, and hold his hands down? He wouldn’t be able to find it in him to fight it. He would just nod at whatever orders you gave him, let you completely bend and take him how you pleased, and he would love every minute of it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Higgs has most definitely had some experience. Maybe not a lot, but he knows what he’s doing. Trust me, this man is a quick learner. Whatever you like, however you need to be pleased, he’ll find it all out, and he’ll have you crying before he’s even close to being done with you. He loves having you melt underneath him like that, and he’s willing to be as observant as possible to make it happen. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves when you ride him. When he’s sitting up, back against the headboard and hands on your hips, moving you how he likes. You might be on top of him, but trust me, this man will still have control. Have you begging as he keeps to pace just below what you need, able to kiss along your neck and down your chest. Able to grab whatever he wants without anything obstructing his hands. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Depends. Sometimes he’s in a mood. He doesn’t want to talk or think, he just wants you and you alone. 

Most times, he’s unable to keep a straight face. Either through teasing you, driving you crazy and making you want to almost throttle him from his taunting words - or through random, dry humoured comments that have you laughing, and totally ruin the atmosphere for the moment. Too serious and he gets uncomfortable, it feels to professional for a situation that is anything but. So expect him to make some stupid, offhanded, sassy comment in the middle of everything, sometimes without him even thinking about it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps himself clean down there. Trimmed - neat. Nothing too fancy or overly high maintained. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Not the romantic type. The man isn’t one for soft, romantic, “making-love”. It just makes him uncomfortable, being that intimate. But eventually, as he gets more comfortable with you, he will take on his own version. 

The moments are far more sensual, if anything. Firm, sharp. Hands grabbing at your hips and dragging you close. Teeth nipping at skin and leaving small bruises, if you let him. Kisses are slower, more intimate in these moments, but there is still teeth and nips. Words mere whispers as he tells you how good you are for him, how amazing you’re making him feel.  

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

If he has to. Not against it, not really for it. He’s far more into fucking you over his hand, but if he has to he will. Quick tugs in a quick moment, eyes closed as he thinks about you and your lips and hand as he brings himself over the edge. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Being tied up or tying you up - whichever works at the time, whichever you’re comfortable with. This is probably his go to. Loves feeling that twist in his stomach when his hands are tied over his head, only for you of course. 

Edging: This man can and will edge you for hours, when given the chance. Loves watching you squirm and beg, the way your body shakes as you get close, how your muscles clench tight when he leaves you just on the edge. And the way he can just take you for however long he wants. 

Edge play: He isn’t keen on actually cutting into your skin - he doesn’t want to cause any real harm. But he loves trailing his knife along your body, pressing it just enough where there’s that slight sting - cutting off your underclothing with a slightest flick of his wrist. Loves it. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Literally anywhere. Take you on the kitchen counter, the couch, the bed, the shower. Outside? He doesn’t care. Fuck you right on the ground - or maybe even against the truck or on the reverse trek. However, he can’t complain that a bed is the most comfortable - and that shower sex is amazing - so he would probably say those two are his favourite. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything. Though he loves when you lean down a little more than needed to grab a cargo box, and the way your Timefall suit clings to your ass… drives him crazy. Sometimes you just get a little more snarky with him than usual, maybe your sass turns a little mote flirtatious, or maybe you just kicked ass in some MULE camp, and it just gets him going. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Voyeurism isn’t something he’s particularly keen on. Even when you’re out in the middle of the day, he tries to make sure it’s private. The risk of being caught is something he finds hot, but the actual act of getting seen while in the middle of something like that? He doesn’t like that idea, and he doesn’t like the thought of others seeing you like that, either. 

He also won’t do anything that causes too much harm. He doesn’t like when hands touch his throat, and he doesn’t really like wrapping his hand around yours either. Hitting, spanking, anything with blunt force makes him uncomfortable and can easily trigger him. Also there’s bathroom play - but I don’t really think I need to explain why on that account. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

As much as he loves seeing your mouth around his cock, he loves giving. He loves the fact that he is the one making you feel this way, and that you are completely at his mercy. If he wants to stop he just can, leaving you breathless and begging. If he wants to push you a little further, have you come undone even further, drive you blind with pleasure? He can. He loves it. 

And trust me - you will too. This man knows what he’s doing. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends. He’s more into rough, firm, slow. Taking you in just a way where he can drive you crazy with want, along with himself, before finally giving in to what you both need. Sometimes he’s fast and rough - but he prefers to take his time, to watch you slowly come undone until your falling apart at the seams. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He really would rather take his time, but if time doesn’t allow that, he will most certainly go in for a quickie. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Absolutely loves to experiment. As long as it isn’t anything part of the no subject, he will give it a shot. 

Once you two got stuck in BT territory in your truck, were stuck there for a while. Higgs, being the creative bastard he is, came up with a very fun idea - seeing who could stay quiet the longest. Whoever made the first noise above a whimper or a muffled moan? They were at the will of whatever the other wanted when they got back home. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can go for a few rounds. 

Unless he is really excited, he will probably last a long while too.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

If you had some toys, he would probably be up for using them. Whether that be on himself or you, he doesn’t mind. But he doesn’t own any of his own.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves teasing. Edging, getting you amped up without even touching you properly? Loves it. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s pretty quiet when you first start exploring with him. Keeps things to grunts and groans, definitely strings of curses - though he is definitely vocal when it comes to comments and jokes. However, eventually he starts getting more comfortable with you, and he gets a bit louder. He isn’t one for growling and crying out - not unless you are on top and your pulling them from him - but they will slip out. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Loves watching you tease yourself. When you’re completely at his mercy, and he has to tell you how fast or where to touch, it’s a giant boost to his pride. The fact that you are technically in control, and yet still gave him the wheel of the bus. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Higgs isn’t the thickest, but man has he got some length to him. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He’s a slut. You could look at him from across the room and he’d already be taking off his clothing. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually takes him a while. He has a hard time falling asleep in general. So, while sex does help calm his mind and tire him out more, he still finds himself awake for a while afterwards. 

[anxious-vigil]

Misunderstandings (Pt 5/5)

Summary: Virgil needs someone to help him through panic attacks, and Logan seems to be the perfect solution. However when he approaches the other side, assumptions are made and soon he’s left alone and confused, trying to track down Logic just to ask him where things went wrong. Romantic identity angst fic with like a paragraph of crack at the very end. I’ve since realised it’s also heavily inspired by Platonic by @randomslasher so you should go read that as well if you haven’t already. On Ao3 here

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of self harm, discussions of sexual/romantic identity, some aro-phobic language, lots of arguing and self-deprecation

Pairings: Analogical, background Royality

Chapter 5

Anxiety sits on top of his desk, face pressed against the glass of his window. He doesn't know how long he's been there but he's seen the sun rise and his legs are stiff. A bird with a forked tail flits across his vision. It's deathly quiet, so he can clearly hear slow steps approaching his room accompanied by the clinking of plates. Nowadays Patton tends to bring him breakfast if he misses it so when the knock comes, he waves a hand to click the lock open. “Just... leave it on the bed or something, Pat.” he whispers hoarsely. Crying and yelling have both taken their toll on his voice and he doesn't want to talk anymore than he has to. A soft thud signals the tray being set down and the door shuts gently. He sighs, hating that Pat has to step out of his way like this, he knows how much he makes the older trait worry.

Logan shuts the door and turns to study Virgil carefully. The skin beneath his eyes is badly bruised, his wounds are clearly untreated and he's wearing his old hoodie like a physical weight. He doesn't look like he's moved from his solitary position anytime recently. It nowhere resembles a good situation. Logan clears his throat and Virgil jumps, turning to look at him with wide, frightened eyes and a complexion that shouldn't be naturally grey. He lowers himself slowly to sit cross-legged on the floor as if taming a spooked animal. The logical facet sighs, knowing the only place to start repairing this relationship was at the beginning, difficult as it may be for him.

“Five years ago,” he starts carefully, tracking Virgil's expressions, “Patton and Roman decided they wanted to try being in a romantic relationship.” He sees understanding bloom in Virgil's eyes but he's going to tell this story in all it's sordid details. There will be no more misunderstandings through his fault if he can help it. “At the time, they were also both attracted to me and so decided a triad would be best for everyone involved. I was confused by the whole notion of romantic attraction and told them so. I attempted to inform them of an identity I'd found through research, aromanticism and explained I thought it fitted me and so would prefer not to join them on their venture into the unknown. They didn't really understand, and felt rejected.

As I was not yet sure in myself and did not want to damage their feelings, they managed to persuade me that I needed to try out a romantic relationship rather than dismiss it out of hand. It seemed... logical to explore before settling on a label, and yet, it didn't feel right, but I decided to go along with the others, thinking my emotions were irrational. Those 89 days...,” he pauses, searching for words, “...weren't... good? Patton and Roman were perfect gentlemen but I couldn't seem to be happy. I didn't understand either the grand gestures or the quiet signals and so couldn't reciprocate. Whenever I tried to, to make them happy, it tended to fall flat in a way I couldn't comprehend. According to Roman, it was missing a 'special spark'.” he laughs. “Whatever that is. When they tried to include me on dates, I felt uncomfortable and out of place. I... I hated it.” Anxiety watches him with quiet dismay in his eyes, he's never seen the logical side so emotional. “It came to a head when Patton and Roman decided it was time to add a sexual nature to the relationship. I'd been letting their expertise lead until that point but the idea of sex repulsed me and by then I'd realised it wasn't sustainable to force myself to be someone I wasn't, in pursuit of something I didn't even want, all to try not to upset them.”

He's stopped watching Virgil's reactions now, too caught up in memories. “I left the relationship. They found it difficult to comprehend my reasoning and for a time assumed I didn't enjoy their company at all. I confronted them 27 days after leaving and managed to partially restore our platonic bond. Although they still struggle, they do their best to be supportive. Well... they did.” He blinks back tears. “Please understand I'm not trying to pass off blame, I am entirely without excuse, but I would like to explain. When they saw you trying to cultivate a friendship with me, they assumed a romantic attraction. They presumed you would 'fix' me and our team of four would become two couples. You came to ask me star-gazing the day after Patton gave me the 'shovel talk'.” He looks up to see Virgil sitting cross-legged a few feet away. “Is that the correct usage?” Logan receives a slow nod and takes it as permission to push forward with his side of the story.

“With Patton and Roman telling me you were interested and my lack of understanding on the subject, I assumed they were correct.” He huffs a breath of frustration, removing his glasses to scrub at his eyes. “Stupid, I know, given they'd gotten me completely wrong, to trust their judgement but hindsight really is 20:20, I guess.” A pale hand settles on his. “When you came to me, I'd been stressing over how to break the news to you. I thought I'd done well but you kept coming back and I was terrified of another situation where if I gave an inch, I'd end up trapped because they... you didn't- wouldn't... because you wouldn't understand my needs as much as I didn't understand yours. So I ran and I hid and I was a coward.” Self-loathing shines through his voice and the hand tightens it's grip on his.

“I should have done better by you Virgil, especially given I know what it feels like to have someone get it so completely wrong. I... I want to do better by you, find out what you need as a person, to be the one you come to for comfort, to understand you. The others place so much stock in romantic bonds, I'd...oh.” his eyes blow wide in realisation. “I'd forgotten what platonic attraction felt like.” He says slowly. He feels understanding hit him like a physical blow as he reanalyses his own thoughts and actions over the past years, seeing himself drift away from Patton and Roman, uncomfortable with their excessive affection. “I've been... lonely.” He blinks and watches a tear land on their clasped hands. “I want to be your friend.” Logan whispers. “I don't know if you can ever trust me again. I know it's not the logical choice given how I acted, and I know I landed a lot of information on you just now, pity or some sort of sense of duty isn't exactly the best place to start any relationship, and we're both suffering from some trauma, rationally you should-” Hands cup his face and he looks up into Virgil's half-smile.

“Anxiety isn't rational and if you're willing to put in the work, I am too.” The other half of his smile pulls up. “Can I have my hug now?” Logan pulls him forward desperately, landing Virgil in his lap, wrapping his arms around as much of the other as he can. Neither sides says anything about the sobs that shake them both as they drink in each others presence. They don't talk until they've managed to rearrange into a more comfortable position some time later, Logan leaning against the door, Virgil sideways in his lap, leaning on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “What now?” Virgil murmurs. “I'd like to clean your wounds, and you should eat something, and then-” “No, uh, I mean, us?” Logan frowned in thought. “Well, I'd want to start of as friends first, as in any good partnership, but eventually, I mean, I'm friends with Patton, but with you, the label...” “It's not quite right.” “Yes, exactly. Already, you're not just a friend to me. I'd like a word that fully encompasses how important you are to me.” He blushes and leans in to kiss the top of Virgil's head to hide his face but sees the clotted blood and rests his hand there instead, frowning slightly. “Queer-platonic.” Virgil blurts quickly, like it's a plaster he needs to rip off. “Could you repeat that, please?” “Uh, queer-platonic. I, um, found it when I was googling aromanticism on tumblr-” “Googling... on tumblr?” “Shut up.” “Ok, but I'm judging you.” Virgil snickers. “Whatever. It's different things to different people, some kiss, some don't, some have sex, some don't, some are open, some aren't, but basically it's saying this is my life partner in whatever way we choose, and it's special without being romantic. Uh, could we... , um, could that be...our label?” Virgil's nervousness is at once both endearing and a reminder to treat him carefully. Logan strokes over Virgil's cheekbone. “It sounds perfect. We can choose what we want it to be when we get there.” Virgil smiles tiredly, his expression so much more open than usual. “Lookin' forward to it.”

(Some time later)

“Where's your first aid kit?” “Above the sink in the bathroom, through that door.... Logan, what's this?” “That's your breakfast, is it not obvious?” “Darling, precisely none of these are breakfast foods.” “It should not matter what food you eat at what time so long as it has the right balance of nutrients.” “I'm kind of scared to ask what you had for your breakfast.” “Leftover pasta with kale and I added strawberry yoghurt for dairy.” “Not all at...?” “It doesn't matter how in enters your body, Virgil. It all gets mixed up with hydrochloric acid anyway.” “Eww. No kissing. I've decided, kissing is off the table. I'm not going near a mouth that's had yoghurt and kale in it at the same time.” “Humph. I have found the antiseptic wipes, pass me your arm.” “So, go on, explain my breakfast to me, oh cleverest one.” “Well, you have a yoghurt for dairy and broccoli for vitamins-” “Raw.” “Cooking drains the vitamins, stop squirming.” “It stings.” “You are what I believe Roman would call an 'edge-lord', I'm sure you can handle it. There is a ham and egg sandwich for protein and carbohydrates.” “Ok, but I'm sure the leftover pizza doesn't fit into a well-balanced meal.” “It's your favourite.” “Aw, you risked Patton's wrath to seize the forbidden pizza for me. You do love me.” “Yes, that is an accurate statement.” “Stop it, you'll make me blush and I don't have my foundation on. Wait.... is that.... an entire cucumber?” “Ah, yes, that's your drink.” “....” “I, uh, can't figure out Roman's fancy coffee machine and we've run out of juice.” “Water, Logan, water. Or even tea, I guess.” “I was stressed and I panicked.” “And grabbed a cucumber?” “It's 96% water?” “I thought you were logical!” “I am the literal personification of Logic! However I will admit I am not always entirely rational. Come into the light, I want to do your face next.” “Hang on, I'm thirsty.” Virgil snagged the cucumber with his now clean left arm and wandered after his favourite person, making a show of snapping off the end and gnawing at the flesh.

AN: The fandom: Logan eats books

Me: oh, you haven’t heard?

[lettersforyoulettersforme]

The Voice of Someone who Loves You- Isolation Journals #14

Write a love note to yourself. Write it from someone else’s point of view. It can be a real person or a made-up person. Start with the line: Dear [your name], If you could see what I see, you’d see that you are ______. 

Dear Myers, 

If you could see what I see, you’d see that you are so hard on yourself. That you are doing an incredible job. That your life has gone in a direction that I did not anticipate and I’m so proud of you for being where you are. You’d see that I have so much respect for you and your view of the world. You’d see that your body is beautiful at every stage and that criticizing it does not help, not even a tiny, fucking bit. You’d see that you really like reading, if you can just put down your phone. You’d see that you’re pulling yourself in 100 different directions at all times, that your anxiety is making you feel like you’re a failure, when in fact, you’re succeeding at so much. If you can see yourself from the way I see you, you’d see that you have so much compassion for others. You have this gentle leadership quality about you, you are well liked, you are special, you are a great cook, a sweet and attentive partner, you are an amazing listener: seriously, those skills are unparalleled. You have the ability to be friends with so many different types of people, which is rare. You can stretch outside borders, outside of yourself to see it from other’s perspectives. Which means you take on a lot, arguably too much. You’re an empath, an introvert, someone who doesn’t like a dirty house. You’re going to be a great mother some day. When you’re ready. And I know you’ll be ready because I can see it inside you now, you’re afraid of failure, of not knowing what to do, of society’s expectations, of your relationship taking a bit, of never vacuuming for pleasure again. Vacuuming out of necessity just isn’t quite the same. 

I wish you could see that your fears are so justified, that they make sense given your childhood, your traumas, conversations you had on summer nights you don’t remember, drunken toasts that have informed so much change. It happened slowly and then all at once. 

You hate snow, you love warmth and you like the beach more than the mountains, but you’re willing to try (most anything) once. You will probably never have anal sex. Ha and that’s okay. You could get there with some alcohol... maybe. But probably not. 

If you could see yourself, you’d see that loving reality TV is something you’ve spent enough of your life being ashamed of. You spent years and years and some more years putting other’s needs before your own. And I suspect you’ll do it again, but I know that you know better. That selflessness is not selfishness. 

If you could see yourself through your clients’ eyes, you’d see how patient you are, how curious, how quick you are (at times) to solve problems, to see the silver lining, to tie a bow akin to Christmas morning, all in an attempt to hold their pain. You’ve held so much of your own pain and you’ve had a hard time letting others hold it with you. You don’t want to be a burden. You don’t want anyone else to have a less than ideal day, time, hour, conversation, lunch, dinner, party, drink. 

If you could see yourself through your past lovers (uhh, we hate that word, but if you could see yourself through your past **PEOPLE who you’ve fucked or done something like that with**), you would see that wow, you tried really hard. And we knew you were trying hard. But then some of us didn’t, some of us thought you were this magical, mythical woman who never took a shit. Who fucked us whenever we wanted. Who had the ability to be at the right place at ANY time, even in Brooklyn in the middle of the goddamn night. You would see that we didn’t think you were fat. You would see that we thought you were too good for us the majority of the time. You could see that we saw your flaws and met them with our own flaws and you assumed responsibility for us and we did not know how to help you, so we let you help yourself. 

You would see that we were young and stupid and selfish and have moments at night when we feel terrible, marred with regret, composing an email in our heads, wanting to make amends. And then we don’t apologize because it’s morning and we never really spoke in the morning and if it was, it was always a goodbye. 

If you could see yourself through Stephen’s eyes, wow. It makes you emotion to even think about it. It makes you feel... so seen. Maybe too seen and then you might start to feel unworthy. And realize how low your self esteem really is. But if you could see yourself through Stephen’s eyes, you’d see how much he loves it when you cry, how you taking the blankets at night is really your own little act of rebellion against all harms you’ve faced, that you don’t take out the dog enough, but that he is happy to do it anyway. That you are his soul mate, even though he doesn’t believe in those. That you are hardworking, the most empathetic person he’s ever known. That you are a trooper, that he wants to travel more together in the future, that he loves you the same, even when you’re in a bad mood.

 If you could see yourself through Stephen’s eyes, you might feel invincible, incredible, all of the things that you know you are, but that history and self doubt have a way of making you forget. He thinks you’re perfect, even if you don’t think it yourself. What to you is imperfection is to him looking into the eyes of God. But a God that isn’t tied to any religion, just a metaphor for the overarching, aching sense that we. are. connected. That the world is wide, but we found each other, despite everything. That even with all the shit show, the negative self talk, the boys, the hammocks in back yards, the parks with a springtime picnic, that of all the people, all the grocery stores, all the coffee shops in the entire world, the whole of DC, we found each other. And Stephen would say that you looked beautiful after that yoga class in Whole Foods, that your smile was so easy, that your hair wasn’t greasy, that your cart was wine was an appropriate choice for a snow storm. That the world had rotated us one one millionth of a degree closer and now, our lives are on a parallel course.

If you could see yourself the way I’d do, you’d see how special you are. How you are enough. Plain and simple. 

[mondaymentalhealth]

Abuse (domestic violence)

Today’s topic: ABUSE (physical and emotional/ psychological within a relationship)

ABUSE: “treat (a person or an animal) with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly.” / “cruel and violent treatment of a person or animal.”

PHYSICAL: Physical abuse is any intentional act causing injury or trauma to another person or animal by way of bodily contact.

EMOTIONAL/PSYCHOLOGICAL: a relationship is emotionally abusive when there is a consistent pattern of abusive words and bullying behaviors that wear down a person's self-esteem and undermine their mental health

When I discuss abuse, I’ll be addressing domestic violence (partners, spouse, boyfriend/girlfriend)

There is a variety of different types of abuse and you may be experiencing it and not even realize it’s happening. Sometimes we are blinded by our fears and emotions and don’t want to accept the truth. ABUSE IS NOT OKAY do not ever let yourself think that you deserve it. There are tons of resources and information where you can learn about abuse and find help. THERE IS A WAY OUT! I won’t get into too much technical stuff because if you need information it is readily available and if you need help finding it send me a message. Abuse is taken VERY VERY seriously. I have taken domestic violence courses over and over and over throughout my education, they stress it hardcore. I’ll discuss my experience dealing with abuse so that maybe you can realize it’s ok to open up about it and trust that it can and will be okay.

Are you or have you been a victim of abuse? Have you ever told anyone? Did you let it go on for far too long or is it still happening now? Does it still affect you years later? (We will discuss PTSD another time.)

My experience with abuse:

It’s possible I was emotionally abused in relationships and didn’t even realize I was being controlled until after the relationship had ended and I regained my freedom and individuality. There is a particular person that I received severe abuse from and I knew it had to stop. Do I wish it had stopped sooner? Yes! But I’m also proud of myself for getting out before it was too late. The thing about abuse is, it starts out slowly and progresses and escalates. I’m going to be discrete by withholding names and specific details because this situation was handled through the courts. All though, Broward County has public records and you can search anyone and see what they’ve been involved with (which I do to just about everyone for fun, it’s kind of twisted) but it also comes in handy when meeting a new person that may not be completely honest with you. Anyway, so my abusive relationship lasted on and off for about a year. Nothing severe enough to have me hospitalized but definitely emotionally damaging. I remember the first event that should have been a warning that my partner was abusive, but like I said BLIND. You think with all my education about abuse and domestic violence I could have been smarter about it, but nope, I fell right into the trap without even realizing it until the hole was dug so deep that there was no turning back and it was time to cut the rope. The first thing that happened was so small it didn’t even seem like a major issue. My partner and I were in the car, I was driving and he suggested I take a different route because it was faster. I disagreed and tried to rationalize why my way was faster (Oops don’t fight with a man about directions). This enraged him because I wasn’t listening and he responded by saying “Fine bitch, I’ll walk.” WOW, real decent right? These days I would never let someone talk to me like that and choose to be with them. CHOOSE! You got that? A relationship is a choice. You cannot pick your parents, kids, siblings, or other family members, but you do get a say in who you are intimately and romantically involved with. Don’t make excuses… “We have kids together” “I can’t do it on my own.” “We live together.” “I have nowhere to go.” “I’m scared.” “He/She is working on it.” “He/She is getting better.” “He/She promised it will never happen again.” BULLSHIT! That’s malarkey (love that word). So, what did I do? I cried, he apologized, and everything was better. That’s how it starts, then it gets worse. The name-calling increased, degrading and shaming started, then my clothes, jobs, friends, family, and whereabouts became controlled. I was physically withheld from leaving and I was forced to do things I didn’t want to do. I was choked, grabbed, and restrained. My property was damaged and then I started getting stalked. If I didn’t do exactly what my partner wanted there were consequences and threats and the threats were usually carried out. I was scared for my life and I thought I could never escape until one day I decided enough is enough and I ended it. It wasn’t easy and it took a while to completely cut it off. Unfortunately, a lot of people will have to deal with after effects and need protection. It can be very scary I’ve been there, I get it. So, if any of this sounds familiar, reach out to someone who you can trust and find a solution. I know waaaay too many people who have been victims of abuse and some who still are.

WARNING SIGNS OF AN ABUSER:

Extreme Jealousy: Jealousy is a sign of insecurity and lack of trust, but the abuser will say that it is a sign of love. The abuser will question the victim about who they talk to, accuse them of flirting, or be jealous of time spent with their friends, family, or children. The abuser may refuse to let the victim work or go to school for fear of meeting someone else. The abuser may call the victim frequently or drop by unexpectedly.

Controlling Behavior: One partner completely rules the relationship and makes the decisions. This includes “checking up” on the victim, timing a victim when they leave the house, checking the odometer on the car, questioning the victim about where they go. They may also check the victim’s cell phone for call history, their email or website history. The abuser may control the finances and tries to tell the victim how to dress, who to talk to, and where to go.

Quick Involvement: The abuser comes on strong at the beginning of the relationship, pressuring for a commitment and claims “Love at first sight” or “You’re the only person I could ever talk to”, or “I never met anyone like you before”. Often, in the beginning of a relationship, the abuser is very charming and romantic and the love is intense.

Unrealistic Expectations: Abusers expect their partners to meet all their needs and be “perfect”. They may say things like “If you love me, then I’m all you need”.

Isolation: The abuser tries to keep the victim from friends and family by putting down everyone the victim knows, including their family and friends. They may keep the victim from going to work or school.

Blames Others: The abuser does not take responsibility for their problems, blaming others (usually the victim) for almost everything (“you made me mad”).

Hypersensitivity: An abuser is easily insulted and takes everything as a personal attack and blows things out of proportion.

“Playful” Use of Force of Sex: The abuser may throw or hold their partner down during sex, may pressure their partner into having sex, may demand sex when their partner is tired or ill or doesn’t want to have sex. They may ask the victim to do things they do not want to do.

Verbal Abuse: The abuser says cruel and harmful things to their victim, degrades them, curses at them, calls them names, or puts down their accomplishments. The abuser tells their victims they are stupid and unable to function without them. They embarrass and put down the victim in front of others as well.

Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde: The abuser experiences severe mood swings and the victim may think the abuser has a mental health problem. One minute they can be charming and sweet and the next minute they become angry and explosive. Explosiveness and moodiness are typical of people who beat their partners.

Past History of Battering: The abuser has a history of past battering of partners and although they may admit to that, they say their previous partner provoked them to do it. A batterer will beat any partner they are with if the person is with them long enough for the violence to begin; situational circumstances do not cause a person to have an abusive relationship.

Use of Violence and Threats of Violence: Violence can include holding the victim down, restraining them from leaving the room or pushing, shoving or holding them against a wall. Abusers may also throw or break objects as a punishment (breaking treasured possessions), but throwing or breaking objects mostly used to terrorize the victim into submission. The abuser may break or strike objects near the victim to frighten them. Threats of violence include any threat or physical force meant to control the victim: “I’ll kill you”, “I’ll break your neck”, “If you ever leave, I’ll kill you.”

Some helpful resources:

https://www.new-hope.org/

24-Hour Hotline at 800-323-HOPE (4673).

https://www.loveisrespect.org/

Text* loveis to 22522 Speak to a peer advocate by calling 1-866-331-9474.

https://www.crisistextline.org/emotional

Text CONNECT to 741741

[gaiatheorist]

Dragon Person.

(I don’t have a cat, imaginary or otherwise, I do have a bearded dragon, not the most interactive of pets, and the ex kept saying he’d take her, but now text-messages me asking if I need him to bring me crickets.)

I eventually read the Cat Person short story that the rest of the internet has had a week to digest and analyse. I’m glad I’m not 20 any more, despite what gravity and two decades have done to my body, and I’m really glad I’m not ‘dating.’ My analysis? Relationships are complicated, and sex isn’t ‘like it is in the movies.’

Am I supposed to put a trigger warning right at the top? I don’t understand the ‘rules’ about such things. I read a tweet-thread earlier this week about ‘expected’ sex, the-point-of-no-return sex, and I saw the point in the story, where ‘Margot’ changes her mind, but stays anyway. It wasn’t rape, as such, she just wasn’t that ‘into it’, but, she’d started so she finished. (Ear-worm of ‘Underwear’ by Pulp, there.) I’ve been ‘there’, I suspect a lot of us have.

Don’t get me wrong, I have had sexual encounters that will probably bring a smile to my face until the day I die, it hasn’t all been “Put my nightie back down when you’re finished, and don’t wipe it on the curtains.” A lot of it was, though, and I allowed that to happen for too many years, until I took to sleeping with my jeans on, and then, when he didn’t take that hint, getting out of bed when he got in. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want him near me, never mind in me. My right hand is permanently deformed because I punched a wall after an ‘argument’ about my indifference to him, I won’t ‘go there’ with the damage to my left hand, but it was the same argument, recycled. 

The teenage-fumbling encounters with people who kissed ‘wrong’, or held too tight, or did things to my body I found unpleasant, there were a fair few of those, that’s the phase where I should have learned what I wanted, and how to achieve it, but I was married by the age of 19. There were a few indiscretions, not many, because I’m very cautious about genuine intimacy, my body is just meat-no-one-eats, it’s exceptionally rare for me to let someone into my mind.  

There was a lot of ‘expected’ sex during the marriage, mainly when he’d been drinking, on the nights his parents babysat, to give us ‘time as a couple.’ Time when our son wasn’t here to hear my hissed ‘No!’, or my dead-eyed “You raped me.”. He liked what he liked, and that was generally forcing me face-down into a succession of horrible living-room rugs, and watching porn on the TV while he tried to thumb his drunk-droop into me. I blame childbirth for the haemorrhoids, but if he hadn’t already spent years loosening those muscles, I might not be permanently disfigured. 18-year-old-me just wanted to please him, that intense-passionate stage didn’t last very long at all, before it became the ‘routine’ of sex when he wanted it, how he wanted it. There was a strange stage, in my late 20s, when I wanted sex, and he didn’t, he was ‘too tired’, and I was ‘being demanding’, that was the final nail in the coffin, I should have left then, but I had nowhere to go. An extended period of being ‘Margot’, not really wanting to continue. For the most part of 20 years.

There was crap sex before, repetitive, same-y sex, where partners had established a ‘routine’ that suited them, or had perhaps pleased a former partner, so they stuck to it. Mostly, I just didn’t go back for a second helping if the first had been unsatisfactory, that’s cruel, in hindsight, because I know I ‘bagged’ a couple of virginities, but they were the ones I stayed with longer, trying to ‘train’ them. I probably ruined them for the next lover.

Communication. ‘Margot’ is able to guide ‘Robert’ away from doing things she doesn’t enjoy, up to a point, and then she just gives up. Not ‘giving herself over to pleasure’, and not giving up and going home, because it’s clearly not working. The ‘guiding’ is a fine line, I have had a truly exceptional lover, who responded to the slightest touch, the gentlest push or pull I can’t think of more than a couple of instances of either of us having said ‘no.’ The memories of that one will bring a fond smile to my face when I’m in a care home somewhere, unable to remember my own name. The best, it’s official. I’m smiling like a sentimental idiot as I type this, he’s the reason I’m not ‘looking’ for another lover, I don’t think anyone will ever come close to that, and now my eyes are leaking a little bit, because, in my strange way, I genuinely hope he can re-kindle that elsewhere.

Back to the point, if there ever was one. The ‘guiding’, some lovers are set in their ways, the ones who might well have had the same sex-guide Richie did in ‘Bottom.’ I had one who poked his fingers into my vagina repeatedly and aggressively, like the rigmarole of re-lighting the old gas-boiler, when I tried to pull back his wrist, to slow him, he said “What?”, and carried on. He was the same one who wouldn’t stop (badly) licking my vagina, despite me pushing him away, again, “What, are you ticklish or something?” (No, I’m just not responsive to you going at my business like you’re trying to lick the pattern off your dinner-plate.)  Crap sex, but I was there, and he was there, and we’d started. “Look, this isn’t working.” didn’t seem to be an option.

The one who should have been a one-off, but I was in one of my ‘needy’ phases, and wanted reassurance that somebody wanted me, not ‘bad’ as such, just same-y. I didn’t bother trying to re-train him, he was a temporary thing, I used him for validation, and then cut him off when it transpired that he was even clingier than me. 

The one who’d phone me at my Mum’s house when his parents were out, and ask if I wanted some no-strings-sex. I’ve later found out that he had he phone numbers for most of the girls in my school year, thank heavens for free condoms from the Youth Clinic, and the fact that, alphabetically, I would have been near the top of the list. Transaction-practice sex. 

What will I take from reading Cat Person? Not much, if I’m honest, ‘the dating game’ is a sphere I don’t revolve in, so I don’t have to deal with the ‘wait’ between text-messages, or the panic that I’ve said something stupid that could be misconstrued. I do still have to knock-back occasional advances on Twitter, a polite ‘No, thank you’ can very swiftly be followed by a bollocking-and-blocking. What I’ll take from Cat Person is a gentle reminder not to get myself into situations that would be difficult to get out of, but I’m already pretty good at that. I’ll remind myself that, as much as the historical self-harm, the tattoos, and the piercings were my attempts to ‘reclaim’ a body that too many people had tried to own, this body is mine, and I will do with it as I please. I’ll acknowledge that I’ve had some thoroughly underwhelming sexual encounters, and that I will never again make the choice to zone-out, or go ragdoll-limp until the other party has finished.

The most important thing I’ll take from it is the memories of the truly fantastic sexual experiences I’ve had, the ones that will light a little fire in my heart (or my pants) for years to come. The ones that left me flushed, and grinning like an idiot, sated, and not caring about anything else in the world but that moment. The ones where the ‘spare’ arm, or the weird noises, or the misjudging where the edge of the bed was didn’t matter. The ones where neither of us knew, or cared, whose sweat, or other fluids we were covered in. That’s the difference between having sex, and making love, I’d always found ‘lovemaking’ a bit of a cringe-inducing term, pivotal experiences made it easy for me to view sex as a transactional thing.

It’s not transactional, there’s no point-of-no-return, and I’d rather have none-at-all than not-enough, maybe I will get a cat after all.