#like its literally been years since ive been treated normally or even just acknowledged by guys my own age. they literally treat*

[worldend]

the way men are so obsessed with trying to 'humble' women specially talented ones on their attractiveness so they can feel better about not being good at anything is so insane. sydney sweeney is not 'mid' and you KNOW this

[reorientation]

okay nothing in this world has ever made me flood with need the way seeing my asks linked and tagged as 'respect anon' did. little update - ive been getting railed so often (11 times total now since mid november) that i have a bruised cervix. it hurts in such a delicious way, makes me hyperaware of what i am, almost feels reminiscent of cramps.

my original hookup ive now seen six times, and he wants to see me once a week minimum. the way he murmurs "good girl" so encouragingly to me, his strength, and the insanely erotic feeling of him breeding me, have all bewitched me. the texture of semen exploding into a wet cunt is so unique and im obsessed, its a different consistency from my own wetness, so i can always feel the exact moment hes fucking his sperm into my fertile body, even when i dont feel him throbbing through it (which i usually can).

other than him, ive fucked four other guys in the last month. each and every one of them came in me bare. i hoped a few times would sate me but if anything its fanning the flames. on my neediest day i had three guys come over one after another to fill me, the first was my original guy, and the other two were completely random, and they all treated me so perfectly honestly.

the third one in particular fulfilled my need to have a real man coax me into admitting my real name, he fucked me hard and fast and used his filthy tongue to slip into my subconscious mind and loosen my inhibitions until he got it out of me. then he used it over and over again while he fucked a baby into me, slapped my well-bred pussy till i begged him to stop, then held me so tightly. i felt so dazed and safe and feminine in his arms.

it feels so good to have a man respect me enough to give me what i really need, especially when im being brave enough to ask for something i was so afraid to even acknowledge about myself. and it especially feels good when he looks right into my eyes while pounding me and reminding me of the truth.

fuck sorry for multiple asks i literally just cannot stop thinking about being dubbed 'respect anon' its driving me crazy. i can feel my pulse everywhere, but it seems to pool in the places that make me a woman: my clit, my pussy lips, my aching dripping vagina, and my breasts. i can feel my pulse in my fucking nipples. and also usually my temples but thats off theme.

i cant get over how good it feels to be fucked. i never in a million years expected how endlessly perfect it would be, ive found partners that emanate joy together with me and its so much fun and so erotic. the original guy in particular, just takes so much joy in fixing me and in enjoying my cunt, i often end up watching the filthy reactions on his face as he watches my pussy clench around him. he watches us join together as one, my cunt singing with pleasure, i always ask him if theres anything else i can do for him and he almost always says "lay back and take it." like, yes sir!

once i was riding him and his hands were clenching my hips tight, i love riding because it makes my breasts bounce and heave so deliciously. he was staring at them, i was moaning like a bitch in heat feeling him stretch me out in an angle we dont normally do, and suddenly he looked me in the eye and said "you have a womans body." swear if id been on my back i would have orgasmed right then and there. he sometimes goes back and forth in what gendered terms he uses and it keeps my mind spinning with confusion and desperation. we are both bi and im pretty sure our current dynamic is heaven for us both.

there are so many filthy details i want to share with you. feels like i could babble all day about the things that have happened, but it all boils down to this: im a woman, obsessed with taking cock, finally letting herself enjoy some wonderful company, and it wont be long until im the sluttiest pregnant girl grindr has ever seen, hahahah.

respect anon back with one last thought because ive been obsessively rereading your two responses to me so far. when i begged him to refeminize me, "it doesn't even sound like he was surprised." nope! in fact he laughed at me, he laughed and said "fuuck yes." in that moment, i knew that he had already known, and was waiting to see if id admit it. with him, i have this manic energy where i come off completely insane over text, and his steady energy only serves to wind me up more. i think he knew id cave and beg to be detransitioned, my pics are all pretty high femme and lets just say im not ever subtle about my femininity.

the weird thing is, i only have that manic energy with him. i dont know if its because hes genuinely the hottest guy ive ever met, or because he took my virginity, or because he succeeded in breaking my mind. but the other guys ive slept with, while they blow my mind and show me what im for, i dont make such a fool of myself to them.

genuinely with him i have lost all semblance of self-respect and it proves right everything he has ever whispered into my ear.

(Previously)

All that fun you've been having, going from being a virgin to getting inseminated by five different men within a couple months - and nothing ever made you flood like my tagging system? I'm very flattered, Anon! A bit bemused, but flattered.

So much to speak to here, but one part I truly love is that your new life as a woman started with the first man to use your pussy laughing at you. Like your whole identity as a man had been one long joke you were telling, and you'd finally gotten to the punchline.

That's what real respect looks like for you, isn't it, Anon? A man who'll wait for you to finish telling the joke before he laughs.

And the man who made you tell him your real name while he fucked you full of cum... There's a pleasing symmetry to that. He got something out of you and put something into you. He learned what they called you when you were born, and maybe gave you a baby to call your own.

Which is what you're made for, after all. Your body never stops reminding you of that, whether it's with the pain of a bruised cervix or your blood pulsing in your swollen nipples or the unstoppable pleasure of taking a man's cum in your womb. It's little wonder that you've come so far since getting fucked for the first time, little lady: your body was just waiting for the chance to start.

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part IV

Summary: The Halloween parade. Will and JJ are adorable. Anita suggests that Spencer become a classroom volunteer. Reader has a rough week.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a smidge of angst

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: I wish we’d seen more of Will and JJ as parents because I imagine it would be adorable and hilarious. Let’s see if you can guess all of their costumes before the reveal lmao. Your only clue is that Spencer loves keeping with a theme and the brown vest (I literally learned how to make my own shitty gif bc I couldn’t find the right one in the search and I do not understand embedding lmao) makes an appearance.

Series Masterlist

———

“Did you grab the bags?” JJ swept the pleated, platinum braid out of her face as she bent over to zip up her boots.

“No, I thought you did,” Will called, bouncing down the stairs.

“I put them in the car already,” Spencer informed them, popping his head back in the front door. “There was just the one box, right?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Will confirmed. “Shit— where’s Michael’s sword?”

“Should be on the counter,” JJ huffed, standing up and adjusting the bodice of the blue dress.

“Got it.” Will came around the corner of the kitchen, patting his hips where his pockets would be— if he weren’t wearing an adult-sized onesie. “Keys?” Spencer held them up. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

The trio headed to the waiting SUV, Spencer climbing into the backseat as Will and JJ got into the front. Will and JJ chattered on about dinner plans and schedules for the following week, and Spencer smoothed down the brown wool vest layered over his white linen shirt. He’d spent entirely too long putting together the costume over the last week (with a little help from Penelope). He’d scrapped the Spock getup he’d been working on since September— he could always wear that next year. But he’d only get one chance to attend the Room 105 Halloween parade, and once the idea had wormed its way into his brain, he had to make it happen.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Would you be able to pick Michael up on Monday?”

He ran his hands down his thighs over the mint green cropped trousers. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a case.”

Will smirked at him in the rear view mirror. “How’s Ms. Y/L/N?”

“You’re about to see her yourself, so you can ask,” Spencer replied.

Will laughed, and JJ turned in her seat. “Whoa, coming in hot with the snark. You really do like her.”

Spencer fought and failed to keep the blush from rising, irritation at being teased blooming sharp inside his chest. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “She’s a great teacher.”

“That’s not a no,” JJ noted, eyebrows raised.

“She’s Michael’s teacher,” Spencer said, like it meant something.

“Yeah, so?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “You’re his godfather. Technically, you’re not related, so it wouldn’t be breakin’ any rules.”

“Well, it’s not like that, so it doesn’t really matter,” Spencer insisted.

Will hummed and JJ turned back around in her seat. Spencer drummed his fingers on his knees and watched DC roll past through the SUV window. It really wasn’t like that. Y/N was just… very nice. A nice, beautiful, sweet, silly kindergarten teacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many books he read or coffees he drank or chess games he played.

Monday was the last day of his sabbatical, and he was even more relieved to be headed back than usual— grateful that he’d have something to occupy his mind other than her. Because his mind was, indeed, occupied. The way her smile beamed like the spotlight on a stage, illuminating whoever happened to be on the receiving end. The way her hands moved in unbound, buoyant illustrations of her thoughts. The way her laugh felt like the first warm sip of tea or the wrap of his favorite scarf. It was getting out of hand, to say the least.

Will pulled into the parking lot, and instantly Spencer’s palms began to sweat. He glanced at the headband on the seat beside him and felt the mortification clawing at his insides. The costume was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. He should have just worn the Spock outfit.

Maybe he could just wait in the car and pretend like he hadn’t been able to make it. Or he could just leave the headband in the car. But then he’d just be in mint green capris with a sweater vest and platform sandals, and she’d have absolutely no idea who he was supposed to be. Then he’d have to explain it, and it would be even worse.

Will parked the car, and he and JJ immediately stepped out. Spencer watched them near the hood of the SUV, enjoying a rare moment of co-parenting without work hovering right out of frame. Will pulled the hood of the onesie up and JJ laughed, brushing her hand over the brown fabric twigs sticking out of the top. He supposed that if Will Lamontagne, Jr. could strut his stuff in adult footie pajamas, his handmade costume was probably all right.

With one last resigned sigh, Spencer slid the headband on. He grabbed the box of Halloween treats, opened the door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. He pushed the door closed and looked in the reflection of the window, adjusting the headband around his curls and blowing out a breath.

“Ready?” JJ called, peering around the side of the SUV.

“Yeah—yeah,” Spencer agreed. He moved around the vehicle to join them, the three of them walking to find a spot in the crowd of parents standing around the carpool loop.

When they found a suitable spot, Will looked up at him and shook his head. The sandals added three extra inches to Spencer’s height, putting him a good six inches taller than Will. “Those shoes make you look like an actual giant,” Will chuckled. “I know that’s the point, but I feel like even more of a shrimp next to ya now.”

Spencer set the box of candy bags on the ground and would have shoved his hands into his pockets if the linen trousers had any. Before he could respond, JJ pointed to the door of the school, cooing, “Oh my god, look. Remember when the boys were that small?”

The PreK classes came out first, and Spencer could acknowledge that they were very cute, barely out of the toddler stage and holding hands with a line buddy. But he was waiting on a very specific cutie.

He’d barely had the thought when the kindergarten classes started to emerge from the door. He almost didn’t recognize her at first— just an orange blob and green shrubbery. But the converse gave her away.

“How is she so cute?” JJ threaded her arm through Will’s. “Even when she’s dressed as a giant orange blob.”

“It’s a gift,” Will agreed. He glanced up at Spencer. “Right, doc?”

Spencer nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I think so, yeah.” Will grinned and bumped JJ’s shoulder, but Spencer barely even registered his own response.

Thankfully they’d picked a spot near the very end of the loop, so he had plenty of time to get himself together before she was in front of him. While Will and JJ waved at all the tiny superheroes and princesses, he watched Y/N. She was all orange fabric from her shoulders to her knees, with bright orange Chucks to match. On her head was a strange variation on a party hat, bright green ferns sprouting from the tip of the cone and falling into her face. She looked absolutely ridiculous and entirely adorable, and he was in so much trouble.

When the class finally approached the final curve of the loop, Will nudged Spencer and gestured to the box of goodie bags. Spencer crouched down and lifted the box, standing back up to see Y/N laughing at Will and JJ. “Very cute, Lamontagne Family.”

Her gaze traveled across, then up, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Spencer wondered if maybe the earth could just open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh my god, are you—?” She stepped forward and ran her hand lightly over the vest, and he didn’t dare breathe. “Are you the BFG?!” Her hand dropped from his torso, and he didn’t have time to be disappointed before her face split into quite possibly the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet.

A tiny Superman shouted, “Ms. Y/L/N, we’re making a gap!”

Y/N came back to herself, gesturing to all three of them. “Don’t go anywhere.” She accepted the offered box of treats from Spencer and then turned to help her class catch up.

Will gave him a look. “It’s not like that, huh?”

“Oh my god, she likes you.” JJ clapped her hands together. “This is amazing.”

“I’m takin’ credit for this,” Will bragged. “I’m a regular ol’ matchmaker.”

Spencer couldn’t even be bothered to attempt a denial. He was still thinking about the feel of her palm on his chest, how it might feel to hold her hand, the way her eyes practically sparkled when she saw his ridiculous headband. He was in so much trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, the classes filed back out into the parking lot for dismissal. Y/N led the class down the sidewalk, grinning at the excitement coursing through her line. As they approached the end of the loop, Y/N caught sight of them and waved. The kids lined up in their normal spot, chatting excitedly about their costumes and candy bags.

“Lord, Ms. Y/L/N, you’re something else,” Will laughed.

“Is it not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and tapped the green shrubbery hanging in her face. “I have the kids do a little persuasive writing thing every year. They draw a picture and write a sentence about what they think Ms. Y/L/N should be for Halloween, and then we take a vote.”

She waved her hands in that way Spencer loved, the way that was so similar to his own. “Usually the options are pretty tame, you know—ghost, witch, bumblebee. This year was a near tie between runner-up Jojo Siwa and well,” she gestured at herself, “carrot.” Y/N cackled, and the leaves on top of her head shook with the action.

They all laughed along with her, and then JJ added, “The details are truly incredible. Is this an actual plant on your head?”

“I really thought about it,” Y/N laughed, “but no, it’s just fake ferns stuffed into a cardstock funnel.” She gestured at Will and JJ. “But also, excuse me— this family costume is ridiculously cute. Mr. Lamontagne, loving this onesie. Mrs. Jareau, I didn’t even know it was possible to look prettier than you usually do, but here you are. And Michael’s Anna costume?” She held her hands up. “Incredible. Show stopping. I wish I had an aunt Penelope to enlist the help of, because that cape is the actual height of fashion.”

“She helped Spence, too,” JJ prompted, stealing a glance in his direction.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N asked, turning to smile at Spencer.

“We um, 3D printed the ears,” he clarified.

“No way!” She took a step closer to him, peering up at the detail on the headband. He leaned down a little for her to get a closer look. “That is so cool. I’ve never actually seen anything 3D printed up close before— did you design them yourself?”

She met his eyes briefly, and he realized how close they were— close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood and cardamom. Of course she even smelled like warmth and home. “Well. I, um— I drew a sort of sketch, I guess. And then Penelope did the software coding. I— I’m not very good with technology, honestly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the plastic, and he decided she was really trying to kill him. “Yeah, I’m not sure I really understand how it works.”

“Well, first you create a blueprint file of the design you want to print, which you can do through modeling software or three-dimensional scanning. Then you convert the file into an STL file— named for Stereolithography which was the first ever 3D printing process. The STL file is made up of triangular mesh polygons, which is the data that describes the surface of a three-dimensional object. After that, you use a software program to complete the process of slicing— essentially dividing or chopping the 3D model into hundreds or thousands of horizontal layers that the printer can print one at a time to create the 3D object. And then the printer prints each layer until you have your finished product.”

Y/N was quiet, and he pulled back to see her grinning at him. “I thought you said you weren’t very good with technology?”

“I’m not good with using technology,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. So you just know everything about it.”

Her joking tone had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I read a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I can read at a rate of 20,000 words per minute, so… a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up into the tangle of ferns on her head, and he was just so overwhelmed by how adorable she was. “Well, if I ever have a question about anything, I know who I’m coming to.”

He was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “I’m happy to answer any and all of your questions.”

She let her gaze travel over the rest of the costume. “Oh my god, the sandals! Man, you really nailed it. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I thought about being Trunchbull, but I couldn’t find the sweatshirt,” he joked.

She laughed, and he wanted to bottle it up to keep forever. “As much as I would have loved to see your hair in a bun… you’re much too sweet to have been able to pull that off.” She smiled softly at him. “Much more suited to our friend the BFG.”

He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and it was only then that he realized Will and JJ had gone to the car. He looked back to Y/N, opening his mouth but unsure of what he was going to say.

“Y/L/N!” He turned his head to see Anita jogging toward them. “Did you—” The giant cardboard box she was wearing knocked into one of the few kindergarteners left in Y/N’s line, nearly sending them to the ground. “Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart!” She righted the startled child, and Spencer gave her a once over, completely at a loss as to what her costume could be.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Y/N asked, choking out a laugh.

Anita looked at her deadpan. “A monopoly piece. Remind me that I’m never participating in team costumes ever again.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Y/N. “Next year I’m gonna wear an orange t-shirt, call myself a carrot, and be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know this costume was a lot of work,” Y/N remarked, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure it was. You could have put on an orange dress, stuck a green pipe cleaner in your hair, and called it a day, but that’s not the Y/L/N way.” Anita’s eyes slid across to where Spencer stood. “Well, hello, doctor. I have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to be, but I love everything about it.”

“Spencer’s the BFG,” Y/N said, and Spencer could have sworn she sounded almost proud.

“Ah, Roald Dahl, of course.” Anita smirked. “I see you, Spencer. I see you.” She put her hands on her hips— or rather where her hips would have been if they weren’t covered by a ridiculously large box. “So, when are you going to volunteer?”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Like, when are you going to volunteer in Y/L/N’s classroom?” She held up her hand, palm down, and made a circular motion between the two of them. “You know, hang out, but professionally.”

“Oh my god, did you need something?” Y/N’s squeaked, eyes wide.

Anita ignored her. “You just have to do a background check, but I’m sure you’ll pass it.”

“Lopez,” Y/N said, staring her down. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you got the email about the PD after school on Tuesday. But this was much more fun.” She winked at Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”

They both stared after her as she nearly skipped across the grass to the building. Y/N turned to him. “I’m— so sorry.”

He met her eyes and took the leap. “Volunteering could be fun.”

He watched her press her lips together to contain her smile. “It could be.”

He didn’t bother containing his own. “I’ll um— I’ll shoot you an email.”

“I’ll respond to your email.”

…

When he walked in the door, Spencer made a beeline for his desk. He opened his laptop and pulled up his email account, writing as fast as his one-finger typing would allow.

Spencer Reid Re: Volunteering

Hi!

I’m just following up about volunteering. Anita mentioned a form that I needed to fill out? Now that I’ll be back to work, I’ll just need to plan around the BAU schedule. Could you give me a list of days that would work for you?

Really looking forward to seeing you in action.

Spencer

He checked his two other email messages, and then left the browser up while he thumbed through his most recent reading material.

He sat at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon, distractedly perusing his book and glancing at his empty inbox every minute or so. His gaze flew up to the screen at the ding of a new message at 6:30, only to find a promotional email from one of his favorite indie bookstores.

He closed his laptop with a sigh. It was a Friday night. Y/N probably just didn’t check her email on the weekend. He could wait until Monday. He’d see her on Monday.

He limited himself to checking his laptop twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. When Monday rolled around, he checked it in the morning. He leaned back against the leather of his chair, staring at the empty inbox. He had some errands to run, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had a phone that had email on it.

He ran his last-day-of-sabbatical errands and stopped in at his favorite coffee shop for most likely the last midday, sit-down coffee he’d have for a while. Before he realized, it was 2:30. He brought his empty mug to the counter and waved to the barista. Then he walked to the car and prepped his conversation starters.

“Did you get my email? I sent you an email, just wondering if you saw it? Hey— Hello— Hi, I wasn’t sure if you got my email.” He blew out a breath. “Hi. How are you?” He waved his hand. “I’m great. Did you get my email?” He laughed into the empty car. “Ridiculous, Spencer. You’re ridiculous.”

When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart was racing and his palms were slipping against the steering wheel. He pulled around the loop, looking with a furrowed brow at the area where Y/N should be. In her place was a short woman with cropped grey hair. She held a clipboard and looked generally overwhelmed.

Michael sprinted to the car as soon as he saw it. He pulled open the door and let out a world weary sigh. Spencer turned in his seat. “Everything all right?”

“No, everything is terrible,” he huffed dramatically. “Ms. Y/L/N was sick today. Mrs. Franklin was our substitute, and she smells weird.”

Spencer looked through the window at Mrs. Franklin, struggling to keep a few rowdy boys in the line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure Ms. Y/L/N will be back soon.” He was secretly relieved that he had a potential explanation for the unanswered email.

“I can’t take another day of Mrs. Franklin,” Michael sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “I hope Ms. Y/L/N’s back tomorrow.”

Spencer let out a breath and pulled away from the curb. “Me, too.”

…

JJ huffed out a breath, glaring at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Spencer was nose deep in a book, but he glanced up at the sound. “I can take a few of those if you want,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve really only got six left.”

He looked at his watch. “Each report takes you approximately 37 minutes. With eight minute breaks in between, you’re not going to be out of here until almost 6:00.”

JJ laughed. “I can’t believe I missed out on these scathing performance reviews for thirty days.”

“Suit yourself.” Spencer dropped his gaze back to his reading.

His first week back from sabbatical had been uneventful to say the least. The team had just wrapped a local case, and they’d spent the better part of the week going over consultations and potentials. It was finally Friday, and Spencer was finished with his stack of backlogged reports.

He was finishing the last chapter of the book when JJ dropped a string of quiet curses. He continued reading, waiting for her to ask. She was quiet for another minute.

“I forgot I’m on duty to pick Michael up today.” Spencer looked up at her, slight panic coming over him.

“I really don’t mind finishing your reports,” he offered.

JJ raised her eyebrows. “What, no offering to visit Ms. Y/L/N?”

Spencer closed his book. “I, um. I sent her an email a week ago, and she hasn’t responded.”

“So?”

“So…” Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “That’s weird, right?”

JJ laughed. “You don’t really use email, so I’d imagine your inbox is pretty orderly. But if you use it a lot, it can be easy for messages to get lost.” She looked at him pointedly. “I can almost guarantee that she’s not ignoring you, Spence.”

He sighed. “I guess there’s a quick way to find out.”

...

Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door of the school. He glanced at the clock, noting the class was later than they’d ever been. Without really understanding why, he pulled out of the loop and swung back around to park in the lot. He exited the car, and as he rounded the hood, he spotted them.

Y/N was at the front of the line, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and mouth pressed into a thin line. The line behind her was unlike he’d ever seen it. No waving arms, no smiles, no giggles. Twenty small bodies followed behind her with absolute and total solemnity, and he felt uncomfortable just watching them. It would have almost been funny if it wasn’t so dramatically out of character.

The line weaved around the more rambunctious classes, maintaining their grave expressions and quiet pace. They reached their spot on the sidewalk, and Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. Spencer watched as the line took their spots behind her. She held one hand up to acknowledge parents as they pulled up, murmuring stoic goodbyes to students as they headed to their vehicles.

He hung back at the hood of the car until the majority of the class was gone, slowly making his way across the parking lot. Y/N’s line of sight was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused in the afternoon sun. He could see the moment that she registered his presence, her eyes widening slightly and bottom lip releasing from the place she’d been absentmindedly chewing. She shifted her weight as he closed the final few feet between them.

“Hi.” She held a silent hand up in greeting. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Rough day?”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, despite what everyone thinks,” she snapped. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes up to the perfectly blue sky, mocking her mood. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was a rough day.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“You don’t deserve my wrath.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the students. “They didn’t either, but— too late for that.”

He watched as she lowered her head back down, rubbing a hand over her face. He desperately wanted to slay whatever dragons had given her normally brilliant eyes such a grey cast. “You have strong relationships with them, and kids are resilient. I’m sure they know you—”

“Please— don’t.” Her voice was thick, and she looked at him with desperate eyes. “I— I appreciate the thought, but I’m— I’m a frustrated crier.” Her shining irises proved her point. “And I’m just— I’m really just trying to keep it together for the last four minutes of my contract time.” Her words were practically a whisper, and she swallowed thickly and glanced down the line, just Michael and one classmate left, eyes downcast.

“I understand.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out and touching her. “I’m sorry. I— I hope your weekend is better than today.”

Michael slowly left the line, murmuring a quiet goodbye to Y/N. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the car, stealing one last glance at a crushed Y/N.

...

Y/N Y/L/N

Re: Re: Volunteering

Hi,

I meant to respond to this email, and then a bunch of things happened, and then I was out all week.

I don’t know if you even still want to volunteer after this afternoon, but it felt rude to not respond at all.

I’ve attached the background check form to this email in case you’re still interested.

Y/N

1 Attachment: Background Check

—

Hi,

I meant what I said this afternoon. Your students love you, and they know you love them. If my conversation with Michael in the car was any indication, they’re feeling rightfully embarrassed and guilty about their behavior while you were out.

Regardless of what happened today, your relationships with your students are strong enough that they will come to school tomorrow knowing that you still care about them. Children don’t hold onto things nearly as much as adults.

It would be a privilege to volunteer in your classroom, even on the worst day.

Spencer

1 Attachment: Background Check - Spencer Reid

—

If I wasn’t already crying, I would be now.

Thanks for that.

No sarcasm intended. Really. Thank you.

—

This might be inappropriate, and if it is, please just pretend like this email doesn’t exist.

I have a favorite cafe in the DuPont circle area, Soho Tea & Coffee. They have an excellent tea drink made with honey and milk that I like to order whenever I’ve had a particularly difficult day.

If you’re up for it, it’s on me.

———

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[jalboyhenthusiast]

random question what’s the biggest proof of larry we have

ive spoken about this a little before but to me “proof” is a funny thing. i dont think there’s one specific moment or event that solidifies everything i “believe” and its not something that i still look for or need. to me the most telling thing, and the biggest “proof” i guess, is the dichotomy between what we were fed by the media/1dhq vs what we could actually see and what makes logical sense. and this started from day one and has yet to change.

for example if we were to go as far back as the introduction of eleanor... her age, her background, their anniversary etc all of these things have literally changed over the years. they were sold as a perfect couple but they couldnt even get the narrative straight over how they met. they tried to sell us the story that harry introduced them (lol) when in reality harry was barely even friendly with her not to mention this is how he reacted around the two of them. 

the fact that the boys even had to acknowledge and deny dating rumours in and of itself is bizarre and i cannot stress enough how insane it was that stories were run which said the dating rumours had ruined their friendship. by that time the band was huge and gaining worldwide success, there would be no universe where they would allow this to be threatened because of friction within the band. if there was actually any drama, it would have been carefully covered up and the media narrative would have been controlled. think about how we didn’t even know liam and louis didnt used to get on until they told us themselves years later or how zayn was thinking of leaving for ages before we knew. its not normal to capitalise off internal friction unless there was something bigger to hide and its not normal to completely alienate and villainise a huge and passionate subset of fans who are making you money (but you might think its normal bc you believe theyre threatening the loss of even more money). 

its not just that this tactic doesnt make logical sense but its also that we could see it wasnt true. how many times did they reach for each other on instinct before dropping their hands when they remembered?

(x)

(x)

and it wasnt just reaching for each other, they couldnt even look at each other in the same way they could look at the others and this went on for yearssss.

they were supposedly so disgusted and torn up by gay rumours that it ruined their friendship to the point they couldnt stand to be in the same room as each other but they continued getting complimentary tattoos for years, harry was at jays wedding in 2014 and treated like a member of the family, they shared a dressing room in 2015, louis got the dagger tattoo after a year of fans speculating that he would, this video showing exactly what their first instincts irt each other are, and lets be real the entirety of the 2015 promo run. 

(x)

not exactly the behaviour of two ex bffs and enemies :/ so why the completely contrasting public narrative hmm??

and this is all just some of the things which happened while they were in the band that dont make sense alongside the story we were sold. if they were so annoyed by larries/rumours surely they would 100% shut that down once going solo.... but no.. instead harry has a stroke live on air when asked about it and even says “i don't think I'd ever want to tell someone that they're wrong” and louis does the infamous iphone conspiracy denial which not only was the least convincing thing anyone has ever seen but actually starts with a lie: “ive never been asked about it directly”. yes you have sir, many times.

the “larries ruined their friendship” narrative is what they’ve been saying since 2012 and is exactly what ppl use against us to this day but literally everything they do undermines this. it wasnt even 3 months ago that louis wore a shirt with a huge H on it, it was less than 2 months ago that we found out harry takes the title for biggest Bluegreener with sockgate dflgkdf and it was less than one month ago that louis did/approved of this. if they hate the rumours so much and if its so damn disrespectful to them/their respective partners/families/whatever else why do they keep alluding to it and each other. even their friends are at it. (and lets not forget how fun umbro!day was!)

how can anyone see all of this and how little it ties up with the public narrative thats been painted since 2012 and think thats normal? the public relationships that both of them have been in and how highly publicised they’ve been when they are both private ppl? the lyrics about long term love harry has been consistently writing when hes “never been in a relationship” thats lasted longer than a year? none of it adds up unless theyre together and have been from the start. which they are and have been 😌

anyway, my point is that the big picture will always be the most telling “proof” and why so many of us are still here after a literal decade.

[organabanana]

leaves of three, let it be [2/3] || harlivy

Chapters: 2/3

Fandom:  DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i’m sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Summary

After Harley mistakenly confesses her love and then promptly takes it back, Ivy spends some time sorting through the things she absolutely doesn't feel (and the ones she does). Selina and Harley don't quite help.

Chapter 1: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 2: AO3

If you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d say she isn’t.

Actually, if you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d probably stare you down until you crumbled under the sheer weight of her judgment and apologized for ever talking to her, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, Ivy doesn’t meditate. The concept of meditation, if you ask her, goes in the same patchouli-scented box as moon-charged crystals and essential oils.

No. What Ivy does is… introspection. Yeah. She introspects. She consciously clears her mind of all intrusive thoughts. Which may sound a lot like meditation, maybe? But — she cannot stress this enough — it’s not the same thing.

So there she is. Sitting on her couch. Introspecting. And it may look like she’s staring off into the distance, but she’s actually looking at a nearly invisible, tiny little hint of a green sprout that’s managed to grow in a crack on the windowsill.

There it is. A tiny little fighter. Just like—

Nope.

No way.

We are absolutely not thinking about her. We’re introspecting. So Ivy takes in a deep breath, in through her nose, eyes fluttering closed as she exhales slowly and then opens them and tries again.

As she was saying. A tiny little sprout. She could go over there and touch it and quite literally breathe life into it. She can’t tell what kind of plant it is, but she could make it bloom if it’s a flowering species. What if it’s a tree? She could make it grow so big its roots would tear this whole building apart just like her heart was torn apart last ni—

Motherf—

“Morning, my little dill pickle.”

Selina climbs in through the window, practically gliding into Ivy’s apartment with the kind of grace that would normally make Ivy stop and stare and perhaps have a not-quite-respectful thought or two.

Listen: she has eyes. Don’t read into it.

Anyway. As graceful and ridiculously nimble as Selina is, she’s also way up high in Ivy’s shit list at the moment (second only to you know who), so today is not the day for lighthearted conversation and platonic crushes.

“Fuck you, Selina,” Ivy offers as a greeting, glancing at the plant to make sure it’s still there. And it is, of course. Selina fucking Kyle may be a bitch and a half, but she knows how to move without leaving a trace.

“Now?” Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow at Ivy, the slightest hint of a teasing smirk on her face. “I mean I was gonna offer brunch, but that doesn’t sound like the worst midday plan.”

Ivy simply stares for a moment, as if she’s forgotten if there’s one person in the world that’s absolutely immune to even her most wilting looks, that’s Selina fucking Kyle.

“Oh, come on,” Selina practically groans, “stop it. Brooding is such a teen boy move.”

“I am not brooding.”

“Right.” With one single word, Selina makes it clear that she doesn’t believe Ivy and, most importantly, that she doesn’t care enough to argue. “Anyway. Brunch? My treat.”

Ivy closes her eyes. Not meditating. Just introspecting. Just trying to channel the urge to make a full-grown sequoia grow out of Selina Kyle’s ass into something productive. One deep breath in through her nose and—

“We can have margaritas!” Selina lets out a quiet chuckle as she admires the perfectly matte black polish on her fingernails. “Yikes. Too soon?”

Fuck introspection.

“I. Am going. To fucking murder you.” Ivy stands up with every intention to make good on that promise, and Selina must read it in her eyes because for the first time since Ivy’s known her — for the first time in her life, maybe — Selina looks scared.

Well, maybe not scared.

But she is absolutely concerned.

“Fuck me, Ive, damn,” Selina takes one step back, no longer smirking, “calm down, will you?”

Ivy stops, Selina’s audacity basically jolting her out of her murderous rage. “Calm down, Selina? Fucking seriously? You did what you did and now you come here and tell me to fucking calm down?”

Selina tilts her head just so, like she’s conceding (against her will) that maybe there is a reason for Ivy to be somewhat upset with her.

“Oh, come on,” she sighs, rolling her shoulders like the tension has to leave her body somehow, and it will certainly not be via an apology, “it wasn’t even real poison.”

Ivy’s eyes widen slightly in disbelief. Does Selina think she’s mad because she thinks Harley was in actual danger?

No. No, Selina can’t think that, because Selina may be an asshole, but she’s a very smart asshole. So she must know Ivy’s well aware of Harley’s immunity to toxins. She must know that’s not even remotely the reason Ivy’s spent the last eleven hours and some change introspecting all thoughts of last night out of her mind.

For a split second, Ivy feels something similar to warmth towards Selina as she considers that maybe she’s simply ignoring the embarrassing part of the event to spare Ivy. Maybe she’s pretending this is about Harley’s physical wellbeing and not… well. The other thing.

Sadly, the split second passes.

“If it helps,” Selina says, and even before she finishes the sentence Ivy can already sense it won’t help at all, “it’s totally reciprocated.”

Ivy feels it crawling up her veins, thick like sap. She’s managed to distill plenty of emotions, turned them into tonics and toxins and elixirs and used them for her own benefit and the Green’s. She’s bottled love — well, lust — and hatred and rage. Fear, even. Insanity, ironically enough. But this.

This… this humiliation.

Oh, this is something else.

Ivy closes her eyes. In through her nose, and even the air feels like it has to go through that thick mixture of (public) pain and weakness and acknowledged vulnerability to get to her lungs.

It’s one thing to have Harley see her like this. Like that. Like last night. Defenses down and heart out there in the open like her ribcage’s forgotten its purpose. That’s fine, she figures, because it’s been the norm for years and years and years. It’s nothing new, really, to have Harley see her accidentally stumble over the line into pathetic from time to time. It happens.

But Selina.

Selina fucking Kyle.

Selina saw that and she understood what she was seeing and now she’s acknowledging it, and Ivy isn’t even mad anymore.

I mean, she is. She’s really fucking mad.

She’s just many other things as well as mad, so it’s harder to focus on it.

Out through her mouth. Slowly. And her voice is nice and even when she opens her eyes and looks at Selina once again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivy lies, walking towards the kitchen like that had been her intention all along, “there is nothing to reciprocate.”

Ivy can feel Selina’s look on the back of her head. She’s not going to give her the satisfaction of turning around, of course. Selina Kyle’s ego is healthy enough as it is. But she can absolutely feel it. A look involving an arched eyebrow and narrowed eyes and possibly a smirk. Maybe the slightest purse of painted lips, if she’s going for judgmental rather than smug.

Selina is multi-faceted in her scorn.

“You have got to be shitting me, Ive,” Selina says, and Ivy still refuses to turn around, focusing instead on staring at the interior of her fridge and ignoring the fact that ninety percent of its contents are there for Harley’s all-day snacking needs.

She ends up grabbing a jug of water not because she’s thirsty, but simply because it’s the only thing in there she knows for a fact is there just for her.

“Seriously?” Selina prods, walking closer and crossing her arms over her chest as she watches Ivy methodically fill a glass of water like it’s a delicate operation that requires her undivided attention. “You’re such a fucking pussy. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

Ivy does turn around then, gripping the glass with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary. In her defense, she’d much rather be gripping Selina’s neck instead.

“Once again, Selina,” she says with a slight shrug, taking a sip of cold water, “no idea what you’re talking about.”

Selina gapes at her. It’s kind of flattering, actually. It’s not every day something leaves Selina Kyle fully unable to speak. Maybe — Ivy thinks to herself, enjoying her water — she’ll never speak again. Maybe she’ll leave Gotham entirely. Wouldn’t that be just—

Ivy’s train of thought is completely derailed by something that is never a good sign: Selina Kyle is laughing.

Not chuckling. Not snickering. Not letting out one of those sarcastic giggles she likes to use to obliterate people’s entire self-esteem.

No. No, this is honest to goodness, full-on belly laughter, and it’s fucking terrifying.

“Wh— what the fuck, Selina?” Ivy asks, trying to sound less scared than she actually is. Selina’s sense of humor is not so much dark as it is downright fucked up, and if she’s finding something in this situation funny, it can only mean someone is about to get crushed, metaphorically or otherwise.

All signs point to Ivy.

“Look at you!” Selina points in the general direction of Ivy, like she’s about to rip her fashion sense to shreds. But this, sadly, has nothing to do with clothes. “Holy shit, you’re in so much deeper than I thought, this is fucking hilarious.”

Ivy takes one step back, until her hip bumps against the counter and she blindly feels around to leave the half-empty glass on it. To her credit, she still manages to try and infuse her voice with something resembling nonchalance one last time.

“You’re not making any sen—“

“Man, you’re in love, in love, huh?”

Ivy’s been shot before. So she feels like she’s not being overly dramatic when she says Selina’s words feel just like that. Like being shot right in the gut. And Ivy tries to be as stoic as she usually is when faced with things like gunshots and blunt force and bat-shaped ninja stars (holy fuck, he’s such a nerd), but she feels a bit like she’s been standing on a castle of cards for the last… however many years it’s been since she met Dr. Quinzel in Arkham, and Selina’s just figured out exactly where to blow to make it all come tumbling down.

“I mean I knew you two were into each other. Obviously,” Selina continues, and Ivy suddenly understands the exact meaning of all those expressions regarding cats and mice, “but I thought it was like… well, you know. Friends in need of a nudge towards the benefits. But this.”

Selina shakes her head, smile as wide as her eyes. She looks both surprised and delighted. Like she’s really just found out there are feelings involved in whatever lust-filled fever dream she’d interpreted as reality before now.

“And you’re the one who’s doing all the yearning. I totally thought she was the useless one. Holy shit.” Selina takes a couple steps in the direction of the window, like using a door like a normal person is simply not an option for her. “How long?”

Ivy opens her mouth, but Selina interrupts her before any sound can come out.

“Don’t answer that. I already know.” Selina waves her hand dismissively. “No wonder you’re fucking terrified. You’d be safer falling in love with an actual hyena.”

“I’m not—“

“Please.” Selina reaches the window and notices that little plant for the first time, giving it a little pat that could almost pass for affectionate if you didn’t know Selina Kyle. “So what’s scarier, Ive?” Selina almost purrs the question. “That she may not love you back, or that she probably does?”

Ivy tells herself she could murder Selina right then and there, with the help from the little plant. Hell, she could probably kill her without help from the plant.

But that wouldn’t really fix anything, right?

“Anyway!” Selina lets out a happy little sigh as she slinks out of the window and onto the fire escape outside. “No brunch, then. I’ll leave you to your brooding.” Her smile turns into a smirk then, eyes narrowed like she’s about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. “And don’t worry, Ive. I can keep a secret.”

Selina winks at her before she disappears.

Ivy refuses, pointedly, to think about her conversation with Selina.

She tries to go back to her introspection, but it turns out there’s no breathing in and out when your chest is full of feelings to the point of actual physical discomfort, so Ivy gives up on that, too.

She could plot. Scheme, if you will. It’s been a while since she’s gone for an actual multi-step plan to rid Gotham — and, later, the world — of parasitic CEOs profiting off nature. A bit of environmentally friendly murder never fails to put her in a good mood.

But it turns out it’s nearly impossible to come up with a solo plan without being constantly aware of the fact that going solo is no longer her default. A plan involving only herself doesn’t feel like just any random plan anymore. Now it feels like a plan without her, and that’s just— that’s just the opposite of what she needs to be thinking about right now.

So.

What’s an eco-terrorist to do when eco-terrorism is not an option?

Eight hours later she’s in her lab, hair haphazardly held in a bun with a pencil as she looks at her latest experiment through her microscope.

The little sprout from her windowsill sits right next to the microscope in a beaker serving as a makeshift flower pot while Ivy works.

“You know, if this works,” Ivy tells the sprout, eyes trained on the cell that should enter active mitosis any second now, “you’re going to be my sidekick when we take down the next big guy.”

If this works, and she can give this tiny plant the powers she hopes to give her, they can take over Gotham and the world as a team. Ivy’s always worked best with plants, anyway. Who needs—

“Red?”

Harley’s voice is uncharacteristically mellow, but it manages to startle Ivy anyway.

“Jesus, Harley,” Ivy doesn’t look away from the microscope, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

She’s not mad. Not at Harley, anyway. None of this is her fault. She’s just—

Listen. Figuring out exactly what to call what she’s feeling would require introspection, and we’re not doing that anymore.

“Oh. I uh—“ There’s something in Harley’s tone that twists uncomfortably in Ivy’s chest. “Wanted to talk?”

Ivy doesn’t want to talk. Talking, as it turns out, may be the very last thing she wants to do. But there’s that something in Harley’s voice. Something that sounds a bit like embarrassment. Like shame, even. Like maybe if Ivy were to listen in on Harley’s inner monologue right now the voice in there would sound suspiciously like him calling her a fuck-up and an idiot and—

“I’m sorry.” Ivy leaves the little plant’s cell to enter mitosis in its own time and turns to fully focus on Harley. “I didn’t mean to snap. You just startled me.”

Harley visibly relaxes. Ivy decides she hates him just that much more than she did ten seconds ago.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya,” Harley leaves her bat propped against the trunk of a giant nightshade and takes a few steps towards Ivy.

Normally, Harley has no concept of personal space. She sits on whatever surface is closest to Ivy, invading her space and making it impossible for her to fully focus on anything that’s not Harley. It should be annoying, but it isn’t, for reasons Ivy is absolutely not going to consider at this time.

This time, however, Harley hovers just a step or two away from Ivy and her microscope and her standing desk.

It feels…

It feels wrong.

“What did you want to talk about?” Ivy taps the desk and tries not to smile when Harley beams as she practically bounces to sit on it. Her legs dangle over the edge, well-worn combat boots lightly bumping against Ivy’s legs with each soft swing of Harley’s feet.

Nothing really feels wrong anymore.

“I’m sorry, Pammy.”

Ivy shakes her head. “It’s fine. You know you’re always welcome here, I just wasn’t expecting—“

“No,” Harley says, and when Ivy looks into her eyes she realizes Harley’s not going to let her pretend she has no idea what this is about, “I mean I’m sorry about the other night.”

Ivy stands up a little straighter. Takes half a step back, like that’s going to help. Crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s fine.”

Harley tilts her head just so, bright blue eyes narrowing for a second, and Ivy sees a flash of Harleen right there staring back at her. Reading her fucking thoughts, almost. It’s unnerving.

“It’s fine, Harley,” Ivy insists, tone sharper as she takes another step back. She can hear the low rumble of every vine in her lab stirring along with her mood.

There’s a moment there, maybe a few seconds long, where they both simply stare at each other in silence. Like they’re trying to figure each other out in a way that feels completely foreign because she knows Harley, and Harley knows her, and there’s nothing to figure out. Nothing at all.

“You know—“ Harley’s voice sounds a bit brittle, like it may just break if it hits the wrong word, “you know I didn’t mean it, Pammy.”

Ivy nods. Once.

“I know.” She knows now and she knew when she first met Harley and she’s known for the last however many years it’s been. She fucking knows it’s love but it’s not love like that. She knows. “It’s fine.”

“You know Selina just got in my head, right?” Harley keeps talking, and on some level Ivy knows there’s nothing to be angry about because Harley just wants to explain. She just wants to make sure things aren’t weird between them because they’re best friends. But it feels almost cruel anyway. “You know I don’t—“

“I know you don’t love me, Harley, yes, for fuck’s sakes, I’m not an idiot.”

“But I—“

“Don’t.” Ivy holds one finger up. If she has to listen to Harley say she loves her, but just not in that way she may lose her fucking mind. “It’s fine.”

For a few blessed seconds, it feels like maybe Harley will let it go. Like maybe she’ll just drop it and let Ivy get out of this with some semblance of pride.

But that would just be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?

“I do love you, Ive, it’s just—“

“Holy shit, Harley!” Ivy raises her voice and hears the tell-tale creak of vines growing up the wall. “I know! I fucking know, all right? Selina is a dick and you thought margarita mix was a love potion and you’re not fucking in love with me, all right? I know!”

“But—“

“No! No fucking but!” Ivy swears she hears it. The little snap when she loses her last thread of control over what she’s saying and things spill out before she has a chance to filter them. “I don’t love you either, have you even considered that?”

Harley’s eyes widen in the purest expression of surprise Ivy’s ever seen in her life.

“Right!” There’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop. She wants to stop and backtrack and tell Harley she didn’t mean it because she can’t stand the thought of hurting her, and she needs her to know that of course — of course — Ivy loves her. But she just can’t right now. “I’m not secretly in love with you! All right? I’m glad you don’t love me. I’m fucking fine.”

Harley opens her mouth like she’s about to speak, but closes it without making a sound. She doesn’t look hurt, necessarily. She looks… she looks disarmed, almost. Like she doesn’t know how to react.

“I’ll just—“ Harley swallows and jumps off the desk. “We’re fine, so I’ll just leave. Yeah?”

Ivy nods. “Fine.”

“Cool. Yeah.” Harley sort of smiles, but not really. She moves a bit slower than usual as she goes back to her bat and walks towards the door, and there’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop her and fix this somehow — because it’s not fine at all — but self-preservation wins in the end.

“Remember to lock the door on your way out.”

For a second, Harley almost looks like she may say something. And for a second, Ivy almost hopes she will. But Harley just nods and walks out, and when she hears the lock snap into place, Ivy knows she’s all alone with her plants.

Right where she belongs.

[tillymint7]

Fiona James 🌈🦋

Fiona James is a professor and the founder of a new community art project and practices something called TRE therapy (Tension, Stress and Trauma Release) part of which is something called Heart Coherence. Fiona and her team has taken up residence in Bidston Hill, which is really close to where I live. For me this year has been full of strange connections and coincidences.

I had heard last year that an art group had moved into the old observatory building. Bidston Hill is a local beauty spot, but it’s also apparently one of largest ley line sites in the UK outside of Stone Henge. Bidston Hill has a very bizarre history.

Funnily enough, my first ever art project I did whist on my UAL art foundation course was about Bidston Hill. It has always a place that fascinates me for years since I was a kid.

The Hill has an old light house, an old flag signalling systems (as a kid I thought the holes 🕳 in the ground were swimming pools for fairies 🧚‍♀️ 😂) the team of scientist based at the observatory during the 2nd World War helped assist the UK to win the war. It’s also home to one of the country’s oldest windmills, which has so many mysterious stories of tragedy.

The Hill is also linked with strange rituals, pagan ceremony’s, Noric stone carvings, murders (sadly even in recent years), strange deaths, legends and folk tales, it was home to a Jack the Ripper suspect, endless ghost stories, stories of werewolves, and so many stories about witches and a cursed witches circle ⭕️ ....Modern day white witches are still practicing there today.

Fiona has started what’s sounds like an artists commune. Any creative can apply to work up there for a few months at a time. The residency can help progress your practice. Allowing creatives to make larger works and explore new ideas. I always find personally that a new space can really help with new direction.

The artist can also show their works in exhibitions during their residency. It’s so wonderful to hear that a place like this so close to where I live.

I think I would still be a bit scared of being up there at night (I’m such a whimp! 👀). Even though Bidston Hill it’s a beautiful place Iv always found the place a little unnerving as a child and that was before I found out it’s history....I’m 40 and still afraid of being outside in the dark alone. 😱😂

From having a background and several qualifications in health care and many years and studying. I know the health benefits of regular meditation.

Deep breathing improves our bodies health through increasing the level of oxygen, which in turn helps to focus and calm the mind. Its a medical fact that a calm mindset helps speed up the healing process. There is also a link between our mental health and our digestive system.

Another interesting factoid (if your a proud geek like me) 🤓: I also read that apparently munks, through meditation, can actually block out pain and slow down their pulse when they achieve their state of zen. This shows the power of a focused mind and breathing deeply. 🦋

That’s why I started a mindfulness meditation gathering group in uni. To me it’s more about us being in tune with our own bodies and filtering out all the madness which helps us reconnect with the world around us. I also feel this allows our creativity to flow more freely. Plus the long term health benefits. So many of us struggling with our mental health these days. It’s good to remember to take time out for ourselves.

Their is such a massive link between our mental health and our physical health. Thats why Iv never understood why mental health has always been the Cinderella section of our health service, personally I have always felt we should be treated holistically.

As a person who has suffered 2 nervous breakdowns and experienced psychological pain that lead to actually physical illness and hospitalisation. I know that reality and the dangers of not allowing ourselves time to reconnect with the world around us.

Their are so many conditions such as CFS, fibromyalgia, psychological trauma and physical trauma that can cause pain in the back, joints and just about anywhere in the body. This can be made so much worse through poor posture and overcompensating. Deferred pain through over compensating long term can actually cause further injury to both muscle and joints.

Fiona blew me away when explained her TRE Practice and talked about how the body by using Heart Coherence completely resetting itself through breathing deeply in an even pattern of breaths the effect of which lasting up to 6 hours. It’s amazing that something so simple can have such an instant physical benefit.

Hearing Fiona talk about the subconscious and gratitude was really interesting. Iv read a book before called ��The Secret’ It is apparently based on an ancient practice called the laws of attraction.

The book talks about the keys to happiness and success are linked to our own thoughts and mindset. It also talks about the idea that the time we are living now in is actually formed by our passed thoughts and feeling, which I find crazy to think.

The law of attraction talks about how we are all magnetically connected to the energy of the universe and the energy we put out we attract back. Like that saying ‘misery loves company’ or the theory that some people are social vampires 🧛‍♀️ ....could that mean we actually attract them? 😱 I know I have many times. 👀 ...Constant negativity from other people makes me feel really drained.

So basically the theory is that what you expect and give out you attract. If you have negative expectations you attract negative people, events and experience and visa versa. It sounds simple, but hard to do 💯% of the time. I do try, but as you have probably read in past posts. I am prone to negative thoughts and paranoid spirals too (no shock there 😜). I decided I want to be as honest and open as I can on my blogs to try and become my true original self.

Sometimes I find it helpful to remember that even people who look like they have it all together can be the ones suffering the most. We all have public image we like to project. We all have our highs and lows. We shouldn’t be ashamed of them. What’s the point of being fake and protending to be positive 💯% of the time when it’s just not humanly possible for any of us. I read somewhere that apparently the closer our subconscious and concious selves are the happier we are.

I saw a lecture online with a professor (I can’t remember her name 🤦🏻‍♀️ I must look it up) but she said that all this pressure we feel to be positive all the time and demonising our normal feelings by labelling them as negative has a profoundly damaging effect. She said we have to acknowledge all our feeling. We have to then realise why we may be feeling them, then try and deal with them by allowing them to come through and out of our bodies other wise they get trapped and cause physical health issue.

I thought of this when Fiona talked blocked enegry from passed traumas getting trapped within our muscle tissue, which actually cause physical symptoms. The professor (who’s name I actually can’t remember) said to reject and ignore any human emotion is to have ‘dead peoples goals’ which I think makes perfect sense.....we feel the things we do because we are alive so we should embrace them so we can let them go.

Pain receptors are attached to the brain through the nervous system. The messages get sent to injury sights and respond to the pain via pin receptors🤓🧐 ....So I think what Fiona is saying is that these messages from our brain can get trapped/blocked due to trauma.

I’m not sure if I heard this right because it was so complicated, but Fiona talks about pain thought trauma. The system Fiona treats is actually controlled by the heart and these pathways exist inside this subcutaneous layer of membrane, which surrounds our body?

I was fascinated to find out from Fiona, that as a healer, she is actually able to unblock long term trapped energy pathways learned by the body through trauma. Through using Heart Coherence and TRE she can also somehow re-map the body and stop pain.

Fiona treats people by actually talking to the area of the body where the person is feeling pain, which she identifies as the site of the blocked pathway. It’s like she can communicate with the pain itself. It sounds so bizarre, but I would love to see it working and maybe even see if it could work for me. 🙏

Fiona also mentioned that we all have a 5 metre circumference energy field around us, I have heard that before, could that be linked to what people refer to as our auras?

I often wonder whether this force field we all have could be why, in times of stress or excitement, a crowded place can literally feel palpable, like you can feel the energy in the air radiating through our bodies in unison.

I know this is something Mark Wright is very interested in with regards to his work too. This idea that the body extends beyond it’s physical form.

It makes sense, because there is so much we don’t know about the subconscious mind, it literally functions 💯 % of the time and our conscious 5%. So is it really so unbelievable that our bodies can connect without touch? After all we are all made up of the same matter and energy. I don’t think it’s crazy to believe that healing powers can actually exist.

Fionas work sounds so interesting. I would love to find out more. I would definitely love to go up to Bidston when the crazy quarantine is all over and have a good long chat with her to find out more about her work. As Fiona said ‘Magic is just technology we don’t understand yet’

Humans have always feared science and anything new as it can be perceived as a danger or a threat, but thankfully we are living in times where are minds are open to new and exciting seemingly impossible things. Thankfully we are all less pitch folks and torches these days.

NOTES:

Take 10 mins

Brain has loads of syntactic connections syntactic change 2 hours or 3 days

Conscential reality

💯 subconscious

Magic is just technology we don’t yet understand

Field of energy of 5 met self energy

The heart the intuitive centre of our body. Relaxes body

Breathing resets body for 6 hours

Plasticity

Gratitude helps

Negative energies

Steven Portas

I deserve to have this change

It is safe to have this change and free to have this change

QEC practice Melanie Salmon QEC living .com

Calliban and the Witch - Silvia fredarichie

Practice TRE

[enzaime-blog]

Daniel’s Nerve Cancer Story

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/daniels-nerve-cancer-story/

Daniel’s Nerve Cancer Story

Daniel was an otherwise healthy toddler until he suddenly started spitting out his food at meals, having recurrent fevers, and experiencing sore knees. He endured months of misdiagnosis before doctors identified advanced neuroblastoma, a rare cancer of the nerve tissue. At Memorial Sloan Kettering, he received an innovative therapy that activated his immune system to fight the cancer.

In June 1989, at the age of two and a half, Daniel, who had always been a good eater, started spitting out his food regularly at meals. A large, apparently healthy child who was at the upper end of the height and weight charts for his age, Daniel had never previously experienced any significant health problems. This sudden change was very troubling to his mother, Karen, who, at the time, had just given birth to Daniel’s brother, Michael. “I spent all of my well-baby visits for Michael inquiring about Daniel,” Karen remembers.

Karen asked the pediatrician to do a chest x-ray, believing that some sort of obstruction must be preventing him from swallowing his food. The pediatrician refused, insisting that he did not want to expose a two-year-old to what he felt was unnecessary radiation.

At the same time, Daniel began to develop recurring fevers not seemingly related to any other symptoms. While both Karen and Daniel’s father, John, found these developments to be worrisome, the pediatrician reassured them that such symptoms were normal childhood occurrences. By September, Daniel’s condition had worsened. He came down with a different cold or flu almost every week, but, still, the pediatrician was not concerned, blaming the continual illnesses on nursery school, which, Karen was quick to point out, Daniel did not attend. “I just thought there was definitely something seriously wrong with him,” she says. “It was my mother’s intuition.”

Tumor Hiding — in Plain Sight

One morning in early October, Daniel woke up crying. Unable to walk or crawl, he told Karen that his knee hurt. Karen took Daniel to the pediatrician immediately, whereupon she was told to go to the emergency room of their local hospital in New Jersey to meet with an orthopedist. After a long, painful day of waiting in the ER, the orthopedist arrived. Despite Karen’s pleading for an x-ray of Daniel’s knee, the orthopedist, believing that a virus located in the hip was the cause of Daniel’s pain, ordered x-rays of only the hip. When the x-rays came back, neither the doctor nor the consulting radiologist saw anything of concern in Daniel’s hip. (Later, when Daniel was finally correctly diagnosed with neuroblastoma, doctors at Memorial Sloan Kettering reviewed these initial x-rays and identified the presence of a large tumor in Daniel’s spine — a tumor that had been missed by the previous doctors, who had been looking only at the hip portion of the x-rays.)

Because Daniel’s fevers had never dissipated, the pediatrician ordered a series of blood tests, the results of which all appeared normal. The pain, fever, and absence of a diagnosis continued through November, even after the pediatrician referred them to a pediatric specialist for a second opinion. Throughout this period, Daniel’s doctors, suspecting arthritis, considered sending him to a rheumatologist in Manhattan, but since none of the blood tests confirmed its presence, the referral was never made. Instead the pediatrician advised Karen to treat Daniel’s pain with Tylenol and told her that she could rest assured that whatever was going on with Daniel it was minor, since all the tests ruled out anything serious.

Prayers and Supplements

By Thanksgiving, Karen and John were at the end of their ropes. “I didn’t feel very thankful,” Karen says. She felt helpless as Daniel’s fever and intense pain persisted. Karen adds, “I just prayed, ’Lord, I know I should be thankful, but please show us the cause of Daniel’s suffering!’” With few options remaining, in early December Karen and John took Daniel for a painfully uncomfortable two-hour car ride to a highly recommended naturopathic doctor. The naturopath prescribed $400-worth of vitamins and supplements without even examining Daniel. “I felt so sorry,” Karen recalls, “that we caused Daniel to endure so much extra pain on this long trip, in our desperation to find an answer to Daniel’s suffering.”

It was a really big help knowing that these are caring human beings helping you.

John ErdDaniel’s Father

Reflecting on those early weeks of December, Karen and John say they noticed that Daniel’s pain had moved from one knee to the other knee, then from the knees to his hip. He also started to complain of a “tummy ache.” When Karen asked him to point to where it hurt, he pointed to his back. It turned out that “tummy ache” was Daniel’s catchall phrase for “pain.”

Finally, a Doctor Who Listens

It was around this time that Karen made a conscious decision to place everything in God’s hands. When the stress over Daniel’s condition began to get the most of her, Karen concentrated on reassuring Bible verses like Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” “Various scripture passages reminded me that it is God who is in control,” Karen says. “After much prayer and reflection, I thought perhaps a rheumatologist has seen something like this.” In mid-December, she insisted that the pediatrician provide her with names of rheumatologists, since Daniel’s severe knee and hip pain resembled the symptoms of arthritis. As she pondered the names of the doctors and hospitals given to her, Karen prayed that God would make it extremely obvious to her where to bring Daniel.

When Karen called to schedule an appointment with Dr. Thomas Lehman, a pediatric rheumatologist at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan, the doctor himself answered the phone. The receptionist was strangely absent from her desk, Dr. Lehman explained, so while he and Karen waited for the receptionist to return, Dr. Lehman proceeded to inquire about Daniel’s symptoms. “He listened for almost 30 minutes,” Karen remembers with appreciative amazement. A further sign to Karen that her prayers were being answered, Dr. Lehman just happened to have an opening at eight o’clock the following morning. Karen could not help but think that perhaps Dr. Lehman would be the one to finally diagnose Daniel’s mysterious illness.

It was nearing Christmas when Karen and John took Daniel to the appointment with Dr. Lehman. They remember his excitement at driving across the “Christmas bridge”— the George Washington Bridge, which connects northeastern New Jersey to upper Manhattan. Almost immediately, Dr. Lehman proved to be different from Daniel’s previous doctors. “He was wonderful!” Karen gushes. “None of the other doctors had wanted to hear the full chronology of Daniel’s illness, but Dr. Lehman wanted to know everything since he was in utero.” Karen is quick to mention, too, that as a physician Dr. Lehman recognized the utter importance of listening carefully to the mother, who knows her child best.

After absorbing the details of and asking questions about every iota of Daniel’s condition, Dr. Lehman said that Daniel was exhibiting many of the symptoms of some rarer types of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (JRA). While waiting for the results of the blood tests, Dr. Lehman prescribed Daniel the non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug naproxen used to treat a rare form of JRA.

At Last, a Diagnosis — “Daniel Has Cancer”

Daniel appeared to improve over Christmas, but on the evening of New Year’s Day he complained that his chest hurt. When Karen and John lifted his shirt to see what was wrong, they were horrified to find that his chest was swollen like a barrel. They notified Dr. Lehman, who insisted that they bring Daniel in first thing the following morning. “And we got a phone call from his office before 7 am to make sure we were coming,” Karen notes. “At that point,” John remembers, “we knew it was bad, but we still never thought cancer.”

Karen spent the day and night with Daniel at the hospital, as he received blood tests and the chest x-rays that Karen had requested of Daniel’s previous doctors six months before. Early the next morning, waking next to Daniel in his crib, Karen overheard someone in the hallway mention “the big C.” Suddenly, a voice in her head said, “Daniel has cancer.” Shortly after, Dr. Lehman walked in the room and told Karen that Daniel most likely had cancer, possibly neuroblastoma, but that it was treatable.

“After I calmed down a bit, I said I needed to call my husband, although I could barely utter the words through my tears,” Karen says. “It was such a huge shock, but it was also a great relief to finally have a diagnosis,” she adds. “The next thing Dr. Lehman told me was that he had already contacted the best neuroblastoma oncologist in the world, Nai-Kong Cheung from Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Little did I know that he literally was the best doctor in the world!”

Dr. Cheung arrived later that afternoon having already studied Daniel’s blood samples and the chest x-rays, which showed a large mass in his chest. After more tests and scans, he told Karen and John that Daniel had advanced stage IV neuroblastoma, which is a relatively rare cancer of the nerve network that carries messages from the brain throughout the body. Dr. Cheung recommended that Daniel be transferred to Memorial Sloan Kettering to begin treatment at once. “We very quickly knew, after speaking to a number of people, that Memorial was the best place in the world to treat this,” comments John.

New Treatment Provides New Hope

When they arrived at Memorial Hospital, the Erds were informed that a new treatment protocol called immunotherapy had recently been approved for patients with neuroblastoma. This was welcome news because, at the time, no child with stage IV neuroblastoma had been completely cured with the standard therapy. Immunotherapy uses the patient’s own immune system, through the injection of what is known as a monoclonal antibody, to help fight the cancer. The monoclonal antibody attaches to a marker on the surface of neuroblastoma cells, which becomes a target for the patient’s immune system to attack and kill the tumor. Daniel, at three years old, would be one of the very first patients in the world to receive this innovative protocol.

But first he would have to undergo standard chemotherapy to reduce the size of the tumor, which had invaded his knee and hip bones, a number of his ribs, as well as his spinal canal. It had taken so long to make the correct diagnosis that the tumor now blocked his spinal fluid from circulating and was crowding his organs, including his lungs, to such an extent that one of his lungs collapsed during the initial surgery to install the chemotherapy port in his chest.

The doctors informed the Erds that the entire treatment process would take eight months. To ease Karen and John’s commute, Karen’s parents quickly volunteered to take in the couple along with Daniel’s eight-month-old brother, Michael, for what turned out to be almost an entire year. “Words cannot express how thankful we are for the prayers and support of our families and so many others throughout our ordeal,” says Karen.

The Power of Childhood Resilience

Daniel was vomiting on and off throughout the night of his first chemotherapy treatment, which also happened to be his third birthday. But by the next morning, when Karen comforted him, saying, “You poor baby, you were so sick last night,” he remembered nothing. He was more interested in going to the hospital playroom, which he had seen the day before. “That’s the one positive thing about having cancer at that young age,” Karen explains. “The younger kids do better because all they know is today,” adds John.

Dr. Cheung was amazed at Daniel’s almost immediate positive response to the chemotherapy. When he came to see Daniel the following Monday, he found the three-year-old happily running around the playroom, seemingly free of pain. Unfortunately, the entire process was not as easy, with Daniel experiencing various infections, including a very serious case of septic shock. Throughout it all, Karen and John asked many questions, a practice that Dr. Cheung encouraged. “He told us, ’Doctors don’t know everything. In many cases, we try something and if that works, then we continue down that path,’” John recalls. “He was the most humble, selfless, caring doctor I have ever met,” Karen adds.

 Everybody in the neuroblastoma team is thrilled to know that Daniel is coping well, and that he learned the art of healing in nursing school, which will allow him to give back to those less fortunate.

Nai-Kong V. CheungNeuroblastoma Program Head

And it wasn’t just Dr. Cheung. Once the chemotherapy had shrunk the tumor enough to allow the bulk of the remaining portion to be surgically removed, Michael P. La Quaglia, a pediatric surgeon specializing in treating children with neuroblastoma, performed Daniel’s delicate surgery in August. “When we initially met Dr. La Quaglia, after listening to our story he said, ’I can’t imagine what you are going through.’ He was so personable and caring right from the start. It was a really big help knowing that these are caring human beings helping you,” John says.

Success — Daniel as a Happy Young Adult

Between the chemotherapy, the monoclonal antibody immunotherapy, and the surgery — which together accounted for the 350 days Daniel spent in the hospital during that fourth year of his young life — the tumor eventually disappeared. “Daniel’s positive attitude and compliant nature were so helpful throughout the entire ordeal,” Karen remembers. There were a number of post-treatment-related health concerns, including some developmental delays, but Daniel went on to be a smart and happy child, adolescent, teenager, and, now, young adult.

Inspired by all the remarkable healthcare workers he has met during his treatment, Daniel has decided he wants to give something back and is currently studying to receive his degree in nursing. He is also an avid and talented artist, and has been actively involved in hockey, paintball, and snowboarding with his brother, Michael, and friends. Looking back on the long, twisting road that has led them as a family to the present, the Erds, fortified by their faith in God, take nothing for granted and are able to appreciate the great gift of life that is presented to them each and every day.

The Erd family dedicates this story of courage and resilience to Daniel’s loving grandparents — Henry and Lida Erd, and Anton and Kay Thomasen.

[lets-imagine-fanfics]

So my boss has just found out what has been going on at the pub when he isnt there. Ie. Bar tabs and buckets of ice for drinks to stay cold since the fridges.are shit, especially on hot days. Since i was the last one to do a bar tab, even though i was trained to and when the new manager came in the assisstant manager and supervisor (who lives at the pub) said to do so too. My boss made a scene on messenger about it even including a pic of the reciept with my hand writting. And so i messaged him privately and tild him what was going on, (didnt name no names coz i hate no snitch) Then he messaged the group again asking about the buckets. The worker after me was supposed to empty the bucket once the ice started to melt like what a normal person would do, she didnt and now it makes me look bad. Even thougj i had said the boss that drinks in the buckets had been bought a lot since it was a hot day etc. But im soo embarrased, i have never been this embarrassed before, i just keep crying. Like i was literally sobbing whilst talking to my mum. Work already treat me like i cant do anything for myself, and when i try and learn new things like how to line clean, they wont teach me. I honestly dont feel appreciated at work. The ammount ive cleaned and degummed the tables and polished etc whilst the other co workers sit on their phones or watching tv. The boss gives me less than 10 hours a week even though i have told him that i need at least 16 to do my apprenticeship. Everyone else is there with 18 and 19 hours all the way to 39. People from his fiances pub comes in and takes our hours too. He has said the other week that he will watch the cctv and the person who does the best job gets more hours. (them lot do fuck all, he didnt even acknowledge anything i do) i try to make everyones experience there the best even though its a shitty pub, i have bamter with everyone. And people like me, im known at batman since i wear a black batman top a lot, my docks get recognised a lot too. The co workers treat me like i cant do anything even though. I have been there for 9 months and have spent years in the hospitality biz. They always say they cant make it to work a MINUTE before their shift, and yet still have the most hours... Like how?. I just Hate it, I hate it there, but im scared that im kot going to find anywhere else. Like the ammount of times I have become depressed because of this job is unreal.

[somedaypast-thesunset]

i just ... dont feel right inside of myself. like something is slowly leaking into my brain. yesterday i slept for a good portion of the day at his house, then went to sleep around 10pm. when i woke up yesterday it was to an alarm at 5:40. i told him the alarm had given me anxiety straight away - i had to search for the phone in my bag and couldnt find it right away. 

he said it was okay and reminded me that its just because the day is starting and if today is not good i have to remember there is a tomorrow and tomorrow might be better. he told me that i have to remember not to give up and to keep doing what im doing because im doing good. 

i dont feel like im doing good. i dont feel like im progressing like i should be but like.. i put some weight on medication solving many issues and it did but it did not solve the underlying issue which i think my doctor recognized right away. 

and i really appreciate my doctor. i really appreciate that there is someone of professional studied calibre to say - hey, you know what. you went through a lot of shit. youre not fucked for not being able to cope. the majority of people dont go through what youve gone through. and they probably wont. 

and thats it you know - like i want a level of sympathy but not pity. i want the understandng of how important it is to my life that i do not have parents or a family. that is a huge defining factor of so many things. and its not because i needed them to take care of me. thats not it at all. i am perfectly capable of caring for myself - in fact; ive done so for most of my life. i cared FOR THEM so its not laziness. its not me going out in the world and crying about how i have to be an adult. ive been an adult since i was 10. like since i hit puberty, ive been an adult. ive taken on adult responsibilities an handled adult situations since i was 10. and thats 17 years. my doctor brought this up himself - he recognized that ive had 17 years of dealing with trauma that most people dont deal with or deal with at amuch much older age when theyre able to cope. i grew up in trauma. i was built by trauma. 

my doctor actually repeats it a lot - you lost both of your parents. like its not the excuse - its the reason why i am struggling. i dont need anxiety about why im struggling or why i cant get better; there is a reason. he is giving me the answer that im looking for. 

last night i was very upset. he asked if i wanted to go for a walk or refocus or stretch or talk about it. but i just felt very very upset. i told him that i had felt very isolated for the past few weeks. but not because i spend time alone. i have no problem spending time alone. i was an only child, i learned to cope with being alone and i found peace in it. being alone is very peaceful. 

but you dont be alone forever. you cant just _be_ alone unless you literally isolate yourself and live off the land. like you have to revert back to cavemen times to be entirely alone. and i’m not interested in that; people realized by banding together you accomplish more and i’m not going to go against proof of a millenium of years. so people; all people - every single person is important. they might not be important to YOU but theyre important to SOMEONE so theyre important, you know? everyone is important; everyone i meet will affect my life in some way. 

but this isolation is not in a lack of meeting people. ive been around people. ive had options and choices to be around even more people. but when im around people and i try to relate with them or have a conversation ... i dont care? like i care, i care about whats happening with them but like i have no sense of relation to them. like theyre hanging out with cousins or family or they have this wedding to go to and their cat dies and its the worst thing that happens or their grandma dies and people are sooo sympathetic and thats not my experience of life? like i have not had that experience of life. so i’m carrying a lot of resentment and bitterness towards life itself right now. and i feel like i have to reprogram myself to be okay that i didnt have the exprience a majority of people have and continue to have. so its kind of an ongoing battle to be like - hey, its okay you dont have a mother. its okay you dont have a father. its okay no one really cares if youre dead or alive. just keep doing you.

i guess in some ways im envious of people who have good mothers. i always wanted to have a good mother. and you know what? it would be amazing to have a good mother right now. even as an adult. that would be really nice. i feel like if i had a good mother i could sit down and chat with her and she would be invested in my life and give me weird advice i dont know if id take but maybe i would and she’d make cookies or maybe shed buy cookies and give them to me but either way im getting cookies. and then you know maybe at the end she slips me 20$ for bus money or something - you know moms and i go off to work or something. 

i’m not really asking a lot of a mom, i guess. i have pretty low expectations. it’d be great if they didnt hurt me. i feel like ive been hurt a lot. even by my father - maybe unintentionally. like it hurt that he didnt care enough to be well. and he couldve. he really couldve. i feel like there was a lot of senseless death around me. i feel like no one cares. like people literally died because no one cares. thats how serious life is. i cant unshake that. its not like a belief i have. its my truth. its what ive lived. 

but im not delusional, you know? i can obviously see people caring. like the bubble i grew up in - no one fucking cares. not a single ass person givesa  fuck and i think we were all developed in our own ways to not give a fuck beyond ourselves because maybe this whole bubble was just survival. 

but i can see it exists. i can see its not beyond a human being to care. i can see it with my own eyes so thats also a truth. but i feel resentful its not a truth for me; as much as i’ve tried to have it be and not just with my parents and not just within my bubble. but it cant be the whole truth because life has variables. 

like i feel very attached to him right now because he is a variable. and i hate to create this like.. level of heavy importance on who he is and who he is to me because to me it feels like life or death. not that iw ould die. its very unlikely i would kill myself over him. like ... theres too many other reasons for it to land on him, honestly. but its life or death of my hope in the world as i know it. this is like the one last shot, one last chance of being proven that not every person i meet is going to be an asshole. that i have atleast the CHANCE for love, support, care & understanding. 

but thats because of who he is. not because i came into it with the hope that hewould do this for me. i never had an expectation for him - ever. i was pretty fed up and just kind of went with whatever was going on in all of life. but he became a variable because as i got to know him, i realized how good of a person he is and how much he cares for me.

one of the biggest things that gives me so much... i dont even know. like something good that is undescribable. he is not like.. some next level person or anything. hes just a normal guy, but because hes capable of being ... i dont even know if its mature or adult because adult men older than him have been worse and have been worse to me. like, to me this is transcendent in a very deep scar that has been within me for a long time regarding men and sex.

i have been treated terribly in most of my relationships. if not all of them. and a good amount of that treatment has come in the form of sex. men have not given a single fuck about me in a relationship when it comes to sex. i am an obligation. they deserve sex because theyre in a relationship with me and thats what we do. thats just how it is. even in terrible times, you know? even in the worst of times, they’d still be trying to fuck. and its fine - really, maybe thats a nature of a man. but if it is - and you overcome that nature to display a level of fucking respect, thank you. 

i think he understood before i said it last night, but i described it outloud - i have bigger problems than your passive need for an orgasm. life is a lot bigger and harder than this. it’s a lot more real. he had made a sarcastic and joking comment when i was scrolling on my phone (in view of him, on instagram) to stop talking to all my boyfriends. my gut reaction was a very stern, rolling of the eyes kind of “sure”. i understood he was joking but to me it was so stupid - so stupid - that even as a joke i wouldnt entertain the idea of it when i do in fact feel anxiety on a constant basis to a point that even thinking about other men or other people in such a way is a waste of my time and something i’m really not interested in. having “more” boyfriends or additional relationships honestly progresses nothing in my life. the relationship and friendship i have with him is acknowledgable as incredibly important. 

i think weve had sex once in three weeks. not because no one is interested in being physical, and not because we’ve become distant in any way, but because its not the most important thing to do right now. its not really really necessary. i believe he almost understands it as just a physical need that is natural like a sneeze or take a shit. which sounds terrible, sex should be more than that - and it is, but when you’re overcome with the need or the urge for such a thing, you may be lonely or you may just have an urge - like an urge for eating mcdonalds or chocolate. you dont need to satisfy that urge by creating multiple parterships and fucking all sorts of people. it can be as simple as jacking off and moving on in your day. 

though, truthfully, i enjoy having sex with him. he’s created a trust level that has allowed me to sincerely enjoy it and when we have sex, even when it’s a quick thing, it feels like he really appreciates that i’m offering my body to him. whether or not i was still fairly asexual, whether or not i had an inherent desire, i was still offering my body to him for him to use. it’s hard not to feel like you’re in a passive/submissive position when you’re the one being prodded; even if you take enjoyment from it. but maybe its just me. i dont know. regardless i feel lik the position is respected. 

sometimes, i feel like a true ‘queen’. he treats me so well and has given me such legitimate deep care. when i speak about even the few things he does for me, on his own accord, i feel like there are some who are envious / jealous and try to express somethig their boyfriend does for them; like it’s an one-up contest. instead of appreciating that there’s someone - anyone - in my 27 years of life who gives a fuck enough to show me such treatment, they try to extole the virtues of their own partners. 

but there are some i feel appreciate it. why shouldnt i be treated like that? why shouldnt he braid my hair, feed me fruit, make me cakes, dance with me to flashdance when im sad? why? i didnt ask for any of these things (i asked for cake) - why dont i deserve someone who wants to do these things? not only does he do this - he frequently, if not on a daily basis, looks at me in clear honesty and tells me i look pretty or that my clothes look good, or my hair looks nice. if i manage to put on makeup, he always acknowledges it. if i dont, i’m still told i’m beautiful. 

one time he told me it and i told him he always tells me it when i kind of look terrible - like i havent showered in a few days or i forgot to brush my teeth or wash my face or brush my hair. i’m a mess, most of the time. he told me he could see “underneath all of that”, as a joke. 

he was - and told me - he’d talk to that girl last night. i fell asleep and he was awake for maybe a half an hour or so but i dont know if he did or not. i truly dont care. i feel like the only reason he cares is a perceived notion tht i have something aganst her personally; which i dont. her existence only matters because of his past connection to her, otherwise i wouldn’t know of her at all. and his past connections are so far in the past and so meaningless to the present that i legitimately dont care. thats not his life or my life or our life anymore. 

and i guess thats kind of a way i grew as a person. and he might not even realize that, which is okay. but like - i’d definitely, in the past, hold a lot of resentment and bitterness and distrust in a person who has done some of the things he has done. but he’s never lied. and that’s like.... that’s real. he has never once even attempted to hide or lie anything. ever. and knowing things makes life better. knowing whats happening around you and why and who the person youre dealing with is and why they do things and what theyve done before - it’s a choice. you can choose to be involved when its all laid out or you can leave. your choice. are you hurt or do you move on? 

i really appreciate that level of honesty for once in my life. for all the liars and theives ad fucked up people ive been around, i need that. and i am a mostly honest person with him. which is bad. like to use mostly is already bad. and if i was entirely honest, it’d probably be okay, but i have shame in what i did. and again - no interest in being with others, so i’ve not been with anyone since weve been together. i havent even spoken to other people. 

this morning he asked how i felt. i said about the same. but he let me wake up in a more natural way instead of rushing me or waking me up himself and it helped a bit. as he was driving me home he said something like, “baby girl, even though you’re upset you still have to find me funny”. i told him i wasnt upset. he said “well sad or unwell or whatever, you still have to find me funny”. as i got out of the car, he repeated that he loved me a few times and to have a good day. i told him to text me later, he told me he’d call and see how i was doing. 

his concern makes me feel like at least taking a shower is worth doing in my day.