#oh and racists who never wanted Sophie to be black but those people aren’t actually going to support that season

[bohemian-nights]

another one of my issues with the whole michaela twist besides the lack of consideration for intense misogynoir that they’re forcing masali to experience, is that the season is YEARSSSS away. so we have to wait for a black female lead that’s so far removed from right now? so now we can’t ask for a darkskinned black female lead because we’ve already been promised one for a season that might not happen, who knows what the future of the show will be? also the book is going to shape shift so much already and i don’t trust jess one bit to be able to handle that. changing the gender changes a lot, and fine, whatever, but she is not capable of writing anything decent so.

Yep. She’s basically meant to silence us. While everybody else gets their rep and happily ever afters we have to wait until 2030 for a glorified stereotype who chases after a white woman married to her cousin(probably going to make her sex crazed too and call it “empowering”) whose “happily ever after” will consist of living in hiding with said white woman.

That’s supposed to be our representation, but you know we are jealous greedy bigots for pointing out the obvious….

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[estradioltone]

Why’s my stomach hurting? Why am I feeling so lonely when I have so many messages to answer? I CANNOT have another favorite person. Does that mean I’m doomed to high school loneliness?

When I was fifteen lots of people liked me AND I didn’t have a favorite person. Sean? Sam? Danica S? I’m trying to remember. Alex? Stephanie? What show did we do that year? It was Charlie Brown. Mattress, Charlie Brown, Trial by Jury, Sound of Music, and Alice. Shauna? Alex? Danni? Jonathan? Jordan? Danica made those CDs for me. Gabi? Ellery? Irene? Keziah? There were so many people. And none was the favorite. Kaz? Therone? Felicia? Deja? Corri? Jae? Cassie? Leslie? Laureen? Katy? There were so many people around me and I wasn’t the favorite and no one was my favorite. I wasn’t even talking to Amanda at that point. And I did like her. There were a number of people I was attracted to, and, I didn’t make any moves, bc I didn’t get close enough to them in terms of conversations. I needed that first. Like to be comfortable? Lauren? Was she in focus? I can’t remember much if anything about her now, and I was so into her then. Kari?

I used to change with Kari.

Oliver and his male friends used to change in front of each other.

Kari was so great. We were always friends only. I don’t think either of us ever had feelings for the other. She was such an amazing friend. Caitlin? Anna or Sarah? Sarah F? Janell? This is the first time I’ve dug into the memories of those earlier high school years. It literally feels like a backhoe digging into dirt and clearing it away. Archeologist excavating.

I remember sitting in 204 watching some movie in the dark. Mrs. H was teaching. I don’t have memories. Of what we learned. I never learned in English. I never knew what the fuck was going on I just always got A’s. I wrote that paper about having a peanut allergy. It has terrible racist stereotypes. No one called me out. No teacher. I was fifteen. Today I would e known better. Unless I was a republican. Like I was then. I was very conservative. How was I conservative? It didn’t fit with any part of how I acted. Danielle? Remember that film I made that was literally just everyone swearing. Spencer? I remember so many things. Why did I write that.

I don’t want to remember many things.

Why not? That’s so fucking weird. There are many things I don’t want to remember? Where did that thought come from?

I don’t want to remember bc it hurts too much to remember? That thought just came to me.

I wasn’t hurting during that year. I wasn’t depressed. It was like that time with M in sophomore college. Wow. In that moment sophomore looked like high school sophomore to me. It felt like being in Maine. It felt like mid August two summers ago. It’s summer. It’s June. Two summers ago he sucked my sick for the first time and I couldn’t even get hard. I knew what I was doing was wrong and I forced myself to keep going bc I wanted it. That was my fuck up moment. He kissed me that night. It was like Amanda asking to marry me what the fuck to DATE me. How did that happen? It’s in retrospect I wish I’d said no

The hurt is that if I remember I’ll double remember how

The blue waffle thermal

I remember the car and snow pants but not skiing. I remember kissing and my precut glowing like a river. I got wet like a girl. I got hard like a boy. I don’t know what’s normal.

I remember the night she came to see me at the Estonian concert. “Let’s go over here. Lots of girls like me here.” She later told me that freaked her out not freaked out it was like “ullll” what are the words that describe what that means it’s like a little oh no and yikes at the same time. It’s like when O asked me what my main interest in the relationship was and I said sex. And he had the same reaction. And I said, how could I have ever said something like that. It’s callous. And, it was honest. And then I got attached. Before I was having fun. I was happy.

And when I’m happy and having fun I behave like a disgusting jock boy. Maybe that’s who I essentially am. Maybe I’m choosing to be trans so I can become a different person. I do want to become a different person. Even then I thought back like what the fuck was I doing. Like when I touched G and C’s breasts. And I wasn’t allowed to go to cast parties. I didn’t get to do wild things. Would I have?

I was so many different people. I’m also the person at Sam’s house who was afraid to be there.

Remember Caitlins white dreads. Remember when Safi first came to school or Kylie. Remember how cool and superior you felt. Remember how everyone was lesser in your eyes. Sophie. Edna. Kendra. Nikki. That girl molly sitting on my lap and I was hard as fuck. I didn’t think of that in so long. Was that ninth grade? Or eighth?

We were at Burgerville.

I was just doing whatever I wanted.

Is that who I am in a state of nature?

And, I’m the person who stayed in my room instead of going out for a birthday party.

What was Menucha like that year

I didn’t have many years with older friends after that.

Remember Laura. You were twelve and she was seventeen. But you never really talked after the show ended. Would she hug me? Did she hug me in sixth grade? Was I happy at the end of sixth grade???? I think she hugged me by the 201 door. I can remember it now.

I drew that picture of her.

I said “your eyes aren’t quite even.” Wow that must have hurt her and I could see it in her face.

I did whatever I wanted. I thought I was cool I was trying to be cool at all times.

That was my first summer in Eugene. Jessica Zach Ted. Dr. A. Joe. Nicholas. Brahms. Komm Jesu Komm. Standing on the steps in that rehearsal room. My feet sweaty and stinky as fuck. Black like sweat things coming off my toes. My roommate was Nick.

That moment in the hallway taking down my pants. “Should we go all the way?”

Jessica wanted to be closer than I did. I fall back on ppl when I’m lonely but don’t want closeness when I’m not. I use people. I do what O did to me. He didn’t really love me? Or did he?

I’m single now but I’m not having fun but I need to give it more time and I am being more wild. I started to get wild sophomore year. Sarah G. I thought things had changed. But I didn’t want them to change bc I wanted to be unhappy there??????????????

You’re really cool for a freshman. Others wouldn’t do that.

Well I’m basically a senior bc I’ve already been at my school four years.

High school was my college time in a way. It was my amazing time and I was studying and creating big projects. College was my high school time hating things and not self actualizing and not being myself.

Did I do it on purpose???????????? Is that kind of thing possible???????? I know I’ve thought that before. Can I be faking this all? This little voice says yes. What the fuck. I have to be honest about that little voice. I have to bring it up.

She isn’t going to set the agenda. If I want to keep going on the same subject, I have to push onwards into it. What memories are there to open up there? God this is going to take so long and I want to do other things and I know I want to have done this work of digging through elementary school and things.

Honor choir I was the only freshman and I sang alone and they all clapped and cheered for me. I pooped and made the room stink and I was too embarrassed to say. I didn’t have anyone to sit with. I couldn’t sit with people who seemed cool to me. The directors were like gods. The guys were from Montana. I was wearing my first set of boxer briefs. They said I wasn’t like a normal freshman. The performance meant almost nothing. I was sick to my stomach going. I was sick to my stomach going to Eugene. I was sick to my stomach for years before undergrad. J. K. was too. She told me that later on. We read that same book.

I wanted to prove myself. That other guy was shaving and we were all sharing the bathroom. He was shaving. I took my underwear off before getting in the shower. I wanted to show myself I could. I wanted to expose myself.

Why am I so obsessed with the idea of having been molested or raped now and not earlier in my life? How could that be possible? How could I not have remembered it sooner? Or thought of it? Not in undergrad at all. I must be making up that fear. I make up my whole life. All of life is imagined and made up and fake and shit. All of life is imagined period. How am I tired again and yawning. I was always yawning with the computer on my lap. They said the computer heat makes you infertile. Did I lose my chance of having a bigger dick bc I sat a computer on my lap? I loved having a laptop. And, I never looked at porn porn. I was so abnormal. Everyone else did.

Talking with Jacob about penis size. I didn’t think about size mattering. That Hannah who later must’ve fucked Matt P. He came down with shorts so short his dick was hanging out. It was so exciting to me, and horrifying, bc I liked her. I liked so many people. I like so many people simultaneously. I jump around. I can’t find my place. Maybe I don’t have a place. Singing was my place.

I really liked Cole. How much older is he than me? Less older than I am compared to O. I think. He went to India and then he came back and did what. Was he only 24 or 25? We all thought it was fucked up that he dated Eric L and he was a senior and Eric was a freshman. He came out later. I’m so fucked. W moved on to a whole different kind of life where she has adult friends with children and she and F will probably have a kid sooner than later. She already got pregnant once.

J and M (C) are growing up a lot. I see everyone else changing so much. I’m objectively changing with HRT and whatnot. And therapy. And I don’t feel like I’m changing. When change is slow you don’t feel it. Which of these people is really me? My developmental stages are so mixed up. As a kid I fit better with adults. Even my parents say that. Now I really like nineteen year olds and twenty year olds. And, I just saw H and M tonight and there was a big gap between me and H but I was quite into M. I wanted to look at their breasts and forced myself not to. I wonder if both of them noticed and they talked about it later. I wonder how much people notice the things I try to hide. Am I good at it? Am I better than I think? Which me is really me?

I want my breasts to stay small. So I don’t get judged. I’m very worried about being judged. I’m not a women and I don’t like being called a woman. I felt like a man and no longer a boy if that makes sense. But I can be called a girl. I’m getting very agitated thinking that I’m faking being trans. We all change our gender identities bc it’s the thing to do. Conservatives are right. We should be conservatives. The conservative position is easier to defend. They never have to prove themselves. Their beliefs are the old ones. Why should we change. Life is fine. My mom doesn’t want things to change. Or I’m projecting on her. I tho m I’m better than others and I project my bad things onto them so I don’t deal with them. Is that why I feel so free?

How fucked up am I. I wrote that paper about L dying in sophomore year. I’m more introspective and controlled when I’m in a relationship. With A and W and O. Not D. I had to lie about her attractiveness. But I loved her mind. Or I loved her being there for me when I needed someone.

S isn’t comfortable with me. We went to the beach tgt with her brother. I felt she brought her brother so we would t be alone tgt. She probably knows I have feelings for her. And have for over ten years. She’s honestly so pretty. She never replies when I message her on ig. She’s had so much sex and partied so much. Idk if her hair really came back after her eating disorder. She’s a professor. A real one. Not like fake ass me. I live at home. I’m Jim the gentleman caller. I just want to relive my moment of being cool. She wasn’t cool in high school. And, she had a group. And, she’s secure in herself now. Is she? I don’t know her. She doesn’t engage with me probably bc she knows I have feelings for her. If she had feelings for me she wouldn’t react in that way. She would want to talk to me. Or she’s holding me back bc I’m a nightmare pos.

My dads bloody eyeballs. Bloody eyeball in New York.

I had introspection awake at night on my computer. Maybe if I slept more I’d have a bigger dick. They called me pancake. I’m sad that W’s life is complete without me. As I thought earlier me like O so much must make her feel the same way. S watches all my stories but never messages me. She keeps her distance on purpose and has for years. I need to stop reacting to her posts and messaging her ever. She never ever ever reacts to me. I talked to her about O. That was one of our only conversations. In the past year I mean.

I have so much left to say I have to pee I always tried to hold my excretia in.

I used to put stuff in my butt. They took me to the doctor for it I think. And in my ear. Or was that S. I know I fingered myself when I was quite young. I’ve been obsessed with pooping since forever. Obsessed. Butts. Anal phase development. Freud. We both stuck stuff inside ourselves I think. Or was it only him that stick stuff inside his butt. I can’t remember for sure. I thought it was me.

My blue basketball tracksuit. Orange basketball. So excited. Getting up early and getting fully dressed by myself. So excited. Running to my parents. It was so early. They told me to go back to sleep. They were sleeping. I couldn’t sleep. I read something. It was so boring.

Everyone was asleep at the R house. I woke up early and first and I was so bored. I went to play that football video game. My mom got mad at me for playing that game too much. Did she get mad that morning? Tf was I supposed to do????? I was bored. Why did I get disciplined for such stupid shit. That’s a reason I didn’t respect my parents. This shouldn’t be a rule. Same as eating in the living room whole watching tv.

2:30 tomorrow.

Hold on hold onnnnnnnn the bathroom at OLL.

I make up narratives of being emotionally hurt.

So many fucking thoughts!!!!!!!!

Im making up a catholic school molestation story. Or am I.

That bathroom. That bathroom. Urinals without dividers. The tall skinny ones. Just like in the bathroom but 220. 220. Second floor, room 20. Playing football with Dominick and Kyle and one other boy. Kyle is dead now. Kyle C. Kathryn was friends with him. She posted about him. Angie. Leah senior year.

Your profile picture is you with another girl.

I changed it.

How excellent. Walking with Jessica on 4th of July. Dr. A gave a speech. We stepped forward for How excellent. Why was I involved? I don’t know. I wanted to be. They taught me the song. I sang alto I think. My voice was free. Did anything hurt? I don’t remember it did. I didn’t need Ricola. Or did I. My voice got sore junior year. Not sophomore year. I could sing big. I should’ve always gotten to sing big.

I’m going into a tunnel with my practicing. I need to work on something different.

I’m squeezing my neck like crazy.

The church at OLL.

SW from church really really wants me involved in her prayer organization. I am not a believer. It’s BS. That speaker was so BS.

I need to text W.

The church has blue carpet. “Jesus died on the cross, you can stand for twenty minutes.” My legs hurt so much. I remember lighting candles but that happened in California, not here. When Aunt K got remarried. I found out much later her husband drank himself to death. They got divorced before that happened. He would drink rubbing alcohol. Steven went too fast lighting the candles. I was so mad. Don’t you know what you’re doing. But I had to stay in character. My dad has to go up and relight them. I was humiliated. I danced with Baby Anna. She didn’t recognize me after that. She was so cute. I was 10? She was probably three or four. I was so disappointed when she didn’t know me after that. We swam in our shorts. I got such a bad sunburn. My skin was peeling at the Aunt P ranch. We were reading H P. I’m still scarred from that sunburn. Left shoulder. The soda thing. They had their own automatic soda. That was so cool. Everyone else lived in the real world. Not us. We lived in church world where I wore clothes I hated. And we took family photos I hated.

I’m just born evil nothing happened to me I’ve just always been evil and bad.

I looked in the mirror in the same bathroom mirror the same bathroom mirror where I shaved my unibrow when I was mocked I still do or was I even mocked I was just afraid of being mocked why do I have a unibrow why am I the weird one how can anyone love me when I’m so weird

But it’s not the same mirror bc that ugly cupboard got replaced and the door was so broken and I shared it with S and A. Sharing is such a nightmare. This house is pretty small for three kids and two adults it was at capacity. I wonder if that’s why we fought so much.

I didn’t work on the book today again.

The book.

Not my book.

Not even his book.

The book.

Where’s the ownership dumdum dumbass

But even if it’s not the same mirror it’s the same thought. I looked in the mirror and I believe I even said out loud just now

Crazy that I don’t remember

But if I said it out loud my parents would’ve heard

Why don’t I want my parents to know anything

Did they know when Z said he would kill me if he could or he stole all my friends

I was talking about how Lindsay Lohan was naked in parent trap. She must not have known I said. That excited me so much. Being naked. She was naked. It’s bad but it turns me on so much. It’s not appropriate but I’m so into it.

Even T said my obsession with sex is abnormal. But she agreed with me saying that. Maybe she was just pushing me to do more thinking. Idk if others are telling the truth for sure. My moral compass is off. I always want or need an external standard. This is right. This is wrong. I’m bad. I’m a sinner. If I just be myself I do terrible things. I say I’m just in it for the sex. I say all these girls here like me.

He said what did we used to listen to? Jonsi?

Adele too I said

It’s so fucking weird that we message at all.

It’s weird FOR ME that we message

God I’m so far off topic

Did he really forget what we listened to? Are our moments tgt not seared into his brain like laser and fire? I remember everything. I remember his letter. I remember meeting him by the chapel. I remember sitting on the bench outside the music department and we sat for so long and I was thinking this is weird I should leave but he just kept talking and then it was bc he liked me. I’m sure I still have that first letter in my box of heartbreak which is actually an oversized envelope. I remember seeing him from down the hall and feeling so happy. Am. I really gay? And that happiness was real. And maybe I was his gf and that’s why it didn’t feel gay

If I was abused how come I can have sex without being triggered

After a lifetime of being obsessed with sex how come it doesn’t feel good

I never lose myself in it

It just doesn’t feel that good. Masturbating feels better. Did I not have the right partner

I see little me in a dress

Instead I was in stupid fucking clothes I hated

I wore white socks at St. Luke’s with black pants. My mom told me dont. I didn’t want to listen. Then she was right. She was self satisfied afterwards. “yyyyyyyyyyEP.” Why tf were we even at St. Luke’s. S and A lived behind St. Luke’s. They were so cool. BC was there. I talked about having written an opera. He must’ve been like wtf. I saw him at undergrad at a concert. M said to me who was that guy you were talking to and said he was sexy or something. He was. I wasn’t into him though.

Oh my fucking god I’m so off topic AND I want to get this whole thought out.

S and A were so cool. I can talk to A bc I don’t have sexual interest in him. It was a long time before I knew he was trans. I was trying to put so much stuff together. They were both so fucking cool. S isn’t that cool now to me. And it’s hard for me to talk to her calmly. She had meds. I’m sure she has problems like I have. Maybe that’s why our relationship became weird. Weirdly close but not close and I was always yearning for more like I did with B. But I knew I couldn’t !!!!! That was so fucked up. My legs twitched. I wanted to be her.

Hating boy dress clothes. I always have.

Wanting to be an older woman.

But I’m totally cis.

What am I

I looked in the mirror now like I always did in high school and said I think out loud WHO ARE YOU in an emphatic tone of voice. My face and voice were serious. My eyes were wide. My mouth was set. WHO ARE YOU didn’t mean what’s wrong with you in this case.

Katy is commenting to me again it’s the most interaction we’ve had in years why am I not giving more energy back why am I being aloof maybe bc she out distance there and I’m trying to keep myself safe or I’m hurt or I’m just consumed with other things or I just don’t feel close to her. Her not talking to me hurt a lot. Stop distracting from topic!!!!!!!!!!! T hurt a lot. Then T sent that heart emoji to my post today after “stay well”

Alright

Idk what that means and W sees it so simply and straightforward and I just don’t.

That’s not who she was

I’m obsessed with WAS

WHO ARE YOU meant which of these many different versions of yourself that you experience and present is the real one? How can there be so many?????

I did outpatient at the hospital near sams house and Sam dated Irene and Irene announced her engagement today and both of Irenes parents are dead and we haven’t spoken in decades but were still connected online.

I wish I was walking in snow like when I was hurting over D and I walked so far and my mom called me like what the fuck you’re going to get attacked and I said I used to walk the streets of New York much later than this

Sam dated K and he was never the same after that. I was there with Gabi and Kari and we made deep fried lovin and it was amazing and we loved it and Sam and I could never recapture that although we tried a few times. He always said “what do you want to do” and I didn’t know and neither of us had an idea. I went to so many weird ass coffee meets and hangouts in those first few years after high school. A had a pool party or something. When was the slip n slide party. We had all those AGT parties and tried to recreate or simply create the social life and friends over we should’ve had in high school and I believe my mom was extremely happy bc that’s what she had always wanted, to be the party house, like all the kids coming to play at her house when she was a kid. But how could anyone like coming here with the way she acted. We actually were a party house in elementary school. There’s that day when we all played in the rain and I was wearing red sweatpants. There’s the picture where I wanted the attention and I stood in front of the whole group sideways catching snowflakes on my tongue. We played smear the queer in the frosty grass. The athletic boys were the coolest. K’s older brother Dylan was called superstar on the soccer field. We played so many games at OLL. Do you remember tether ball. Words look weird rn what are letters even. Wall ball and black magic and double black magic and triple black magic and quadruple black magic and four square and kickball and soccer and basketball god we were so competitive it was amazing and so fun

Kickball on the asphalt we always had scraped knees who approved that who let us play like that. Brandon fell and left his teeth in the asphalt or at least that was my image of it. Zero the Hero. One hundreds day. Turbo math. Writing books. Everyone else knew things I didn’t. Star Wars. Everyone knew things I didn’t.

We couldn’t be the party house in middle school. She wasn’t safe. I wanted to die. I deserved to die bc I was so disobedient.

Who was I? The no friends middle school. Won’t let myself poop disgusting fart everyone smelled it too scared to pee off the stairs I had to get approval to go to the outhouse too scared to spray the wasp nest taking down the pole and failing and smashing my hand and it had that big scab and I washed it with hand sanitizer bf that was all I had and maybe that’s what caused my blood clot but it happened so many weeks later how did it happen so much later. I was so into J in college junior year and then she told me the story about fucking that other guy when they were drunk. She even Skyped me. She loved that one guy and then he picked someone else and it ruined everything and I was always starving and eating my cereal too fast but I didn’t want to spend money buying more I only went to Cub like once we rode the bus and took so many pictures and I looked so happy in that moment. And R was there. Before he assaulted me. I didn’t want to touch his dick the memory of touching his dick is literally making me shake rn I need to stop it was so hard and small he was everywhere on campus he did whatever he wanted he was loud everyone loved him stop thinking about him!!!!!!!!!!!

My neck and arms are so tense rn what is wrong with me why did I have so many social problems putting my backpack in those cubbies when we went to eat I was so scared it would be stolen I took it with me I was the only one it was so stupid I was such an envarrassing person I’ve been so controlled in my life by embarrassment only the Asian kids ran they didn’t care what anyone thought of them we laughed at them that was so typical mocking any difference. I read the books of school history trying to understand the values and I finally did I didn’t fit in!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I have R and E and C.

The protests are dying down. We’re at the limit of change. It’ll take another death to rile this back up. That’s disgusting but I think it’s true. Things were done in Portland at about 9:30.

I feel sick. I feel legitimately sick.

I feel so sick and my ears are ringing great!!!!!!!!!!! And I saw T and her boyfriend and thought about how I want sex and I’m not fuckable. Which maybe I am. Maybe that’s my essential self. Unfuckable and insecure and anxious and scared of being different and scared of being judged and bc of this always already different and trying to be different so I stand out as a star but not wanting to stand out at the same time. Do I even like singing or like music or do I just want to be famous. I have been so confident that I would be famous. I’m so confident in my ideas. I’m so smart. No one can be more right than me. My co fife to self is despicable.

Maybe I loved being fifteen and being with M and being at A M F and two summers ago with O bc I wasn’t this disgusting insecure person but everyone liked me. I’ve been thinking that that person is my essential self. But maybe the whole thing is that thats NOT ME AT ALL. I’m not meant to be a star or be anyone I’m meant to be a worm and disappear and be nowhere and that’s why I do t have groups and that’s why no one liked me at undergrad and at the same time didn’t I keep myself out of groups on purpose so I would keep honoring high school? Like we keep honoring Leah. Just like I keep holding onto the pain of O to honor the relationship that we had and prove my real love for him. He’s moved on more than I could ever imagine moving on except that’s not true in the sense that I don’t know anything but I must be ABSOLUTELY clear with myself when I say that the reason it’s not true is because whatever I say is an assumption and I’m working on not making assumptions about other people at this point in my life bc I need to act on what people say bc I’m not at all a mind reader. And, I hope that he is thinking of me. But I’m playing with myself. He’s fine if he was here then he would be here. He might be in another state he might be in a whole other relationship.

Don’t fake yourself out. He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

He’s moved on.

He’s moved on.

He’s moved on.

He had at least one other relationship.

He might not be single now.

He’s moved on.

He’s not coming back.

I need to finish this. I avoid the real point. Why does my brain do that. And I want to write down every thought. Why so many digressions

Okay then

I’m typing with my eyes closed sometimes which is something I used to do in high school while I was typing late into the night exactly like I am right now. S always lay facedown on his bed which I thought was fucking weird bc I only lay facedown to masturbate.

He did that in the day time

I kissed so many objects after reading the Star Wars novelization

We played Nanosaur at catholic school and public school.

The computers were in the portable

I never got to play as much as I wanted to

The computers were in the library and I played type to learn. I was watching Star Trek tng with my dad on a summer night and it enthralled me I couldn’t tell when special effects were bad at that age. We had to leave I had indoor soccer with Kirill’s dad and he was a star in the Soviet Union he said but who knows and I went to his house one time to play video games and it was a small apartment and I was so surprised. The preps took him in instantly but why not me WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME WHY IS MY GRIUP THE PPL WHO ARE WEIRD SS FUCK

We funked in the halls people laughed at how I didn’t know how to move myself or in anyway be in my body and I couldn’t let go why couldn’t I let go people who let go looked so cool Sam was our mascot at that high school duhduhduh day I didn’t know what tf I was doing there why was I in ASB it just seemed like the thing to do we tied I was relieved when I lost I missed the midnight going into the secret places in the school thing fuck my life I missed so many things I wanted

GOD DAMN JT

There were younger boys who went to pee in our one and only bathroom and they took their pants all the way down to their ankles and the older boys came in and made fun of them while they were still right there and I heard it and made sure not to be like the kindergarten boys so I wouldn’t be made fun of. I think I peed like that before that day. It didn’t matter??? Smooth white butts. There was one brown person in the class named Tharik. Maybe not but we were so white.

Is there anything else to remember about that moment?

Sinks where you pushed the bar at the feet to turn on the water

I’ve been to so many airport sinks and the urinals have no dividers

I always prayed no one else would be in the bathroom why was I so scared to pee beside someone I would be seen why didn’t I want to be seen? Other times I was dying to be seen. How did my desires change so much

Why was I obsessed with sex. I had fantasies of Hoth of magic school bus I was naked in so many. I didn’t want the doctor to examine my penis. I said can my mom do it instead and tell you. No he said but she can sit in the room. Okay he said. I was so scared. Why was I so scared. Why didn’t I handle it normally. Why I’m gods name would I want my mom to see my dick. What the fuck was wrong with me.

Is there ever a time I look back on myself and think wow that was a good decision I’m proud of that. No! I have happy moments like being the only freshman in honor choir or playing the zither or whatever it’s called with A

Am I more evolved than I was then

I choose not to act or do anything bc at least that way I can’t make any mistakes and not acting is also a mistake I can’t bear to do what I did in the past and then somehow I do it before I realize I’m doing it

Why was I obsessed with sex

I read about luke and Leia kissing in that movelization and I kissed so many things around the house trying to capture the description from the boom of how her lips felt. There were choose your own adventure books and i always imagined myself in them and unmade so many self insert fantasies where all the characters were still there. the boys were my friends and the girls were my lovers. I think OLL was where I read junior Jedi knights. We used to go to the library so much the old one and I read through so much Star Wars and Star Trek science fiction. I was never attracted to the boys. I never judged the stories I just enjoyed the imagination. And I read Ancient Greek mhths. I’m a fucking nerd and nothing nobody who got thrust into the center stage and suddenly I had some popularity and then I had that personality push and pull. Always being criticized. A criticized me and W criticized me after my recital like right after and A took down the program in Eugene and Ö tore me apart so many times including after the MC. Anneke was so fucking attractive.

God

I never should have had attention. I liked so much stupid nerd stuff. But I was cool in elementary school. I feel like wherever I am I try to make the stuff I like cool and bring people to me. I can’t fit into them. Music is a great way to do that bc everyone loves music.

I have always had false ideas of who I am but when I’m depressed I can be realistic. That’s why it’s good for me to be depressed. I’m a sinner and no good and deserve it. I deserve to feel bad. It’s penance. I deserve it.

That’s not what I should feel and that’s not what my brain feels but I write down stuff like that bc that’s what my heart is saying. Those could even be in quotes. That’s being said by a different me inside me if that makes any sense.

I’m so privileged. What do people think when they see me. Do I not have more followers and more story views bc I’m a fucking loser and that’s what people see? But I liked myself. I liked what I saw. I liked it. But it wasn’t or isn’t good enough for other people. My opinions grate. My opinions drive people away. Why do I always have such strong opinions.

I never do anything part way

I started masurbating so early. How did I find it

Don’t message back fast. They’re very inconsistent. You’re hoping for much more than they will ever give. You give what you look to receive. You don’t give what people deserve. You don’t give based on the real quality of your relationship but by what you want it to be or you give without regard for yourself and only regard for pleasing the other. A. W. O. D.

No boundaries. Too many boundaries. Inappropriate feelings. I do so much to avoid inappropriate feelings.

What’s inappropriate

Wrong

You should have sexual feelings for that person

You shouldn’t like people that much older or that much younger. I never knew him when he wasn’t an adult I stg

I can’t remember any sexual feelings at all in third grade. I remember so many times when I thought wby dont I like anyone. I remember like forcing myself to like K in fifth grade. I end up dating or whatever people I’m not attracted to. I see someone in them that isn’t the real them and then I expect them to act like that person

I guess I tried to change O. I’m the bad one

Idk if that’s true that I tried to change him.

But I definitely might say x is a good decision in my opinion. Stuff like that.

Am I asexual? The question doesn’t stop coming back to me.

Can I remember anything. I don’t fucking know.

I played with my penis from a time when I was very young.

W feels natural for me but wrong. That’s not who I am.

K doesn’t feel natural these days most of the time and idk why. Is she just a costume :( I don’t want her to be but maybe she is. I have to face all my inner voices. Avoiding them has hurt me a lot.

I don’t see people for who they are. For who they are inside I see them. Nope. That’s my projection. Who I think they could be which is another way of saying who I want them to be. Stupid stupid stupid.

Zuko

Rubbing my dick on my bed felt good. Rubbing it on blankets felt better. Pulling down my pants and then pulling down my underwear. Better and better and better. I didn’t think to masturbate with my hand for years. I went through so much shampoo. I came in so many showers. Once I was scared I would get my sister pregnant bc I came in the tub. I came in my grandparents’ bathrooms. Both of them. My dads dad doesn’t hardly seem like part of the family.

Why don’t i remember more?

Because there’s nothing else to remember.

Each experience is a different me. How will I ever know who the me me is. So many different selves. So many masks. A different person around every single person. Only O and D knew the full me. Not A or W. They were my sex friends and we were in a relationship. Sex was what I wanted. I turned into their emotional support doll. They didn’t support me. I don’t tell W things. She isn’t on my sinsta. I haven’t told her about it. She would be hurt that I didn’t. And that I wouldn’t add her. Don’t give people things they can’t handle. She doesn’t use my girl name. I wonder if O knows I changed my name online. It doesn’t matter. He’s not part of it.

She doesn’t understand a lot. A doesn’t understand a lot. There are these lines right. They’re not like me. But we have sex. Sex is so important to me bc they’re sex friends. But then I get sucked in emotionally. Same with O. We were sex friends that got emotional.

I never had sex that satisfied me.

There’s a gap of why sex why me. Etc. Why secret. I’ve always been a secret whore like lots of white girls.

I’m obsessed with symmetry too. I’m not normal. I hate seeing S’s name in my text suggestions or whatever they’re called. predictive text.

I’ve always been obsessed with symmetry. Idk where that came from. I can’t stand asymmetry in my body which ofc we all have bc nothing is perfect in nature in a mathematical sense.

Left right right left

Up left down right down left up right

I do that pattern constantly. Teeth tongue mouth eyes feet

I’ve done that since forever. Why

Idk

Nothing comes from nothing but that doesn’t mean it came from severe sexual trauma either

I’m trying to find trauma just find sexual thoughts in the past instead

Like my dad giving me that one shirt sex talk and how uncomfortable it was and how I thought about balls or how sex was always trash and we had to go to bed when our parents were watching a movie did they ever make out there was no physicality in their relationship ever. She has her couch my dad has his chair

I don’t want to be physical with them I do with everyone else maybe I’m the abuser maybe I was born that way I kissed everyone they didn’t want it maybe Mrs. H was right to punish me that way. I feel like my sexual interest started before kindergarten

Masturbatimg has always been fantasy time. Sometimes memory time. Sometimes creating fantasy memories. Sometimes living out things I read. Erotica really is the superior porn

I masturbated like crazy, and, I didn’t know any sexual terms. Bisexual is when the woman is older than the man LMAO

I think already in first grade or so I didn’t tell my parents about school. I didn’t want to. Everyone knew who we were. Big ass silver van. We always were the last to leave anything. Always talking like crazy. Public was our only freedom even though it was our fake selves. I kicked the rock into Mrs. G’s ankle. My mom shouted at me. We were just playing. AND I know that I knew I was being risky. We ran laps around the school. It was always hard for me. Running. I always hated it. I couldn’t push myself. That Mikaela or Michaela or however she spelled her name was ahead of me on the sidewalk. She was faster than me. We ran laps under the covered area. That was where we were allowed to play during rain time. I told Jesse she was dat and she said that’s a black mark on my soul and a sin. H E L L H E double L H E double hockey sticks

I peed my pants and somehow Mrs. H knew