#the only way i know how to cope with work is to hit the gym like a little freak

[pixiethoughtsfairyfeelings]

~

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[heartshapedcigaretteburns]

Ex!Gaz who's still in love with you:/

(Look at my handsome boy💞)

Ex bf! Gaz who never wanted the relationship to end in the first place but you just couldn't handle how little time you got to spend together. He fought tooth and nail to try and make you stay but it wasn't enough. When that doesn't work he tries convincing you to stay friends but you know deep down that wouldn't work out so you reject the idea. 

Ex bf! Gaz who low-key stalks you. I mean is it really stalking if he means well? He just wants to ensure you're doing okay so he keeps tabs on you. Initially, he maintains his distance by checking your social media, but gradually, he starts appearing in the places you frequent, coincidentally running into you at the grocery store or gym more often than usual.

Ex bf! Gaz who worms his way back into your life subtly. Getting more involved with your mutual friends so that they invite him along to outings he knows you'll be at. In every group setting he manages to stay at your side despite how hard you try to get rid of him.

Ex bf! Gaz who is ecstatic when you warm up to the idea of remaining friends but he doesn't stop there. He's desperate to make you see that you're meant to be with him. He firmly believes that he was destined to marry you and grow old with you and he just doesn't understand why you can't accept that. In his eyes, you are his fate, his ultimate destiny.

Ex bf! Gaz who can't cope when you start going on dates with other people. Nobody else is deserving of you. You're meant to be going on dates with him, holding his hand, smiling at him. In his mind, no one else can treat you the way he can.  Sooooo naturally he resorts to sabotaging your love life. He'll find a way to make every new potential partner suddenly change their mind about dating you. And when you get stood up for the third time, he's there to hold you and comfort you, offering solace. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were convinced that this new guy actually felt something for you. Things were going great - you had been on a few dates and really hit it off. It wasn't anything like what you and Kyle had but it was a step in the right direction. 

However, everything changed when he stood you up at the restaurant, leaving you waiting for 40 minutes without responding to your numerous texts. Finally, he replies, but the message crushes you.

"Sorry, I'm not coming tonight. I don't think this is going to work out."

Your entire body crumbles inward and you shrink into the booth as you process those words. You desperately tried to text back and ask what went wrong, but he had already blocked you. What a dick.

You apologize to the staff for the inconvenience, collect your belongings, and start walking home. As you left the fancy establishment, hot tears streamed down your face. It didn't take long for a familiar car to slow down beside you. 

“Why are you walking alone so late, love? C’mon, hop in.” Kyle spoke with a caring tone that both comforted and hurt you.

As much as you wish he wasn't so comforting, you find solace in his presence. You felt disappointed, frustrated, humiliated, and above all, unlovable. It's only natural you fall into his reassuring company.

You allow yourself to get into his car and let him drive you home while you sob pathetically and pour your little heart out. You're not even certain he can understand you with the intense blubbering you're doing but he can, he always can. He listens to you vent to him, gently rubbing your exposed thigh until you get it all out.

“God am I just not desirable enough? It seems like nobody wants me." You cried softly, your voice hoarse. 

He pulls into the driveway of what used to be your shared house.

“You're incredibly desirable, lovie. Anyone would be lucky to have you, he's just an idiot. He doesn't deserve you anyways." Kyle reassures you as he guides you inside to show you just how desirable you truly are. 

Okay this idea I've been toying with in my brain a lot lately and I think I executed it pretty well but let me know what you guys think. Hope you enjoyed! Ignore spelling and grammar errors though 😽😽😽

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello! Okay so this is my first ask!

Could you please do number 30 "If I told you that I didn't need you, well that would be a lie" from the pocket full of hope prompt list you recently posted for Stuart Scola and Sasha please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @noxytopy @district447 @stelacole @abby-splace

Companion piece to:

Every Inch Of You (NSFW) - You and Stuart spend the night together after two years apart.

Escapee - You and Stuart are reunited when a face from your past escapes from prison.

Safehouse - You and Stuart discuss moving forward now you're back in NY.

The Life You Could Have - You get a glimpse into the life you could have with Stuart.

You’ve been in the safe house for three days before you start to get restless. Stuart can see it in the way you pace the living room, tidying Jack’s toys, stacking the books in a neat alphabetised order.

This happens sometimes when you can’t go for a run or hit the boxing gym, that relentless energy you have, it starts to build and build inside you. It makes you impulsive, reckless.

“You’re going to leave aren’t you?” He asks you that night after he’s tucked Jack into bed. You’re drying the dishes on the draining board, putting each one back in its rightful place. Outwardly you’re the epitome of calm, but he knows you, knows your brain is going a mile a minute.

“It’s the only way to end it.” You tell him, folding the towel before you sigh placing your hands upon the surface of the counter. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stand being cooped up like this, it feels like I’m trapped in my own skin.”

It’s the ADHD, you’ve never received an official diagnosis but Stuart sees it in you, he always has. He mentioned it a couple of years ago back before you got married and you conceded he was probably right. You hate the idea of being shoved into a neat little box so you handle it on your own and it works mostly…

Until you end up a position like this, trapped in a house without the usual mechanisms you use to cope.

“Sasha.” He says softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, trying to sooth you. “You just gotta hold out a little longer-”

“That’s not really how it works with me.” You remind him.

You may have been apart for a few years but he hasn’t forgotten the other way you deal with his feelings. His fingers thread in yours and he guides you to his bedroom, closing the door behind him so Jack doesn’t hear the noise. The way you fuck him that night, it’s wild, untamed. He’s forgotten that it can be like this with you, he’s forgotten how he can be when he’s with you. It’s bite marks and scratches, bruises that’ll last for days and finally it’s ecstasy, the most intense euphoria he’s had in a very long time.

When he wakes up the next morning it’s to an odd sense of unease. He runs his hand over the sheets to find your side of the bed empty and a cloying, ominous silence seeping through the house.

It’s then he sees the note propped up on the nightstand and his heart sinks because he realises the truth now, that last night wasn’t really about burning off that excess energy, it was really about saying goodbye.

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[aikyudo]

I wanted to share this! I'm officially down to my 'starting weight'from all the way back in 2018. Back then, I had just started to notice some weight gain and tried to exercise to loose weight, but I didn't really track calories or change my diet. I hated exercising back then so I quickly dropped it.

Where I was in my life back then really sucked. I dropped out of college after my grandmother died of cancer and had to find my own place to live and a job because my mother couldn't support me while I tried to go to school. I'm pretty certain I was depressed.

I had turned 21 in 2018 and quickly developed an addiction to alcohol. I was absolutely using it to cope with my shitty life. I lived by myself in a studio apartment, worked a call center job that I hated, my boyfriend (now husband) was going to college 2 hours away and would never call me on the phone, only text, and I would only see him on the weekends.

I would get drunk basically every night, sometimes cry, because I was lonely. All my friends from highschool, I felt, had abandoned me and they were going to college. I felt like a loser.

In 2020, RIGHT before Covid hit, I moved into the house I live in today. My husband and I live in his childhood home in the countryside. When I moved in, he was still in college and I still lived alone, but at least it wasn't in the studio apartment. I think if I had to go through Covid in my studio apartment, my mental situation and addiction would have absolutely gotten catastrophicly worse.

But after 2020, I stopped drinking alcohol to cope and became a habitual drinker, I would still get drunk most nights of the week, but it just became the thing to do. I would mark my schedule around times when I could be hoke to drink. I never wanted to stay out late because then that meant I couldn't get drunk. If I was busy and didn't drink, especially on a weekend night, I felt strongly like I had wasted the night because I couldn't get drunk.

I tried cutting back, "weekends only" but it never lasted. I kept gaining weight and kept drinking way way too much. I ended up getting encouragement to go 100% sober from an unlikely person, my husband's pothead friend.

New Years of 2023, I decided my new years resolution for 2024 was to go sober and loose weight. I went sober and it took a few weeks, but I was surprised by things that I just thought were my personality at that point.

After about 2 weeks for my body to fully flush out any residual effects of alcohol from my body, I noticed I slept better, had more energy, didn't have as much brain fog and was surprised by how much more free time I had in the evenings. Crazy how when you're not shitfaced all the time, you have more time for your hobbies!

May 2024 was my one year wedding anniversary, and I decided to share some drinks with my husband to celebrate. I didn't get wicked drunk or anything, just a little tipsy. Then the following weekend, we shared more drinks to make sure we finished the expensive ($50!) Wine we had bought. The weekend after that I drank the most I had in months.... a single tall beer and two shots. Oooo wow soooo crazy I know. But the days after that I felt like, itchy. I wanted to be drunk SO bad it was driving me nuts. I didn't even have THAT exceptionally good of a time! I drank my beer and played minecraft, I wasn't even that drunk!

After that I decided that i really couldn't even drink occasionally if it made me want to just BE drunk for no reason afterwards. My whole family, both sides, is just riddled with addiction. Usually alcohol, but I found out my grandmother and her mother both had an opium addiction.

For loosing weight, I had been going to the gym but stopped because I got more and more involved with my sewing hobby. But the main thing I did to loose weight is calorie counting.

Listen, it SUCKS tracking everything and being mindful of what you eat all the time. Of course I still have sweets and fast food occasionally (right now I am a FIEND for stove top hot chocolate and I need to slow it down because that is a LOT of junk calories).

I think a lot of people are scared of calorie counting because of the stories we hear about teenage girls going bulimic and obsessing over their weight, but honestly for me, it's the only way I've successfully lost weight.

I've tried weight loss through the years with no success because I was still an alcoholic and wasn't calorie tracking. I cannot deny my own success-- I went from 180lbs to about 145 lbs in 8 months. That's 35 pounds lost! I was technically obese! Although I certainly didn't look it.

I feel better about myself after my weight loss, I definitely look better, I'm vain I admit. Being a slimmer size has been having its own problems, I have to have a completely new wardrobe and now I have no idea what my bra size is. My goal weight is 125-130 so I'm still loosing weight, which makes me a little worried because I'm still sewing new outfits and garments for myself, haha.

But I'm so so glad that I finally went sober more than anything. I'm so happy I have the time and the headspace to really enjoy my hobbies and get stuff done. Of course I miss it, I'm an alcoholic after all and I think I always will be, but if I'm really craving something there are some AMAZING 0% beers and wines out there. And usually I get cravings if I'm bored, which is usually when I would drink. Bored? Have a beer and get shitfaced and watch markiplier. He's always there for a good drunk time lol.

If you are struggling with alcoholism or addiction and want someone to speak with, please feel free to drop me a line, I'm always available to talk.

[eryiss]

Summary: Seeing your ex boyfriend is always awkward. Having to work with him, in a job where your uniform is a speedo no less, is almost too painful to deal with. But Freed had a left lot of things unfinished with Laxus, and maybe now was the time to fix them.

Notes: Hi all. Head to @fuckyeahfraxus to see some other event submissions. This was meant to just be Laxus obsessing over Freed in a swimsuit, but developed some emotions. As a warning, there's a few mentions of homophobia, but not in much detail.

Links: Ao3, Event Masterlist

The Pool-Boy, The Barman & The Things They Left Unsaid

June - 2023

"And I'd like to welcome our new summer hires," Gildarts said, looking over his clipboard. "We've only got two in our department. Bickslow here is gonna be one of the new pool boys, so the rest of you can help him out. And we've finally got someone to help with the pool side bar; that's you Laxus."

Freed, who had been sitting at the back of the locker room only half paying attention, froze at the sound of the name. It was an uncommon name, and Freed had never known anyone to have it other than him. He quickly scanned the room to have his suspicions confirms, and his stomach dropped when he saw the half familiar man standing at the front of the room. His pulse exploded and he looked found himself unable to look away from the only man he'd ever loved.

Laxus was there, in the same room as him again after five years.

He looked different. As kids, Laxus had been almost weedy and lanky, but now he had more bulk and muscle to him than the average gym rat. His face, which had once been gaunt and pale, was tanned and home to the strongest jaw Freed had seen. If it weren't for the scar and those enchanting eyes, Freed might not have recognised him.

"I'll be spending the morning training Laxus, so don't bother me unless is urgent," Gildarts continued. "Oh, and today we're trialing the new uniforms for the pool boys. Bickslow's already offered and Freed, since you've got highest rank, you'll be wearing one as well. And, well, I can only apologise for what management has chosen. Hopefully it won't go past the trial week."

Freed couldn't take in anything Gildarts had said, as the second he'd said Freed's name, Laxus' eyes had widened, and he started to look around. Freed attempted to make himself as unobtrusive as he could, but the locker room wasn't that big, and it only took a moment for the heavy weight of someone else's gaze to hit Freed. Freed tried not to look, but after a nudge and encouraging wiggle of the eyebrows from Natsu, Freed looked up and was trapped in Laxus' gaze.

Five years. Even after all this time, looking into Laxus' eyes sent lightning through Freed's veins.

"Right, gentlemen," Gildarts began again, and it sounded muffled to Freed's racing mind. He couldn't look away. "It's Saturday, we've got new guests coming and they're gonna want drinks and to use the pool, so get out there," Gildarts stood tall. "You all know what you're doing. Laxus, you come with me, and I'll talk you through everything. Bickslow, job's pretty self-explanatory for the most part, but go to Freed if you need anything. Freed, new uniform's by your locker."

Everyone moved, and Freed was forced to tear away his eyes. He felt a hollowness he'd forgotten about entirely.

Laxus followed Gildarts out, and Freed made sure not to watch to see if he looked back. The room was now almost entirely empty, and Freed felt nothing but the thudding of his heart. Five years of trying to get over Laxus – trying to find another man who set fire to his heart in the same way – and it had all just been undermined. Laxus was back. Laxus was his coworker. Laxus was as mesmerising as he ever had been.

He pressed his forehead against his locker, mind swirling as he decided what his next move was. He wasn't the type to turn and run – certainly not from a job as well paying as this – but how would he cope with his ex working only a few feet away from him. They'd have to coexist. They'd have to be civil. They'd have to have a damn conversation every time Freed picked up a tray of drinks from the bar to deliver to a table. How could he deal with that?

The answer was obvious. He would grow up, remember he wasn't a teenager, and do his job.

Forcing confidence he didn't feel, he straightened his back and picked up the black package that was sat on the bench in front of his locker. As he unwrapped the package, he told himself that he'd treat today as if it were a normal day; Laxus would not have the same innate influence he'd had on Freed when they were kids. They'd both grown, likely both changed, and both knew that the other just wanted to get through the day without it being too awkward.

He looked down at his new uniform, and blanched. A speedo, nothing more. Today was going to be hell.

Two Hours Later

"It can't be that bad," Bickslow chuckled, the sun beating down on him as he straightened a stack of towels. "I get that they're revealing, but you're pulling it off."

Freed had spent the morning trying to focus on work and had failed miserably. Every second, he was lamenting how bad his luck had been. He'd left for work that morning expecting a regular day with a busier than normal shift being the worst thing he could deal with. Now, he had to spend the day serving men while wearing the tightest swimsuit he'd ever seen, all the while feeling the ever-present shadow of Laxus fucking Dreyar. It was only nine in the morning, and Freed was almost certain that this was the worst day of his four years working at Blue Pegasus.

Even the realisation that he'd been working there for four years soured his mood. He hadn't wanted to be a damn pool boy. He doubted anyone strived to be a glorified waiter who wasn't allowed to wear a shirt. It wasn't a bad place to work, and the fact it was so gay friendly was a relief Freed would never under appreciate, but still. It was meant to get him through the last year of college, nothing more.

"Okay, I know I barely know you," Bickslow cut though Freed's thoughts, crossing his arms. How he was so comfortable in the speedo was astounding to Freed. Though, he likely didn't have to endure an ex. "But you're clearly not just pissed about the uniform. What's up?"

"Nothing," Freed shook his head. "I just would have appreciated some warning, that's all?"

"Why, can you make your abs even better than they are right now? I doubt it," Bickslow nudged his shoulder and cackled. Freed would have laughed, but he suddenly felt the heat of eyes on him. He turned to the bar without thinking and caught Laxus turning away quickly. "Ah, is it blondie? He's been makin' eyes at ya all day. If you're not interested you should tell him, or I can do it," He shrugged, then clicked his fingers. "Oh shit, do you not like men at all? I kinda assumed – gay resort, Y'know – but if you don't then I'll tone down the flirting."

"No. Don't worry. I am gay," Freed shook his head. "And it's not like that at all. If he is looking at me, it's not for that reason."

"You sure?" Bickslow teased. "Because I've had a lot of guys wanna piece of me-"

"We dated, through some of high school and the first year of college," Freed cut in, mainly to stop the conversation from getting more off track than it already was. He was meant to be telling Bickslow how they replaced and cleaned the towels. "It wasn't exactly the best of break ups, we fought with each other and haven't seen each other since. It's just… uncomfortable."

Why he was telling this stranger that, he didn't know. Freed had never been the type to be open with his feelings, but the ridiculousness of the day must have gotten to his head. That, and through the unofficial training he'd been giving Bickslow, Freed had found him easy to talk to.

That quickly fell away when he thought back to his and Laxus' breakup. They had been looking for an apartment to share for their final year of college, and during one of the viewings it had all suddenly became clear to Freed. Laxus had said something about the building – about how good the location was, and how far it was from his father's building – and Freed had snapped. He realises that everything they were doing was influenced by Ivan Dreyar, and he couldn't take it anymore. Every bad thought he had about Ivan – and Laxus' inability to stand up to him – had come out. They'd fought, they'd left the apartment they had nearly rented, and hadn't spoken again.

There was a lot of regrets from that day. Freed shouldn't have blamed Laxus; he knew what kind of a hold Ivan had over Laxus and shouldn't have thrown it back at him. He should have approached the topic with at least a modicum of sensitivity. He should have sent a damn text to apologise.

Too little, too late, Freed supposed.

"So that's why you've been sending me to get all the drinks he serves, huh?" Bickslow said, snapping Freed from his recollections.

"I had hoped you didn't notice," Freed confessed.

"I don't care. I thought it was the weakest new guy hazing I'd ever seen," Bickslow shrugged. "But, I'm pretty sure you're gonna be working with him for a while and you can't avoid talking to him forever. So why don't ya swagger over there, show off those abs and that ass, take those drinks and make blondie drool over ya."

"I'm not exactly the type-"

"Just go talk to the guy, Freed," He looked over Freed's shoulder and towards the poolside bar. "There, he just got an order. Take the drinks, thank him for making them, and leave. That's all you gotta do."

He made it sound easy, and perhaps it was. Freed turned to look back at Laxus, and caught him quickly looking down again. A tray of drinks was already prepared and waiting for pickup. Freed had taken drinks from the bar thousands of times now; it would take only a few seconds and would require very little conversation. Freed couldn't avoid Laxus for as long as they were both employed, so they'd have to do this eventually. It was best to get the first contact over with.

Taking a breath and gathering his mind, he stood tall. He was careful as he walked; wearing this ridiculous thing was humiliating enough without slipping on a puddle. Laxus seemed to sense his approach, as he looked up. His eyes caught on Laxus', and his breath halted for a moment.

Laxus looked gentle. That had never been a word Freed had associated with him before.

Freed was beside the bar within a moment, and half expected Laxus' eyes to wander over his body, but they stayed trained on his face. Freed picked up the tray of drinks, glanced at the sun loungers he was to deliver them to, and then looked back at Laxus.

"Thank you."

"It's alright," Laxus nodded slightly. Freed went to turn, but Laxus spoke again. "Wait."

Freed did, and Laxus seemed to be fighting for words. Freed waited before speaking. "Are you-"

"I'm sorry," Laxus spluttered slightly. He looked vulnerable. That was new. "Everything you said was-"

"Laxus," Freed whispered. He hadn't said that name in a long time. "You don't need to apologise."

"No. I do Freed," God, the way he said his name. "You were-"

"You don't," Freed shook his head slightly. "We'll speak at some point. I'll tell you why you don't need to apologise, and you'll likely tell me what you were just planning to say. But not today. Not when I'm still processing that you're here," He saw Laxus wince. That wasn't new, and Freed hated the fact he had caused it. "And certainly not when I'm dressed like this."

"Yeah," Laxus laughed weakly. "Was kind of a shock."

"It was for me, too. I can assure you I hadn't been told," They shared a small smile, before Freed remembered the tray of drinks. "I should take these."

"Yeah. Yeah of course."

"It was… I'm glad to see you."

Laxus' head snapped to him. "Yeah. You too. Really glad."

Freed nodded, and turned away. A weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying was lifted.

Five Days Later

Their shifts ended almost at the same time. It was so late that it was nearing the morning, and most of the guests had vacated the pool hours ago. Freed, who had showered and changed in the locker room, walked back outside to see Laxus was sitting at the edge of the pool. He had his back to Freed, and absently was kicking his legs and making ripples in the surface. Freed couldn't help a soft smile at the sight as he walked towards him.

"Hello," He said, and Laxus whipped around to look at him.

"Hey."

Freed slowly brought himself down to sit next to Laxus, with barely a foot between them. He slowly put his legs into the water and looked out on the reflected lights. He waited a few moments before he spoke again. "Before we begin, I have to ask. Did you know that I was working here before you got your job?"

"No," It was a firm response. Freed believed him. "I'm not upset that we can talk, but I had no idea you'd be here."

"Good," Freed nodded. "So… we should discuss what happened."

"Yeah," Laxus turned from the pool to look at Freed. "I… I don't really know how to start. I know what I want to say, just don't really know what the words should be, Y'know."

Freed did. But hearing Laxus confess to being at a loss for words was something he'd never had before. "I understand that. But there's been a few things I've wanted to say to you since we fought, so I'd like to get them off my chest first. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"The things I said… they were unacceptable," He saw that Laxus was about to speak, and put a hand up to stop him. "The relationship you had with your father… I still believe it was bad for you, and that it was hurting you more than you would admit. But I also knew how difficult that relationship was for you, and that you weren't happy with the situation either. I threw it at you in a moment of anger, rather than trying to broach the topic in a way that might have helped you. I shouldn't have done that, and I really am sorry for that."

"Freed, I was letting that man-"

"No. That's the other thing I needed to say," Freed interrupted him. "There was always a part of me that thought you were… complacent with your father. That you shared a bit of the blame. But you were a teenager whose father was just awful. He threatened you anytime you did anything he didn't like. That was him, not you. I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise."

"You didn't," Laxus placed a hand on Freed's. "Seriously Freed, you never made me think that. Even when we were fighting, I wasn't pissed off at what you were saying. I was pissed off because I thought my dad was ruining another thing I cared about."

"I still shouldn't have said what I did."

Laxus took some time, before sighing. "I needed you to dump me, Freed. I was pissed about it for months – wounded pride, Y'know – but I think it needed to happen."

"Really?"

"Freed, I was an angry dick when we were kids. When I was around you, I got calmer and felt better. We worked that way, but it couldn't last forever," Laxus leant back. The sky was cloudless. "I always thought I kept it hidden; all the shit my father was doing. I actually thought you didn't know. I was stupid back then. You laying everything out for me… it made it so I couldn't hide from it anymore. I thought that I could just endure all of my dad's crap until I made a life that didn't have him in it, but that didn't work. I needed someone to make me stand up for myself."

"Did you?" Freed asked, honestly shocked.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "Not straight away. I was stewing in how pissed off I was for a while. Then, I realised I wasn't happy and found a therapist. She helped a lot, but even then, I was scared to stand up to him. He'd given me a job at his company – high up, well paid, totally under his thumb – so I felt like I couldn't do anything. I think that's why he never had a problem with me going to therapy; he thought he could win against her."

"And he didn't?"

"No. We had this meeting in front of the investors. I stood up, nudged the table, and a glass of water spilled on his knee. I thought he was gonna explode, but he didn't. He called for his assistant to bring in a massive pitcher of ice water, handed it to me, and told me to pour it all over myself if I didn't wanna be fired," He scoffed slightly. "He was fucking insane, and I never realised it. Not really."

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"Nah. I nearly did. Then I nearly threw it at him. But I just walked out, quit and blocked his number."

Pride bloomed in Freed; and perhaps he didn't have a right to feel that way. But Laxus had stood up to Ivan, and not with a screaming match or a fight, but with a straight rejection of his ideals. That had seemed insurmountable from where Laxus had been when they'd broken up. It was a testament as to how much Laxus had changed in their years apart, and how much he had grown into himself.

He really had gotten more comfortable in who he was, too. He was more gentle, quicker to smile, and seemed to have a lightness to him now.

Freed might have been stealing glances at him over the past could of days.

"I'm glad you could do that."

"Me too. Wish I threw that water at him though. Fucker deserved it," Laxus breathed out a long sigh. He wasn't saying something.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Shit, you can still do that, huh?" Laxus laughed. "He didn't exactly let it go. I got a job in another office, he found out and told my boss a load of crap and I got fired. Got a new job, same thing happened. Two years of that shit. I got less money each time, a smaller apartment each time. He was bleeding me."

Freed didn't know when he had taken Laxus' hand in his own. He didn't remove it.

"So, I got ahead of him. Sold all the shit I didn't need, found a crappy apartment, and looked for a job that he never would think I'd go for," He made a gesture to the vacant bar. "And, this place seemed appropriate, Y'know. Final way to stick it to my asshole, homophobe lawyer father is to get at a low paid job as a hotel that's main draw is how gay friendly it is."

"You've gotten poetic," Freed teased.

"Guess so. Or maybe I heard how generous people here are with tips," Laxus joked, and Freed laughed. "Although, that hasn't exactly been true. Some pretty boy's been walking around in a speedo all day and getting all the money that should be going to me."

"I have been making more money since the uniform changed," Freed mused and smiled. "I'm glad I got to see you again."

"Me too," Laxus nodded. They sat in silence for a moment, before Laxus spoke in a timid voice. "So, the two of us. Are we okay? Can we…"

"I would say, we get to know each other again as coworkers. We're both different people and have changed a lot, and we can't pretend we haven't," Freed spoke softly, and he saw Laxus nodding. "But, for what it's worth, the person you've grown to be already seems very promising. I doubt we'll stay just coworkers for much longer."

"Like, friends or…"

Freed didn't say anything. He ran a finger over Laxus' hand and watched the stars as they glittered on the pool.

Three Months Later

"Loungers three to six gave us this," Freed said, sliding the twenty-dollar tip into the communal tip jar. They'd installed them after Freed and Bickslow's tips were so much larger than anyone else's. Needless to say, the new uniforms were staying; Freed had long since gotten used to them. "And the delightful man on lounger twenty-three will be requiring your… personal touch."

Laxus grinned, brought a prepared drink, and pushed it forward. "Already done."

Over the past three months, Freed and Laxus had gotten over any awkwardness remarkably quickly. They had fallen into a fast friendship and their work reflected it. They were a well-oiled machine, and as such were always put on the same shift. They knew what the other wanted, and anticipated the other's needs. As such, Freed wasn't surprised when he saw a large blob of Laxus' saliva resting at the top of it. Freed took a drinks umbrella, stirred the drink until the spit was no longer obvious, and grinned back.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Freed took a tray of drinks and began his walk around the poolside. He finished the round at lounger twenty-three, the occupant of which glared at him and made a comment about how long it took. Freed made a fake apology, and the man actually tutted. Freed watched magnanimously as the man took a long sip of the drink.

"Before you go," The man said, voice smarmy and cool. "You couldn't do me a favour, could you? Oaf that I am, when I kicked off my shoes, they went a little further than I thought they would. Well, you can see," He gestured to the pool. A single sandal was floating in the middle of it. "I'm not dressed for the water. You couldn't get it for me, could you?" Freed sighed almost imperceptibly. The man must have seen it. "I'll make it worth your while."

Without shame, the man plucked a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet. Freed was half tempted to throw it back in his face, but his mortgage had gone up and he should take any extra cash he could get. If some creep would pay to get him wet – because there was no way in hell you could accidentally kick a shoe that far – then he would take it. And, after an incident when he was accidentally knocked into the pool a month ago, he did know that tips were larger when he had a few drops of water sliding down him.

"Of course, Mr Tartaros."

Freed didn't look at the man and turned towards the pool. On the other side of it was Laxus, who was watching them both, but averted his gaze when Freed spotted him. It lightened Freed's mood. This had happened a lot; Laxus watching him when he thought he wasn't going to be caught. Freed probably shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as he did.

He slid into the pool, and the coolness of the water was rather pleasant. It took only a few seconds for him to gather the sandal, and once he had it, he pushed himself out of the pool. He handed it to the guest, took the note offered while ignoring his roaming gaze, then turned back to face Laxus. He made sure to stretch a little and flex as he did and saw Laxus' face explode into redness.

That certainly was new.

And then, for a reason he couldn't think of, he winked.

Laxus went even redder and fumbled the glass he was cleaning. Freed smirked and went on with his day.

One Month Later

"Fuck!" Laxus yelled, slamming his hand onto his locker.

Freed looked up, eyes a little wide. He was on his break, chatting with Bickslow and Gray. The two other men shared a glance but didn't comment, while Freed looked at Laxus. He was wearing an expression that Freed had seen a few times before, and it sent a queasy feeling straight to his stomach. He stood without thinking and walked to Laxus, placing a hand on his back.

"What's wrong?" He asked, voice low.

"My dad. He figured out I'm working here."

"He didn't… you've not been fired, have you? Surely Bob wouldn't-"

"No, he didn't. He just called me in to say dad got in touch, and not to worry because he didn't believe anything the old bastard said," Laxus whispered.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"No. Well, I mean yeah it is, but this happened before. I worked for a little charity, and he tried this shit before, and they stood up to him," Laxus leant against the locker, face contorted in unhappiness. "So he went after my landlord and wore her down until I was evicted. He'll do that again. I'll be out before next month. It's not like a college city is short of people looking for cheap apartments."

"Surely there are laws protecting-"

"I had no money when I signed the contract. I would've taken anything. It's not a fair deal at all."

Freed winced; he had been in a similar position himself with a landlord who knew how to take advantage of him. He patted Laxus on the shoulder, and suddenly he felt as though they were both teenagers again. Laxus was dealing with his father's crap and trying to figure out a way to survive him, and all Freed could do was stand by him and do nothing of actual help.

But that wasn't the case now. Freed was an entirely different man than he had been back then. Perhaps the biggest regret he held about their relationship was that he had not done enough to help Laxus get out of the situation he was trapped in. But now he had more to offer, and an even greater desire to make life work for Laxus. As much as he had cared for Laxus before, there was something special about seeing how brilliant Laxus could be when he was away from Ivan.

"Why don't you move in with me," Freed said quietly. "It's a one-bedroom apartment, but it's got a sofa bed that you could use. And we were practically living together in college, so we know how not to antagonise each other. It could work."

"You sure?" Laxus asked, before shaking his head. "No. He'd just go after your landlord and then we'd both be fucked."

"I own my own place," Freed shrugged. Laxus looked at him, half impressed. Freed laughed. "It's not so impressive really. It's small, but big enough we wouldn't feel crowded if you do come. I only got it because I'd had enough of living with a landlord."

"I get that," Laxus half chuckled. "But no- I can't interrupt your life like that."

"And I won't allow you not to have a home," Freed said firmly, before softening. "How about you spend the rest of the week with me, as a sort of trial. We can see if it works, and if it doesn't then we can come up with something else."

"Well… are you sure?"

Freed smiled. "I'll drive us both to your apartment and we can pick up what you need."

"Thanks," Laxus gave him a brilliant smile, and Freed's insides roared with pleasure.

Three Weeks Later

"Mr Dreyar, you have no right to be here, and I insist you leave this moment."

At Bob's exclamation, Freed looked up and towards the bar with shock. Bob was a man who was slow to anger, and Freed couldn't think of anything Laxus was capable of doing that would bring his ire. Laxus looked equally as confused from behind the bar. That confusion quickly changed to a white-faced horror that shook Freed to his core. Freed followed Laxus' gaze, and felt a roaring of anger grow inside of him.

Ivan was there, and every spec of hatred Freed had ever felt for him came back with a roar.

"I am here to see my son," Ivan snapped, and Freed hadn't missed that voice at all. "Laxus Dreyar you come here now!"

"Mr Dreyar, if you don't leave now security will escort you out and the police will be called."

"There you are!" Ivan saw Laxus and stalked towards him. Thankfully Laxus was behind the bar, so there would be something between them. Freed abandoned the stack of towels he had been collecting and began to walk towards them. Ivan kept speaking. "You have been disrespecting the Dreyar name for far too long. Working in this… place is the final straw. No, I have had it with you! You are coming with me now."

"Mr Dreyar!" Gildarts, who had obviously heard the commotion, snapped. "You better leave right-"

"It's alright, Gildarts," Laxus said calmly. It was the kind of calm that sent a chill down your spine. "My father and I have nothing to say to each other. He's going to leave and won't be coming back anytime soon."

"I don't know where the hell you get the balls to speak to me like that but-" Ivan cut himself off, eyes snagging on Freed as he approached. He turned, looked Freed up and down, and rolled his eyes. "Of course. You came running back to this little shit. He can't be that good of a fuck, Laxus. Look at him; he's a damn joke. You can hardly call him a man at all," he scoffed then turned back to Laxus. "He'll leave you when things get hard for him, you know. Just like he did last time."

Freed took a step forward.

"Don't speak about him like that," Laxus' calm shifted into something more dangerous.

"Oh, you don't believe me," Ivan laughed. He walked to the bar, picked up a pitcher of rainbow cocktail, and grinned. "Then let me show you." He swaggered to Freed, who didn't shy away from him. He raised the glass and slowly tipped it over Freed's head. Crushed ice of many colours poured down Freed's face and onto his torso, but he still didn't look away. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Ivan snarled and leant in. "Go on, kid. Fuck off."

"No."

"The hell did you just do?" Laxus barked, storming out from behind the bar. He was moving fast and had an expression that Freed had rarely seen on him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You are coming back home, Laxus," Ivan snapped. "And you will take whatever role I deem appropriate for you, and you will be thankful I was so-"

Ivan couldn't speak further, because Laxus stormed over to him, pressed two hands into his chest, and pushed him straight into the pool. He spluttered as his luxury suit was drenched, flailing around and finding his balance. He waded towards the edge of the pool and made to get out, but Laxus placed a foot down on his hand and pressed hard. When he spoke, it was an acidic whisper that chilled Freed.

"You've spent so much time trying to fuck up my life, and I don't think you even remember why anymore," he hissed, applying pressure on Ivan's fingers. "But you ain't doing it anymore. If you hadn't done any of that shit, I don't know what kind of life I would have had. But this is where I am, and I fucking like it. So why don't you fuck off."

"How dare-"

"Oh shut up," Laxus scoffed. "But, for what it's worth, you didn't fuck everything up. Not totally," He glanced at Freed before firming himself and looking back down at his father. "You know, whenever I thought of you, I thought about the last time I saw ya. This is the last time you're gonna see me, and I hope this really sticks in your mind."

With a quick moment, he turned to face Freed, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Freed was quick to act, running his hand through Laxus' hair and pulling him into a slow kiss. It was electric as it always had been with Laxus, this time softer and sweeter than they had been in their youth. Freed lost himself in the sensations, the feeling of Laxus pressed against him again. The relief of finally having Laxus as his own again.

A trickle of the cocktail slid down Freed's cheek, and he broke the kiss with a laugh. He had forgotten about it and couldn't stop himself from chuckling. He pulled away from Laxus, but only enough to see him. The rainbow of crushed ice covered both of their faces, and Freed couldn't think of a more perfect second first kiss.

"I missed you," Freed whispered.

"I missed you too," Laxus beamed.

They grinned at each other, then joined together in another ethereal kiss. The world fell apart around them, and, for that moment, it was just the two of them. The moment was perfect, and Freed felt a sense of love he'd never known before. He didn't say anything, though. His love for Laxus went without saying. With the two of them, their love for each other had always gone without saying.

[wildelydawn]

You're outside her door. You have one hand holding an enormous amount of fast food, enough to feed six people. Because there were supposed to be six people with you, but they all said it would be best to send you first. You don't take the honor lightly. The other hand has a bag of three bubble teas; you ordered one even though the milk (or is it the sugar?) makes your stomach hurt.

You had come home from work and threw your backpack down and planned to get lost in reruns instead of thinking about the 106 emails that wait to be read. You were on the cusp of going blank because doing so feels better than writing or masturbating or whatever else you twist into a coping mechanism.

Then you got the call. Incoherent at times, but you only needed to hear one thing:

"One of her students died. She isn't answering. Michael says she's just sitting in her studio."

You didn't need to be told twice. It's never as far of a drive as you make it out to be. Just thirty minutes. You left in your car and parked it at a friend's before slipping into someone else's.

"We think she hasn't eaten. So maybe we can pick up food and bubble tea." They settled for fried chicken, crispy and spicy, tenders and mac and cheese after you reminded them, even though the combination sounds revolting to you. Two of them went inside to get the food and you stayed in the car and tried to keep the nausea down. (No, you hadn't drunk any milk tea yet.) They talked about other things: their plans for the week that you don't involve yourself in because you don't live close, but you're close enough for this. You didn't even notice pulling up to hers until they said your name collectively.

"Hm?"

"We think you should give it to her. We'll tell Michael to get her to open the door."

Your hands were shaking. But it was four against one, and you're the only one who understands what it's like to lose someone like that, you know? so you took the bags. They parked down the block because they wanted to watch.

You walked, but it felt like crawling, all the way up the stairs to the door of an old townhouse that was restructured into overpriced apartments for failed artists and doe-eyed students. You ring the door bell once. Then twice. On the third try, you hear her scream, "Michael, get the fucking door!"

"I'm in the bathroom!"

You look up. Michael's on the balcony, smoking. He's looking at you, as if he's trying to make sure the ash doesn't fall from the third story and right into your eye.

You hear stomping, and the door opens.

She trembles before she manages, "What are you doing here?"

You don't know what to say at first: still in your work clothes and looking like the day battered you worse than any overzealous gym rat does to their punching bag. It's hard to see her on any day, but this is worse: eyes red and face puffy-

You can't take in anything else because she starts sinking to the ground, crying out, "What are you doing here? Why are you here-"

Somehow, you manage to catch her as before hits the edge of her doorstep. The food makes it awkward, but your hands are on her forearms.

"I heard you were having a bad day."

Now she's sobbing, and the people outside who are going about their day, walking their dogs or wearing airpods, are watching her cry into your dress shirt. She hugs you so tightly that you think that this will be the time she snaps you in half, even though she tried that months ago.

"How did you come here?" She cries and cries.

"I crossed the ocean," you whisper back. You let the food fall to the ground. It's in a bag anyways.

"How did you get here?" She cries again.

"I also moved a mountain."

And it's too late; it looks bad, probably, from the perspective of the man who sits on his steps, who thought he could have his six pack in fucking peace. You wonder if they're watching all of this unfold too, from the car, thinking that you've fucked up somehow. Maybe you did. Maybe you are because she cries into your shirt harder, and you grimace when she says it was heatstroke, and that maybe if she hadn't quit last month, if she had chaperoned the trip, if she was there, there would be one less dead kid in the city.

There's nothing to say to that. She's right. She's wrong. She's going to go back to it: maybe a new school or district. She'll watch all those stupid videos about how academia is brainwashing kids into becoming trans and hate herself for reading the comments. She'll get cute little gifts, mostly handmade, from students during Christmas.

You think about how you first met: dumb college students with miles between you both, and the single date you had where you shared french fries with her. You hadn't spoke much either then because you were so captivated by her voice and her excitement. She crushed you in her arms that day, as she does now, when you had to say goodbye. You tried to bury her after, but all she became was planted instead. Like bamboo, aggressively taking over your forest, stretching towards the sun. You remember the instances when you hurt her: when she called while drunk at a frat party, asking why you couldn't be with her, but you were too scared of the truth: that you wanted her, invasive and destructive, but you were so far gone and you didn't know if you were gonna see 21, let alone her. A few nights later, her best friend told you off, and you kept your distance because it was the right thing to do.

It's a running joke, now that you and her are no longer single. "Imagine if you had just stopped being stupid bisexuals and were honest instead?" Everyone laughs whenever it comes up.

Statistically, this won't be the first student she will bury.

You keep your mouth shut and wait it out. You help her through the doorway when she's done talking and crying. You keep the door unlocked so the others can come inside. They've been here before, loads of times.

But only you've been inside.

[smolbbydolly]

Massive TW for bringing up sexual assault. Scroll past it easily triggered.

This might be the year I hit my UGW. My relapse hit me pretty damn hard this past year I was 190lbs towards the end of 2022 I got cheated on after 3years with him and I dropped weight like crazy in 2023. Now it’s 2024 and 5 days into 2024 I got r*ped I’m currently going through the whole process with cops and such and I’m just dealing with a lot. No ones besides my family and cops know. I’m not throwing this out there for attention or sympathy so please spare me any of that bs if you’re gonna hate just explain more on how bad my relapse is getting. I dropped even more weight since then and my parents are actually concerned for me they threatened to put me in a facility if I don’t eat. I started to eat more. Just super low cal meals bringing back my old recipes I used to make back. Also thinking about bringing my old YouTube channel back to life just for coping. I used to film what my day to day struggle of dealing with this was like. But if I continue this route I’m going to be 90lbs which is the goal I always fixated on. In a sick and twisted way I don’t want to recover from anorexia or bulimia. I just want to stay like this. It’s the only time my family actually seemed to care about me and be concerned about my health. I do need to actually work out though. Since I’ve been on the heavy side I have loose skin. On the back of my thighs and stomach. It’s not super bad but I’m disgusted by it. I just need to tighten it up. I’ve just starved and purged pretty much and haven’t worked out since it’s too cold. I was working out but since winter started it’s been wayy to cold for me especially where I live and I don’t have a gym membership so I work out outside.

[liaromancewriter]

In Book 3 when Ethan wants to control us lol, do you think if MC says no… he would have, you know, gotten someone else? Because I always wondered after that chapter like if he’s being all I want to be in control and have some dom/sub sex and MC is like “no thanks” is he going to say “oh well I’ll just go to drink alone in my condo” ? which is something he could have thought of doing in the first place idk maybe I’m reading to much into PB’s nonsense BUT you guys are really good at analyzing characters so I thought of asking :) Remember, we’re talking about canon Ethan and his relationship (or lack of) with MC.

Ah. Book 3. The only redeemable thing about it was the ending. I use selective cases and moments from book 3 in my canon, but ignore everything I don't like. The original OH team didn't write that book and, as far as I'm concerned, it's canon divergent.

To answer your question, the Ethan we met in canon and spent time with for the last 2.5 years would've accepted MC's refusal and gone to Donahue's for a drink or several (it's his airlock from the stress of work, remember?). I don't see him taking his 'dark' mood home and drinking alone; it would have just made things worse as he replayed everything inside his head.

Ethan didn't want to be alone though; he wanted company. However, he can't stand inane people and doesn't appear to trust strangers. He is selective about the people he invites into his life. He invited MC into his life, not just into his work, as a friend and as a lover -- depending on how you play, it could be just as a friend, but a good one; not a colleague alone.

For something this personal, not just anyone would do. So, if MC says no, I don't see canon Ethan scrolling through his phone contact list looking for a booty call.

We know that he and MC have experimented with loving domination in the bedroom because we see evidence of it in book 3's ch1 on-call room hook-up diamond scene. However, the option is either MC dominates or asks to be dominated. It was a similar dynamic in book 2's diamond scene during the Hopeful Hearts Gala.

Until that left-field/alien moment in book 3, there's no indication that BDSM is something Ethan would be comfortable with. However, I can see MC comfortable with and more open to experimenting non-vanilla options in a safe space.

In book 2's Hopeful Hearts Gala office scene, he's hesitant about MC blindfolding him. In that book's final 30 scene in his apartment, his reaction to an ice cube/whip cream is comical. Even though it's clear he's out of his comfort zone, he finds himself 'convinced' by MC in both those scenarios.

So the book 3 situation doesn't ring true to who he is at the core. I think he was angry and stressed, but if MC had suggested they go to a gym and hit a bag, or get roaring drunk, he would have done that instead.

I can also see Ethan in canon having other coping mechanisms for stress: axe throwing, boxing, intense workouts. There's no way that man is getting through life without some outlet.

Tags under the cut

Character Asks: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @cariantha @crazy-loca-blog @coffeeheartaddict2 @doriopenheart @lucy-268 @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mrs-ramsey @openheartforeverinmyheart @peonierose @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

[ukftm]

hi, i was just referred to the gic and i knew that the waiting list was really long, but i put off actually looking it up bc i knew i couldnt cope with knowing. now ive finally actually been referred its hit me all at once how long it will be until i can so much as meet with them let alone actually get treatment. i was hoping you might have some advice on dealing with the wait because i really dont know what to do. social transition and presenting masc alone wont work for me, im the most feminine looking person i know, but i dont want to spend my early 20s miserable about being misgendered all the time. sorry about the vent but if you had any advice i would really appreciate it. thank you

Hi Anon,

Being on the waiting lists is excruciating, especially in the beginning. But the best advice I can give you is to use this time to work on yourself and your appearance. Experiment with how you want to dress and look at ways that can make you feel more masculine.

Some guys spent this time in the gym, as this not only makes them feel that they are making progress, but makes their appearance more masculine. This also serves as a good distraction for your mind, giving you something to focus on and can help with your mental health.

Some guys also focus on their physical health in terms of eating healthy and getting their body and mind ready for when they have access to T and surgeries. This is another thing that can make you feel you are making progress and have a focus and ultimately means that your body will heal far better from your surgeries as you’ll be as healthy as you can be.

If you haven’t changed your name and feel able to, get this done and start changing your accounts etc. Obviously there is no rush for this but some guys find it helps psychologically as you will start being able to live and present as who you want, which can help a lot with dysphoric feelings and being misgendered.

Also, talk to other trans guys, this really helps with coping during by this time and will make you feel that you are not alone in your wait.

Watching YouTube videos can also be helpful as you’ll be able to listen to other transmen who are where you are. These videos can also be very informative and can help you make decisions about your surgeries when it gets to that time.

It really is a very difficult thing to deal with when you know outwardly you’ll find it difficult to pass, but these few suggestions may be helpful.

[mychemicalrachel]

OK so i don’t know which one i want to read more so i’ll let you decide????? with pynch??? plEAse???? angry sex, rough sex, crying during sex or SEDUCTION jjgdf sorryyyy

[send me a sexy prompt]

Oh these are all so good, I couldn't pick just one! Thanks so much for the prompt!! 💕💕

13. Rough Sex + 27. Angry Sex

Ronan had long since gotten a hold on his anger. He didn’t get frustrated quite so easily as he did in high school, didn’t snap as quick, could bend without breaking. Bi-weekly therapy sessions helped. He learned anger management tactics, deep breathing exercises, how to analyze his emotions before acting on them. Ronan was by no means a saint, but he was better and, as Declan liked to point out– he may be grown, but he wasn’t done growing.

When the anger did eventually bubble over and become too much to contain, Ronan learned to cope with it in ways that were productive instead of destructive. He completely gutted one of the old barns on the edge of the property, insulated it, and outfitted it with enough gym equipment to rival a Planet Fitness. While it usually saw an average amount of use, from Ronan and Adam alike, it mostly existed as a form of therapy for Ronan when his emotions got the better of him.

He was taking his current frustrations out on the punching bag when Adam came in, quiet, curious, contemplative. Ronan ignored him when he sat on the bench, simply observing. He didn’t want an audience, but he didn’t want to talk to tell Adam to leave. He threw another punch, landing square in the center of the bag, and it swung away from him, and then another hit as it swung back.

The feeling of Adam’s eyes tracked Ronan’s movements, a slimy crawling itch slithering up his spine until it reached his neck– suffocating, choking– and he snapped. “What the fuck do you want?”

It wasn’t fair because he knew it wasn’t Adam he was angry at, but right now Adam was the only one within spitting distance.

He stood, coming to hold the bag steady, but Ronan didn’t hit it again. He glowered at Adam instead, who gazed placidly back. “What did you and Declan fight about this time?”

Later, when he had a chance to cool down, when this adrenaline burning inside his veins had been extinguished, he would tell Adam all about it. But not now. “If I wanted to fucking talk about it, I would have told you. I came out here to be alone.”

Adam hummed, not quite disbelieving, but something close. Like he was acknowledging Ronan’s response, weighing it, and then made the choice to ignore it. He pushed the bag and it swung into Ronan’s chest. “You don’t have to be angry alone. I can help if you let me.”

For a moment, Ronan thought Adam was asking for a fight– and it didn’t matter how pissed Ronan was, he would not hit Adam– but then he reached into his pocket and held up a small bottle of lube. He raised a single questioning eyebrow, tossed the bottle to Ronan, and turned around, already working his belt open.

By the time Ronan got his hands unwrapped, Adam had his jeans pushed down around his thighs, a hand wrapped loosely around his half-hard cock. “Come on, Lynch,” he tossed casually over his shoulder. “Work out some of that aggression.”

If his head was clearer, his his dick was softer, if Adam didn’t look so fucking delectable, Ronan might have had the sense to go back to the punching bag. As it was, with his head hazy and his dick hard and Adam looking like that, Ronan spread his fingers out across Adam’s back. He pushed his shirt up to see the stretch of freckled skin and scratched four nails down the center. Angry red marks appeared in their tracks and Adam inhaled sharply before scrambling to get the shirt off. He tilted his head, exposing his neck, an invitation for Ronan to take what he wanted.

“Fuck,” Ronan said, “Parrish.” He attacked Adam like a wild man, starved for touch, uncivilized, hungry. His kisses were hurried, tactless, open-mouthed messes that were more teeth than lips. When he bit down on Adam’s shoulder, Adam hissed, jerking only in surprise. His muscles flexed under Ronan’s palms as Ronan’s touch traveled down, down, down. Slipping his fingers into Adam, he realized, pleased, that Adam had prepped himself before coming out here, and he stretched easily.

“Are you sure?” Ronan asked.

Pushing back against him, Adam said, “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

And that was really all Ronan needed to hear. He pulled his fingers out all the way before shoving them back in. Adam stumbled over his own feet and reached back to grab onto Ronan’s arm to steady himself. “Jesus fuck,” he said, “I brought lube, asshole.”

Ronan pulled Adam’s earlobe between his teeth, earning sharp another hiss– part pleasure and part pain. Retrieving his fingers, he pushed Adam forward. “Against the wall,” he commanded, and Adam went. He braced himself against the old barn wall, legs spread, ass back, ready, open, waiting for Ronan to take him. Normally Ronan would take his time and appreciate the beauty of Adam Parrish, but right now, he didn’t fucking care. He felt like his brain was on fire, his limbs sizzling with the blistering embers. He stripped out of his gym shorts, pausing only long enough to make use of the lube Adam had so thoughtfully provided. Slicking his cock, lining himself up, he pushed all the way in with one long thrust.

It punched the air out of Adam, a choke somewhere between a gasp and a sigh strangled in his throat, and he pressed his forehead against the wall. Ronan didn’t stop to let him adjust before pulling back and snapping his hips forward again.

“Shit, Lynch,” Adam swore, his words wrapped in a moan. His nails dug into the wood so hard it left a series of little crescent shaped dents. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Ronan agreed vehemently. Wrapping an arm tight around Adam’s chest, holding him in place, he curled his other hand around Adam’s hip. The bones jutted out, angular and viscous, though not as defined as they had been when they were kids. Still, it was something solid to hold onto, balancing Adam and grounding himself, while he fucked into Adam again and again. Reckless and carnal and angry.

He could feel Adam’s ragged breaths in his own chest as Adam writhed, searching for friction or control while Ronan chased his own pleasure. For Ronan there was only this; tight heat, the wet suction of Adam’s walls pulsing around him. Biting down hard on Adam’s shoulder, he tasted blood in his mouth. It had the taste of a fight, the urgency, the rage, like knuckles against his teeth. Exactly what he’d been craving.

Untwisting his hold on Adam, like tentacles wrapped around prey, he pushed Adam hard against the wall and slammed into him one final time before he came. He pulled out and watched, mesmerized, as his cum dripped from Adam’s hole– red and puffy, clenching and unclenching around nothing, as if it yearned for Ronan to return. He shoved two fingers inside and wondered if he could get hard again just from the whine in Adam’s throat when Ronan stroked his prostate.

He came like that, with Ronan fingerfucking him, using his own cum as lubricant, his cheek pressed to the wall, hands grappling for purchase. He fell back against Ronan’s chest, trusting that Ronan would catch him, and he did. He held Adam close. Spent and exhausted, he placed a gentle kiss to Adam’s temple.

Adam waited until his breathing returned to normal before he asked, “Do you feel better?”

“I do,” Ronan admitted. He brushed messy fingers carefully through Adam’s hair. “Are you okay?”

Adam hummed. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow, but I think it was worth it.”

Closing his eyes, Ronan breathed in tandem with Adam– two halves of a set of lungs. “I needed this,” he said, and kissed him softly. “Thank you.”

They both needed a shower, a drink, maybe a nap, and he knew he owed Adam an explanation for what ignited his anger this time, but neither of them moved just yet, content to exist quietly together. The feeling of Adam’s heart beating against Ronan’s ribs was the only thing that mattered. Everything else could wait.

[johannesgrunenberg]

&&. announcing his royal highness, ( johannes von grünenberg ), the ( 31) year old ( prince ) of ( switzerland ). he is often confused with ( jannis niewöhner ). some say that he is (fatalistic, aimless), but he is actually ( steadfast, magnanimous ).

{ what a lonely way to lie - a tragic tracklist for a wanderer }

All I Need - Daniel Blake || Hymn for the Weekend - Coldplay || How Do You Feel? - The Maine || After You’ve Gone - Judy Garland || Taker - K.I.D || Aristocrats - Raleigh Ritchie || Treacherous Doctor - Wallows || Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus || Fragile State of Mind - The 1975 || Feelings - Lennon Stella || Hit My Line - Logic || India - Alexandra Stan (ft. Kent Archie) || Box in a Heart - The Maine & renforshort || 

Name: Johannes Fredrick Elias Von Grunenberg

Birthday: Thursday, June 27, 1991

Age: 31

Astro Sign: Cancer 

Station: Prince of Swizterland, Duke of Bern

Marital Status: Married

Fun facts: (TW: Depression, OCD)  

Hans has a diagnosis of clinical depression and OCD. This doesn’t define his life but it definitely throws a kink in his ability to cope with the loss of his father and his exile. He is currently in online therapy. He prefers it this way because he finds talking to someone that close (in the same room) would be too intimate an act.

Hans is a jokester within his family who uses humor as a way to mask his sorrows. He is very kind and loving but has since closed himself off to the world.

If he doesn’t know you, he is very standoffish and often very aloof. Painfully quiet when he is upset or unsure of a situation.

The best way to keep his mind busy is to be physical. He likes to work out in the gym, go skiing, and spar with Klaus for funsies.

Hans can speak five languages fluently: French, German, English, Italian, and Japanese. He went through an anime phase back in Uni and picked it up as a side hobby. He knows a few others but not in the sense of speaking comfortably for long periods of time.

Hans and Ren are very much like irish twins (born so close in age) the two basically bonded like twins. Ren is the only sibling who Hans feels like he can pour all of his feelings into without being a burden. The only secret he has ever kept from Ren was the subject of his exile.

During his exile in Paris, Hans had thoughts of following in his uncle’s footsteps as a disruptor and potentially lay claim to the throne but that withered with time.

One of the better memories from Paris, Hans was able to be an adjunct professor in one of the smaller educational institutions and he loved every second of it.

Hans attended Oxford but isn’t as forthcoming in flaunting the fact that he followed in Max’s footsteps. 

Hans is riddled in tattoos, all in places that you can’t see unless he shows you. He considered getting a neck tattoo but knew it would send his mother into an early grave. 

Biography

Johannes “Hans” Von Grunenberg can be called many things: Prince of Switzerland, duke of bern, black sheep; more notably: second born and first scorned. Born under the luminescent glow of a  penumbral lunar eclipse, he has been steeped in the inky darkness of the unknown before the light trickled back along the rolling horizon in Geneva. Johannes, the second born son, sat as a failsafe and a replacement if anything were to go awry with the rearing of the next heir to the Swiss throne. His father never stated that precedent but the world had always brandished Hans position as such; his uncle only played on this notion throughout his childhood. Hans didn’t mind much that he was predestined to follow the tails of Max’s coat because he simply wished to be included in the grand adventure played out in the deep reds and gold. For the most part, Max had been the best big brother one could be before the walls came crashing in. Their father’s death marked a shift in the family dynamic that never quite set correctly; a broken bond riddled with weakness and doubt.

Hans’s sense of camaraderie had been turned on him with Max’s departure. Both young men needed to reflect the values of their country with the crown shaping their futures. Hans comfortably skated on following the framework laid out by Max. Whatever he did, Hans strived to do better.  The fires of competition fanned for the greater part of their adolescents and into young adulthood. There was no reaching Max on an emotional level but he obtained some form of reaction by vexing the young man. Unbeknownst to him, at the time, this need to one up Max came from the belly of their uncle who wished to obtain power through him. The voyeurism and greed set Hans on a course that would alter the very fabric of his being and the relationship between brothers. His unlikely kinship with their uncle and the overcasting doubt of a secret discovered but never professed forced Hans into exile on Max’s order. Despite their unspoken competition, Hans faithfully hung off his brother’s word and would never stray from his loyalty. If he played his cards right, maybe just maybe, Max would join hands with him once more and they’d be brothers instead of rivals.

Hans excelled in school. It had been the only place he ever felt seen. His brilliance came from the vast words written by dead poets and scholars who came before him. Much to no one’s surprise, he followed Max’s footsteps in attending Oxford and obtained his Juris Doctor in Law. Hans knew he would never see inside of a courtroom in his lifetime, the limits of being a prince, but he loved the order of law. He desired being able to teach it to University students looking to make a change in the world. He felt the most at home behind the field of browning pages. He could escape himself in there and be whomever he wished to be.

Unfortunately, that was a latent dream smothered out under the guise of a “greater” Switzerland. An unrivaled ascension to power that couldn’t be tainted by Hans presence in the country. Taking his leave, Hans found himself in the pleated folds of silk and tulle in the heart of the Parisian experience. Paris opened a new world to a woeful man and garnered love that always seemed out of reach from his mother and older brother. Hans became a bit of a recluse diving into his only safe space, academia, while flirting with danger. Manon marked the start and end of an emotional expansion within the stoic young man. He loved her with every inch of him, despite the holes in his fortitude, only to be denied the same love back. Manon broke him into frayed pieces and cemented that sense of listlessness. He couldn’t even keep it together in a new city with people who didn’t know him as a younger man. Hans left Paris to return to Geneva. He resigned himself to the whims of the crown, waiting for the next string of directives while keeping an eye on the younger ones. The spaces where Max couldn’t connect, Hans happily filled the void. He fielded every issue, woe, and growing pain each one had experienced with a smile. He was the brother that one would call from a jail cell to discreetly bail them out; big brother was a job he took very seriously.

Acting dutifully, Hans made the decision to marry. He grew tired of the mindless matchmaking and conversations about when he would be next to follow Max’s footsteps. He wasn’t getting any younger but his heart didn’t seem interested in loving anyone else. The welsh princess kicked through his chest and left him hollow. By an act of God or cosmic humor, Hans drank himself into a stupor once night and stumbled into the throes of a majestic woman serving out her own personal exile. Enthralled by her charisma and the prospect of a mutually beneficial courtship, Hans proposed to her on the promise that he would allow her to continue to live how she wished with all of the protections of his station. Ascending to Duke of Bern, Hans hopes to be able to provide shelter for his wife’s own plans to overthrow the opposition in her own family and regain her place in line for power. Hans is well aware that when this happens, their marriage will dissolve but he doesn’t mind it.

[dreydreydreydrey]

Trigger warning (SA)

I was confused the last like 3 years about my sexuality and thought I may be asexual or demisexual or something. Recently I've been uncovering certain past traumas and looked more into my C-PTSD. It turned out that every time I got intimate with people, or when I went to a dungeon with friends, I've been having flashbacks and I couldn't do sexual stuff. That confused me, because I didn't realise I had flashbacks (C-PTSD flashbacks don't have visual aspects, contrary to PTSD). I have fantasies and a sex drive that dissapear because of a unknown fear/discomfort/stress/... that came up because (non sexual) intimacy reminded me of the dangerous times I longed for it in the past and got hurt by my parents. Which often resulted in just me doing everything my partner wants obsessively to feel safe? I've been assaulted when I was 7. And I only became conscious of it recently. Which also meant that sexual intimacy was flashback triggering because of that. Without even knowing what trauma, I was unconsciously attracted to BDSM as a consequence around 3 years ago. I did that to experiment and figure out what wasn't working with my sexuality and how to bond with people more intimately. So yeah, I'm documenting my journey through this blog, maybe it will help others and me as a coping mechanism for my flashbacks. Now trying to go back to dungeons and get into dating, because I know what was wrong the whole time. (first gotta hit the gym tho and get my discipline back because these past months were tough man) Yet idk, there's been a guy that's actually r***d a friend of mine in the bdsm community and the people that take me there and bring me back are friends of his and yeah idk long story (they are actually good, but it's they didn't know and idk I just need to talk it out with them), that might be the only way that I can acces that place. That might be a big hinderance tbh to my development and stuff. We'll see, if I keep this up y'all are gonna be updated. Maybe I'll exlpore my sexuality on here and write up some smut? Anyway, that's it for now. To any SA victims or just people with trauma in general, my heart goes out to y'all. Sending virtual hugs and a reminder that you're a worthy human being and there's no fault of yours in those disasters.

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

The Hollow

I’ve been seeing a counsellor weekly since the start of May. I made it very clear I had ran out of options and I was no longer able to help myself. I couldn’t carry on as I was without trying to get help.

I’m not good at many things, but one thing I seem to be good at is picking the best team members. Although my counselling is completely separate, she couldn’t be a better match for me. She doesn’t psychoanalyse what I’m saying, she merely asks questions to understand. She is patient centric, and lets me lead the way. Albeit, that’s been pretty hard as I have no idea what to do, how to think, what I feel, or what is wrong with me.

The feeling is hollowness and emptiness. It was the only way I could describe it, and when she asked me to try and locate where I felt it, I had to take a minute when I realised…It’s in my core that I feel it. The irony hit me like a ton of bricks. That feeling is coupled with a heavy heart and complete feeling of hopelessness. Like I want to just collapse in a heap and give up. Like my body is buckling under the weight and it’s all I can do to hold myself up. It’s feels like I’m defeated.

There have been two times when I’ve felt the hollowness is overwhelming. It takes me a long time before I feel it ease. At least 4/5 days for it get better, but even then, it’s just survival. It’s just the point at which I can carry on. It’s not healed or anywhere close.

I’ve acknowledged I’m not getting the space to process whatever is going on. I’m a mum, a wife and I work full time with a husband whose hours of work can literally change on the day. My new job has been full on to the point I’ve travelled every single month since I was signed off to travel, and in June, I travelled every week of the month. I’m run down and exhausted before I even start to look at what might be going on. There is no respite. My sessions are the only time I can process things. But I’m not even scratching the surface and I’m still no closer to figuring out what’s going on.

The problem with my recovery this time is that the mental element is overtaking the physical. They are intrinsically linked and rather than the physical being my way of coping with the mental like before, the mental is holding back the physical. I was physically ready to return to the gym much earlier than I did; mentally I wasn’t. I know whatever this is, it will hold me back until I can address it.

My counsellor is either exceptionally good at her job, or I’m ridiculously transparent. Or maybe it’s a bit of both. In a short space of time she’s got me down to a t.

There are a number of things my counsellor has touched on that have made me think. I’m not going to share everything we discuss because this is an ongoing process and this is entirely for me. But the reason I write these blogs is to help me process. I hope that by writing these thoughts down, it might help my sessions with her.

Trauma. It’s like I’ve been through a trauma. I’ve been told that before, but I didn’t agree. There are so many worse things, and I couldn’t see the link. When my counsellor said it, I told her that. She pointed out that consensual or not, surgery itself is a trauma, never mind the rest of it. My body and mind have been through a trauma - even though it’s what I wanted - and while my body is healing, my mind also needs to heal. I know they’re not on the same page right now. My head has not caught up with my body. I still feel like the whole thing has been a dream. The drugs didn’t even affect me as badly as I thought they would, and I remember everything from the minute I woke up and was conscious in the room after. But it still feels like a vivid dream.

Disbelief and inadequacy. I’m still completely overwhelmed at the level of support and following I have from people I’ve never met. And complete disbelief at the luck of having the best possible team and the incredible support they give me. I’m nobody special. I still don’t understand how people are able to say I’ve helped them. Or how physios say that I’ve changed their practise. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know how it happened or why anyone has taken an interest in me.

Grief. Someone mentioned to me a few years ago, that maybe what I was experiencing was a kind of grief. When I discussed everything that I was feeling to my counsellor, she highlighted it was like grief. It was the feeling of disbelief that follows a loss and the feeling of experiencing it all over again when you realise.

It’s like the dreams I used to have when I lost my dad. The initial dreams were that was he was still here and I would wake up and experience overwhelming grief all over again. I would have to relive the loss. As time went on, I would dream he was there, but somewhere in my brain, I knew that was no longer normal and he wasn’t meant to be there. That almost felt more devastating. It meant that every part of me knew it wasn’t normal for him to be here any more.

I knew she might onto something because in my subconscious I had imagined a number of times I still had my diastasis. I’ve been convinced that things are how they used to be, only to wake up and realise they’re not. It’s happened a few times where I’ve drifted off during scar massage at night in bed, with my hands resting on my tummy. I’ve been so vividly caught up in some level of my subconscious where I’ve thought I still have my diastasis, only to wake with a jolt and have to check myself. It may be telling, but I don’t always feel panicked or get upset as you would expect I would be to think I still had it. It’s almost comforting in a weird way because it’s familiar.

It’s happened to me once when I’m conscious since the first week post-op in the hospital waiting area. I was travelling to London and I walked past a slim woman who was very obviously pregnant. I glanced at her and thought, “to be fair she probably thinks the same about me.” I had to look down before I realised.

I don’t know why that keeps happening. But 5 months on from surgery can’t erase 4 years of my default. My husband told me recently I still stand in public like I have my diastasis. Arms folded across my tummy. Protecting, hiding and completely self-conscious. When I said all my confidence had disappeared, I meant it. My surgery may have taken just 3.5 hours, but nothing I have lost is coming back quickly.

When my counsellor booked my next session for mid July - 4 weeks on from our last, she said: “I’m not one for usually giving homework, but I have an idea if you’re up for it?” I smiled; I’m always up for homework. That means I can actually do something and something is within my control to help myself. “I want you to print out the photos pre- and post-surgery you showed me, and I want you to write your thoughts and feelings down on each of the pictures.” My mind flashed to the pictures instantly and I had a sudden feeling of dread. Why did I feel like I was about to open up Pandora’s box?

Perhaps opening that box is exactly what I need to address this horrible feeling. Maybe the feeling of having to gear myself up to do this task is reminding me of how I felt when I had to address my tummy and how it looked. Maybe the hollowness is a result of trying to numb myself for years to what my tummy looked and felt like. To steel myself to everything I was dealing with. To switch my feelings off so I didn’t succumb to overwhelming feelings of anger, hurt, bitterness, disappointment, pain, grief and repulsion. Maybe I’m suffering for those decisions now. I’m paying the price for everything I did just to survive and get through it.

I’m honest and I have no shame in opening up. That’s why I thought I’d be further along to addressing this than I am. Maybe that’s why I was naive enough to think the hollow feeling wouldn’t overwhelm me for a second time. But I just can’t get to the bottom of what’s going on. And it’s killing me. There’s barely any part of me left that I recognise. I see flashes of ‘normal’ me, but it’s fleeting. I’m trying my best at everything, but right now, I’m failing spectacularly at being good at anything.

I don’t have the answers to how I get through this. I can’t try any harder than I am. I can’t do anything more. It’s gutting that it isn’t enough. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I don’t want this to define me. I need something to change. I’m banking on there being a lightbulb moment, but in reality, it might not look like that. I just want it to get better. Even if it’s slow. Even if I barely notice it at first. I’ve always carried the grit to get me through, but at the minute, it’s running low.

[etirabys]

eva rewatch: ep 2-3

Just two comments, only one of them episode-specific.

1. Toji

More than on my first watch, I liked Toji and Kensuke getting pulled into the Eva and watching Shinji’s meltdown therein. I vaguely recall that, on my first watch, it seemed like a ham-handed moment where some of the protagonist’s haters are forced to see how hard the protagonist‘s job is. And it is that, sure! But what I was thinking on this watch was...

...the callousness of fourteen year olds. Toji punches Shinji for causing damage in his first battle, but he’s totally uninterested in Shinji as he does so. I remember being that age and being utterly apathetic to the interiority of my peers – I wasn’t cruel to them (unless they struck at me first), but it just did not occur to me to think about what it was like to be them. And Shinji’s interiority fails to arise to Toji’s attention in that way, even when Toji is hitting him. “Sorry, newbie, I just won’t be satisfied unless I hit you.”

Then they see Shinji close up during battle, and it’s uncomfortable and weird for the normal reasons it’s uncomfortable and weird to be around people who are insane or out of control. (It reminded me of being twelve and seeing my parents have their respective mental breakdowns. “Holy shit, what am I even supposed to do when human beings break script like that?”)

And, in witnessing Shinji in this way, Toji gets an answer to a question he never even thought to ask.

2. Rei

I was talking to my partner @lovelanguageisolate in the gym yesterday about Rei. Rei has always been the most confusing character to me. Shinji and Asuka represent such striking, familiar psychological archetypes, and it feels like Rei should be a character of the same class.

Shinji and Asuka... wait, I just need to concatenate a bunch of things LLI said in a chat last year, it’s so good:

Shinji is always acting out the drama of being victimized.

That's kind of how he's coped. No one has ever adequately acknowledged his abuse, so he has kind of started playing this Nietzschean slave morality game of obeying adults and forcing them into the position of acting coercively so they cannot launder their mistreatment of him through more noble concerns.

He is very, very good at this game of making the adults in his life look at the monsters they are. And it's like the off-brand version of love—not so much from the adults as from the Big Other/cosmos/audience.

He is obeisant, cloyingly needy, open-hearted to those he knows, and naturally good at his job. And he clearly also acts out a maladaptive need to be loved. He radically threatens Asuka's theories about how the world works. He is attractive to her because he is a complete, integrated specimen in those important ways she isn't. He is also nauseating and pathetic, which are some of the lowest things a person can be in her mental theater.

Asuka cannot be happy because, as you've observed, she pours herself monomanaically into performing genius, competence, and independence. She simultaneously mistrusts others so deeply that she refuses to attach to them in any kind of deliberate or open way but needs their approval and attention.

And she is doomed to suffer because of the Freudian narcissist's dilemma: inasmuch as she can impress others with her performance, she thinks less of them by virtue of having fooled them. Inasmuch as she actually receives the trappings of love for performing in all these ways, her conviction that the performance is structurally necessary deepens, but also, the more the actual feelings of being loved feel out of reach.

She is a person I struggle mightily to empathize with because of her fractal nastiness, but her need to be loved is so palpable and endearing, and it makes her suffering so heartrending to me.

But what is Rei, whose existence is so abnormal, so hard to fit into an adolescent psychodramatic archetype? I really want to place her into the pilot trifecta. The show wants me to! But I have to extrapolate what she is from her foils, and from what I think she might become.

And I notice that I have to do this because everything in the show conspires against my getting to know her, both textually and metatextually.

She is continually being taken away.

So my (not entirely satisfying) read these days is that she represents the pathology of not looking, of not even realizing that there is something in oneself to interrogate and develop, of not differentiating, of non-personing oneself. If Shinji and Asuka are visibly embarrassing and contorted in their attempt to... seat their ego in the world, or something?... Rei is the failure to play the game of being a self at all.

[tamamita]

I guess it’s time to come clean with how I’ve felt these couple of years. So I’ll start with this.

People who have followed me for the past 4-5 years know that I’ve been this giant buff guy wíth a positive look on life, but the truth is that I’ve been in a major depression for a couple of years, and this depression has hit me very hard this year in particular due to many factors. I have not been feeling good, especially when my wife left for Mexico. My general health deteroriated and I took a long break from gymming and have since then not returned. I have not been feeling well about my body ever since and the only method of coping has been through several medias, and that includes my constant activity on Tumblr.

My past has been one gigantic shamble and there are many things that I’ve regretted that could have changed the direction of my life for the better and it hurts me knowing that this is the outcome. I’ve been struggling to make sure that I survive and to fight fiercly to be reuinted with my wife. And had it not been for my wife, I don’t know where I would’ve been tbh. I do miss the good old times with the skitty brand and most of the things that came with it and it did improve my health a lot, but it didn’t hold out for too long, because like every other individual, we grow and the pile of responsibilities in the corner grew as you tried to get around them one by one, only to see that no change had been made.

I never got to be the artist that I had hoped to become due to neglect and social pressure. I dropped out of college and never finished my education, because of my severe depression. I knew that I had adhd, but was in denial out of fear that I’d be shunned and despite being encouraged, my fear got the best of me. My Androgenic alopecia took a massive tool on my confidence and the amount of stress and anxiety only worsened my condition and is the main reason why I have never posted any selfies again. I just... haven’t felt good at all tbh and no matter how many posts you see me make, my true feelings are never expressed, because I simply do not wanna give anyone that impression. Working as a teacher has had its pros and cons, but ever since the beginning of this semester, it only worsened, because I haven’t felt happy with the working conditions. I don’t have the energy and motivation to handle teaching when it’s so disorgnanized. My absense from work only increased as a result of me making up excuses to skip work so I could just lay there on my bed, what’s the point of goinf to work if teachers are getting shit paid anyway. Working as a teacher was only fun for a moment... But what’s the point of being a teacher if your salary is shit on the basis of your being ungraduated, even though you do a much better job than most graduated teachers? sigh... Art has been a way for me to cope and even embracing other aspects of art has been fun to say the least, but looking at so many friends becoming these successful artists made me envy them, but I can’t even pick up my pen most of the time, because my adhd prevents me from doing so... If only I wasn’t confined to the shackles of society, I could have become something that would have made me happy... This isn’t fair.

My wife has been my only moral and mental support and the fact that I’ve been waiting so many years to be reunited caused me to break down several times and I only had my mom to support me. I’ve been lonely ever since and the only thing I could do was to pass time burning my eyes at the computer screen, make posts on tumble, be a wage labourer, waiting for a decision to come from the migration office. I even got Broly (my cat) to keep me company, and while it did partially help me mentally, it’s just not the same.

However, there has been some good news at least, I’m finally getting my male pattern baldness treated and my wife is scheduled for an interview with the Swedish Embassy next month. It’s been arduous, but I just want this pain to go away,

I’m just so tired, you guys...