#tw covid lockdown

[ashersbraincell]

Thinking about the type of kid/early teen I used to be. The kind, caring, sociable, helpful, empathetic to a fault hard-worker.

And thinking about how she was emotionally beaten out of me by force.

And thinking about how she’s probably that odd ache in my chest that refuses to go away no matter how hard I try to make myself jaded to protect both her and myself.

[anti-ao3]

having to read people online experiencing "covid lockdown nostalgia" is fucking crazy to me

the lockdown gave me anxiety attacks, a more severe depression than i've ever had and suicidal thoughts, so i do not fucking miss being terrified of dying and becoming paranoid over hygiene. fuck you

[hussyknee]

Why is my stupid idiot brain sunk to the very bottom of the sea bed like whale fall. I'm on extra strength medication, I'm staying off social media, I'm surrounded by kittens. And yet. My anxiety has turned into full blown agoraphobia and I'm so depressed that getting out of bed is a feat I only achieve because my cats need feeding.

It's been almost seventeen years of being bipolar but I still can't internalise that mood disorders are actual illnesses that disable and debilitate as much as any physical disease. Clearly the only thing wrong with me is that I'm not trying hard enough to crawl out of this. If I really wanted to get better I'd fight through my anxiety and back pain and sensory hell and do stuff like go to therapy, eat healthy, exercise and get a job.

To make matters worse, my brain keeps hollering that I'm 37 this year and no closer to joining the rest of the job-having, rent-paying, independent adult world. The fact that I've been in a consistently worsening mental health crisis since 2020 to the point that I was in greater danger than I've ever been of committing suicide the first six months of last year is clearly irrelevant. Somehow.

Tbh, if it wasn't for my rescue kittens, I'd be regretting that I didn't just go through with it. Not enough to go through with it now, but regretting it all the same. But I do have my kitties so I can't regret it. Instead, I'm just resigning myself to the fact that having something to live for, even when I don't want to, is the best I'll ever get.

[homo-rashi]

personal vent post TW CPTSD, Sick Animals, blood, Death,

long story short, I took care off a sick family pet for multiple years, they were very, very sick and it was very overwhelming for me. I was by myself due to covid lockdown most of the time and it was just me and the sick animal. I was in my late teens during this whole ordeal, but its normal to live alone in my country for attend high school in different towns.

I loved this pet so much, but they were pooping blood at an uncontroableness but they were still happy and eating and fine in every other aspect until they passed...that being said, they were about 80lbs. a large pet and they were in my bed most of the time and I couldnt move them by myseld. (im skinny and not very strong)

due to laundry services being closed in my country to covid, I couldnt due laundry and was often sleeping for days on end in blankets covever in blood and liquid poop from my pet. I would find one clean spot and cover myself up with it. I would spray a sink cloth with cologne and press it too my nose so i could sleep because it smelled so bad.

this was my life from just before covid lockdown to late 2022. I was living hell. I would often times find myself hiding in my closet away from my pet (they were safe and didn't need constant care) with my hands over my ears because they would cry if they were along and hearing them cry made me shake, I was terrified. I didn't want them to pass, but I couldn't take taking care of them at times. It was traumatizing.

I have a new pet now who is older and not always in the greatest health and whenever she gets sick, I go back to that place, how I was in lockdown. I freeze, I cry, I cant stop myself from shaking and I often throw up because of how afraid I am of being around a sick animal or any of my animals being sick again.

I think I have either PTSD or CPTSD from the entire expirence but I feel stupid because when youre googleing symptoms of CPTSD, is states its a response to thinks like years off sexual or physical abuse...so me being this...messed up over a sick animal? I dont know I just feel like i'm faking it but, i'm not.

does anyone have any expirence with trauma around animals? pls talk to me.

[alto-viola]

Is it rational to be scared of the new covid variant and another potential shutdown or am I just traumatized?

[bumpscosity]

Got my next covid booster 💪

[chickpea0]

how many lockdown kids do you think are gonna grow up to be regressors do you think. mustve felt like you were 10 forever yet not experience it at all, then all of a sudden youre a teenager and time moves so weirdly

[emaya-chan-the-potato-headed]

I may be very much alone with this thought, but OMG! Doesn't 2023 have the worst creative BLOCK and unmotivated energy you have ever experienced???!!!

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my mom I would blow up her entire household and myself in a gas explosion if my parents built me a house to live in?

TW for descriptions of child abuse and suicide mention

I (22NB) cut off my abusive father (mid40M) and left home when I turned 18. I'm going to call him Harry (fake name) from now on because I'm going to have to talk about him a lot. When covid lockdowns started I had to leave home because I phsyically could not be in the same room as Harry without fully disassociating and would constantly have homicidal thoughts, suicidal thoughts and panic attacks just hearing him walk around the house or talk from locked away in my bedroom. Growing up Harry would phsyically and verbally abuse me, he's thrown me out of a window and locked me outside of the house, pinned me to the ground and stabbed me in the back of the neck with a pair chopsticks, slapped me, kicked me while I was curled up on the ground and so on. My mom (mid40F) would watch all these things and never did anything to stop the abuse, his abuse started ramping down when my little brother was born (12M) so most of these things happened to me from 6 years old to being 10. Harry has never been phsyically and verbally abusive towards my mom or my siblings I was his only victim at home.

I developed a slew of mental illness traits the main of which being diagnosed cPTSD from this abusive upbringing. I also ended up developing a phsyical disability that limits my mobility when I was turning 20, I live alone and the house I live in is extremely unaccessible and even dangerous for me to live in. Because of this I am still in regular contact with my mom getting her help with things I can't manage to do on my own due to my disability. Her and Harry are planning to move out to the countryside and have a house built there so I am aware I won't be able to rely on her for too many years longer. One day she mentions to me that apparently they had been planning to build me a small house tucked away at the back of their property for me to live in so she could keep taking care of me. I'd never heard of this plan before and never asked for anything like this.

First of all I found it incredibly demeaning to build a little doghouse out of sight to keep your traumatized disabled child like an unwanted pet only kept around out of pity and some sense of responsibility, my mom comes from a culture where its the norm to treat disabled people like this and make sure they are unseen but I did not appreciate it. Second of all this would literally be the most nightmarish scenario for me to live through possible, I can't drive I don't have a car and there is no public transport or delivery services for food and grocceries at all outside of the capital of my country. My mom doesn't drive either so she would put me in a scenario where literally every single aspect of my life would become completely dependent on my transphobic abuser that I still get full blown PTSD episodes even just thinking about. My house, my food, where I can go and getting to the doctor would all become completely at the mercy of Harry in this situation. This is when I told my mom if put in this situation I would blow up all of us in a gas explosion to escape it because that's how awful living through that would be.

She didn't really react to me saying I would blow all of them up if this happens because I use exaggerated violent language often, she just called me ungrateful. While it was mainly to express just how bad this situation would be for me it was also somewhat meant as a threat, due to my disability I've had other family members try to get me declared legally incompetent so they could get a government caregiver from me. My parents could absolutely use the law to force me into this housing situation even as an adult, it was partially a threat because I wanted it in their heads that it a bad idea for them to do this to me, realistically I would just commit suicide to escape it instead. My cPTSD makes me incapable of having grounded thoughts and reactions to the things that trigger it, I know my mental problems make me an asshole a lot of the time but I just want to live my shitty life as painlessly as possible for however long I've got left.

What are these acronyms?

[ashersbraincell]

You know, it's just a little bit funny how since the lockdown I've had depressive episodes where I end up completely alientated and alone, and thus once I heal and return back to "normal" I always have to re-learn how to feel "right" in interacting with people in-person and integrating myself into a circle

[sillyhahasilly]

your takes on modern caldre aus? sorry if youve done this havent seen it on your blog :-)

hiii hello anon!! sorry this took so long! never ever feel bad for asking me for hcs and aus!! i love making them.

~~~

the only thing I've posted abt modern caldre is that i dont think they would still shoot up their school. i still stand by this, let me elaborate. i think both of them would still be really mentally ill, but they wouldn't need to be repressed as much bc of social and societal changes of now compared to 2001. AND they would have better access to the internet and we all know there are loads of stuff to enjoy and communities to join and feel belonging in instead of plotting mass murder. still, i enjoy thinking of what zero day would have been like if it happened today too!!

~~~

How would they have delt with covid?

lets say they would be seniors this year, like me. shit shut down in their 7th grade year and almost all of their 8th grade year would of been online. those are very much formative years lmao.

cal would js not do his work in online school. he would of been the kid playing video games and shit during zoom. andre would do decent online. he would enjoy not needing to deal w other people bs in person.

both would be really isolated, spending lots of time in their rooms. chronically online. !!tw sh!! i think this is when both of them would start shing. a lot of mental illnesses emerging.

cal would of been a discord kid during this time too. he dragged andre into it with him. i also think cal would e date some rando on discord.

i think they would also be fully realizing their sexualities during this time bc thats what everyone was doing on tik tok. gay ptide ig

andre would have a full on emo faze during lockdown that i dont think would ever go away.

~~~

Other random modern hcs!!!

both of them would be into violent video games. andre would love CoD. cal would like horror games and watching people play them. they would pull all nighters js to play video games and drop slurs to anyone who is better then them.

kys jokes all the time.

both would watch gore all the time and send it to each other.

both would be such gatekeepers for like anything 😭😭 if an artist they listened too became "tiktokifed" they both would LOSE IT. if an underground indie movie blew up they liked they would rage message eachother abt it.

andre would fall for those fucking military adds. rip

andre would not like skibidi toilet shit idk what yall are on. he would find it so annoying. cal, tho, would find some brainrot shit funny.

I do kinda think andre would use tiktok sometimes but would never post. cal would use tik tok all the time and his fyp would be cursed. so would cals insta reel feed. I think both of them would have a soft spot for insta reels cuz they can be rlly mean on there.

yk those school confession pages? andre once sent one anonymously alluding that someone was gonna shoot up his school cuz he was really pissed and the page got shut down. admin threatened to get police involved. he is LUCKY no one looked into it too much. cal thought the whole situation was hilarious.

cal is chronically online and stays up late a lot on his phone/computer/wtv.

~~~

that's all!!! this is very all over the place like my inspo for these lmao. if anyone has specific modern au requests lmk!! or any requests in general :)

[our-aroace-experience]

Foreword, TW mention of harassment and namecalling.

My experience is theres this guy in my block who kept flirting me even if he had a girl friend. The problem is

i wasnt aware that we were flirting until my friends pointed it out.

i enjoyed the time i spent with him but i honestly didn't see any of it as flirting. I thought he was trying to make friends so i was like, cool, okay. Besides, who am I to deny hugs and pets when I'm pretty much touch starved from the damned covid lockdown? If anything i feel thankful that he's being friendly to me. But then i guess what looks friendly to me isnt friendly to others.

Then, months later my friends were like... Saying this:

"the guy is a fuckboy"

"girl, everyone had weird stares at you when you were hugging"

"i think he likes you"

"are you nuts he's literally harassing you"

And all that kind of stuff. But the entire time we were 'flirting' i didn't feel romance or anything. If anything all the hugging and head patting felt platonic, and i definitely don't intend to snatch him off from his girl friend. I mean i don't even initiate any of the stuff he does. He literally walks up to me and gives me hugs from behind. But aside from all that touchy stuff, we don't even have a deep relationship. We just know each other, and we're in the same class. And i think we have a mutual understanding that neither of us wants to be in a romantic relationship with the other, and yet we both permit the hugging and stuff.

it's quite unfortunate that people branded us with nicknames like "fuckboy" and "slut" just because we have the capacity to be touchy. We didn't even do things together alone. It's legit just hugging and hand holding in broad daylight. Other than that there is literally nothing like AAHH WHY Is it so hard to explain,, like i never even told anyone about it in fear that I'll just further make myself look like a fugitive or something

On a lighter note—while he never told me that he's aro, I really get the feeling that he is, if he could do all that and have no feelings for me. And I'm a wee bit happy to see someone else other than myself who is willing to be sweet without getting all romancey and stuff :)

Anyway thank you for this blog... I don't feel alone around here because of these aspec safe blogs. Thank you... I hope that wasn't too vent-y.. Hehe

i hope that situation has worked out for you!

[wyn-n-tonic]

TW Weight:

Before I moved to Philadelphia, between 2018 and early 2020, I lost 75 pounds after years of struggling with disordered eating and engaging in unhealthy habits that caused me to become my heaviest (at ~279). When I moved to Philly, I was so excited because I was finally at a weight where I could get my surgery taken care of and I was going to be able to get it taken care of at Penn Medicine which made me feel safe and comfortable. IT WAS ALL COMING UP WYN!!

Well, I moved to Philadelphia on February 29, 2020. Guess what happened a couple of weeks later.

Anyway, between lockdown and not having access to a gym (weight lifting) and then sustaining a head injury in 2021, things were not easy and they were not pretty and I didn't do well at taking care of myself. Then I got cleared for exercise and then I got Bailey to encourage me to walk and work on my balance. Well... Bailey does not want to walk. She does not want to be out of her home and, honestly, mood.

Then I got fired for being disabled and advocating for myself and I got COVID at the same time (for the first time) which just knocked me out. I spent six months dealing with COVID, after effects of COVID (asthma, heyyy), unemployment and heavy depression. Which, like... okay, fine. Things happen.

Anyway, I got another job and it was great and I was moving more even though the asthma was taking my ass out. It's fine. It's cool. But then I got depressed again and honestly I have had a really bonkers 2024 and I just have not been doing Great(TM).

And my entire medical team and my insurance have said they'll approve my surgery whenever now (because asthma is an auto approval but not my cancer risk????) but I still wanted to start feeling better before I did that (I didn't want to look like a bowling pin).

So, fast forward to July 9, 2024, my sister comes to visit with her family and I hang out with them. Sarah and I took a picture together and I got so sad because I was like, "Um... who the fuck is that girl?" THAT WAS NOT ME! I did not recognize myself!

So I decided to take it seriously again and I've been focusing on making sure I have meals available and that I'm eating an actual breakfast and not just coffee and protein bars. I've also been working on putting more movement back into my day because I don't want to go too hard too fast and become demotivated because I'm overwhelmed, if that makes sense????? Anyway, I love walking but walking outside in this heat is dangerous and also with my balance and the way I crash out the last couple of years, it just didn't feel all that safe all around. I got a walking pad last month and was at the top of the weight capacity for it.

I officially started tracking things on July 20. I was 269. Today, I am 256. And my mental health is better and also I feel better! And also my clothes are already starting to fit better too. This shit rules.

[nxposure]

On my last blog, I wrote about my eating disorder at great length. I think it's time to do it again. If you don't like long text posts, feel free to skip this, but don't skim read it and reply because that's not nice.

TW if you need it, eating disorders, self harm, body dysmorphia.

----

People seem to think that eating disorders don't really apply to men. I spent my entire childhood listening to just about everyone passing judgement on other people's weight. As a boy, my apparent role models were all athletes, thin or muscular actors, skinny popstars and guys in music, and any husky person was either funny or tragic.

As I got older, I noticed these attitudes getting worse. Muscular men between acting jobs would stop cutting and starving their bodies, but would still look like peak physical condition but would be referred to as having a 'dad bod'.

Older still, I'd see people waggling their little fingers making jokes about small dicks, or laughing about people who cum to quick. People were too tall or not tall enough. Then they'd be too skinny if they were too fat. Then, laughs about baldness or their bodies being too hairy. It went on and on.

It melted my brain. I wanted to be whatever this idea shape was and deep down, I knew it wasn't possible, and I developed an immovable self loathing that I suspect I'll carry with me through my whole life.

I'd hear women getting similar criticisms, and the criticisms came equally from women and men, gay and straight, and of all races and creeds, and I think somewhere in my thoughts, I gave up trying to find a peaceful way of navigating this and began to purge every time I ate. I was playing a lot of team sports and would vomit before every game. I'd then go home, eat, and repeat. I became dangerously thin and people would tell me my body looked great.

I would pass out a lot through exhaustion and my eyes became dark. At some point I collapsed and hit my face on a shelf, then a radiator, and pretended to everyone that I'd just been in a fight.

After a short time thinking I'd fixed myself after scaring myself when I'd collapsed, it started again. I switched out bulimia for anorexia. I was now not eating at all. I remember hitting my hand with a spoon over and over when someone brought me some food to work, anxiety in overdrive as I hoped they wouldn't notice me not touching any of the food they gave me. That happened a lot and the back my hand was frequently purple with bruises.

I've kept a photo of a more recent period so I have something to check, in case I've dropped too much weight. This was me not that long ago, irresponsibly thin and I'd made myself very poorly. The skirt is cute though.

It was around this time that I'd collapsed again, this time in public. I was rushed to hospital with malnutrition and it was in the middle of lockdown so hospitals were swamped and everything was weird.

I was given a COVID test and while the nurses went to do my test, I sneaked out of the hospital because I didn't want them to tell me anything about how thin I was, even though they'd already clocked me. I walked home and collapsed three more times in the street, and twice more at home. I managed to get myself back to hospital eventually and spent the night under observation and was fed sugary gels and put on a drip to try and replace some of what my body had been missing for months.

I again discharged myself and ran away from the problem.

I was disgusted with myself. I was being irresponsible. I thought I looked enormous. I then made myself more depressed because I shouldn't talk about people's bodies like that. I loved people of all shapes and sizes and here I was, judging someone for being fat. I didn't eat or drink a single thing for two weeks after being in hospital. I was going mad. It was time to tell my friends what was going on, and it turned out a number of them had already worked it out.

One of the things I needed to fix was some of the people I sought advice from. I'd found people in secret who also had eating disorders and people who self harmed. It sounded like we were helping each other from the outside in, but the reality was that we were all enabling each other. Some call it trauma bonding. I call it unwell people egging each other on and even being competitive about it.

One girl said to me that my eating disorder wasn't as bad as hers. She gave me tips on how to act like I was getting better to other people. Saying you're trying is as good as actually trying, she added. It's all part of the performance.

I didn't want to be ill. I just wanted to not feel violently sick when I thought about my own body existing. I wanted to not be perceived at all, and to be left in darkened rooms, wasting away. While I spent all those nights, just lying there, I realised that this illness wasn't like other illnesses. Cancer wants to devour you. Broken bones want to heal. This eating disorder wanted me to stay alive but maximise the suffering in a prolonged bout of self harm. Me being dead was no use to my dysmorphia. I did just enough to stay alive, so I could maximise the suffering. It was like an endurance sport with no medal.

At some point, my name was put forward to appear on a news programme on national television. One of my supposed support network worked in TV and was asked if they knew anyone who had what had been rebranded as 'manorexia'. It's funny - even when showing concern, people still do stupid things like giving an illness that applies to anyone a ridiculous name. We don't call it blokeaemia do we?

After speaking to the genuinely respected and very nice journalist who I'd seen on television a lot, she was heavy handed in her questions. Things like "is it just vanity then?" is one that sticks in my memory. After 3 days of back and forth, the news story was dropped because a panda had given birth in a zoo somewhere. My sense of the absurd and gallows humour kicked in, mercifully. Men's eating disorders, relegated beneath a captive animal having a baby.

Another friend who was genuinely being well-meaning told me how brave I was, "going around telling everyone you have a woman's disease". I wasn't angry because I knew what they meant, but to someone more fragile, it could have gone horribly wrong. Another friend simply said "I don't want to ever talk about this - it's too upsetting."

I became aware of famous men talking about their eating disorders. A politician called John Prescott spoke of his and everyone laughed at it and made jokes on panel shows, based entirely on the fact that he wasn't thin enough. Everyone laughed at Hugh Jackman on talkshows when he spoke of the starvation and duress he put his body under to look a certain way for movies. Thin women were pointed at when they put an ounce of weight on. I heard women sniggering about other women saying "what does she look like in that dress?"

More recently, people would berate the 45th president of the United States for being "fat", rather than going after more pertinent things like his whole personality and terrible views. Fat, in this instance, was the ultimate sin, not being pro-fascist. I noticed how many larger men were clowning around at their own expense, and women would coo about them online. People like Jack Black - talented, good looking, charismatic - would be met with "I don't care that he's fat".

So where am I now? Mentally, the damage is done and I don't think I'll ever lose the will to harm myself. However, since my last collapse, I swore I'd never go there again. I rigidly eat three times a day. I've actively learned to enjoy the cooking process. It's been incredibly difficult, perhaps in part because I stubbornly refuse any professional help. I looked around for a psychiatrist who would help at one point, but every single one told me that they weren't taking men on.

Way back when, I started sharing photos of my body on Tumblr in a state of undress because I wanted to normalise how I looked. If I sandwiched myself between everyone else's nudes which I thought were beautiful, then I gave myself a chance to think the same of my own. It certainly helped. There's something about the kind of people this site attracts that celebrates a variety of people and I can be flooded with dopamine when my photos get complimented. They're compliments from people that sometimes get it, and that matters. Some people just think I'm being thirsty, and sometimes, they're absolutely correct.

My stomach has grown. There's fat bits on my back which I've never seen before. My neck got chunky where my jawline used to be razor sharp. At long last, I'm learning to love this. I love the softness of people's bodies, and it's taken me decades to realise that I'm just people too. I wear soft clothes that feel nice against my skin. I've collaborated on photos with wonderful people. While my dysmorphia is so bad that I doubt I'll ever find it easy to sexually pleasure myself, I've been shocked to find that people on here have actually had me feeling like a viable and sexy person! It's a completely new feeling to me and I'm trying to get better at taking compliments instead of pushing them away.

I've written about this before and at some length, but I feel it's important to do it again so it doesn't get lost. It might help someone. It might help people understand me better. It might help someone understand what their friend is going through. It might just be enough to offer an interesting perspective and nothing more.

I'm doing better than I've done in memory and it's weird and makes me feel vulnerable. I don't want to get complacent and writing this reminds me of how far I've come and not to let this terrible illness sneak up on me again. I've been through some horrendous emotional stress recently, and that's exactly the kind of time where a thing like this can reintroduce itself into my brain.

I'm doing okay though, genuinely. I can only write about these things when I'm in a good place. I hope you are too. If anyone ever needs to speak to me about anything like this, I can't promise I can fix you, but I can definitely empathise and I will root for you.

(please forgive any typos or garbled language in this - I wrote it in one take, off the cuff, without editing)

[more-sonorous]

the power of rugelach (sun, moon, stars)-- jatherid

i cannot get enough of these children. so here is more. copious amounts of Kath love incoming, because she deserves it!

tw for mentions of the covid pandemic + asshole parents making bad decisions.

....

It was a well known fact of life that Katherine Pulitzer hated her father. She hated almost every member in her entire immediate family, actually, which was saying something since she had six siblings. Each of them was more assholish than the last (except for her eldest sister Lucy. Lucy was alright). The other five siblings were horrible, just like her ice-cold mother and her overbearing, horrible father and his neverending ‘dickery’, as Jack so eloquently put it.

This week’s ‘dickery’ involved him summoning all of his children to his townhouse in the city for one last family meeting before the lockdown 'really kicked in'. In the middle of a pandemic. Katherine, not really wanting to leave the safety and comfort of Jack’s apartment and her lovely roommates, put up a hell of a fight. First of all, pandemic. Second of all, lockdown. Third of all, a lot of her older siblings had kids, so they shouldn’t have been exposing themselves anyways– but stubborn Joseph Pulitzer merely brushed her worries off. Kath wondered if he lost a bit of common sense with every dollar he earned, and resolutely refused to attend. When he threatened to stop paying off her remaining debt from university, she found herself gruffly climbing into her vehicle and driving to meet with her ridiculous, stupid family.

It was not a pleasant evening. In fact, it was far from pleasant. She had to endure passive aggressive comments about Jack, her career, Jack again, her choice of clothing, her relationship with Jack– everything from the way she styled her bangs to the sneakers she wore. When was she going to get married? When was she going to get a real job, or a ‘serious’ boyfriend? And her father. She wanted to punch the man across the face as the hours chugged on. If she heard one more word about how ‘concerned’ he was for her future, she was sure she’d explode.

Kath had never been more grateful to slam the door of her car behind her and floor it back to their safe, cozy studio apartment. She stormed up the stairs in a cloud of fury, sure that there was metaphorical smoke pouring from her ears.

After a visit with her family, she never failed to feel like nothing more than the red-headed failure of a middle child. 

Realistically, she knew she wasn’t a failure. She was an established journalist in a happy relationship, making her own money and living her life how she wanted. She was happy. That was what mattered, after all– she’d been chasing her own happiness and building life her way since she moved out for freshman year of college. What she had was what she’d wanted since childhood. She’d never felt more free.

Their comments still managed to get under her skin, infuriatingly enough. She hated her family. She hated that they didn’t even know her enough to see how happy she was. Or maybe they did see, and they still didn't accept it. That somehow made the knife twist even deeper.

Kath practically kicked down the door to the apartment and slung her shoes off as aggressively as possible, wanting to take out her bone-deep fury on every inanimate object in her immediate vicinity. She wanted to write furious prose about her parents and scream into the water of a scalding hot bath. She wanted to throw something or kick something or rip something– but then she saw Davey, and all of that sort of waned away.

He was curled up against the plush arm of the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, dark curls ruffled and extra fluffy post-nap. The Office played on the TV and he watched with hooded green eyes, a pillow hugged to his chest, long legs folded beneath him. He turned to see her and smiled, whole face lighting up, and she felt her rage sap away as his eyes brightened.

“Kathy.” Davey dropped everything he’d been doing and climbed off of the couch, making his way to her in long strides. He was so happy to see her, and for some reason, that made her so happy that she could scarcely breathe. “How was your luncheon?”

“Miserable.” She muttered, surprised at the thickness of emotion tightening her voice.

Davey frowned a long-suffering frown. Having grown up alongside her, he was used to the Pulitzer clan bullshit. That explained the concern in his wide, green eyes, and the hesitant way he kept twitching his hands towards her like he wanted to comfort her but was stopping herself. Her pent up frustration urged her to grab him by the shoulders and scream that she wanted his touch just as much as he wanted to touch her. She barely refrained, and chose to hang on to the gentle sound of his voice instead as he continued speaking. “I figured as much. Jack said he was going to try to be back as soon as possible, but he’s moving all of his stuff out of the art studio across town so he might be a little bit longer– in the meantime, I made you rugelach, since I know you don’t like the desserts your father’s cook makes. We can go eat, if you want.”

Only then did she register the warm, comforting smell of flaky puff pastry and freshly made raspberry jam. It smelled like distant childhood memories. The cramped kitchen in the Jacobs house after every birthday– like breaking in her first apartment, Davey’s cheeks and t-shirt splotched with flour– like two AM after her Bat Mitzvah, when she and Davey had curled up in a pillow fort, giggling and devouring pastries until the sun came up. He’d been worrying about her. Of course he’d been worrying about her, because he was just so good and kind and sweet, and Katherine wanted him so deeply and ridiculously that it hurt. 

What she wouldn’t give to have both him and Jack at once. 

She realized that she didn’t give him a response a moment too late, because his lips ticked down into a subtle frown. “Kathy… are you okay?”

And then she was crying. The floodgates broke embarrassingly fast, and the sob that ripped through her was loud and ugly. Within seconds, Davey had her wrapped up in his freckled arms, and she sunk into his comforting warmth with careless abandon. He was tall and warm and familiar and Jack was right, his clothes were really soft– and he smelled good, too, like old books and vanilla shampoo and lavender fabric softener. With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other arm tucked firmly around her waist, Katherine felt safe to sob her eyes out. She did just that as Davey tucked his nose into her hair and held her steady through the storm.

“I hate them.” She sobbed incoherently, feeling stupid and childish all the while. “And th-they hate me too, and I– I hate that they hate me, Davey, I fucking despise it!”

“Nobody hates you.” Davey soothed in that soft voice of his, words warm and sweet against the top of her head. “It's impossible to hate you.”

She hiccuped around another sob and squeezed tight fistfuls of his shirt into her hands. “They do. I know they do. I don’t– I don’t care what they think of me, and I’m not gonna change for them, but I just wish they’d understand me, Davey–”

Her blubbering was nearly incoherent and she knew it, but he didn’t judge her or freeze up or anything. Instead, he ran a gentle hand through her hair and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, letting the wave of fresh tears ebb. She cried hard, loud tears of frustration. Hugging Davey was a lot better than hitting inanimate objects, but it didn’t make her ridiculous excuse for a family hurt any less. He understood, and he let her cry until she was hiccuping. Then he gently wrapped both his arms around her and spoke very softly. “Couch?”

Kath could only manage a nod and felt herself melt from head to toe as he lifted her up in deceptively strong arms. She swung her legs around him– if he was going to be as tall as a tree, she could cling like a koala– and the only reaction she received was a soft noise of surprise before he snapped back into comfort mode and carried her to the couch. When Davey sat, Katherine didn’t dare move and buried her face in his shoulder, instead. He hugged her tightly, shielding her with her arms, and she wanted to hide there forever.

It didn’t take long for her to calm down, and when the rage stopped clouding her vision, it left an overwhelming sadness behind. 

“I’m always wondering–” She cut herself off with a hiccupy little breath but quickly tried to reign her voice in. Kath hated crying. Feeling weak. “I’m always wondering what my life would be like if I’d grown up with parents that actually supported me.”

“Who knows?” Davey’s voice was barely a whisper as he tugged the elastic from the end of her braid and ran his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the strands. “It sucks that we can’t control what we’re born into. We just have to make the most of it, and you do a really good job of that, Kathy.”

Another hiccup shook her and she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Doesn’t make me hate it any less.”

“You have every right to hate it. Your siblings are pretentious jerks, your mom has more botox than she does love in her shriveled up heart, and your borderline evil dad has a huge stick up his ass.” Davey stated, so matter-of-factly that Katherine couldn't help but let out a sharp bark of laughter. “But somehow they raised my closest friend, and she turned out to be kind and loyal and passionate and all of the best things you could want in a person. So… I’m just grateful you’re here and you’re you.”

The pure adoration swelling in her chest brought stinging tears to her eyes, and within moments they were slipping down her cheeks. “Davey…”

“Oh, no.” He breathed, going rigid and raising his hands to his hair. “I am so, so sorry. I didn't– I didn’t want to make you cry again, I just– I probably shouldn’t have said that about your parents–”

“You’re the best.” Kath managed to choke out through her tears, and she embraced him again so he couldn’t see the infatuation in her eyes. Davey hugged her back, with a bit of careful hesitance, but he relaxed into the touch soon enough, sinking into the couch cushions behind him. She almost felt bad for crying on him– first Jack, less than a week ago, and now her– but there was just something about Davey’s steadiness that made the wild parts of Kath (and surely Jack, too) feel safe.

Keys jingled in the door and Kath didn’t move a muscle as she listened to Jack’s familiar footfalls. He made his way into the kitchen first, probably setting down boxes based on the roll and rattle of paint brushes and acrylic bottles, but soon his parade of sock-footed steps landed in the living room. Within moments he was at her side, a warm hand on her back. 

“Jesus, love, what’s wrong?”

“Kath’s family are assholes.” Davey answered, and she managed a meek nod of agreement.

Jack chuckled, soft and low. “Don’t I know it. C’mere, darling.” Gentle, calloused fingers tilted her chin up and she looked into the sweetest brown eyes she knew. Kath thanked the powers above for providing her with these precious boys as Jack carefully pulled the sticky strands of hair from her cheeks and wiped her tears away. “You deserve better, mi rayo del sol.”

For the second time that day, she positively melted. If she hadn’t been seated on top of Davey her knees surely would’ve gone weak. Kath let herself smile dopily as Jack kissed her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Hug?”

“Obviously.” She croaked, feeling exhausted and emotionally drained. 

Jack tugged her up against her chest and she practically collapsed against her amazing boyfriend. It seemed that the universe wasn’t keen on giving her a single moment of relaxation, because Davey went and stood up and Katherine felt her head whipping around towards him before she could stop herself. He had an awkward, almost pained expression on his pretty face and every socially trained part of her told her to just let him leave. Jack was her boyfriend, after all, and comforting her should’ve been his job alone. Still, deep in her chest, she knew she’d feel better with both of them and she wasn’t going to dance around that anymore.

��Where are you going?”

“My… uh… my room.” He froze awkwardly, like a deer in headlights. Jack’s chest shook with a silent chuckle and he hid his face in her hair. “I figured you’d want Jack–”

Sometimes, Davey required bluntness. Kath, teary-eyed and exhausted, delivered exactly that as she reached a hand out and motioned him over. “I do want Jack. And you. So get over here.”

“You oughta do what she says, Dave, she rules the roost. I don’t make the rules.” Jack murmured into her shoulder, looking up at Davey with irresistible brown doe eyes. Kath knew, from experience, that he was impossible to say no to when he looked like that. She was absolutely correct as she watched Davey’s resolve disappear into a little groan. He rubbed his eyes from beneath his glasses.

“Okay. Let me get the rugelach while they’re still warm.”

“The rug-ah-luh-huh?” Jack muttered, sitting back against the arm of the couch and tugging Kath to sit between his legs. She laughed and traced her thumb over the scar on his chin, taking just a moment to admire his adorable expression of confusion. How her parents could disapprove of this wonderful boy, she’d never know. 

“My favorite pastry.” Kath explained, with a genuine smile. “Davey makes his grandma’s recipe and he tops them with this raspberry jam– they’re seriously life changing, Jack. Just wait.”

"Anything Dave cooks is life-changing." He assured, before leaning in to press a kiss to her cheeks. His hand, warm as ever, cupped her face as he continued his trail down her jaw. "You look beautiful right now."

She scoffed, sharp and degrading. "I look like a mess."

"Nuh-uh. You can't see yourself, 'n you can't see what I'm seein'-- and what I'm seein' is a picture I oughta paint and hang on my wall forever." Jack's voice was soft and low and dripping with honesty that made her face feel hot and her stomach clench happily. He grinned a riddiculous, dopey grin. "Yeah, that's right. I see that little smile-"

"You're ridiculous." Kath pushed his cheek into her shoulder to stifle his ridiculous giggles.

Jack Kelly was an unstoppable little beast, though, and he popped his head right back up and trained that megawatt natural smile at her. She'd learned the distance by now-- his forced smile hid his pretty dimples, but if he was really happy, they came right out. He was smiling at her like she was the sun itself. "Ridiculously honest, maybe. 'Cause all I'm seein' is just plain gorgeous. Tell me, did it hurt when--"

"No!" She whined as she tried to quell her own laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop the ridiculous pickup lines.

Maybe she should've expected the cheeky bastard to lick her palm, but she figured they were too mature for that. She was wrong and recoiled with a shriek, gazing at her spit-slick palm. "Jack! Germs! You don't know where my hand's been!"

"I just saw it touchin' Dave, 'n he's pretty clean. So."

Kath barked out a shocked laugh and gently shoved his shoulder, which only made him tug her closer. "You are the worst, did you know that?"

"But you love me." Jack cooed in a sing-song sort of way, all gentle touches as he cupped her cheeks in those rough hands of his. She loved his hands. Couldn't get enough of them.

She felt herself soften for the unfairly beautiful boy, and tilted her head to kiss the inside of his palm. "Unfortunately I do."

Davey returned, carefully holding a plate of fragrant pastries. Kath felt her mouth watering at the comforting smell, and wondered just how he knew exactly what she needed. He was more perceptive than people assumed– just another bullet point of the list of things Kath loved about David Jacobs. And another thing on the subsequent list for Jack was the fact that he loved Davey, too, based on the way he was looking at him with a ridiculously dopey, lovesick grin. “You gonna come and sit, now, Dave?”

“Sure. Um…” David awkwardly rocked back onto his heels, arms straight down by his sides. His hands would be buried in his pockets, if he had any. “How… um… how do you want me?”

“Less rigid.” She teased, before taking gentle hold of his plaid sweatpants and pulling him closer. He went willingly, if not a bit stiffly, and molded himself to her just how she wanted. Kath leaned her back up against Davey’s chest and let Jack take the reins, gently taking Davey’s ankle in hand and placing it on the couch next to him so that both Jack and Kath were sitting within the vee of his legs. Davey hesitantly strung his freckled arms around her and she breathed a sigh of relief as she relaxed into the tangle of Jack and Davey, a giddy sort of thrill shooting through her as Dave gently dropped his chin onto her head. “Rugelach time, now.”

“Whatever you wish, princess.” Jack threw a wink at her and grabbed the plate, settling it in the midst of their cuddle pile, balanced on Kath’s lap. He plucked one of the pastries and held it up with a smile that dimpled his cheeks and brightened the room. “Open wide.”

The rugelach were even better than the last time David made them, sweet and nutty and just a bit tart from the jam. Kath felt her eyes roll back and she tilted her head into the firmness of Davey's chest with a groan. "Davey. Ohmygod."

"Good?" He shook with a giggle, and smiled a private little smile.

"Perfect, I think. Jack, you hafta try." She snatched one of the pastries and held it out for Jack to bite.

He grinned cheekily at her before leaning in and taking a careful bite, purposefully brushing his lips against her fingers. The playfulness dissolved as his eyes grew wide, and he quickly bit off the rest of the rugelach and stared at Davey like he was the most wonderful thing in the world (he sort of was). "Dave. What the hell did you put in this?"

"Walnuts. Raisins. Love?"

"You heard it here, folks. Walnuts, raisins, and love. Key to Jack Kelly's heart." Jack grinned and plucked another rugelach off of the plate. Kath didn't ignore Davey's pleased, victorious little expression-- but that smile dropped into hesitance as Jack offered the treat to him. "Your turn."

Davey swallowed hard and Kath fought valiantly to suppress a giggle at the pink spreading from his cheekbones to his ears. "I-- um-- germs."

"C'mon..." Puppy eyes. Kath felt bad for Davey. It was impossible to stay strong when Jack used those big, brown eyes to his advantage.

Her spirits lifted with every giggle they shared as Jack fed Davey the sweet, Davey’s messy bite of surprise sending puff pastry flakes tumbling down onto Kath’s shoulder. The three of them fed each other in a ridiculous fit of giggles, featuring Kath awkwardly reaching back to try and find Davey’s mouth, and Davey exasperatedly leaning forward to swipe jam off of Jack’s cheek, and Jack constantly brushing powdered sugar onto Kath’s nose just to kiss it off again. Jack even tried his silly little lip brush trick on poor Davey, which definitely sent his brain into reboot mode. Kath couldn't hide her laughter at that, and she only cackled harder when her defeated best friend hid his face in her shoulder and tightened his arms around her. Soon sunset was bathing the apartment and Kath’s ridiculous family was pushed into a far corner of her mind.

What she had in that moment was far better than anything her parents could’ve offered her as a child. Jack and Davey were family, and she was at home in their arms– just a little bit sweaty with her face sticky from tears and her hair a tangled, finger-combed mess. That, she decided, was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. No picture perfect cul-de-sac marriage. Just them.

....

can you believe that these goobers aren't in an established relationship yet? guess i oughta write a getting together blurb for them...

but pining is so fun i just wanna write awkward lovestruck stumbling