#when I was raped everybody told me I was lying

[maythestormsnevertakefromme]

It says a lot about the current state of the community that for a lot of my life I feared pagan men.

It wasn’t even that so many of them were white supremacists, yes obviously that was horrible but most of them were mask off Nazis and therefore easy to avoid and report.

It was that they used their position in the community to manipulate mentally ill women. I think we need to have a genuine discussion community wide about how men in positions of power within spiritual/pagan/witchy spaces have always used that power to take advantage of women or other fem aligned people suffering from mental illness.

Over and over and over again I’ve seen pagan/witch men in positions of power (e.g running a temple/shrine/coven ect.) use the religious or spiritual beliefs of the women around them to manipulate them. I’ve seen men basically recruiting mentally unstable women into cults under the guise of witchy book clubs or other seemingly harmless things.

I knew men growing up who would boast about recruiting for our faith from group therapies and get almost no punishment from the rest of the community around them. We’d have stalls at markets and the imagery and wording so obviously pandered towards women going through hard times.

And I know this isn’t just an us problem and it’s something that happens because of the patriarchy which is a society wide problem but I really think we need to examine the way that our communities especially work to obscure justice and how we so often spit on victims to save face.

Also, so often if someone had experienced intercommunity violence they don’t want you to pray for them or have their space cleansed with sage they want you to talk to them like a normal person not a religious zealot.

[myocsfanfictions]

The Road Ahead of Us - TWD (Season 2)

The walking dead Fanfiction

Masterlist

They had left Atlanta behind, trying to reach Fort Benning; but during an apocalypse nothing ever goes at it is planned. Sarah and Nicolette will have to face new challenges and dangers. How will they survive?

<< Previous - Next >>

CHAPTER 21

Daryl had already left for his little camp when Nicki got back.

“Is everything alright? “ Sarah asked as her sister got closer. But Nicki only shrugged her shoulders.

“Everything alright with Daryl?” She asked back.

“Yeah…” Sarah muttered, “I disinfected his wounds, and then he left.” She would have been lying if she’d been told that she had been surprised to learn what Daryl had done to Randall. She understood. He was only trying to protect them all. But she didn’t like for him to act like that, even if it was for the sake of the group, “I’ve asked him to move his camp closer,” she said, looking in that direction, “But he wouldn’t listen.”

“He is a big boy,” Nicki said, sitting on the ground, “He can protect himself.”

“But he shouldn’t be by himself,” Sarah replied, “None of us should.”

Before they could say something else, light footsteps could be heard on the grass. The noise made the sisters turn to see Dale approaching them.

“Dale,” Sarah greeted him, but the expression on the man’s face remained serious.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Dale asked Sarah.

“Of course, what is it?” At her question, though, Dale looked over at Nicki.

“If you have to talk about Randall, go ahead,” Nicki answered, her tone calm, “I don’t think you’ll ask my opinion, but I’ve already made up my mind.”

Sarah observed her sister kicking the dirt with her foot, her eyes fixed on her hands. She was in deep thought, but Sarah could really not understand what she was thinking of. And probably she didn’t want to.

“Sarah…” Dale said gravely, “I’ve agreed with Rick that before passing the judging on Randall, I’d talk with everybody.”

“About?” Sarah said, standing up to get closer to the man.

“About not killing the guy,” Dale exclaimed, “I need you by my side on this.”

Sarah took a heavy breath.

“You are with me on this. Aren’t you?” Dale asked with a frown on his face.

What she was thinking about the situation was still a mastery to her as well. The perspective of a group of dangerous men searching for their friend and possibly coming to the farm to kill and rape was terrifying, and keeping every safe was the most important thing to do. But the perspective of killing a boy out of fear was terrifying as well.

“I don’t want to kill Randall,” Sarah said, crossing her arms.

“That’s good!” Dale had hope in his voice, but Sarah shook her head.

“But, what if him being here will bring those men here?”

“Maybe they won’t,” Dale argued, but Sarah shook her head again.

“Or maybe they will,” Sarah said, feeling guilty for what she was feeling, “I’m terrified, Dale,” she admitted, lowering her tone, hoping that Nicki was not listening, even if she knew better.

“And right now, death is not the worst perspective.”

Dale bit his lips, nodding his head. “I understand that you’re afraid, but killing someone because of that… it’s simply not right.”

“And I agree with you on that,” Sarah added with a heavy heart. She felt terrible about what she was about to say, “But I’m afraid that not making this choice will lead to something not right happening to someone I really care about.”

She didn’t want any harm to come to all the people that she had grown to love. Sarah did not want to. And she felt so selfish because the only thing that could make her feel at ease was the image of Randall gone.

“You’re not going to side with me,” the look on the man’s face broke her heart, but she was doing what she thought was best.

“I’m so sorry, Dale,” she whispered, but he only waved his hand before walking away.

When did the world turn out to become like that? Just months before, she was in her college room, dreaming about the future. Now she was thinking if her group should have killed a guy.

“This is so fucked up…” she muttered as she passed a hand through her brown hair.

“Humans are scarier than walkers,” Nicki said, not looking up. And Sarah didn’t feel like disagreeing with her.

Suddenly, shoutings could be heard in the cabin where Randall was taken captive. The two sisters looked at each other, quickly running towards there. They weren't very far, and as they arrived, they took a look inside to see Shane, who had pinned Randall against the wall, pointing a gun at his face. Andrea was calling the man's name.

"Open your mouth!" he was shouting, pushing the gun against his mouth, "You like talking?" Did he really want to shoot him? Sarah pushed Nicki back. If he was going to do something, she really didn't want her sister to see.

"Shane!" she yelled. And Andrea did the same.

"Shane! Back off!" at Andera's last shouting. Shane finally pulled back. What the hell had happened?

Randall was shaking, and Sarah could not think he was stupid enough to try and escape with Shane outside. The man was twice as him. And aggressive.

Then she observed Shane as he turned, and only at that moment Sarah noticed Carl inside the cabin. He was looking at Shane with wide eyes that only grew bigger when the man grabbed him by the arm roughly.

"Get your ass out this door," he said, pulling the boy along with him.

"Hey! Take it easy, man!" Nicki exclaimed. Sarah grabbed her sister's shoulders, not letting her move when she saw how Shane was glaring at her.

"Not your business, girly," he said, taking Carl some meters from them and starting to talk to him.

"What the hell happened?" Sarah asked Andrea, "Did he attack Carl?"

"I didn't," Randal protested, but Sarah kept looking at Andera, her eyes still wide and as shaken up as Sarah was.

"Carl sneaked inside; he… totally lost it," Andrea explained.

Sarah felt her heart beat fast looking at the man, he was totally different from the policeman that she had met that night on the Highway, trying to escape from Atlanta. Nicki had shared with her some thoughts on the man for quite some time, but Sarah never wanted to believe her. Shane had been helping and protecting all of them from the beginning. But she didn't feel at ease in his presence anymore.

[cyrusthegreatscylinder]

Ramblings of my hurting teenage self

- islam was created by men, for men

it’s not a choice, you’re pressured and coerced to cover up as a child because of men. “It’s freedom because they see you as a person, not an object”. Wearing it further demonstrates that men are the centre of everything. everything women do is for men. cover up to make it easier for men to take you seriously. you can’t have sex, intimacy or a relationship till marriage. not to mention you cant have male friends either, maybe in the sick twisted arab world where everybody is apparently sex crazed (why wouldnt they be when you arent allowed sex till marriage, people are horny, it’s human nature); sex is forbidden. all that is taught is abstinence. so men are taught they can get away with rape and abuse bc “she wasnt covered up properly”. it’s vicous, it’s violent, it’s cruel. women are taught to be afraid for their reputations and lives. men are taught that mistakes are forgivable. it’s problematic because we arent being taught about safe sex, protection, prevention and most importantly CONSENT. But it’s the blatant dismissal of homosexuality and asexuality for me. the pure hatred towards homosexual men, and dissmisal of homosexual women and asexuals... isn’t that the most staright cis male thing there is, can women who have been raped and molested even talk about their trauma to their families or husbands?. well that’s islam for you.

women get property and landrights or someshit! when does she get that ? oh yeah... when she’s is in a marriage with an entitled psychopath who can do as he pleases to her. ‘sow his seed however he likes’ or some man made bullcrap. discipline ur wives like children.. or are they meant to come as children ?

seriously who writes this crap.

not once in my life has being a muslim benefited me, and i dont openly say this, because i fear of the ramifications. i’m not sure what they are.. disownment, acceptance, killing.. i dont know, and i dont want to. i can never come out. because i am afraid.

i learn new things about my parents’ beliefs everyday, and sometimes i genuinely wonder if they are joking.. they arent.

and they expect me to know...

i dont know if mum was kidding when she told me theyd kill me if i lost my virginity as i was 12.

my brothers are misogynistic and i am constantly reminded of it. they think every woman just wants to suck their dick or get with them for their money. how could i blame them. we females are soulless emotional creatures without minds. just boobs nd ass... property... land.

we aren’t somebodies. we arent even some.. just bodies. wives, daughters, sisters and mothers.

they seem like property terms. or maybe thats my internalised misogyny.

i’m sick of making excuses for this shit “a hijab to me is like pants to you” i’m lying. im hurting. im oppressed. i cant take off my hijab and denouce this leech of a religion. like all people born into religion.. i am a suicidal teenager afterall. im barely coping as it is. how am i supposed to go on without possibly having a family. i can’t leave, i’ve never been independent. i have noone.

i’m opressed by a crippling culture. a culture of entitled men who are encouraged to believe that women are theirs. i am not yours. i never was. i never will be. fuck you.

[artist-issues]

Okay, far be it from me to act like I could do a better job than Tennessee Williams.

EXCEPT THAT I COULD. Anybody could, with any kind of moral compass. 

What SHOULD have happened is Stanley should have tried to rape Blanche and Blache should’ve killed him with that bottle. She had enough parallels in her character to that of Norma Desmond for that to be a believable action for a lying, self-deluded, self-satisfying, cougar of an alcoholic woman. 

Then she should’ve kept descending into madness. Then Mitch should've come in, seen the evidence of everything (Stanley’s intent-to-rape guilt, Blanche’s killing him) and told that to Stella. And THEN Stella, with the newborn, should've suddenly accepted, like the freakin SEARCHLIGHT TURNED ON THE WORLD, that a) her husband was a monster and b) her sister is a monster. 

And then Eunice goes, “let the doctors take your crazy sister away, you and the baby come live with me.”

But heartbroken, yet clearsighted Stella would say, “‘No, I’m going with her. I’ll take care of her.”

And Mitch (who’s still hanging around in kind of disgusted fascination,) would continue his self-righteous train of thought and be like, “‘What? But didn’t you hear me: it’s all true, she really did stay at the Flamingo, and she really did get involved with a 15 year-old. And she’s crazy.”

And then Stella would look him dead in the self-righteous useless thuggish eyes around that humongous nose and be like, “‘I know. I always knew, deep down, but I didn’t want to believe it. [insert some line about keeping things in the shadows] But the fact is, even when I see her as she is, I can still love her. So i’m going to take care of my sister. Come on, Blanche, honey, we’re going to be free of this place after all.”

And then she takes crazy Blanche by one arm and carries the baby in the other, and the two of them step over Stanley’s stupid pig corpse, and they join the doctors peacefully at the door and drive out into the New Orleans sunshine.  Before the ending, the whole movie was using light as a symbol, this threatening thing that Blanche had to hide from, because she knows if people see her, not just her fading beauty and advanced age, but if they really see her and all her wrongdoings, they won’t help her. She thinks showing people the truth will end in something bad, and it does: Stanley keeps smashing her over the head with harsh truths and judgements, and when Mitch finds out the truth he abandons her and tells her she’s no good. There are plenty of characters who keep banging the “"Truth-is-Dangerous-and-Will-Leave-You-Unloved” gong.

What they needed was for Stella, another character who, like Blanche, hides from harsh truths, to grow past that. And in that growth process, she could've taught Blanche, even as a crazy broken shell of a person, that not everybody who learns the horrible truths about you will abandon you. It would've worked two ways! Blanche could've learned that the truth was the new start she was looking for with her sister’s loyalty and shelter, and Stella could've learned that real love isn't lust; it's choosing to acknowledge the bad and help anyway.

Because you know what? The consequences of broken people being seen as they really are should not, in fiction, be cruelty and more cruelty. You can punish monsters, and you can kill monsters, but if you have the chance to represent the light of truth shining on monsters as something that ends in love and redemption, you should take that chance every time. Not leave the world more arbitrary and cruel than you found it. 

And certainly not expect me to believe that a character who spent the whole movie refusing to believe anything she didn’t want to believe would stick to a commitment…to live ten steps above her rapist husband as if she’ll never see him again. Honestly. What a freakin ending fumble. 

[donnerpartyofone]

I'm watching That Show everybody's pissed off about, and it really doesn't justify its existence very well, but during a scene where they describe the experience of being surreptitiously drugged, I suddenly had this vivid flashback to the time I'm pretty sure it happened to me.

I was at a house party for a friend's birthday, and I hadn't been there very long before I was accosted by a guy I'd never met before. He was doing his best to seem "fun", which came off as kind of infantile. I remember him picking up a stuffed animal from someone's bedroom and shoving it in my face, trying to make it "dance", which was not a great look for someone in their mid-20s. It was hard not to think there might be something wrong with this person, but I didn't feel immediately threatened; I was in a familiar place with pretty much everyone I knew, and he just seemed sort of pathetic to me. Unfortunately, having let my guard down, I let him bring me one of my beers from the fridge. I'd like to think I wouldn't have let him mix me a whole drink, but I'm still a little embarrassed by this.

It was one of only two alcoholic beverages I had that night, which made it incredibly confusing when, shortly afterward, I suddenly found myself face down on the roof, vomiting and completely non-verbal. When the alarmed friend I was with realized she needed to go for help, the stranger who'd brought me the beer was abruptly on top of me, urgently shouting into my face: OH NO, HOW ARE YOU GOING TO GET HOME? HOW WILL YOU EVER GET HOME NOW? I'LL TAKE YOU HOME! WHERE DO YOU LIVE? I'LL GET US A CAB! I'LL TAKE YOU THERE! I was completely terrified and choking on the water he kept pouring down my throat despite my paralysis. When four or five of my friends arrived, he whirled around, waving his arms like someone trying to scare off an animal, yelling at them, I GOT THIS! I GOT THIS! They ignored him, and went about the difficult task of lowering my dead weight down the roof hatch. As I was carried along, I desperately tried to tell people that something was very seriously wrong, with tears streaming down my face, but I could barely move my tongue. Assuming I just drank too much, they rolled their eyes, babytalked me about how I'd feel better later, and (mercifully) locked me in a bedroom by myself. Apparently after they stowed me away, a couple of new girls arrived at the front door. Before they could even get inside, the guy walked right up to one of them and stuck his tongue in her mouth. They immediately left.

Over the next week, I tried to figure out if there was any way to interpret this incident aside from the likelihood that I had been drugged and with the intention of rape. I wasn't sure if I should tell anyone, since I couldn't prove anything, and I had no idea who this guy was. Eventually I realized that if I had read the situation right, then it was important for people to know that he shouldn't be trusted. It was hard to work up the nerve, and I was very tentative about it. I finally described my experience to two of my best friends, who both acted extremely concerned, and informed me that the guy was the roommate of two other people in our extended circle. I was told that everyone considered this guy to be "a little off" and he was not well-liked; it didn't seem like what I said was a big surprise, especially considering his behavior toward women in general, and that night in particular. I felt encouraged to repeat what happened to the roommates, who gave all appearances of taking me VERY seriously. One of them looked me in the eye and said, "I knew he was sick, but I didn't realize he was THIS sick. Don't worry, you'll never have to see him again."

The satisfaction of being believed only lasted as long as it took me to find out that the roommates had gone around telling everyone that I was lying about their good buddy for attention. None of my "friends" stood up for me, and it became clear to me that they all believed that I'd just lost control of my two beers liquor. I didn't have a reputation for being an out of control drunk, or making things up, so I don't really know what I did to deserve that from everyone. I just know that after that, every time I ran into people from the party, they seemed to be exchanging knowing glances, and I soon learned to avoid the subject, and the people. I should have known not to tell the roommates. Both of them had previously come onto me in some way. One of them had asked me out directly; I had a bad feeling about him and stayed away, and he was famously abusive to the next girl he asked, who generously gave him a chance. The other roommate was constantly trying to impress me with his intelligence and great taste, which he did by, for instance, forcing me to watch his favorite Sarah Silverman standup set, and sitting in a chair right next to the TV so he could directly monitor my reactions the entire time. It's hard not to think that both of these assholes figured they could get back at me in some way by spreading the rumor that I was a mean attention-starved bitch who framed their darling pal. It bummed me out that none of the other people involved, some of whom were my closest and oldest friends, even gave me the benefit of the doubt--or, more likely, they just didn't feel like dealing with the drama it would have caused to support me.

Telling the truth only brought me harm, basically, and the nicest thing I can say about the whole incident is, at least I don't have to wonder what would have happened if I spoke up. I guess if you have a nice enough life, then it's not too often that you're forced to find out who your real friends are. When I told a certain friend outside this circle that I believed I was roofied, he started competitively complaining about the mild cold he'd had all week. I had to raise my voice and repeat myself to make sure he understood that I was being serious--and then he just seemed annoyed that he couldn't one-up me. He was like that; you could tell him you had a near-death experience with the whole tunnel of light and everything, and he'd tell you he was already dead, so there. He was a huge pain in the ass, but at least you always knew exactly where you stood with him.

[canigetacupofugh]

I'm just so tired of these assholes who think women and men cannot be friends. It's always homophobic men who think interests are gendered, or fuckin' try-hard women who want those men. Cool, you can have each other.

It's just frustrating for me because 1) Most of my closest friends are dudes and 2) Most of my interests are things these assholes would say are for men. Nothing I say can possibly be correct, I'm lying or tricked!

I'm tired of assholes who want to dictate how I feel, what's allowed, etcetera, based on THEIR rules for what's in MY pants. Fuck off with your noise.

These people seem to forget that unattractive people exist too.

There's just SO MUCH contradicting their opinion it hurts my brain and makes me mad-sad. Fucking toxic masculinity hurting everybody again.

This mindset devalues unattractive people, non-hetero people, and trans people. So, if men and women can't be friends, then is a trans woman only really friends with men or women? If a woman is a lesbian, can SHE be friends with hetero men? What if somebody is a trans woman and a lesbian - who can they be friends with? What if any of these people are just ugly, but tell amazing jokes? If the best joke ever told is uttered by an ugly woman, is it still funny? (this is angry sarcasm)

This mindset genders interests and gatekeeps them. Really? No woman could possibly like football or hunting? No man can like fashion or romcoms? So, what about TTRPGs? What about video games? What about cooking? Are you going to tell me cooking is a woman's job- What about professional chefs? Whatever it is that's you're interested in Mr. Man, is it really impossible there isn't a woman who also likes this and you don't want to bone her? What about your mom? Do you not have ANYTHING you can talk about with your mom? Or maybe you want to bone your mom?

This mindset encourages rape culture - to their minds men are just too out of control to be expected to not want to bone ALL women! They can't possibly be a friend with one - women's interests are weak and females can't possibly enjoy masculine interests! When they say they do, they just want men to find them attractive!

It just depresses me and makes me angry. Because I have been good friends with men whom I was attracted to and who I was not - and both have led to great friendships. It's almost as if, hear me out, sex isn't the most important thing! And as if I saw them as human beings and not walking fuck-opportunities.

It makes me sad because how shallow are these people's lives??? There's so much they're missing out on!

There's no point in arguing with them. My goal would be for them to see women as peers so there's less oppression, AND so they can reap the benefits of friendship - but if they see my point, then they were wrong, and apparently being wrong is a huge sin or makes your dick smaller or something.

God forbid some nice woman on the internet tell you that ugly women are interesting or that hot women really can like model trains or cigars and whiskey. GOD FORBID they get to see women as peers and human beings instead of walking fuck opportunities!

[toalloftheboysivelovedbefore]

TW SA

J.D.B.,

One of my last memories of us together was laying in your arms and fingering the ouroboros necklace that I gave you, resting around your neck. I slid my left ring finger into it and sat back and looked at it. Your ouroboros. My finger. You on my finger like a wedding band. I liked the look of it. The possessiveness. The promise.

The next memory I have is one I would like to forget.

No one tells you how lonely it is. After it happens. Walking around each day with this giant secret sitting right in the middle of your sternum that no one can see. I want to scream at everybody, all the time, "Look at me! Look at the pain! Look at the giant fucking anvil sitting in the middle of my chest! I can't breathe! Look. At. Me." But they don't. They look right past me. And I look right past them. And I go about my day, and I sit with people who are actually dying. That's more important than the fact that I feel like I am dying a little bit more inside every single day.

I watch people lose their loved ones and I watch myself slipping away.

Want to know something? The new branch of therapy that I told you I was trying was actually a Rape and Sexual Assault Crisis Clinic. That's where I have been crying the last Thursdays. I sit across from a woman who I described to Garrett as having, "mom energy," and I tell her all of the things I can't bring myself to say to anyone else.

I tell her that if you were a stranger and not my boyfriend, I would be able to wrap my head around the upset.

I tell her that I love you. I tell her that I can't comprehend how I can love someone because of all the things that have made me love you, and how can that someone cause the same amount of pain.

And she tells me that I'm still protecting you.

She tells me that I am in love with the idea of what you could be and what you should have been. But not the man who you have chosen to be.

She asks me about the other things you did that scared me or hurt me.

I told her about the lying. I told her that you hit Arlo. I told her how I don't know how I didn't leave the minute that happened because he is the most important thing in my life. I told her about you meeting my parents. I told you about you keeping your past from me. I told her about the disrespect and the flirting with the waitresses when we went out to dinner. I told her about the fear. About what happened when we fought. Your reactions. Your anger. The fucking mind games.

I cry. I hate crying in front of strangers, and I have only cried in therapy maybe half a dozen times in 12 years but here I am, sitting on a too soft chair in a stranger's office and crying. Because I can't stop it. Because I no longer have the strength to hold up these goddamn walls.

I tell her that I don't want to say goodbye to you because as fucked up as it is, you are the only one who can maybe, possibly understand what I am dealing with. Because you were the only other person who was there.

She tells me that I cannot heal while you are in my life. She tells me that you have work that you need to do on yourself. She tells me that I need to put an end to this.

And I did.

I told you to stop speaking to me. I plunged a knife into my own heart in a last-ditch effort to keep it beating. And I wish it wouldn't.

I'm so tired, J.D.B. You did something to me that I didn't think possible. You took me with you. You left a shell. The me I am, is gone. I don't know what you did with her, but I would like her back.

I would like someone to hear the screaming.

I would like to never walk into the crisis center ever again.

I would like to put an end to this hurt.

I would like help.

Yours broken,

H.L.F.

[dankusner]

A moment with Sedaris

David Sedaris might be the greatest living humorist in America, if anyone could decide what “humorist” means. (Do stand-ups count?)

The author of more than a dozen essay collections, most recently Happy-Go-Lucky , Sedaris returns to Dallas on April 25.

We talked to him about travel, his early ’80s opioid addiction and why he’s giving people permission to say “shut up.”

The Dallas Museum of Art has brought you to Dallas 15 times. Do you think of yourself as the Seinfeld of the “Arts & Letters Live” series or the Gunsmoke ?

Ooh. I’m gonna go with Gunsmoke .

I assume you’re flying on this book tour.

Flying is not in its peak form.

I’m on planes constantly, but I’ve never seen a fistfight.

I’m not on the right airlines. I think that happens on Frontier or Spirit.

The fistfight airlines [laughs].

I’m impressed you haven’t gotten into the rut of writing about travel and the publicity grind, a danger for writers who tour as much as you.

Sometimes things do happen.

I was just in Kenya, and there are a lot of missionaries.

I was on a small plane, talking with the guy across the aisle, and I told him, “I’ve just been to a little village, so impoverished, and I worried people thought I was a missionary. I would rather be mistaken for a pedophile than a missionary!”

And then he said, “I’m a missionary.”

Oh my God.

Not only was he a missionary, he was a doctor who had just performed neck surgery on a kid lying on a pingpong table in a church.

Luckily, the plane was really loud.

We could just take off, and I could just die. But I’d watched this documentary, God Loves Uganda , about missionaries in Uganda passing really restrictive bills against gays.

Anyway, I learned my lesson.

From now on, when I meet someone on the plane, I will say, “I’m not a missionary.

Are you?”

What do you read when you want to laugh? [silence] Maybe you don’t read to laugh.

I like tragic books.

I just read Dopesick , the book about opioid addiction that got turned into a series with Michael Keaton.

As a person who was a drug addict, I was able to clean myself up, but only because my dealer left town.

This was in the early 1980s, but if she hadn’t left town?

If this happened 30 years later?

I was lucky. It’s not like I had willpower.

Quitting drinking [25 years ago] was different.

There was booze all around.

But I don’t think alcohol has a grip on you the way certain drugs do.

Your writing is pretty nonpartisan, but you’re a gay man married to another gay man in a state that hasn’t always looked kindly on that. Is Texas weird for you?

I find the Dallas audience very generous.

I’ve done shows in El Paso or Odessa, and people are like, “You’re not gonna go there!”

Like it would be dangerous for me.

The place I stayed in Odessa had a replica of the Ten Commandments in front of the hotel, but the biggest queen who ever lived was behind the front desk and a trans woman was at the hair salon/coffee place in the lobby, and everybody was perfectly lovely to those people. … On

paper, a place can look pretty bad, but when it comes to community, it’s much more tolerant.

I find that all over the United States.

I’ve found I just can’t trust anybody who doesn’t laugh.

I think a lot of people feel that way, but everyone’s so afraid.

Someone I know who works in theater was having a private conversation about his ex-girlfriend, and a stagehand complained the conversation made him uncomfortable.

He got written up for it.

It’s not like he was saying, “God, I really miss raping my ex-girlfriend.”

I wonder how we get out of this.

I think it starts by saying to people, “Shut up.”

When some person complains to the head of the theater, “I was made to feel uncomfortable, because that person was talking about his ex-girlfriend,” then you say,

“This is silly, and you need to shut up.”

But nobody wants to take the hit.

I will.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Tw: SA mention, parental abuse mention, sibling abuse mention, parental SA, physical abuse mention,

Looking for validation, help, support

I always say my mom isn’t my SA bc I don’t wanna think she is. I don’t wanna think like that. My sibling already sexually abused me in physically forcible ways and beat me when we were little kids. My father talks about women in disgusting ways, even sexually toward minors as far as I’m aware he hasn’t raped anyone…but he was emotionally abusive to me when I was little. I already had an abusive ex boyfriend and an abusive family friend. Both of which were emotionally, psychologically, and sexually abusive to me. Is it SA if my mother would pinch and grab my ass usually with me screaming at her or trying to get away? I never liked stuff like that as a kid I hated it. She doesn’t do it anymore but she did when I was little.

Sometimes I look at what I write about my abuse and I don’t even believe it. It’s a lot but I always feel I’m never telling enough of the truth even when I’m really trying to. Idk what’s wrong with me. And the hypersexuality people think I’m lying about and the abuse bc nobody thinks I was the victim. My mother literally said I abused her when I was a kid and she said I was a really difficult kid to take care of. I never touch my abusers nor do I let them touch me bc I fucking hate touch. My abusers got a new family friend who legit sexually harassed me and then cried wolf when I called them out among everybody they said I was spreading rumors and now they want revenge on me bc I was “spreading rumors” and therefore “bullying them” and my family said I was a liar bc I’m spiteful toward them and now I’m attacking their friends…like omfg. I know I was sexually harassed like…the tricks these fuckers play all the time I swear to god I’m never saying I was abused ever again bc I just have absolutely no voice and no supporting people in my life.

Hi anon,

I'm sorry to hear about what you've been through. It's understandable to find it difficult to entertain the possibility of your experiences being worse than you're currently accounting for, because it's already overwhelming. It sounds like being gaslit, disbelieved, or antagonized may influence the feeling that you're never telling enough of the truth or that you can't believe it yourself. It can be exhausting to be constantly told you're lying and spreading rumors when you're really just trying to speak up for yourself. Please know that we believe you.

It's difficult because when it comes to something like moms pinching and grabbing their kid's butt, sometimes it's SA and sometimes it's not. But especially if you were screaming at her and telling her to get away, it seems more likely that it could be considered SA.

If anyone would like to chime in, please feel free to do so. Otherwise, I hope I could help and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[cybernightwanderer]

I almost drank bleach today... pt.1

i'v been trying so bad to get a job, i lwanna leave this place, and if i cant , at least for her to stop treating me like shit and like her slave. She keeps shamming me for not having a job, i am trying, i truly am, i send resumes to everything i apply for everything and anything. I'm always at the verge of a fucking panic attack, i try to keep myself at bay, telling myself that ill get a job soon, once i get a job, it will be better.. I started these umemployed classes one has to attend, and while im at that i keep looking for a job. The other interview i got a reply, but the woman had to cancel the interview and told me she was gonna reschedule. I told my mom this yesterday, that id no longer be waking up at 8 am monday, because the woman emailed me canceling it and notifiying me shed reschedule. Today i woke up and i do the class assignment, an argumentative text about what we think and we feel about AI in our daily lives and how we think it affects/helps society. I woke up at 10, got ready and started writting my assignment, checked my emails and sent 3 more resumes for a few stores. The class was about to start and everybody noticed, today there's no class after all. So i delivered the assignment. i started one game of league, and was planning to go eat breakfast and then go out to deliver a tshirt i managed to sell. ( im selling pretty much all that i own to gather some money ) My mom arrives home, and enters my room. And it goes like : Mom - what are you doing? Me - playing a game. Mom - why are you playing a game? dont you have that thing? Me - which thing? Mom - you had an interview this morning, did u skip it? Me - no, i told you, she canceled. Mom - she canceled? when? Me - Yesterday, i told you... Her staring at me in doubt with that face she does when she doesnt believe me... And staying silent looking at me with " that face " The face she did when i started to get depression and she would make when i would tell her i didn feel too good to go to school and she would shame me and call me lazzy, and id be dead scared of going outside the house enought that id lose my breath. And shed still make that face " you are just pretending , you dont wanna go because you are lazy ". That face she made, when one day i suddently woke up and couldnt walk and begged her to call someone, a doctor, an ambulance, dad, anything... And she didnt and told me to shave my leggs or she wouldnt take me to the emergency and i quote " since you keep insisting " , because she thought i was being lazy and lying because i didnt wanna go to work. Because when she tought maybe shes telling the truth, her first concert wasnt " omg she cant walk " , it was " what are ppl gonna think when they see her hairy leggs, so embarrassing for me ". But even when i got harrassed, abused, verbaly and sexually i never skipped a day, even when my face was incredibly swollen from a broken tooth i still went to work in pain, even after the atttempted rape and a black eye i still went to work the next day like it was nothing, Even after the fucking new years shift where my coworker got mad at me because he gropped me in the elevator i fought him off, and he punched me in the stomach and arm, i still went to fucking work the next day. Even after sick of it all and trying to kill myself, i went to work the next day like it was fucking nothing. All of this because when the first job i was actual making 800 euros, after so many attempts of trying to pry and control my money, i tried with all my soul to fight her oof and to try and save money to leave the house. And she threated to chase me down and beat me up if i tried to leave. Because i didnt wanna give her all my paycheck because i wanted to try and live. Because when she found out i was getting that amount, she not only took the 250 monthly rent, and the other 150 for her dets , she took 200 more because " im your mother, you owe me ".

[bakugotsundere]

Hating Him - Bakugou Katsuki (1)

bakugo x (black) fem reader

( still can read if you’re not)

sorry if it bothers you, i just felt that my black readers weren’t feeling black as they were reading y/n stories cause i for sure wasn’t.

Warning: none

Summary: Bakugo and you have hated each other ever since you met, being on the same track team and having the same friend group didn’t make things any better. you 2 have to act like you like each other for the benefit of the friend group until one day you and him are forced to have movie night with the others and you both have had enough of each other’s shit.

in this chapter: you get invited to the movie night and bump into bakugo

The morning smell of outside filled your lungs as you stepped out your house. It was exactly 5:30 in the morning. The streets were not busy and there was barely any noise, just faint sounds of dogs barking and truck drivers in a distance. It was the perfect time to go for your daily run. The chilly air made you happy, it gave you more of a challenge. you zipped your nike training jacket up. It fit you tight, tugging at every curve of yours. The sky was a foggy blue, a few clouds started coming in, along with the sum.

You walked down the steps of your house, stretching your legs when you got to the sidewalk. You looked ahead and yawned as you walked onto the street. Your neighborhood was fairly nice to say the least. Everybody minded their business, especially since your house had been secluded. After your grandmother died, she left one of her houses she owned to you, making it easy for you since you dreaded the idea of having to share a dorm with someone, let alone having to get an apartment.

you placed your airpods in your ears and played Apparently by J.Cole. J.Cole had been your favorite rapper since you were 12 years old, you missed the days where your 12 year old self would dance around your room to his music, now you’re grown and responsibilities are becoming more than just making sure your chores were done. You stretched one last time before taking off.

...

Once you were done, sweat dripped from your face. your breathing was heavy and the cold water bottle in your hand had been long awaited. The sun was now out. The birds chirping got louder and the old lady from across the street was sitting in her chair with her small cat in her lap, you quenched your thirst, swallowing every last drop of water. “Good morning Y/n” She chirped. You wiped your mouth with your wrist smiling, turning towards her, “Goodmorning Ms. Rodriguez.” you reply as you waved.

You finally go back inside your house, feeling at ease. you take off your black vapor max at the door and go to your kitchen, grabbing a nutrigrain bar, you ate it before going upstairs to get ready for your classes. you took your curly hair out of its messy bun. the roots of your hair were finally breathing and it felt good. you scratched your scalp in satisfaction. you looked in the mirror, loving your features and your brown/caramel skin. you never felt the need to put yourself in the 3 categories because to you there was no need to, everybody in the community was black so why separate it into groups.

you placed the shea butter your mother made for you on your face. you took off your semi-sweaty clothes throwing them into your dirty clothes hamper and looked at yourself in the mirror. your body was perfect to most but you didn’t see what everyone saw. your thighs were too thick for your liking, especially since you did track. your breast were too big to you, they sometimes got in the way while working out. you had a 4 pack from the working out, everybody told you that you had an hour glass body but you hated it. if this what a hour glass body was, you hated it.

you took off your panties, replacing your old ones with Tommy Hilfiger ones. You grabbed a pair of black nike sweatpants that fit your thighs perfectly. You took off your bra, letting your breast breath and put on another sports bra, putting on a white t-shirt fresh out the pack. you ran chap stuck along your plump lips, they were more than plump actually if you like them so it didn’t matter. you picked out the roots of your hair leaving it’s on it’s curly state. you had dyed your hair a ginger color, which made you look like sza a little. your fro was like hers too, very big and curly.

You wrapped your apple watch around your wrist and put on some whit nike socks, along with your white air force ones. Your phone started dinging and it was the gc, you had been in with your friend group.

Mina :) > goodmorning whores. Time for class before you become drop outs.

Denki ⚡️> good morning Mina ;)

Midoriya🥬> Goodmorning everybody, i have a big test in Mr. Aizawa’s today so i have to get to studying, talk to you guys later.

Kirishima> Mornin. It’s beautiful out today, isn’t it and i’m not a whore mina.

You> yea, kirishima i’m pretty sure you got caught with cami in the janitors closet.

Iida> Mine was too, you guys need to stop texting and get to class.

You> sure, see you on the track field lida. this gc is getting deader by the day and it’s embarrassing to watch.

(seen by kirishima, Mina, and Bakugou)

lida> typing...

You shut off your phone with a smile, knowing that got him heated. You didn’t even care for his response. you loved messing with lida, it was funny, you sprayed a little vanilla perfume on your body and you were off to a place you dreaded.

...

You were now in the library studying with Mina. Mina was like your best friend, you told her everything and she told you everything. “Have you seen that picture of trey songz you know what?” she asked and your eyes went wide, in shock that she was talking about this in the library. “yes, but i can’t go crazy over it, he made the shit so corny. the whole post he made afterwards had me cringing at my phone so hard. i was like “boy what the fuck” he too old for that shit.” you told her and she giggled.

“I’m having a movie night with the rest of the group this saturday, you have to come. you never come to things with us anymore. Ever since bakugou started hanging out with us, you’ve been avoiding us. i’ve noticed some type of tension between you 2, i hope it isn’t sexual?” she stated and your stomach churned at the thought of that stuck up dummy.

“No, i just like staying to myself, that’s all. i think i’ll come Saturday as long as it’s not going to be a lot of people you know how busy i am with track and stuff.” you stated in reality you hated being around bakugo. especially since he always felt to make rude remarks towards you when everyone wasn’t around. He was normally mean to everyone, but you got it the worse since you had the shortest running time on the team. When track practice would come around you and him would argue with each other every second. you hated being yelled at or talked to badly and your mother sure didn’t raise a bitch so you talked to him just as reckless as he did to you and he hated every second of it since you were the first to ever test him. your personalities didn’t mix well at all.

“it’s only gonna be, denki, bakugo, kirishima, todoroki, asui, uruaka and deku but that’s if bakugo doesn’t mind.”

“yea, i’ll think about it.” you said softly.

...

you were now at practice and the death stares you received from bakugo made you just wanna slap the fuck out of him. His eyes followed you as you warmed up. You could see him start to come towards you and you sighed. His tall figure stood in front of you, blocking the sun, his body shaded you. “You draw too much attention.” He stated as the boys that were on the team stared at you. You were the only girl on the track team so you learned to get used to it. “I know, why are you telling me this?” you asked and he gritted his teeth, “All of those boys are practically eye raping you.” he states, taking in your appearance and you sighed, “I don’t know what to fucking say. these are the only sizes in shirts they have and if my curves happen to show then so be it. it’s not like the whole thing is out.”

Sweat dripped from the side of his head, he had on a white tank top and some nike shorts with some white vapor max. a towel hung over his broad shoulders. your eyes scanned his body, you never thought bakugo was ugly, he was perfect when it came to looks. He was very tall with a slim, muscular build, and a fair skin tone. He had short, spiky, ash-blond hair that looked soft. His eyes were a sharp and bright red in color that showed his hostility. his looks fit his personality though, very cocky.

“Why do you care?” You asked and his cheeks turned a bright pink and anger came upon him, this line made him mad, “I don’t.” he replied angrily. “Well then stop telling me things i already know. All you do is bother me.” you told and his lips curved into a smirk, “Your existence bothers me, imagine how I feel.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him aggressively. He can be so fucking annoying. Imaging having to be on the same team as someone you hate. It’s really irritating, especially when the person is somebody as arrogant as he is. He needs to be humbled.

...

You and Bakugou were the only 2 left after practice, your coach was mad at the both of you because of what happened last week with the sub coach. Bakugou had been bothering you that day and you snapped and then you two decided to have a race on your own which didn’t turn out so well since bakugou got mad that you won in the end.

So now you and him were being forced to do “after practice workouts” with each other. You were now lying on the ground of the track floor, exhausted. Bakugou was right next to you, your chest rose up and down, your breathing heavy and your legs worn out. You looked over at him, and he looked over at you. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just wouldn’t hate me so much and accept that i’m faster than you.” you stated and his red eyes stared at your light brown ones. “Can’t blame this all on me. You hate me as well and you don’t know when to shut up. You don’t have to respond to everything i say but you do.” He said and you placed your hands at your stomach, “I’m not about to let you walk all over me like you do everyone else. Your ego is too big and i’m doing nothing but lowering it.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked and you sighed softly looking him in his eyes trying to search for anything but anger but there was no other emotion but that, his pupils did dilate once he noticed how hard you were staring into his eyes though, “It’s not what i think, it’s what i know.” you said. “i don’t understand why you are always so angry all the time. I don’t even know how you have the friends that you have. obviously that means they see past it but i refuse to. i can’t. sorry but that’s just how i am.” you stated sitting up, he sat up with you staring at you, “i don’t understand how you have friends, you are very competitive and just avoid me then. We can always hate each other from a distance.” he stated and you smiled shaking your head as you stood up.

“Can’t do that when we have the same friends and are on the same team and i’m only competitive when it comes to track. So i’ll just hate you regardless and plus you always keep your enemies close. It doesn’t matter though, i’m still faster.” you added on that last part trying to make him mad and you could hear him start to yell as you walked off and a smile came upon your lips.

There’s no way you could ever be friends with him so why even bother trying. Something about him makes your blood boil.

[thetorturerwrites]

flip zimmerman ties you down in the interrogation room, roughs you up, fucks you w/ his gun TwT I'm so sorry

Not gonna lie. I struggled with this. I feel a certain way about cops, and knowing that cop assault is a real and true thing made this take a while

However, this is fantasy. IT'S FANTASY. and dubcon is valid fantasy. If you don't like it, or you don't want cop content anywhere on your radar, please do not read further. This is the moment for everybody to adult for themselves.

If you're still here, Flip is a sexy bastard and I did ultimately get into this idea.

C/N: Non-con/dub-con; gun play aka DEAD DOVE

***

You froze in absolute shock. Terror washed over you, an icy flood that dulled your senses. When finally your chest began to work again, you unleashed the sort of howl that certainly would have drawn questions had your dirty panties not been stuffed far into your mouth. As it was, the sound only came out as a muffled, garbled half-wail.

It was his gun. His fucking gun was inside you.

“Aw. Not having a good time, Starlight?”

He all but spat the fake name at you, and you launched into another set of futile struggles. Bent over the interrogation table, you were shackled to its opposite end by the sort of cuffs he used for big, drugged-up men. They were thick, and they bit into your wrists something fierce. 

Bruises already bloomed beneath your skin from those cuffs, from the hard line of the table at your thighs, from the door frame where he’d ‘accidentally’ slammed you as he brought you in.

“I keep seeing you here.” He rounded the table, dragging his fingers along your hip. At your head, he crouched down, getting eye to eye. “What is it? Like getting fucked so much you gotta whore yourself around town?”

He stood, tangled his fingers into your hair, and ground your face into the crotch of his jeans, forcing you to feel the erection barely contained there.

“Or not getting fucked right?” He bent down to your ear, voice low but all jagged edges and disdain. “Because right now, your cunt is crying all over the barrel of my gun.”

You shook and sobbed, trying to turn away and hide your shame. You couldn’t deny that Flip was the sexiest motherfucker you’d ever seen in your life.  Nor could you deny the number of times you’d pretended the Johns were him just to make it through. 

And now, you couldn’t deny how goddamn ready your body was even in the direct center of your fear. Because your legs did tremble. Your toes were curled. Your pussy was liquid. And you absolutely were clenching tight around that gun to keep it from hitting the floor.

You told yourself it was because you’d be shot if you dropped it. But lying to yourself was a hooker’s bread and butter.

Flip cupped your cheek and dragged his thumb through your tears and runny mascara. You knew you looked like a war zone, and you knew he liked it. Reaching into your mouth, he dug out your filthy underwear and threw them on the ground. He only gave you five seconds’ worth of breath before he leaned in and bit your lower lip until you jerked against your bonds and tried to dislodge him. And then, he licked at the blood pooling there.

“Please, Flip. Please let me go. I swear you won’t see me in here again, and I won’t tell anybody about this. I will disappear! I swear.”

“The only thing I want to hear,” he dug his fingers into your cheeks so hard, you tasted new blood from where your teeth scraped, “is ‘Thank you, Detective.’”

“N-no!” You shook your head wildly, desperate to make him see reason. “You can’t do this! I’ll scream! Someone will hear you!”

The slap that walloped across your face reverberated in the little room.  Your eyes rolled back into your head, and your ears rang. You struggled to breathe as he lifted your head by pulling your hair.

“What did I fucking say?”

You whimpered and twisted, feeling the now-warmed metal shifting inside of you. Tugging on the cuffs and chains once again, you swallowed glass and looked down at the floor. When it came, your voice was small, empty, defeated.

“Thank you, Detective.”

He shoved your head back into the table and disappeared into your periphery. His fingers shifting the gun in your pussy jarred you into stillness because you were sure that any minuscule movement, any breath he didn’t like, was a squeeze of the trigger.

When it was dislodged from your body, you exhaled a shuddering sigh of relief.  Laying your cheek against the table, you sniffled and tried to hide the new dribble of tears.

“Thank you, Detective.”

Seeming pleased with your memory, he rewarded you with a ‘Mm’ and shook your ass to watch it jiggle. It was what came next that catapulted you into a new wave of panicked fight.

His two large fingers scooped through the slick still leaking out of your pussy and rubbed them up in a line between your buttocks. You stomped and tried to push the table away from him, and yourself with it. You shouted objections again and again, but he ignored it all, and you started to believe either you’d be gang raped by the whole force or nobody else was here to help you.

You doubted they would care about a lowly prostitute anyways, and you dissolved into sobs all over again.

First it was a finger, rubbing in the tangy lubricant and breaching the perimeter. Then it was two, stretching you bit by bit until you gasped. Finally, it was oval metal, and you wailed at the burn of it. You dropped into delirium as he lodged his .45 into your ass good and deep.

He cracked you so hard on the ass, you jumped right back into yourself.

“T-tha…thank you, D-detective.”

The jangle of his belt drew your attention. You dared not look over your shoulder, but you spent many a night wondering what his dick looked like. Your mouth watered on its own, without the rest of you, and you angrily spat blood on the floor. What a fucking traitor, your body.

He didn’t give you any warning. There wasn’t a gentle nudge against your labia or a smear through your wetness to get you ready. He just wedged the fat head of his cock into your opening and thrust in with brute force. And once the seal was broken, he gouged at your cunt inch by torturous inch until it made room for him.

“Fuck, you’re tight for a whore.”

You gasped and cursed under your breath. You were only tight because he was so fucking big. Wide and long, you thought you could surely feel the end of his dick in your gut when he finally bottomed out.

“Thank you, Detective.” It was half a groan and half a whisper.

Flip squeezed your hips hard, leaning into you to claim that last centimetre of your pussy. Digging his nails into your meat, he pulled nearly all the way out only to slam back in with a grunt. He stretched you with each drag, and you thought he was going to pull your cervix out on the recoil.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Flip.” 

He didn’t chastise you for the mistake. He only wrapped his hand around the gun and pushed it further into you. You felt his finger slide against your ass cheek to rest at the trigger, and you shook your head wildly.

“Nonono! I’m sorry! THANK YOU DETECTIVE.”

Seemingly satisfied, that dangerous hand tangled into the skirt bunched around your middle and used it as a handle to pull your body back into his jarring hips. He threw himself into a terrible, rough pace, and you fought to breathe. You couldn’t even moan. Every crash of his body against your ass shook loose a whimper.

It was too much. Your head lolled, your eyes blurred, and your mouth hung open, adding drool to your tears. His dick was mind-numbing, shooting off fireworks deep in your core and spreading fire to lick up the length of your spine.

The weapon in your ass only added to your insanity because how fucking sick was it that your cunt clenched every time it moved, every time you remembered that it was there.

You only partially heard him suck in a hiss of breath through gritted teeth, and you could only sort of feel the smack of his thighs against yours. Every ounce of your attention was centered upon the drag of his cock and how much deeper, wider he fucked you with every pass.

“Mm, that’s it. Tighten up that pussy. You must get paid real well for this good cunt.”

His words prompted your body to obey without question. Your everything tensed, contracting around his pistoning cock. You even stood onto your toes to give him that much more of your eager pussy, to hear the squelch of him fucking you bounce off the bare walls.

Pleased by your vulgar display, Flip rammed your sloppy cunt, choking off your breath with obscene bliss. He growled and gripped his gun tight, losing himself to the control, to the downright meanness of it. 

Flushing, burning up, you clung to the table, unable to do anything else but hold on. He wouldn’t let you cum; it wasn’t about you. You were nothing but some two-bit hooker, a hole to fill. Tears stung your eyes at the fight within because part of you wanted to be upset that you weren’t a person in his eyes, and part of you didn’t give a single shit as long as he kept fucking you like this.

His groans increased, thundering from his chest in the most enticing way. He heaved and lifted you off of your feet in his frenzy to get just the angle he wanted. And when he did, when you were tipped just the perfect way, he roared and buried his cock as far into you as he could.

As his orgasm surged, he tore the .45 from your ass and fired off four rounds into the floor. You jumped and cried out, convinced that he shot you, that he ended your useless, worthless life at the end of his dick.

The weapon clattered to the floor, though, within your line of sight if only to prove to you that you weren’t dead. You quaked with adrenaline - fear and fucking melting your mind. Dazedly, you stared at the wall, eyes glossy and blinking slow.

“Th-thank you, Detective.”

[goddessofthundathighs]

X. REVELATION

Word Count: 2.9K

*taps mic* Is this thing on? Aight, I know I said that I’d update CS every 3-5 business months, but life happened for both me & @hearteyes-for-killmonger. Let me just tell y’all how many times I wanted to completely scrap this book, simply because for a second, I fell out of love with it. I also thought that you guys were no longer interested. For our loyal readers, thank you for sticking with us! This chapter is fairly short, but MAJOR progression is made!

It’s also late, so this is un-beta’d. Any errors will be corrected in the morning.

************

Skylar’s face turned up in a wide grin as O’Shea came downstairs with her latest flower arrangement. If Oya wasn’t good at anything else, she was a professional at wooing her. The bright yellow of the freshly picked sunflowers was a beautiful contrast to the deep red hue of the roses. She’d forgotten that she’d mentioned that they were her favorites.

“With love, from Bae,” O’Shea read teasingly, only making the smile on Skylar’s face stretch wider. “And again I ask, why aren’t the two of you officially a thing? The mutual attraction is obvious and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this wide. Like you’re really flashing all 32 right now,” she asked, placing the vase on the corner of Sky’s desk.

“Because it’s not that easy, Shea. I have walls that need to be broken down and we both have issues that we need to work through. This is why SPT is so important. I have to understand exactly who I’m dealing with before we take things to the next level.”

O’Shea nodded. She hadn’t really thought about their situation like that. She’d just assumed that Sky was still working through ridding herself of Monica and was afraid of being heartbroken again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. So is she Erik’s client now?”

“Yes. He’ll be her official therapist and draw up our plan of action as far as treatment.”

“Why does she feel like she needs treatment? She doesn’t seem to struggle sexually.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Shea. Behavior is also an indication that there may be underlying issues. Most of the clients that Erik and I treat are fully functioning. Look at you, for example.” Shea pulls a face. It was entirely too early in the workday for Skylar to be coming for her edges. She hadn’t even finished her acai breakfast bowl. “Aye, we not talking about me,” she fussed, placing her hands on her hips.

“But you fit the example. Personally, I think her excessive need to be sexual is a cover for something deeper, I just have to get her to tell me what it is.”

Sky couldn’t deny the soft spot she had for Oya. Even if things didn’t work out on the personal side of their relationship, she still cared for her and wanted to ensure she received the best treatment. Regardless of past situations, everybody deserved to be loved and accepted for who they truly are.

**

A pregnant silence engulfed Erik’s office as Oya and Skylar waited for him to speak. For the last 45 minutes he had been busy typing away at his computer, only pausing briefly to think before starting again. Once finished, he leans back in the Italian leather chair, stroking his beard as he gives the therapy plan a final onceover.

“Alright, before we begin, we first need to get to the root of the problem. Oya, why do you feel you need SPT and what do you hope to gain from it, other than my business partner as a mate?”

Ouch.

Oya recoiled slightly at his brashness. She hadn’t expected to be put on front street so quickly, nor was she prepared to discuss her history so soon. She suddenly felt bare, like she had been stripped of all of her clothing in front of a crowded high school auditorium and her anxiety was spiking. Skylar took notice of how withdrawn she’d become and placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“It’s okay, Oya. You don’t have to explain in detail just yet, we just need a general idea of what we’re dealing with so that we approach it in the best way,” Skylar explained, the gentleness of her voice causing Oya to return her soft smile.

While she knew that there wasn’t a logical reason to be afraid of Erik or his opinion, her brain had been conditioned to be critical of men ever since that fateful night in her uncle’s basement. Still, having Skylar there was comforting. Her presence made it easier to generate a Spark Notes version of her past.

“I was abused and shunned as a child and as a result, became overtly sexual. While I know that sex can’t fill the void that was left from that experience, it’s the only way to silence the voices in my head. I started looking into SPT because I saw that abuse survivors can benefit from it.”

Erik’s face softened from its usual hard line. While he’d assumed this girl had been through the ringer, his mind couldn’t begin to fathom just how deep her trauma ran.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he started. “Since it’s obvious that you’re a lot more comfortable speaking to Sky about this, how about the two of you do dinner. If not tonight, then later this week. During dinner, Oya, I need you to be as transparent as possible. I need you to go into full detail of what happened and then Skylar will report back to me. The two of us will formulate a comprehensive 8-week therapy plan, which will be implemented starting next week. Are you okay with doing this?”

Oya nodded, finally allowing herself to completely relax.

“We’re gonna get you right, Ms. Ramirez. Over the next 8 weeks you’ll watch yourself become a new woman, I guarantee it,” Erik smiles, offering her his hand to shake.

She accepts the invitation, returning his smile in the most infectious way before turning to Skylar.

“I know SPT doesn’t always require sex, but we can still implement some BDSM therapy, right?”

Sky laughs in response. Leave it to Oya to bring sexual humor into an otherwise serious situation.

“Baby steps, Ms. Ramirez.”

**

Oya's salmon arrived on the table and she licked her chops, having been out all day without eating. Why Sky had inquired about her level of hunger, Oya stated that her radiant smile was enough to fill her, however, the angry cry of her stomach told a different tale.

The pair opted for a Friday evening dinner, an excuse for Skylar to have a drink or two and not worry about having to work the following day. She sips her Hendricks and tonic slowly, savoring the crisp taste of the cucumbers she requested be added to the concoction.

Oya slammed face first into her plate effectively scaring the shit out of Sky who was currently rethinking a few things in regard to diet based on Oya's uncouth and grizzly attack on her fish. 

"Well. She eats fish like I eat pussy," Sky sighed, brushing it off. Still, she found herself keeping her eyes down to her own plate.

"I wasn't that hungry," Oya belched, wiping her mouth with her stained paper napkin. "I'll take another one still."

After her second fish, Sky was appalled at the way Oya had violated those salmon. She decided that she would also train Oya to eat like a human being and they would practice on a sushi date, since they require smaller bites.

“Alright fish murderer,” Sky finally chirps. “You’ve avoided the inevitable long enough, it’s time to talk.” Oya lifts her head slowly, much like a dog who has just been scolded for peeing on fresh carpet.

“Do we really have to talk about this? Like is it honestly necessary?”

“Yes, Oya. With all due respect, we can’t treat you if we don’t know what we’re treating. You gotta give us something.”

“I gave you something earlier,” she snaps defensively.

“Yes, but that’s not enough. There are several forms of abuse, Oya. Just saying you were abused doesn’t really tell us anything. We can’t use verbal abuse treatment methods to treat a victim of physical abuse. You understand that, right?” Sky asks incredulously.

Oya pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She was beginning to regret even bringing up the whole thing. While she thought she was ready to expose this part of her life, fear and her anxiety were getting the best of her. She was beginning to close up again.

Just tell her, her psyche coaxes. 

“I was raped by my mother’s brother when I was ten. It happened nearly everyday for 6 months. It took everything in me to say something to my mother about it, but when I finally did, she accused me of lying.”

A lone tear slid down Oya’s cheek at the memory.

“From that point on, I haven’t been able to trust or fully commit to a man. Which is why I couldn’t talk to Dr. Stevens earlier. I know he means well, but --”

“It’s a work in progress, I understand,” Skylar interjects.

“To this day, she refuses to acknowledge what that man did to me, even though he’s currently serving a 20-year prison sentence for pedophilia. From that point on, sex was my escape. I know it sounds oxymoronic, but it helped fill the void and silence the pain. Even if the gratification was short lived.

Skylar takes her hand, offering a napkin to wipe the fresh tears that slid down her face.

“I think we should start slow. I’ll get with Erik, but I feel like our first few sessions should be meditation and sensate focus. I want you to be comfortable with touching and being touched in a nonsexual manner before we move onto more advanced methods. Are you ok with that?”

“I think so,” Oya admits. “I’ve been using sex to run from my demons for majority of my life. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“And when this is all over, you won’t have to,” Skylar smiles.

“I still wanna be your sex slave at some point, though,” Oya jokes.

“Check please!” Sky laughs.

**

After several back and forth debates as to where the session should be held, the doctors finally decided that Oya’s house would be best.

“It’s somewhere that she feels comfortable, and therefore, it should be easier for her to open up,” Erik said once the final decision was made. Sky nods her agreement, texting Oya to alert her of the plan.

Sky: Instead of coming to my office, we’ll be doing the session at your house. Is that ok?

Oya: Ooh, I get the good doctor all to myself. Say less. Here’s my address

Skylar chuckles at her eagerness, adding the address to her Maps app for later access.

“She seems excited,” she tells Erik, pocketing her phone.

“For now,” he says, sliding a manila folder towards her. “She’s flighty, so her nervousness can come back at any moment. Make sure you keep her relaxed the entire time.”

“Why you talking to me like she’s my first patient?”

“Just making sure your head is in the right place. You’re typically behind the scenes. Patients like Oya can be tricky.”

“I got this, dad,” Sky groans, swinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands to leave.

“You better stop. You ain’t called a nigga Daddy in a minute, Nola.” 

“Goodbye, Stevens! I’ll let you know how things go.”

“Text me. I promised the baby brat we’d go to the carnival later. She’s been dying for a funnel cake and a new stuffie.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Sky beams, armed with new ammunition to tease Shea with once they were back in the office. After reading through the therapy plan for herself, she rests the folder and her bag in the passenger seat and heads home. She would need the rest of the night to prepare for the next day’s session.

**

The California sun beamed brightly as Skylar made her way to Oya’s apartment. It was a beautiful three bedroom, three bath unit in Playa Vista, not far from the beach. Skylar was immediately drawn to the brightness of the space, the white walls with soft marble and gold accents adding to the feminine charm.

“I was thinking we could do this in my meditation room,” Oya said once Sky was done with her exploration.

“Ooh meditation room,” Skylar squealed, following her into what would become her favorite room in the entire unit. Behind the curtain of strung selenite crystals lay a spiritual oasis. Two black Buddah statues sat on both sides of the entrance while pink, orange, and yellow pillows decorated the floor. They looked to be from Bali or some other spiritual region. On the east and western walls were sun and moon appliques, subtle nods to the orishas Yemoja and Oshun, while chakra posters and decorations line the southern wall. On an inverted bookshelf near the front facing wall lay her crystals, sage, and a small altar Sky could tell had been used recently.

“Okay, I already loved the rest of the house, but this room is a whole vibe,” Skylar compliments, pulling out her notebook and video camera. “It’s standard practice that these sessions are recorded, but if you’re uncomfortable being on film, I have a tape recorder.”

“No, the camera is fine,” Oya assured, taking a seat on the pink pillow. She sat Indian style with her palms resting on her knees. Skylar placed her camera between two rose quartz cathedrals, taking a few test shots to ensure the angle was perfect. Once done, she mimicked Oya’s stance on the yellow pillow across from her.

“It is the third day of March and the time is 3:33 pm,” Skylar says, beginning the recording.

“I see you, Universe,” Oya muses to herself, allowing herself to be consumed by the feeling of divine protection.

“We’re going to start with simple breathing exercises to get you relaxed and comfortable, okay?” Oya nods in response. “First I need you to sit up straight, but keep your shoulders and neck relaxed.”

Oya complies, rolling her neck to the sides to release some apparent tension.

“Now, close your eyes and visualize your happy place. It could be the beach or your bed, just wherever makes you feel the happiest,” Sky instructs, doing the same. “Now, breathe in deep through your nose, hold it for about five seconds, then release through your mouth.”

The two repeat these steps about five times before Oya is finally allowed to open her eyes. Skylar makes note of the sated look in her eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly.

“Surprisingly, I feel really good. I do breathing exercises often, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed before.” “Good, that’s what we want. Now, we’ll move into sensate touching. I’ll need you to remove your jewelry and as much clothing as you’re comfortable with.”

Oya’s face turns up into a sly smirk.

“Are you getting fresh with me, Dr. Greene,” she teases, slowly removing the white Nike crop top.

Sky chuckles before answering.

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Ramirez. In sensate touching, participants are typically nude and free from jewelry. The method we’ll be practicing this afternoon is non-genital sensate touching, which means that I will touch every single part of your body except your breasts and your vagina. While sensate touching may cause arousal, it is important that you remain professional and focus only on your own sensations while being touched, understood?” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Oya responds, saluting for emphasis. This makes Skylar giggle.

“I can already tell you’re not going to make this easy for me, Ms. Ramirez.” “I promise to be a good girl, Dr. Greene. You have my word.”

“Alright. This first session will be strictly me touching you with my hands. If this goes well, then we can introduce other elements, such as feathers, scarves, and even oils. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or sleepy, let me know and we can continue another time.”

“I’m not allowed to fall asleep?” Oya questions.

“No. It’s important that you remain awake and conscious through the entire experience,” Sky responds, positioning herself behind Oya. Slowly and deliberately, Skylar rubs her hands up Oya’s arms, starting with just her palms. She moves up to her shoulders and neck, alternating between firm and subtle pressure to the pressure points there.

“Mmm,” Oya moans softly. “You should consider massage therapy,” she coos, allowing her head to fall slightly.

“You think so?” Sky asks with a grin. “Yes ma’am. Your touch is very relaxing, Dr. Greene,” Oya shudders as Skylar’s fingertips dance up and down her back.

“Well I’m glad you think so, Ms. Ramirez.”

The session continues for exactly 33 minutes before Oya’s eyes start to droop. “Okay, I think we need to stop, otherwise, I’m gonna be asleep in your arms,” Oya says, her voice audibly more soft and relaxed than when they first began.

Skylar shuts the camera off and makes a few more notes in her notebook before putting her things away. Without thinking, she sits down beside Oya, pulling her so that she was cradled against her supple bosom.

“I don’t think I’d object to that much,” she beams.

Oya bites her lip softly before staring up into Sky’s big green eyes. She could see herself getting lost in them for days.

“You think you’re capable of fixing me? I’m damaged goods, Dr. Greene.” Her voice came out just above a whisper, her tone laced with vulnerability. Skylar smoothed her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before delivering her heartfelt response. 

“A smushed Reese’s cup is still a Reese’s cup, Ms. Ramirez. And I happen to really like Reese’s cups.”

Oya’s smile spread across her whole face, a soft twinkle dancing in her eyes.

“I’ll be your Reese’s cup.”

**

@vikkidc @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @blktinkerbell @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @thehomierobbstark @ @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @forbeautyandlife @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @blowmymbackout @wakanda-inspired @yaachtynoboat711 @nickidub718 @heyauntieeee @princessstevens @bakarilennox @xaviera108 @alexundefined @raysunshine78 @dameshaemonique @laketaj24 @youreadthatright @theogbadbitch @bugngiz @amirra88 @post-woke @im5ftbutmythroat66 @blackpinup22 @maya-leche @blessyd-bthyname @unholyxcumbucket @eclecticblkgirl @kissmyafropuff @rick-sosa @jennajai @allhailqueennel @killmongersbaby @eye-raq @thickemadame @soulfulbeauty19 -

[conaionaru]

He is complicated

Synopsis: Vanya spends some alone time with Ivar again.

Warning: Angst, forced marriage, mentions of rape, dark thoughts, Ivar, fluff (because why not)

Tagged:

@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927

I don't own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. 

After supper, Vanya steeled herself for what's to come. She kept imagining all worst-case scenarios and preying that she was just paranoid.

She hid the needle in her dress like planned and waited on the chair by the fire for everything to grow silent. The redhead sat in the same chair she sat yesterday. The chair to her left was empty, yet it still felt like he sat there watching her. Just like he did in the morning, he didn't compliment her as everybody else did.

With one last deep breath and double-check that the weapon was hidden, she made her way to Ivar's chambers. She kept looking over her shoulder as if one of his brothers would jump out and ask her where she was going.

Gathering all the courage she had left in her, she knocked on his door. "Come in." She opened the door and looked into his room. It wasn't that different from hers. A bed, chairs by a fireplace, and a desk. He sat by the fire with something in his hands.

"Come sit, why are you standing there?" He urged her forward with a wave of his hand. He looked excited, which made her curious. So she complied and sat down next to him—the same position as yesterday, only in a different room.

"How was your day, Ivar?" She asked politely. They talked at the table, but it was in Norse, so she didn't get much out of the conversation.

"We caught a boar, some rabbits, and fish." Ivar kept looking at his hands. That's when she noticed a knife in them. She stiffened, scared for what he would do. Slowly she moved her hand to the place where she hid the needle.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and drew in a deep breath before extending his hand to her. But not the one that was holding the knife. "Take it." He urged her, opening up his palm.

Vanya couldn't believe her eyes. Inside his outstretched hand laid a wood carving of a wolf with its mouth open. It was beautiful. "You made this?" She questioned just to be sure she didn't imagine it.

The ginger reached for the figure and clasped it in her hand, looking it over with adoration in her eyes.

Ivar nodded his head and looked away from her supporting his chin on his palm. His right hand played with the knife that he used to craft her gift. "I did it while my brothers went fishing. It's Fenrir."

Vanya looked up at him curiously, all thought of danger in the back of her mind. "Who is Fenrir?"

The youngest son of Ragnar slowly blinked like he didn't understand the question. "Fenrir is a giant wolf who will swallow the sun during Ragnarok."

"And what is Ragnarok."

"The end of everything."

Vanya watched him in shock. It was a sweet gesture to give her a gift. On the other hand, a giant wolf from the end of the world is not that romantic. Despite her thoughts did she smile at him.

The smile made him pause. It was broad and made Vanya's blue eyes shine. She looked breathtaking at that moment. She radiated pure happiness, wore a dress that complimented her, and made her red hair stand out. And the glow from the fire made her look like a goddess to him. Freya.

"It is beautiful. Thank you very much, Ivar." Even her voice was perfect. Ivar shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and cleared his throat.

"You are welcome. I like your dress." Ubbe told him to pay her compliments, so he did. The dress does look great on her.

"Thank you. You inspired me to wear it." Vanya admitted shyly, looking away from him with rosy cheeks.

The prince's brows furrowed. His head tilted to the side, thinking about everything he told her yesterday. "And how did I do that?"

She wanted to dig her own grave at that exact moment. Why did she say that? What happened to being cautious of him?"Your eyes." She whispered, refusing o look at him., which works for Ivar.

His stony face was shocked, and his mouth was open. He didn't expect that. Neither of them said anything. An awkward silence overtook them. She needed to think of anything to say. "Can you tell me more? Of your gods?"

Ivar eyed the fire in front of him, not trusting himself to look at her. So he talked of his gods. Of Odin and his wife, Frigg, of their son Baldur and his death. Or the God of mischief Loki and his three children. He talked of Thor and his mighty hammer, Mjolnir. He told her about Freya and her brother Freyr. After she kept asking, he even told her how the world would end.

It was all so different from her religion. There were so many powerful gods and great stories. Their lying snake was Loki and not Satan; they had no Virgin Mary, no Jesus. It was so foreign, but so intriguing she couldn't stop listening. Recounting her faith is a sin that she will have to commit to the man before her. But God never listened to her. Maybe Ivar's gods will.

He talked of them with such passion and belief it made her envious. She was Christian because it was the right thing to do. To live a holy life as God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost command. Yet she never viewed her faith the way Ivar sees his. Perhaps the pagan gods are her destiny.

"Wait. Loki gave birth to a horse?"

"Yes. Sleipnir. It had eight legs." The seriousness in his face made her pause. He wasn't joking.

"How does that even work. I know he can change forms, but that is insane." She shook her head in disbelief, causing Ivar to laugh. She shot him a weak glare. "Are you laughing at me, Ivar?"

"Oh, I would not dare. You must have imagined it." He was teasing her, and she liked it. This Ivar before her was nothing like the one Sigurd spoke of. How could this man be a monster? She was right all along. He is only pretending. She is sure of it.

"To be honest, I was worried about what you would do today." This made him stop laughing. The stone-cold face was back as was the hardness of his eyes.

He stared at her for a long time before he looked away, offended. Whatever he was looking for in her eyes, he didn't find it.  "I saw you talking to Sigurd. He told you bad things about me, didn't he?"

Vanya gulped and bobbed her head up and down slowly. Her hand twitched to reach for the needle. He still held the knife in his hand. It would only be fair if she were armed herself. Granted, his weapon was more dangerous than hers. And he was a trained warrior. "He told me you killed a boy when you were a child. He said how you treated slaves. He said to beware of you. I told him that I don't see you as a monster."

The last sentence made him pause. "Why?" He wanted to know the answer so badly. Everyone saw him as a monster. A crippled, crude thing that no one loved except his mother.

The Saxon Princess mulled her next words over. He wanted her to be more confident. Say what she meant to say. She hopes he isn't regretting that choice now. "You don't seem like an evil man to me. You talk to me, encourage me, compliment me, and give me gifts. That doesn't look monstrous to me."

Ivar looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. The stare took to long for her liking and made her feel uneasy all over again. He was reading her face like an open book. Looking for a sign, she was lying and saying these things to save her skin. "I am not a good man."

"Maybe not. But no one is truly good. Everybody sins. And you are a Viking. Your people are different."

"And what do you know of my people?" The question started her. It was simple, yet so complicated, just like him.

She nervously twiddled with her fingers. If Ivar didn't regret telling her to be confident, she sure was. "I know somethings from the attacks on our countries. How you steal, murder, and rape. That is why I was so terrified of what you would do. I know you promised not to hurt me. But... Not every promise is to be kept."

"Is that all?" Did he have enough of her? "What else did you hear?" Oh. Well that she could answer.

"You sacrifice humans for your gods. You share your women. You are descendants of the devil. Barely human. You eat human flesh and drink the blood of newborn children." Ivar sorted out a laugh at that shocking her.

"You think we drink child blood?" His chuckles were not what she expected at all. "You people are so creative."

After he calmed down, he threw his knife away and fixed her with a look. His eyes were shining. He shifted in his seat and exhaled. "I did what Sigurd said I did. But I would not hurt you. I told you I would protect you. And I keep my promises. I swear it on my gods."

Vanya nodded, feeling guilty. She shouldn't. She had every right to doubt him. He is a savage—a heathen who hurts everybody in his path. Yet her chest felt heavy. "I didn't mean to offend you. I... I am scared. Kattegat is so different. I don't fit in. I don't understand what you speak of. Your traditions and gods are new to me. I am afraid."

"You are going to be the wife of a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. No one will dare to do anything to you. You will no longer be a Christian a get used to our traditions."

"I want to learn your language. So I can talk to you. Talk to the people of Kattegat." Vanya leaned towards him eagerly as he raised an eyebrow at her confession.

"Why?" As proud as he was about her desire to learn his language, he and his brothers understood her. That was enough. There was no need for her to talk to anybody else.

"You said it yourself. I am to be the wife of a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The wife of a prince should be able to talk to her people. Understand them to understand their problems. I don't want to sit by your side and look pretty. I want to help people. If I am to be your wife, then I want them to love me."

Ivar smirked at her and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment before he tilted his head towards her. He locked gazes with her and nodded. "Fine. I will teach you." Vanya smiled at him again with that brilliant smile and blush.

"Thank you, Ivar." The said man only waved his hand in dismissal. It didn't bother him to teach her. At least he had an excuse to spend time with her during the day. He could try books so that she could read the language as well. It was worth a try.

"I should probably go back to bed. The sun will rise soon." How quick time passes when she is around him. Ivar looked out of the window to confirm her words for himself. And indeed, the sky was changing colors already.

"Good night, then, Vanya."

"Good night, Ivar." And so she retreated to her chambers and laid in her bed with Fenrir in her hand.

[ithisatanytime]

“found out” she lived in florida yesterday, of course i already knew that before we started talking again, i knew everywhere she lived, i knew all her husbands names and what they looked like, i knew where she lived for ten years and never showed up uninvited after the first and last time over a decade ago.

 but she did lie to me, lying by omission is still lying and while i understand her reasoning, she let me believe she was living in michigan this whole time. she also let it slip shes in a happy marriage, but that was a lie, not a lie but it isnt true. at least its not true that my suddenly. ill finish this later

its later, its not true that my suddenly showing up in there lives hasnt effected their marriage. she told me so when i asked her what her husband said about all this and he said “do whatever you want” that is not supportive approval lmao, i do not blame him i would be even worse about it. the point is its causing issues, but there are obviously already issues, blah blah blah. shes lying, im lying, everybody out here telling lies all the the time.

 but i know whats true, i have a good memory when im not withdrawing from phenibut, an exceptional memory long term speaking. through our little talks i have found out that i was wrong about some things, things that caused me a lot of uneeded pain

ok i feel like its safe now. i know she still loves me, and its not just as a concerned friend. she told me so, she said i love you too twice, and i totally just brushed it off because it was wrapped up in a million qualifiers but when i told her i loved her i wrapped it up in those same qualifiers. as a christian as a friend but i just really wanted to say i love you so bad for ten years that i just had to say it while i had the chance. and she HAD to say it back, not out of social awkwardness either, i only realized this afterwards late last night while going back over our conversation in our mind, i should have heard and taken the i love you toos for what they really were.

  I know deep deep down, shes still loves me, i dont buy into the wisdom of the world when it comes to love and romance, that wisdom leaves people old and alone in the end. its “new” wisdom and there is no such thing as new wisdom. matt collins DID rape her. it WAS a date rape, she DID blame herself, she COULD have screamed or fought. or even been more assertive when she said no, or she could have cried louder etc. but she wouldnt do those things because shes skye. i knew her when she was a little girl. but she blamed herself, constantly downplayed what happened because she blamed herself, and completely missed how it destroyed both of our first relationships, our most open and trusting relationship because she was trying to deal with her trauma on her own in ways that were. we dont have to get into all that. the point is i was CORRECT in my estimation of what was happening to us back then, i did spend nine years trying to get revenge or justice, i just NEEDED to confront him, just wanted to talk to him, lol. but i finally let go of that a few weeks ago or days its hard to keep track. i did everything back then that i could have done to protect her from herself. she always just trusted people too much. and after that happened and she closed herself off to me, i went mad. and i stayed mad for a LONG time. but that love is still locked away in there, she tried to forget it along with the rape that was totally not that big a deal and it was her fault anyway (her thinking not mine) i wanted to be wrong about everything, i was actually wrong about quite a lot but not about the important stuff. im not really interested in blame, i NEED that love, she NEEDS that love. i know her better than i know ANYTHING. more than i know or care about biology i have cared about her

will finish later

[asoftervirge]

Of “Love” & Murder - (12/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Revenge, Like Chocolate, Can Be Both Bitter and Sweet

RATING: M PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: Remus Sanders, mentions of Satanic symbolism, Ted Bundy/Jeffrey Dahmer/serial killer references, Rocky Horror Picture Show reference, Poison, Swearing, mentions of Janus Sanders, referenced Smut, Smutty Thoughts, mentions of Sex Toys, Thanatophobia (fear of dying), mentions of Previous Deaths, various Methods of Murder, mentions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder, brief mention of Prison Rape, Dumpster Diving, Eating/Eating Gross Food, talks of Grey Morality, Morally Grey Patton, Baking/Food mentions CHAPTER SUMMARY: Patton meets with Remus.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Here we are! We’re now at the second to last chapter! Despite the low reception of this fic, I’m very happy with it and it’s been so much fun posting it and seeing everyone’s reactions to it. Fun fact: I’m not real sure what rating this chapter would be under. Obviously it has mature stuff because of Remus, but it’s not too extreme to where no body can read it. It’s not a murder chapter, but he does talk about murder, so maybe it’s best to leave it M rated. lol Happy All Hallow’s Eve, everyone! Have fun reading! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

To say Patton was nervous was an extreme understatement.

He was pacing back and forth in an alleyway— the location where Remus wanted to meet— going between fiddling with the hem of his sweater, and twirling a stray curl of hair. Blue eyes frantically scanned the dingy place he was in, not wanting to suddenly be jumped by a dangerous stranger.

Brick walls were stained with something the confectioner didn’t want to know what. Droplets of water from the gutters above dropped down onto the cobblestone. Garbage cans were tipped over, rotting food and other things made the air smell putrid.

A black cat scurried from behind one and past his feet, meowing loudly.

Patton squeaked and flinched as it went by. After collecting himself, he started to fidget more.

He hoped Remus would be here soon. With every minute he was in this alley, he was growing more and more frightened.

Despite this, he tells himself that this is worth it.

For Roman.

For Logan.

For Dorian.

For himself.

In the midst of his self-panic and self-reassurances, Patton didn’t catch the sounds of the metal fence behind him being scaled upon.

“So, you’re Patton Hart, hmm?” A high-pitched, slightly screechy voice said.

Patton yelped and spun around, instantly being greeting with the sight of Remus.

The man looked completely different from Roman, it was almost hard to believe that they were brothers, let alone twins. While the former thespian was composed, elegant, and beautiful, Remus…was anything but.

He looked like a rebellious punk, to put it simply.

Remus’ hair was oily-looking, very unkempt and scrappy; dark brown, almost black in color with touches of green hair dye in it and a single streak of silver. He was clad in a leather biker vest, various patches decorating it, and a fishnet shirt underneath which displayed all of his bruises, cuts, and scabs. His pants almost reminded him of Virgil’s jeans: ripped yet his were baggy as opposed to tight-fitting. His ankle boots were spiked, decorated with an upside down cross and a symbol that looked to be very satanic.

As a matter of fact, all of his jewelry appeared to be just that: skulls and satanic symbols. They were predominantly pieces that littered his neck, but he was also studded with a lot of piercings: a labret plus a lip, multiple ear and eyebrow ones, a chained nose, and a belly button. And all of them were silver as opposed to the gold Roman used to wear.

Looking at him twice over, Remus seemed to be a combination of Roman, Remy, and Toby.

Patton quickly straightened himself up, not wanting the other man to see just how scared he was.

“And you must be Remus Duke,” he responded back. His voice shook a little as he spoke. “I have to say, and I hope you don’t think me rude, but you looking nothing like your brother.”

Remus snorts. “That’s a compliment.” He tells him. “I’d rather not be a goody-goody Abel like my brother was.” He looked Patton up and down, giving him a quirked expression, “Ain’t you a bit saccharine to get help from me? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for beddy-bye time?”

“No!” Patton yells stubbornly. He recoils and tries again. “I-I mean, no. I really, really need your help, Remus. This is the only way I can truly stop Virgil.”

“Ha ha! So you’re also Virgil’s newest boy toy!” Remus grinned manically. Patton squealed and shivered in disgust at that. “I swear he goes through boy toys faster than either Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer did with their victims. Well, not as fast, but—”

“C-Cut it out!” Patton shrieked, stomping his foot in childish anger. He grew sickened at the thought of a monstrous killer like Bundy or a twisted cannibal like Dahmer, and comparing Virgil to them just made it worse.

(It was in that moment when the confectioner remembered the words Dorian told him before he divulged into how he was murdered. While Virgil was a horrible individual, he was nothing like how those men were. They were all criminals, yes, but the widower was somehow of a lesser evil.)

Trying to relax his shoulders, Patton asked again. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Still grinning, Remus jumped off the fence and onto the cobblestone. It wasn’t pleasant sounding as he fell flat on his ass. But he appeared to be okay as he shot straight into the air and began fishing through his pockets, humming Touch-a , Touch-a, Touch-a Touch Me under his breath while he searched.

“Ha ha!” he exclaimed when he finally found what it was he was looking for. He pulled out a vial of sinister-looking liquid, skull and crossbones marked on the front of it.

Poison.

Cyanide, to be more specific.

“This should be the very thing that’ll fuck Virgy-poo up!” Remus exclaimed happily. Then he pouted. “Lucky bastard,” he mumbled. “Just put this in whatever it is you’re gonna give him and watch with glee as he chokes and dies! Ooh, that sounds fun! Can I come and watch too?!”

“No!”

Remus pouted more, actually looking sad.

Patton was about to walk over and grab the vial but Remus stopped him.

“Not so fast, Mr. Fluffy Butthole.” Patton scrunched his nose. A serious look was in Remus's emerald green eyes. “Why do I have the stinky feeling this is for more than just my brother?”

The confectioner reeled back. “…What?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten my number from Toby and call me by saying ‘how would you feel about helping me avenge your brother’ without wanting to do more.” Remus narrowed his gaze. “You wanna avenge Virgil’s other husbands too, don’t you? Spouses or whatever they were.”

Patton opened his mouth to try and say something, but all he could do was sigh and nod. “You’re right,” he finally tells him. “It’s for more than just your brother. It’s also for Virgil’s second spouse, Logan Oxford—”

“That author who seemed so stubborn xe had a stick up xyr butt? Man, xe needed to get laid.”

“…xe were asexual…”

“…Emotionally laid, then.”

“You mean having a loving, supportive relationship?”

Remus gagged. “Don’t be lewd!”

“Xe were also aromantic.”

“I could’ve helped with that!” Remus grinned. “But if xe were also asexual, then it would’ve been no dice. Hehe, dick ice, hehe!”

Patton ignored him and continued on from before. “— and his third, Dorian Cain—”

“Ah! The serpent-y lawyer whose tongue was for more than lying!” Remus grinned more. Since he was a little closer to him, Patton could see the yellow of his teeth. “I’ve heard that he and Virgil were a lot alike. Plus, they were really able to get” – he wriggled his hips – “it” – he started thrusting “on!”

The confectioner blinked, then sighed deeply and tiredly. How exactly was he Roman’s twin brother? (He could practically hear Roman sighing along with him).

“I was in cahoots with him, you know!” Remus tells him, still thrusting for some silly reason.

“So I’ve heard,” Patton tells him, not wanting to delve into details about the supernatural encounters he had. He didn’t need to give this guy the time of day. “They said you called him about wanting him to find evidence on Virgil, but he said no.”

“Yep!” Remus stopped mid-thrust and emphasized on the p. “He accused me of wanting to slander a celebrity, like everybody else did. But it was also because he didn’t want to put his own husband on trial or some other bullshit.”

He blinked then continued thrusting. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I got to him first?” he mumbled to himself in curiosity. He turned to Patton with a grin. “You think Virgil is great in bed? I would’ve given that lawyer the time of his life! We would’ve fuck for days and weeks on end using all the neat kinky toys I have! Plus, all the crazy flexible sex positions?!” He bobbed his head from side-to-side, singing. “Anyone Virgil could do, I could do better~!”

Apparently, Virgil did that and then some, Patton couldn’t help but think to himself, suddenly being reminded of how explicit Virgil and Dorian were. (If the lawyer were here, he’d probably be flattered and chuckle in his ear).

“But it’s more than them too!” the confectioner exclaims, continuing on from where he left off previously. “It’s for any other potential victim of Virgil’s…and me too…”

“Oh?!” This intrigued Remus as he now had Patton’s full attention. “How so?” He could see the confectioner tugging and fiddling with his sweater. Remus actually saw him doing this when he was stalking the alleyway. It must be a grounding mechanism for him or something, kind of like how he plays with his fingers.

“Because—because I’m scared of dying.”

Remus blinked. “You are?”

“Yes— Of course, I am!” Patton didn’t know why the other man was acting like dying isn’t something to be feared. Because, to him, especially in this circumstance, it was. “If I don’t do anything to stop Virgil, I’m scared I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna die.”

Tears came to his eyes, he rubbed them away with a fist.

“I don’t want to end up like the others. I don’t want a ribbon around my neck, or arsenic in my belly, or a bullet in my head. I don’t want to have my life cut short by someone who might actually want me dead!”

Now he had both fists rubbing harshly at his cheeks. “There’s so much of my life I want to live. There was so much of their lives that they had yet to live. And I want to be able to avenge that…I want my friends, and even you, to be at ease knowing they finally found peace.”

Remus watched awkwardly as Patton cried in front of him. He wasn’t all that good with the emotional, cutesy, kind-wordsy stuff like his brother was. But if Roman was in this situation, he would know what to do better than anyone else.

He knew the moments when his brother would need a hug, and this would be one of them.

So, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Patton, letting him sob into his shoulder.

Patton curled further into him, not caring that he smelled of body odor and garlic.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’ll all be a-okay.”

The confectioner sniffled. “How do you know that?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Because that mean, nasty Virgil’s gonna get what’s coming to him!” Remus tells him. He takes Patton’s tear-stained glasses and licked them clean. He then walked over to a garbage can and fished out a dirty napkin to wipe them with. “Here you go!”

Patton grimaced as he put his… ‘newly cleaned’ glasses back on.

“Even if Roman didn’t like me all that much, he was one of my favorite people,” Remus continues. “And I was incredibly upset when he was killed, or ‘committed suicide,’ as the police suspected.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to bring Virgil to court, I really did, but there was no evidence left at the crime scene.”

Remus snarled; fists clenched together tightly. “When they told me that…I was thinking of contemplating murder myself.” He shook his head. “There were so many things I wanted to do to him.” He began counting on his fingers, “Disembowel him, let my pet rats feed on his body, flood my teeth with his spine, build a sandcastle out of his ashes. You name it, I wanted to do it.”

Patton got visibly sickened with each possible method of murder and violence.

“And yet I couldn’t do anything. I may be a wildcard, but Virgil is much more cunning. He’s slipperier than a bar of prison soap.” Patton dared not ask what he meant by that. “Plus, he might’ve expected that I would come and destroy him when I got the chance. So, there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“But you tried though,” the confectioner says. “Despite there not being evidence, you still went and contacted Dorian Cain to try and see what would happen.”

Remus nodded. “Well, yeah. I figured I might as well eat the bullet and chew until I’m forced to spit it out. And so, I called Dorian’s law firm and asked anyway. Even though I was told ‘no,’ something deep within my dick told me that he might try and do something in secret. When I saw in the papers that he had also killed himself, I thought my chances were ruined for good.”

“However,” he then held out the vial of poison for Patton to take. He could see just how dirty his fingers were: bruised, chewed-up fingernails, chipped black and green nail polish, and grime around the cuticles. “You can be the one to finish him off. Do what me and Dorian couldn’t, and put that murdering piece of shit in the ground where he belongs.”

At first, Patton seemed hesitant about taking it from him, but after everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s heard, everything he’s feared, his resolve was hardened.

He takes the vial and stuffs it in his pocket.

Standing closer to Remus, he can see the details he couldn’t see from afar: flakes of dandruff in his hair; messy, purple, smoky eyeshadow; black lipstick that was slightly smeared; a little bit of stubble growing above his lip; along with any other cuts, bruises, and scabs on his skin.

Not only that, he could see the various patches on his biker vest; only a small handful of them were satanic and anarchist symbols, while the rest were a mixture of things Remus must enjoy. A green sword with tentacles coming from it, a Morningstar, an anatomical heart, a bloodshot eyeball, a skeleton, a peach, a couple octopi and krakens, an alien, a peach, a hazardous symbol, some that involve cursing and parental advisory, some dark Disney ones, an opossum with he/him pronouns, the aromantic flag, and lastly, one that has ‘Duke’ on it in graffiti.

Despite his appearance, Patton might consider this gross man…not so much a friend, but an ally.

“…Remus?” Said man leans in closer, making Patton bend back. “…Thank you. Truly. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your help.”

He waved nonchalantly. “Eh, don’t worry about it,” he tells him. He walks over to one of the garbage cans and starts rummaging through it once more. “It’s the least I can do. Being an assistant— heh, ass-istant— is better than being forced to sit back and do nothing.” He pulls out a rotting banana, unpeeling it and then taking a bit bite out of it.

Patton looked like he was going to throw up.

Mid-chew, he looked back at the confectioner. “You know,” he mumbled, browning banana flying out of his mouth. “For someone who looks all pure and morally righteous, you gotta little bit of grey in ya.”

“I’m only doing this for good.”

“Maybe,” Remus gulps loudly then takes another huge bite. “But you’re still planning on killing him. No matter how you justify it, redrum is redrum.”

“Redrum?”

“Murder. The Shining. Stephen King.”

Patton hummed.

“Seriously though, who am I to talk morals schmorals to you? Good and bad is all made up nonsense!” Another loud gulp, another big bite. “So! When are you gonna do the do?”

“You mean do the deed?”

“Same thing!”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ooh! On Halloween night too!” Remus grinned excitedly. Patton had honestly forgotten that it would be Halloween, having been so preoccupied with everything has was going on at 613 Rue Morgue. “Are you suuure I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, Remus. Thank you.”

Remus pouts again, but he quickly shrugged it off.

“Ah well,” he drops the banana peel at his feet. Litter bug. He started to scale up the fence, allowing Patton to see the large green kraken that covered his back. “I guess I’ll leave the rest to you. Good luck, Patton!”

With a gleeful wave, Remus jumps over and disappears into the shadows from whence he came.

Patton stays in his spot for the longest time.

Maybe…he was a bit grayer than he realized. Through his entire life, he was never really challenged on his morals. He always played by the rules and laws of life, not wanting to face the punishments for having done something wrong.

But now, he was.

He was faced with someone who had a complete disregard for them and is walking a free man with three murders (maybe even more) stained on his hands.

And here he was, wanting to change all of that.

Like he said to Remus, it was for a good cause: to have their spirits be appeased and to have Virgil never commit any heinous crimes ever again. Even if the solution was a permanent one.

Maybe…the other man was right. Maybe…good and bad really is made up nonsense.

With the thoughts of his newly-placed morals in his head, Patton finally left the alleyway.

The alleyway that Remus chose was in the lower part of town, the shadier and troublemaking part to be specific. And even though Patton could have chosen to take his car, he walked since he lived close by in the lower regions of downtown.

It was a long but much needed walk for the confectioner to take.

While the air proved to be chilly, the autumn leaves dropped down onto the ground, creating a little ombre of colors on the sidewalk. The night sky was a trifecta of rich purples, deep blues, and cool blacks. Dots of white twinkled above, making the picturesque scene complete.

Patton looked around at all the holiday decorations that were on display. All of the ghosts, witches, scarecrows, and grim reapers all gave him a bit of a fright. The fake tombstones and giant rope spider webs made him squeak and turn his head for a split second. But he smiled at seeing the differently carved jack-o-lanterns— some more intricate than others— and the outdoor lights that glowed in various colors, like orange, purple, green, blue, red, white, and black. Though what really got a giggle out of him, were the inflatables that stood on each lawn; some were of pumpkins, others were black cats, and was the occasional spooky tree.

Many people love going all out on Halloween, and the confectioner was one of them, having spent so many hours throughout September and October transforming the interior of his shop.

He continued walking into downtown, fog hovering over the street lamps as the air grew a little denser and colder. The streets were slightly bustling as people were walking to and from various stores, all in last-minute preparation for tomorrow night. Many of them were families, with children bouncing up and down excitedly about their costumes while the parents held bags that were presumably filled with candy and other goodies.

It all made Patton smile, for he had that same childish whimsy.

The confectioner didn’t stop walking until he came to a very familiar brown building, the words Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries swirled in fancy but readable font on the window.

Patton took a minute to gently trace his fingers across the white lettering. He still remembers the first day he opened its doors, a young and bright-eyed man who simply wanted to spread the sugary joy that his grandmother used to give him.

With a deep breath, he walked into his confectionery shop, the jingle of the bell above the door made his heart swell up a little. Once inside, he gazed around, nostalgia and melancholy shone in his eyes as he flipped on the lights.

Golden chandeliers glowed from the cream-colored ceiling as the shop became illuminated, presenting the changes that Patton had made. The only other things that remained the same were the dark brown and white tile, and the wooden stands and tables dressed with dishes and bowls, but what filled them had changed since September.

Eyeball-shaped white chocolate truffles, and ghostly popcorn balls were now the specialty treats for the holiday; along with cookies in the shape of skeletons, and white chocolate bark with candy corn. In the display case were still the traditional chocolates, but there were also pumpkin spiced cakes and cupcakes, along with macaroons of varying monstrous design and Frankenstein cereal treats.

However, the two favorites were front and center: gooey marshmallow, and glistening candy apples. The best part about them? The marshmallow is dyed in accordance to the holiday, and the candy apples were also coated with white icing to make it look like Snow White’s poisoned one from the Disney movie.

Walking in further, he plugged in the decorative lights that hung from the walls. The miniature pumpkin luminary bags added another layer of festive spirit to the store, and they paired nicely with the cutout garlands Patton had made some-years back.

The confectioner tenses up as he feels vial of poison roll into his hands from inside his pocket.

A part of him still feels conflicted about doing something like this.

Obviously he knows what Virgil did was horrible and wrong, but on the other hand, he wished there was a much simpler way to see his downfall come to fruition. But as Remy and Toby said, if the police were working with him, then it was impossible to see lawful justice be served to him. (Dorian tried it, and look what happened.)

So this was the only option he had left.

Resolve slowly hardening, Patton made his way to the kitchen to begin work.

He began pulling out giant mixing bowls— both silver and copper, measuring cups, double boilers, spoons and forks, and a plethora of ingredients in order to create the perfect box of poisonous chocolates.

Patton didn’t need to think about which ones he would give to the widower, he knew the recipes for each one by memory.

The first recipe read:
 “1 lb of dark chocolate 16 maraschino cherries with the stem 3 tablespoons softened butter 3 tablespoons light corn syrup 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar”

Parts of the second read:
 “2/3 cups dark chocolate chips 1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons of heavy cream A dash of cinnamon”

The third read:
 “7 oz. finely chopped dark chocolate 1/3 cup espresso ½ tablespoons unsalted butter ½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder”

And finally, the fourth read: 
“1 cup melted cocoa butter 1 tablespoon cocoa powder 3 tablespoon dark chocolate ½ teaspoon almond extract”

Within each recipe, he made sure to add the cyanide poisoning into the mixtures, adding a bit more than necessary so that it wouldn’t be masked by any of the other ingredients. (He wore protective gear, of course. The same mask and gloves he wore whenever he dabbled in making anything featuring liquid nitrogen.)

Hours later, he had batches cooling on racks and baking sheets. And after checking that he had a perfect set of thirty-two, he began the decorating process. Glazes, icings, and sugars scattered about in the air and dusted his face, hair, and fingers.

Once everything was done up all nice and pretty, Patton placed them all in a box: a black one topped with a bow of dark violet ribbon.

Patton stood back and observed his craftsmanship. A deep frown slowly made its way to his face.

The first part of the deed was done…

…now? It was time for Virgil to have a taste of his own chocolatey medicine.