#I’m not that disabled I can socialise with work on a work night so long as it’s within walking distance of my house

[dxmedstudent]

As a longterm single person... or a person who was single for long times during parts of my life, I’m usually very onboard with shifting the focus. But it feels like this entire article is a lazy missed opportunity. It somehow manages to alienate me even though I really, really want to be able to agee with it. For a start, the article does nothing to address that yes, society does highly value romantic relationships at the expense of other meaningful relationships, and pressures people - particularly young women, to conform to the expectation to be in one. The expectation to be in a relationship and how we are treated when we’re not in one goes far beyond people valuing sex.  I’ve talked about this at length before, so I’ll skip over that part for now. It doesn’t even touch on how ace or aro people experience such a ban - you don’t have to be in love or having sex to miss a significant other - the key is in the ‘significant’ bit. 

“And while I know there could be some troubling long-term consequences to this legal accident, I can’t help but feel that the frustration of many is misplaced.”

No. This is your first mistake. People are allowed to be frustrated that such a rule renders physically continuing intimate relationships if you live apart illegal.   People are allowed to be frustrated that they can go to primark, risk coronavirus at work, use the tube, but aren’t allowed to hug their GF. Hell, people are allowed to just be annoyed they can’t go to the pub. It might not be a priority, but I wouldn’t write in whining about how other people miss something that I am not personally fussed about. “It means we can’t go to the pub, to a party, or to a friend’s house to sit on the sofa with a bottle of wine laughing our heads off; we can't have our families round for Sunday roast; we can’t even go inside if it starts to rain during one of the permitted back garden gatherings of six.”

But fundamentally, we can have a party. We can see 6 friends or family outside. We can share food with them. We can use the bathroom. We will soon be allowed to start going to establishments to eat and drink. However rather hilariously, the article somehow manages to paint sitting on someone’s sofa as equally (or more) important than romantic and physical intimacy with a life partner. Who cares that some people haven’t been able to see their intimate partner at all, much less so much as hold hands in 3 months, when I wanna sit on someones sofa!

I get it. These rules are still wildly different to our usual lives. You’re right, it sucks that we also can’t enjoy platonic touch. Hugging a friend, patting someone on the back. Just being able to be indoors and have a meal. But the rules let us live out a much closer approximaiton of life with friends - which is a start.  Now, I have friends who run the full tactile spectrum from ‘absolute huggers’ to ‘don’t touch me’. I miss a good hug or just being able to sit beside each other, but for the most part I can easily enjoy most of what I can do with friends under the current rules. Apart from sit around playing board games together, cos you can’t do that 2m apart and it’d be less than ideal to do outside. This has still had a big impact on our social lives - particularly if you live apart from friends as I do. So I feel you. I can’t just up and drive over to most of my friends’, and even if I did, sitting around outside for a couple of hours wouldn’t be with the long trip. When you’re not allowed indoors or to stay the night it makes the kind of socialising many of us do much harder. It’s the same for me seeing my family, too. So I get it. It’s just that being banned from being within 2m of someone has a much bigger impact if you’re in a romantic relationship. Because physicality (and not just sex), and spending lots of time together is a bigger part of the deal when it comes to having a significant other. Many people aren’t overly physically affectionate with friends - I know many people who barely do beyond a handshake or stiff hug - and that’s fine. These laws just take away a much bigger dimension from a romantic relationship, than from most platonic ones.

On the Facebook group I run for single people, those who live alone simply want to know when they will be touched again. And by touch I mean simply a pat on the arm, a cuddle from their mum, their best friend holding their hand. These are simple things, but are so important. They matter to people just as much, if not more, as whether they have a 'significant other' sharing their bed - but you wouldn't know that from the discussion around these new rules.

See, this is important, so maybe lead with this? It’s heartbreaing that many of us effectively have been banned from all human physical contact.  But that doesn’t mean intimate relationships aren’t important to others - and complaining that those people are commenting on how it affects them is misplaced.  Ths is not a competition between whether it’s worse that we can’t hug our friends or our boyfriends. Not being allowed to see an intimate partner is also depriving you of cuddles or simple gestures - a lot more than just sex.And yet the article frequently chooses to frame it as a ban against hookups when it also affects many people in relationships who can’t move in at this point in time. I’ve seen people complain that they can’t spend time with or touch their partners of several years, for example.  But actually, we also shouldn’t have to minimise the importance of sex, even in  a casual setting. So let’s get onto that. “Those grieving for those they've lost to Covid-19, I’m sure, are far more interested in when they can hold their loved ones than when they can next hook up. Headlines about sex bans must feel particularly grating to them.” News just in: holding your loved ones and sex are mutually exclusive. You know, if  any of us lose loved ones, we’ll be heartbroken and it will suck whether we can’t hug our sister who lives far away, or our boyfriend who we don’t live with. Please don’t use cheap emotional blackmail to suggest people can’t miss both or that both can’t be one and the same if you love your partner. I’d argue this probably says a lot about what the author thinks about relationships or sex, but I hope it’s just poor writing. “The uproar about the apparent ban on sex also plays into the rather sixth form idea that absolutely everyone is having loads of sex all the time. God forbid a few of us have to wait a few months for our next chance.” Also, tangential much? People aren’t upset because they can’t go 3 months without sex, they are upset because 3 months in a pandemic without any intimacy with a loved one is hard, especially if you’re in an intimate relationship that got suddenly cut off. Because that person and their support and cuddles is particularly important to you.  This is also a weird double standard: It’s apparently OK to be devastated because nobody can give you a hug, but god forbid you are sad about being entirely separated from a significant other against your will. Also, apparently we’re all fantasists playing up how much sex we’re having. I don’t understand why this article comes across as so weridly moralising, but it does. Reducing sex to hooking up is moralising behaviour: and as someone with an interest in sexual health I have to state that it’s not up to you to put a value on sex for someone else. I don’t like it being illegal for me to hug my sister, or ... yes, have sex with my boyfriend-  or you know, hug him too since this isn’t about sex alone. But I’m not here to police if someone doesn’t like the rules because they just miss sex. Whoever they have sex with. Sex is a fundamental part of being human for most people. Intimacy is core to many  people’s mental health, particularly in a relationship, and that need is valid. Physical intimacy in general is a massive part of intimate relationships. It’s taken decades of progress for people to accept that sex is valid and enriching, not shameful. I’m worried that yes, behind our attitudes lies the still pervasive social attitudes that sex is dirty, wrong, and something for us to police if it doesn’t fit the bounds of what we consider acceptable. We haven’t eliminated harmful attitudes to sex, and the desire that others get to decide if vulerable populations like disabled people or the poor are allowed to have initmate lives. This is about how easily rules can be used to oppress or police others - as they have been in the past. What happens to sex workers? To our LGBTQ friends if someone decides that gay sex is riskier? It’s worth noting that intimacy is only illegal if you live apart - favouring those rich enough to have the space to move in together and the married. The poor, those living with others, those who aren’t ready to take that step, those who rely on sex to make a living - face an entirely different set of rules. It’s worth asking yourself why it’s OK to move in (and risk exposing each other) but not OK to visit the person you’d be allowed to expose all the time.  Why it’s OK for the government to draw a line on which relationships matter, and when - and what hoops you have to jump through. This isn’t new - out LGBTQ friends will tell us this was always a thing. But we need to be ever more vigilant as our personal lives are policed more and more. “Nobody is talking about this” is legitimate criticism when we’re talking about a horrifying event people may be unaware of, but lazy writing when we’re talking about something that both evidently affects many people and ... is being discussed. It allows you to fill an article with righteous indignation about how people aren’t doing something rather than just... doing it. As it is, I’ve read multiple articles about people missing grandchildren, wanting to see recently born babies, missing their friends, struggling with this whilst being single. I’ve read articles about the lonely and vulnerable. And actually, more articles about all those things when you add them up, than I’ve seen about romantic relationships. Which is great -  because this pandemic and the lockdown are having a massive effect on a lot of people in many ways, and it personally interests me that we record those experiences and share them. I’ve even seen so many articles about people missing going to the pub, or which restaurants they wish they could visit. And that’s OK, it can be the little things about normality that we miss. I miss museum dates, for example, and there wasn’t even any sex involved!  We all miss normality.  And I’ve had those conversations in real life, too. These conversations are important, but it’s possible to have them without downplaying something that doesn’t matter to you when it obviously matters to other people. I have been single for long periods of time; I’d be the first to suggest here’s more to life than romantic relationships. Hell, at times that was my absolute last priority.  I’ve lived away from friends and family  - I am not new to loving people at a distance, and it’s still been hard despite my having the experience to deal with it. If anything, this pandemic just shows how those links feel very different, when we’re not able to travel. Suddenly everyone feels much further away, and I re-evaluate just how happy I am to live far away.  For what it’s worth, I think we need more articles highlighting how difficult it is to manage all sorts of interpersonal relatioships at a distance as lockdowns ease.  And as someone who’s in a romantic relationship, the pain of bieng isolated in all these spheres just isn’t the same. I miss hugging my mum. And I miss my friends. And I miss my boyfriend. It all hurts. Looking at her own personal examples, the crux of the matter isn’t that she can’t see her family or friends - it’s that most of them live far away, and even if they live nearby, she’s not allowed to hug them. I’d love to hear more about people’s lives - what they are missing, what they hope to be able to do soon. And I can completely empathise with her: I wish I could see my sister, too: I’ve only seen her once since lockdown, briefly and under social distancing. I miss my friends - we live far apart but that used to be easier to bridge when we weren’t under lockdown. I have friends’ babies I’m yet to meet. New BFs yet to be introduced, etc. Weddings we’ve all missed. I can fully empathise with the author’s frustration at being unable to do these things - it has truly had a significant impact on my life this year that I’m mssing out on many of these things too. But that doesn’t in the slightest make it any less awful that I can’t be with my boyfriend, too.

#sex and relationships #jesus christ #i would never have predicted I'd be out here talking about how sex is important to people #it isn't even that important to me personally most of the time #but come on #long post #covid-19 journal

[scripttorture]

(1/2) I am writing a fantasy story and I wanted to have a character who undergoes a type of solitary confinement but not really? They would be isolated from practically everything except to analyse data and send reports but never receive any form of communication other than orders. But I was on the fence of whether or not I wanted to have them have a magical "bond" with their twin, meaning they would be able to sense each other and know they were alive but be unable to communicate anything else

(2/2) Solitary confinement cont: though, I guess they could sometimes be able to communicate emotions if they were feeling it really strongly. would this still be considered solitary confinement? Would the symptoms be lessened? I’m planning for them to stay in that situation for at least ten years if not more. Would it even matter if they could sense their twin, or would they be affected just as “strongly” as if they were alone? Also, what /would/ be a realistic reaction to this kind of torture?(3/?) Solitary confine cont: sorry for being such a bother. but i’m also not sure if this will be a factor in predicting symptoms in my character, but they would be forced to sit in one place and be unable to move anywhere else other than the desk they work at. They will still be fed and such; the food will come to them.(4/?) solitary confin cont: sorry i forgot to ask in the last one: would the character still be close to the twin after they got out? With or without the bond? Would further isolating themselves except from the people they used to be very close to before the confinement be a reasonable reaction to this experience? Would social isolation be a feasible reaction period? Would it still be possible for them to get better and heal? Would it be realistic for them to continue living instead of suicide?

-

OK so there are a lot of complicated and interrelated questions here. Given the story you’ve described I think the best thing I can do is start with the problems in the scenario as it is, then suggest some changes and then talk about long term effects for a survivable, altered scenario.

 What you’re describing is solitary confinement and you’re also describing other forms of torture. You’re underestimating the damage of both by a really large degree.

 And that’s not your fault. It’s hard to find good information on this stuff; that’s why I’m here.

 Honestly I think this would kill your character in under a year even if they didn’t attempt suicide.

 You’re not describing a stress position. But being forcibly confined to a chair 24/7 is a recipe for pressure sores. Combine that with whatever solution they have for basic excretion and- well even the best scenario I can think of (regularly changed adult diapers) would lead to serious infection.

 Combine that with the sleep deprivation being trapped in this position would cause and you have recurrent, serious infections that would probably lead to death.

 I haven’t factored in solitary confinement at all yet. The ‘safe’ period for solitary is about a week. Anything after that is prolonged. Ten years is incredibly extreme.

 And the research we have on solitary clearly indicates that the effects are even worse when the victims are children (which includes teenagers). It’s also worse when other tortures or elements of neglect are present.

 And I’ve only really mentioned one possible injury that a long term restraint torture like this could cause.

 I don’t want to go overboard hammering this home. We’re taught to underestimate the damage ‘clean’ tortures like solitary confinement and the restraint tortures you described do. You get the idea.

 You can read more about solitary confinement over here.

 You can read more about sleep deprivation here.

 First of all I really think you need to reduce your time frame by at least a factor of ten. Very few people survive ten years of sustained abuse.

 Yes it is possible. People in forced labour scenarios or slavery do sometimes survive this long. But your scenario is inflicting constant physical damage over that time period. A year in captivity is a much more reasonable time frame.

 If keeping the characters separated for ten years is important then you can still keep that separation while making sure the character is only tortured for a year or less.

 This character’s effectively enslaved and it sounds like a modern or sci fi setting.

 That often involves moving people across state or national boundaries and taking their documentation away. Establishing someone’s identity and getting replacement documents after they’re released can take a very long time. Especially if the country in question has policies that require paying for documentation.

 It can get even more complicated if there’s a language barrier in play.

 If slavery victims are rescued by police and are willing to testify that often requires staying in a particular area. If the survivors are in a witness protection program of some kind (not uncommon because a lot of these people are under threat from other slavers) then the survivors might not have much control over where they’re staying or for how long.

 If this is big enough that national security might be brought up then they might not even be allowed to contact anyone.

 Court cases involving slavers and gangs can easily take up several years.

 Add on top of this the severe symptoms that any torture survivors suffer from which can lead to people being institutionalised and you have a lot of reasons why these twins might not have been able to contact or see each other for ten years.

 This isn’t just more realistic, I think it would give you a stronger story as well. Because it gives the survivor twin things to do, allows them to develop as a separate person and you can use the things they choose to do to tell the audience about them.

 When your character’s alone in a strange place and they’ve just been through hell what they do next tells the audience a lot. You can show their beliefs, their personality, their goals or priorities. You can show whether any of those have changed as a result of abuse.

 Their core beliefs, the things they hold most dear, are unlikely to change. But torture can cause big changes in personality and perspective. The key thing to remember is that this change can’t be controlled. Torturers and slavers can’t ‘make’ a victim change in a way they want.

 You might want to have a look at this post here on the common stereotypes around survivors and torturers.

 Next I’d suggest you don’t describe the character as being constantly at a desk.

 The majority of the lethal problems that could cause would be reduced hugely if the character can move around relatively freely for an hour or so a day. Even if this time is while they’re asleep.

 I’d suggest a scenario where the character is removed to a cell for the night everyday and allowed between 6-8 hours rest every night.

 Keep in mind that 6 hours would still be sleep deprivation with all the short and long term effects that causes.

 The cell should be at least big enough for them to lie down comfortably, with appropriate bedding. They should also preferably have access to a bathroom with at least a toilet.

 This would still be solitary confinement. The definition is less then 1-2 hours of human contact daily (some academics and law systems use less then 1 hour some use less then 2).

 It has to be social contact. Being in the same room as someone who doesn’t respond doesn’t help and may actually make things worse. It doesn’t necessarily have to be based on verbal communication; based on what I’ve read it seems as though positive interaction would still help despite a language barrier.

 But a nebulous magical connection that only really says ‘your twin is still alive’ doesn’t sound like social contact. There’s no communication, non-verbal or otherwise. So I don’t think this would be a protective factor. I think it has the potential to have a negative effect actually, making symptoms worse.

 Because I think it sounds like it could be similar to being in a room with someone who refuses to socialise, constantly. And for someone in solitary confinement that’s a little like the equivalent of leaving a meal just out of reach of someone whose starving.

 I can’t say that definitely for obvious reasons. So I’d suggest assuming that at best it has no effect on the situation.

 The realistic reaction to the scenario I’ve suggested is lifelong mental illness and possibly physical disability as well.

 The majority of tortures produce the same symptoms. Not every survivor experiences every possible symptom but the possible symptoms are pretty consistent.

 Solitary confinement actually causes some unusual symptoms. So do starvation and sleep deprivation. I suspect this is because they’re all a systematic deprivation of something we need to function.

 You can find the possible symptoms of solitary confinement, along with a few statistical estimates on the likelihood of different symptoms, in the solitary confinement masterpost.

 If you’d like to know more about what those symptoms look like in practice there’s a source linked to in that masterpost by S Shalev which contains a lot of different accounts from survivors. I think you’d find it useful. It’s available for free online.

 We can’t predict who will be prone to what symptoms. Right now we just don’t know why individual survivors develop particular symptoms.

 So I suggest consciously picking the symptoms you want your character to come based on what you think will add to your story and character.

 If a symptom creates interesting problems in the narrative, increases tension in the plot or lets you show the audience something about the character, then it’s probably a good pick.

 I’d strongly suggest picking physical symptoms for solitary confinement as well as psychological ones. Most people don’t know it can cause physical symptoms and it’s important to include multiple aspects to capture the experience.

 Once again, I suggest you read the survivor accounts in Shalev’s Sourcebook. Personally I’ve found reading what survivors say to be the best source for understanding their lived experience.

 In this particular case after a year of restraint torture and limited opportunity for physical activity I think physical weakness, chronic pain in the legs and back, and possibly difficulty walking are all likely.

 I’m not sure how good the chance of physical recovery would be because I’m not a doctor. The survivors who report these sorts of injuries after extremely long periods in restraints are often denied medical treatment after release. And appropriate medical treatment could make a lot of difference.

 I suspect the chronic pain at least would last a long time. Possibly for the rest of the character’s life.

 It wouldn’t be unreasonable to have them using a cane or finding it difficult to walk long distances.

 Now I want to stress that recovery is possible.

 Torture survivors are not passive objects forever ‘broken’ by what they survived.

 They’re ill. They’re often disabled. But they do often go on to live full and happy lives.

 It’s a long process and it’s often about finding a way to live with mental illness.

 But it’s possible. Torture survivors go on to do all sorts of things. They’re artists, teachers, home makers, religious leaders, cooks, philosophers, scientists, historians. They do build fulfilling lives.

 If reconnecting with family and friends seems like it would be a part of that for your character, then yes that’s probably something you should include in the process.

 Would it be easy? No.

 Recovery is long and difficult. And people change when they’re apart from each other for long periods, especially if they’re still growing up.

 Family and friends of survivors often say they don’t recognise their loved ones any more. Especially if they’ve been held for a long period of time (ie months).

 That’s understandable. Mental illness changes people. It can feel like a survivor comes back as a ‘different person’.

 I think, for reasons that have nothing to do with solitary confinement, rebuilding the relationship would take a lot of time for these characters. Perfectly possible, but hard. There’d be a lot of miscommunications, arguments and problems along the way.

 Because suddenly having to navigate severe mental illness is hard. And because dealing with healthy people who don’t understand when you’re severely mentally ill/disabled is hard.

 Torture generally can result in social isolation in the long term. This isn’t always the survivor’s choice but yes, sometimes it can be.

 For some survivors their symptoms and triggers are such that they find avoiding people the ‘easier’ option.

 It’s not a good solution. In the long run it makes mental health problems worse. But it’s understandable. Society isn’t set up to accommodate people with mental illnesses and socialising can be very difficult.

 So, yes. Depending on the symptoms you pick for the character a certain amount of withdrawing would be normal. However this is not the same as some kind of voluntary solitary confinement.

 As for the final question-

 Whatever the torture and the time frame suicide is always possible. Depression and suicidal ideation are common symptoms.

 You’re proposing an impossibly extreme time frame. If the scenario was ‘just’ solitary confinement I’d say suicide was incredibly likely.

 Even with the shorter time frame I’ve suggested we’re talking about an extreme period of time. It’s over fifty times the safe period. Suicide attempts are incredibly likely and sometimes the difference between failed and completed suicide is just how attentive the guards are.

 I think that in a year of solitary confinement, forced labour and torture- Well it would be surprising if someone survived that and had never once felt suicidal.

 Acting on it is a different thing.

 I wouldn’t suggest a scenario unless I thought there was a decent chance, realistically, of a character surviving. And I do that while keeping in mind that suicide is a factor.

 I think if you want to write this in a way that means the character has never ever felt suicidal then a more reasonable time frame is 1-3 months solitary and the removal of every other torturous or neglectful element from the story.

 Even then, some people feel suicidal after a month in solitary confinement.

 The realism of suicide depends on more then what a character survives. Their options for professional help, medical attention they receive, community support and practical things like whether they can get a job that pays enough to feed themselves all make a difference. So do cultural attitudes to suicide and policies in place to prevent it.

 At the end of the day though, you’re the writer. You control these elements. And you can set every single one of them up in a way that makes suicide less likely.

 I hope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw suicide #tw child abuse #Effects of Solitary Confinement #clean torture #solitary confinement #restraint torture #sleep deprivation #time frames for solitary confinement #writing victims #writing recovery #fantasy ask

[lavenderbones22]

Angel-  Ben Hardy

Summary: His girl is one of the hottest model's in the world and she's about to walk the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. Incredibly aroused, Ben must wait until the show's over before he can see her and show her how he truly feels.

Requested: 'yeaa i think tumblr did eat my request >;( i sent u a few days ago about a ben hardy smut ; his girlfriend is a Victoria Secret model and he's at a show & ya noe'

Word Count: 3548

A/N So sorry about the absence guys, hope this makes up for it! 

------------

I finally felt like I was being recognised for all of my hard work over so many years. My career had indeed reached it pinnacle; this was it, my defining moment.

My diet though leading up to the big day was extremely restrictive. I certainly wasn't a stranger to intense diet and workout regimes but this was unlike anything I had done before.

I could take the food restrictions and the workouts three times a day but the restriction I and not to mention my boyfriend Ben, struggled with the most was the ban on sex a week prior to the show. I had no idea why it was, apparently it was something that had been set in place since the very first Victoria's Secret show ,so unwilling to create a stir, I nodded and accepted what had to be done.

Of course, breaking the news to Ben was another story as our sex life was above average I guess you could say. We had sex pretty much every day, sometimes more if we were feeling particularly frisky.

Needless to say, when one of us was away working things were pretty tough.

"You're joking!" His brows were raised so high on his forehead that I thought they were about to be launched into space.

I bit my lip nervously, shaking my head. "'fraid not," I responded.

"W-what!?" He tried to spit his words out. "W-why?"

I shrugged my shoulders, tying my hair into a bun on the top of my head. "It's just what they said." I informed him. "I didn't want to question it."

"I can't believe you didn't!"

"Ben I wasn't going to jeopardise anything just to ask why I can't have sex with my boyfriend for a week," I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, shifting my weight onto one hip. "This is my dream come true."

Ben sighed, feeling bad for catechising me. "Baby," his voice cooed, stepping closer and pulling me into him. "I didn't mean it like that."

I looked up at him and into his bright, green eyes. "Believe me when I say it's going to be as difficult for me as it is for you," I said quietly with a smirk.

"That's where you're wrong my love. I have to watch you strut around on that runway half naked," he kissed underneath my jawline, down along my neck. "I'm going to be hard the whole time," his words were muffled against the heat of my skin. "I just know it."

***

BEN'S POV

Today was the big day.

I didn't get to see my girl for long before the show. She was up at 5am. I was barely awake as she pecked me on the cheek and said she'd see me later on. I think there were soft calls of 'I love you' but whose to know.

I couldn't wait to see her. I'd gone for an all black suit with a sheer black shirt underneath that was her favourite. I couldn't wait for her to rip it all off of me later on.

Arriving at the venue, I was stopped a few times for quick interviews as well as chat's with friends of hers. We'd been together for three and a half years so I was definitely used to all of the attention she received but sometimes, and I knew that tonight was certainly going to be one, I struggled with it all; especially when it came from the men.

I never really considered myself a jealous guy. I wasn't quick to anger nor did I ever have a lack of trust in the partner's I'd chosen. But when you're faced with a situation where your girlfriend is the object of many men around the world's wildest fantasies; it makes you feel some kind of way. I'd come across posts online, heard people talking in public unaware of who I was and even had men say to my face how much they'd love to spend a night with my girl.

So no, I wasn't jealous. I just didn't put up with having my girlfriend spoken and written about like she was some sort of public possession.

Sat in the audience next to her mum and sister, I was beyond excited for the show to start. Not having to wait long, the lights went out and The Weeknd came out to open the show.

She was the fourth girl out and the breath got knocked out of my body the minute my eyes landed on her. She wore a black lacy thong that laced all the way up to her belly button, her D cup breasts looking phenomenal in a match lacy, black bra. A sparkled long sleeved top that cut off just above her breasts covered her; I'd never been so horny in my twenty eight years of existence.

"Fuck," I breathed out. Her mum, who I was sat next to, looked over at me smiley widely-proud.

"She's beautiful," she sighed happily as she grabbed my hand in hers. "You must be so proud of your girl!" Her eyes that were identical to her daughters looked at me, tears were brimming in them.

"I really am. You must be so proud of your girl too!" I said back to her, squeezing her hand in support. I got along with her family extremely well, they treated me like the son they never had.

"Like you wouldn't believe Ben!" She said before she got up on her feet, cheering out her girls name. I laughed, clapping and using my fingers to whistle loudly as she strutted to the end of the runway, smiled widely whilst doing a cute little pose and turned around walking back. On her way back The Weeknd held his hand out to her which she took and did a little twirl under. Fuck, she was adorable. I loved her more than anything, I was so fucking proud of my angel.

Once the show was over, we had to attend the after party. I knew she had to get changed for it since I'd sat around whilst she had many dress fittings. Whilst waiting on her I took in my surroundings. It was mostly media. So many of them. The coverage of this thing was crazy, I'd never seen anything like it.

The second I spotted her, my heart starting thumping heavily.

"Ben!" She squeaked, running up and wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me.

"You did so well baby," I spoke into her ear, pulling back and kissing her hard. "I'm so fucking proud of you." She was in a pink Victoria's Secret robe, looking exceptionally adorable.

"Thank you!" Her energy was palpable; she was like sunshine. She left my arms and went over to her mum and sister who had been chatting to a few people. Unfortunately they weren't able to attend the after party so it was just me and my girl. Not that I was complaining of course.

"I'm just going to get changed into my dress for the party," she told me with a quick peck to my lips. "Won't be long."

***

REGULAR POV

I was on such a high. The show was over, a total success, I hadn't fallen and I was free to finally have sex with my boyfriend.

I knew Ben was raring to go the second his skin touched mine, I could feel the heat and arousal flowing through him. I think if my mum and sister hadn't been standing right there he would have whispered multiple dirty things in my ear. I wished he had anyway.

I changed into a silver, floor length dress that was 90 percent see through. It had chains that went around my chest and my neck, my tits nearly falling out. But I felt a million dollars in it and I knew it would make Ben loose his mind.

He hadn't expected me when I wrapped my hands around his mid section from behind, my fingers crawling along his abs. He was looking tasty as fuck tonight. The bastard knew how much I loved that shirt on him.

"I'm back," I sung, kissing his back. He turned around so quick I nearly fell over, his strong hands grabbing my upper arms to steady me, while his eyes wandered my scantily clad body.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Are you sure that's legal?" His green eyes, nearly black from his hugely dilated pupils, lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

I nodded, biting my bottom lip. "In most places..."

He cupped his jaw, rubbing his fingers along it, lost for words. "Erm...I...well, fuck!" He laughed. "You look so fucking gorgeous." His hands now both placed on my body, moved down to my lower hips, creeping down over my ass and cupping both cheeks. "I don't even care if we're in public," he exclaimed. "I'm so horny I can't even stand it!"

I giggled and pulled him into a kiss. "Two hours max babe, then we can go back to the hotel!" A frustrated sigh followed by a reluctant 'fine', Ben and I put our socialising faces on and headed off hand in hand into the crowded venue.

I hadn't intended to drink so much, have so many shots and give my boyfriend a blow job in the disabled toilets but hey, things happen!

We stumbled out of the elevator onto the eleventh floor of the hotel we were staying in in New York, Ben hopelessly trying to locate the key card in his wallet.

"Hurry up!" I begged, my hand finding its way to his cock while he groaned in irritation at his own complacency regarding the room key. "I need you inside of me," I purred into his ear, biting his lobe.

Finally success in finding the key, Ben used it to open the door and drag me inside. I was in a fit of giggles, horny, drunk, excited from my dream having come true this evening. "Ben, help me take this off," I moaned trying to take the dress off but failing miserably.

"With pleasure." His eyes narrowed as he walked across the room towards me, untangling me from my dress and as much as I knew he wanted to literally rip it off of me from having been celibate for a week, it was far too expensive for him to do that.

"I'm so glad I have a boyfriend with respect for fashion," I giggled, running my hands through my hair.

"And I'm so glad I have a girlfriend with tits as perfect as yours," he replied, taking my right breast in his grip and bringing his mouth down to cover my nipple.

"Fuck," I moaned, my eyes closed and my fingers running through his hair. "Don't hold back on me tonight, yeah?"

He looked up. "Did you really think that I would?"

"No, but I thought I should remind you how much I fucking need it," I smirked.

"Love you," he kissed me quickly right before he got to his knees and ripped my thong off.

"Love...you too," I responded in gasped breaths as his tongue met my clit for the first time tonight. "Ahhh," I cried as his tongue kept moving up and down my opening, purposely avoiding touching my clit again. He had one hand gripping my hip, whilst the other he used to open me up to him.

My knees began to feel weak as he eventually found his way back to my clit, beating at it with such unrelenting focus that I could barely remember my own name. Before too long, his fingers then joined his tongue, stroking along me then pushing inside of me. His tongue sucked on my clit while he pumped two fingers in and out of my pussy. "Fuck yeah Ben," I moaned. "So fucking good!" My grip on his hair got tighter and I think that the more I pulled at the strands of blonde locks, the more he was getting turned on. The boy liked a little bit of pain, there was no denying it. I let out a little squeak when he bit at my labia, causing Ben to laugh with a mouthful of my pussy. "You freak!" I laughed, pushing at his shoulder.

"Don't act like you're not impressed baby." He was right, she had no comeback because she fucking loved it. His tongue was back at my clit moving at a ridiculously fast pace, his fingers rubbing against my g spot perfectly. My moans were getting out of hand and I hoped that we didn't have any other people on this floor.

Slowing down to help me control my orgasm, Ben started licking at me softly, moaning against me to create that little bit of extra stimulation. "Mmmm," I hummed. "So good." He had taken his fingers out of me, both his hands running up the back of my legs and cupping my bare naked ass as he continued to enjoy the taste of me on his tongue.

Although I loved the fast, radical pace he had began with, it was the slow, sensual licks that became my undoing; Ben knew this. I was yelping in his grip, his hands having to move to my hips again in order to keep me from falling over in pleasure since I was still standing. His tongue sped up a little, as he brought me closer and closer. "Ohhhh yeah, fuck Ben....mmmm," I cried. "I'm coming," I warned him, his tongue moving inside of me so he could capture my juices on the tip of it.  Once Ben licked me clean, he got to his feet and ran his tongue up the side of my neck. I moaned loudly, tilting my head to the side so he had more access, my fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

"I wanted to jump onto that catwalk and fuck you right there in front of everyone," he growled, picking me up with his hands firmly on my upper thighs. "Show everyone that this body is mine."

A high pitched squeal escaped me as Ben bit down on my collarbone, before soothing it with a lick of his hot tongue. My legs were tight around his waist now as he carried me over to the king sized hotel room bed that had yet to be touched. I loved it when he was dominant with me like this, he always was after we'd gone a while without having sex.

He laid me down on the bed gently while taking his blazer and sheer shirt off, holding himself up by his defined arms either side of my head. I pouted and ran my hands along his now bare chest. He cocked his head, asking without words what on earth there was to pout about right now. "I wanted to take that off." I said sweetly, looking up into his eyes, my hands running through his hair.

"Well I can always put it back on so you can?" He suggested, laughing a little before kissing me.

"It would be a sin to cover that gorgeous chest back up," I cooed, eyeing his defined chest that looked like it was sculptured from a Greek God. "But really Ben," I began as I looked back into his heavenly green eyes. "Thanks for being there tonight." I hadn't thanked him and maybe I didn't need to, but I wanted to. I wanted him to know just how much his support meant to me. I knew it was sometimes hard for him to stand back when so many people said stuff about me, particularly about how I looked. His natural instinct was to defend me, protect me, but unfortunately in this industry you had to let a lot of things go.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world," he spoke softly. "You are the most magnificent woman I have ever laid my eyes on," he littered my skin with soft kisses and occasional licks of his tongue that created shivers through me. His lips found mine again thankfully where he indulged me in a heated kiss. "But I would think that whether you walked the Victoria's Secret runway or not," he laughed.

Our soft moment was soon over quickly when I hastily flipped him over so I was sat on his midsection, my body on full display for him. My pussy was soaking, leaving a patch of wetness on his abs. I rocked my hips a little creating a whiney groan from Ben. "You like riding my abs like that?" His hands were on my hips guiding me while he wore a cheeky grin. "Leaving your juices all over me?"

I giggled, nodding my head but never losing my rhythm.

"You're such a good girl," Ben praised me, his hands leaving my hips and silkily roaming up my sides until he harshly grabbed each of my breasts. "So fucking sexy." Deeper now, his voice could have made me come right then and there. One of my favourite things about my boyfriend was his talking voice; smooth and calming. But when things got heated in the bedroom it reached a level that previously I would have thought impossible. The deepness exuded pure sex.

"I want your cock." It was getting too much now, I needed him inside me.

"Oh you do, do you?" He cocked a brow, a brazen smile on his face. Damn, those pink lips looked extra luscious from eating me out.

"Yeah. So take your pants off please." I climbed off him, his stomach glistening under the low lights coming from the lamps on either side of the bed. I pulled a hair band off my wrist to tie my hair up while I watched him undo his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down so fast if I blinked I would have missed it.

"Keen?" I giggled.

"Baby, keen is an understatement," he retorted, kicking the last of his pants off his ankles. "Now get back over here!" He reached out, pulling me over by the back of my leg. I threw one leg over Ben and hovered above his angry looking cock. Pre cum was leaking out the top, he was literally about to explode.

"Hop on baby, I'm bursting," he took my hips in his strong hold again as I impaled myself with his huge dick.

Mutual moans filled the room as I started to rock my hips in circles. The intrusion of him inside of me after a very long week had me yelling, my mouth falling open as high pitched moans constantly fell out. Usually Ben liked to gradually build up to the hard and fast art of fucking but not tonight, no he was right into it and I was loving every second.

I leant forward on his sweaty chest which Ben took as an opportunity to thrust hard up into me. "Oh fuck Ben.....mmmmm," I cried, throwing my head back in pleasure as my pussy took the full brunt of each hard thrust. His cock slide in and out of me with such ease at this point, the wet sounds and skin slapping all that could be heard among our loud, passionate moans.

It was becoming the most intense sex we had had in a very long time. I supposed the anticipation to it as well as how fucking sexy we thought one another looked tonight, I would have been crazy to think that this would have gone any other way.

I ran my ringers through his sweaty hair as I leant down further, kissing him, his fingers scratching down my back, which I arched to create a deeper angle. Our moans became lost in our kisses before Ben pulled away.

"Ahhh, fuck, you're so fucking wet, babe," he groaned, moving to leave multiple bites along my collarbones, just above my tits, finally almost taking my right nipple off by yanking it so hard.

"Shit," I squealed, making Ben laugh. "Do you not want me to have nipples?"

Ben chuckled, pumping into me even harder and pulling my attention right back to where it needed to be. We clung to one another, clawing at each other's damp skin as we both approached our peaks. Things were becoming fast and frenzied.

"Fuck yeah, harder!" I coaxed Ben on, to which he sat up immediately and dug his fingers into my hips. I took the hint, instantly starting to bounce up and down on him. My arms wrapped tightly around his neck, my tits still bouncing against his chest as I fucked myself on him.

"I'm gonna come," he groaned deeply, his fingers leaving red marks on the skin of my hips as he guided me up and down faster. Sure enough a few seconds later I felt him come inside of me which triggered my orgasm. Ben groaned again as I tightened around him and rode out my orgasm.

Once we both recovered from our orgasms, we remained in the same position, him still comfortably inside of me.

"Next time someone tells you to refrain from sex for work can you tell them to go fuck themselves?" His hands ran up and down my back in a loving manner.

"How about I'll tell them that I'll go fuck you instead?" Gruffly laughing, he proceeded to roll me over for round two.

TAG LIST: @galileoqueen-mama-mia , @fuckinghurricanesoul , @tanya-is-dead@ziggysstarrdust , @spidreling , @screaminggalileochickenwrites , @softbenhardy , @mortifiedmoon

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy smut #fanfiction #smut #queen fanfic

[thank-god-and-you]

A/N: This is a very, very belated birthday gift for the wonderful @annambates. I am so, so sorry it took so long. I am legit the worst. Thank you for always being so supportive and encouraging no matter what. You’re amazing.

-- --

That Night

Christmas parties at the workplace are always the same: too much wine with too many regrets in the morning, too many ugly Christmas jumpers, too many Secret Santa gifts which are met with barely-mustered false enthusiasm, too much awkward ducking to avoid meeting someone under the mistletoe. John has never been a fan; he can think of a thousand things that he’d rather do than socialise with his work colleagues outside the office, especially when those work colleagues are the likes of Thomas Barrow and Sarah O’Brien. There’s only one reason that he’s come here tonight—though Robert thinks that it’s his begging that’s done the trick—and that reason is currently out on the dancefloor with Molesley. The sight is not a pleasant one for him, even though Molesley’s dancing after a few drinks leaves much to be desired. John sighs, tugging at the neck of his shirt. He’s already discarded his suit jacket and not for the first time wishes that Robert had chosen something a little less crowded. With so many people crammed into such a small space, the temperature has rocketed, and he feels decidedly uncomfortable in his formalwear. Downing the rest of his water, he slams his glass back down on the table.

“I’m going for a breath of fresh air,” he shouts over the thumping music, hoping his best friend can hear him. “I need to cool down.”

“Don’t be too long,” Robert yells back. “It’ll be time for the gift exchange soon.”

Not an incentive to hurry. He’d ended up having to buy a gift for Mrs. Hughes, which wasn’t all bad, since he likes and respects her very much, but he’d rather avoid the embarrassment of having to stand there while she opens it, and he has no doubt that Thomas and O’Brien’s reactions to whatever they end up with will be less than respectful, which will only sharpen his temper. If only he could have come up with a decent excuse not to attend tonight. If only Robert had pretended to believe him.

“Okay,” he says anyway, for there is no other answer. “Ten minutes.”

Roberts nods his consent, and John pushes his chair away from the table, grabbing hold of his cane and wending his way between the empty tables towards the fire exit. Most of the staff are on the dancefloor, partaking in an enthusiastic Macarena. It’s one of those times that he’s fiercely glad that he can’t dance any longer—the only thing that he wishes he could do was slow dance, so that he’d be able to ask Anna for her hand. But it is a stupid notion, one that he will never be able to fulfil, and it’s probably better that way. Anna has her whole life ahead of her, and it does nobody any good to be given false hope. She can do so much better than him, washed up and jaded as he is. She needs a proper man, not one tarnished by the mistakes he’s made in the past.

The air is blissfully cold on his face as he emerges outside, and he breathes in deeply, enjoying the way that it slaps his cheeks. He ferrets in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes—he’ll make giving them up his New Year’s Resolution—and shields the flame from the lighter against the tip of the cigarette as the wind blows. He takes a deep drag and taps ash from the end of it, tilting his head back to the sky.

“Hey, you.”

Anna’s voice behind him makes him jump, and he turns around quickly to find her standing in the doorway, shivering violently in the breeze. She’s left her outer layers inside, and he can see the goosebumps on her arms.

“You should get back inside before you catch your death,” he tells her. She ignores him, taking a resolute step outside.

“I’ve barely had the chance to talk to you all evening,” she says.

“Molesley’s been monopolising all of your attention,” he replies. He doesn’t quite succeed in keeping the resentment out of his voice, and hates himself anew.

If Anna senses it—which she surely has to—she doesn’t comment. Instead, she steps nearer, almost close enough to touch. “I’d rather have spent the time with you. I’ve missed you this evening.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says. He cannot lie to her about that. She is the best friend he has, has been from the moment that she defended him that first day at Crawleys’.  “Have you been having a good time?”

“It’s been okay,” she says. “But it would have been better if I was with you.”

“Well, you’re with me now,” he says. His heart does a funny drumroll in his chest at the thought that he could have made it better for her, when she has spent the whole evening surrounded by young, vibrant men. He shakes the egotistical pleasure away.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve had a drink.”

It’s a strange thing to say. He waits without comment.

“I needed some Dutch courage,” she clarifies.

“Why?” he asks.

“There’s something I want to do.”

“What’s that, then?”

She doesn’t answer him with words. Instead, she steps closer to him, so close that he catches the seductive fragrance of her perfume, the sweet smell of her hair. She looks gorgeous tonight, in a black cocktail dress and lethal heels that should not be allowed. They’ve spiked her height by several inches, but even that addition still leaves her craning her neck a little when she looks at him. It’s a sight that endears him and heats him in equal, guilty measure.

He doesn’t have the time to think of anything else before her arms are around his neck, and her body is aligning itself with his as she rises on her tiptoes, and he feels the warmth of her breath on his mouth, and then her lips—

It takes his addled brain several moments to realise that she’s kissing him. Anna is kissing him. It’s a scenario that he has dreamt about for months now, hating himself all the while. He cannot deny the truth to himself: he’s been falling for her. It was inevitable, really; Anna has such a good heart, such a sunny, caring attitude, that it’s impossible to stand in her light and not be affected by it. She’s his best friend, the one person who has brought a smile to his face some days. She understands him in a way that nobody else does, knows when to offer a quiet word of reassurance and when to leave him to his own thoughts. She’s let him into parts of her life that are dear to her, taking him to all of her favourite places in Yorkshire and giving him an intimate look at the things she loves the most.

She has never seen him as less than a man.

Even so, this cannot be. They are good friends; he thinks the world of her, and even though it kills him inside, this is why they can never have anything more. She deserves more than what he can offer her, a lifetime of mistakes and regrets. He pulls away.

“No,” he breathes against her, even as he pushes away the hair that has stuck to her cheek, completely outside of his control. “Anna, we can’t—”

“We can,” she says, bold and self-assured. “There’s nothing wrong in it, John.”

“Of course there is.”

“Why?”

He makes a helpless gesture, trying to articulate the hopelessness of it all. “Christ, Anna. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“You and the rest of the world.”

“I won’t ruin you. Vera—”

“Sod your ex-wife,” Anna says fiercely. “I don’t care about her, or about any of the other stuff. None of that has changed my opinion on you.”

It should have done. She knows the worst of him. The struggle against alcohol, the bitter relationship with Vera, the disability that plagues him every day.

“You deserve so much more,” he tries.

“Don’t you dare presume what I do and don’t deserve,” she snaps. “I’m the only one who can decide that for myself, John.”

And she moves to kiss him again, and he is powerless to stop her. Her mouth is soft and yielding, the kind of mouth that coaxes a man into the deepest of forbidden temptations. John’s eyes slide closed as the dam breaks inside him, flooding him with all of the emotions that he has tried to keep buried for so long. He curls his fingers through her hair, tilting her head further up to him. She sighs, her mouth opening beneath his, and he feels the tip of her tongue—

“Anna, it’s just about to—oh!”

Gwen’s startled voice brings John back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. Stumbling over his cane, he pushes Anna away from him. Gwen stares at them, her cheeks flushing pink.

“I—um—sorry, I didn’t know I was interrupting anything,” she says lamely.

Apparently unconcerned, Anna pats her hair down and says, as if she’s been interrupted doing nothing more interesting than staring at the night sky, “Is it time for the Secret Santa?”

“Y-Yes,” says Gwen. She’s not looking at either of them. Well, that suits John just fine. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look Gwen in the face ever again. He can feel himself burning up despite the cold temperatures, and knows that no one will be able to mistake his colour for wind-chill.

“Well, we’d better not dawdle,” says Anna, moving briskly towards the door. “They’ll have our guts for garters if they do.”

John remains rooted to the spot as she disappears back inside. Gwen glances at him, face clashing with her hair, then hurries after her. He has little doubt that she will be questioning Anna furiously on what she has just walked in on, and he finds that his desire to go back inside has dropped even further. He can’t face it. He can’t go back in there and pretend that everything is okay, not when he is disorientated and confused. He never got to question her, to see the conversation through to its proper conclusion. He is a man, and men like things to be laid out in clear, unmistakable terms. He likes finality.

Christ, how is he going to get through the rest of the evening when he finally knows the texture of Anna’s mouth, and the little breathy sound that she makes in the back of her throat when she’s kissed? Hell, how is he going to get through the rest of his life after this revelation? He should never have had this knowledge.

Knowing that he can’t put off his return any longer, no matter how much he might like to, he slowly drags himself back inside. The muffled, raucous sounds emanating from the main room make his stomach flip unpleasantly, but he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, grips his cane tighter, and forces himself inside like a man might force himself to make the final journey to the gallows. He’s sure that what will meet him in there will be worse than any kind of hell that could possibly exist.

-- --

Three Days Later

There are just three days to work before the Christmas break, but John doesn’t feel like going back to the office on Monday morning. There’s too much going through his head for him to be able to function properly, and Anna is not going to be there. She’d requested the time off months before so she could fly out to America to spend the holidays with her sister and her nieces and nephews, and she won’t be back until after the New Year.

It means that he won’t be able to confront her about whatever the hell happened at the Christmas party. There was no opportunity to on that night, for after the gift-giving she had been inundated with more dancing invitations, which she had taken, and he had been unable to catch her alone to try to get his head around what had transpired. She’d left with Mary before he could say anything else, and when he’d texted her, asking if they could talk, she’d replied by asking if they could do it when she returned from America, because it wasn’t something she could do right now.

He isn’t sure how he feels about that, because it means he’s going to spend the entirety of the Christmas break in a complete head spin, floundering under the weight of what has occurred. Every time he closes his eyes he remembers it, her mouth softening over his, the taste of the wine on her tongue, the way her fingers felt winding through the hair at the nape of his neck, that little noise she made as she rose on her tiptoes to align their bodies.

He burns for her.

It shames him and frustrates him, and the last three nights have been sleepless, haunted by her phantom touch. His phone has stayed ominously quiet since their encounter. That’s never happened before. Usually, Anna texts him at least four times a day, whether it’s just to express a wish that he’s having a good day, or else to spark conversation with some silly meme that he’s far too old to understand. Until this radio silence, he’s never noticed just how much he takes her presence for granted.

Several times he’s picked up his phone to text her first, but as good as he can be with the written word, all sentiments have simply abandoned him, leaving him staring at that last message with a sense of hopelessness that eradicates all else.

And so he is resigned to wait until after the New Year to discuss the Christmas party, and he isn’t sure that he’ll survive it.

He goes about his morning ablutions with a heaviness that he’s never known. Anna has had holidays before, of course, but she’s never felt as far away as she does now—figuratively as well as literally. He drags himself to work, wondering what the day has in store for him.

At first, it doesn’t appear as if there will be anything out of the ordinary. He greets Gwen on reception and although she blushes bright red and returns the sentiment in a rushed, muttered voice, evidently still not quite over the fact that the last time she’d seen him he’d been locking lips with her best friend, she still sounds friendly enough. The others greet him with the same jovial, courteous cheeriness that they always have, and he resolves to put everything to the back of his mind and concentrate on the day he has in front of him.

All of that changes when he reaches the staffroom. He’s just about to push open the door when he hears the low strain of voices. Frowning, he debates what to do. He does not enjoy eavesdropping on conversation and is just about to turn away and try again in a few minutes when he catches his own name. Whoever is inside is talking about him. For a moment, he is indecisive, but it’s one of those situations where a person knows that they should look away from something horrific but can’t. Making sure that his cane doesn’t thump against the carpet and give him away, he leans closer to the crack in the ajar door and strains his ears.

“…I don’t believe you do know anything about Bates,” comes the dour, bored voice. John’s heart sinks. Sarah O’Brien. Of course. He should have known. Nothing ever good happens when she is at the heart of it. He dreads to think what’s being plotted in there—there can be no doubt that Thomas Barrow, her constant partner in crime, is the person she is talking to. They’ve spent most of the two years that he’s been working here trying to get him sacked, apparently out of some misguided belief that Thomas should have been promoted over him being hired. Anna had been almost apoplectic over their attempts and had planned her own careful revenge which had resulted in them being publicly humiliated for their crimes, and it had been one of the many, many things that had made him fall all the harder for her. He wishes she was here with him now. He’s not a stranger to standing up for himself—he’s had to do that all his life, and not always in the most positive way—but Anna has always been so much better at it, his very own champion.

And this presents a very alarming question: what does Thomas think he knows about him? He’s always been careful to play his cards close to his chest, keeping his private life as separate from his professional one as possible. People still think him an enigma, distant and unfriendly. It’s something Molesley is always keen to point out, though John suspects that that has something to do with the fact that the other man carries a torch for Anna too.

Whatever it is, if Thomas is involved, it can’t be good news for him.

Carefully, he edges even closer to the door, until his ear is almost pressed up against the crack. He doesn’t have to listen all that hard; Thomas’ voice carries like a foghorn.

“You’re never gonna believe it. It’s totally disgusting. Not to mention unprofessional.”

“What is?” says O’Brien impatiently.

“Bates and Anna!” Thomas says triumphantly.

The pit drops out of John’s stomach, and he swallows hard against the sudden rise of bile in his throat. How? How does he possibly know anything!?

Evidently O’Brien wants the same answers. “What do you mean, Bates and Anna?”

“At the Christmas party!” Thomas crows. “Tonguing each other!”

For once, it appears that O’Brien is completely lost for words. John barely restrains himself from banging his forehead against the wall.

“What did you just say?” she manages at last.

Thomas speaks with the air of communicating with a very slow child. “Bates and Anna. At the Christmas party. Caught with their tongues down each other’s throats.”

“You’ve not just pulled that out of your arse, have you?”

“No!” says Thomas, affronted. “I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Come off it, old Bates wouldn’t share something like that with you if you were the last person on earth, and Anna is a saint who cosies up to him like a leech. She wouldn’t dare do a thing to hurt his precious feelings, so she isn’t going to talk to you.”

“Well, maybe she didn’t tell me directly,” Thomas amends, “but I overheard her talking to Gwen about it. It’s definitely true.”

John clenches his fists. So the rat had been eavesdropping again. He should have known. Thomas is like that, seeping the air like poison, sticking to the shadows and striking when people least expect it, like the coward he is.

“Well.” O’Brien sounds distinctively disgusted. “I’m not sure I want to know the details.”

“But you’re gonna love it,” says Thomas. “It’s hilarious, really. He hobbles about acting so high and mighty, but he’s no better than the rest of us. Worse, really, slobbering over poor Anna like that.”

“I don’t know how she could have stood it,” says O’Brien. “If he’d come anywhere near me, I’d’ve let him have both barrels.”

Like O’Brien has ever had anyone ever come near her, with the constant expression she has on her face like she’s inhaling an unpleasant smell, John thinks viciously, his shame sharpening his anger.

“Tell me about it,” Thomas agrees. “She’s got to be blind or something. Or maybe she’s just desperate. I’ve never known her to date anyone while she’s worked here.”

John clenches his fists so tightly that his nails bite into his palms. He’s shaking with anger. It’s one thing for them to insult him—while it’s demoralising, he can understand their disbelief, for he doesn’t believe it himself—but to bring Anna into the equation, to say such disparaging things about her, is quite another thing. He’ll show them. Right now he is spoiling for a fight, and taking his frustrations out on those two snakes would be most satisfying.

But before he can push open the door, O’Brien presses on,” So, come on, spill the details. What happened?”

Thomas laughs. “Well, apparently Anna was the one to grab hold of old Bates.”

“What?”

“Yep. I heard every single detail. Apparently Anna went outside to find Bates because he’d done his usual disappearing act, and while she was out there she was just overcome with the urge to kiss him.”

“Revolting.”

“Tell me about it. So that was when Gwen walked in on them and caught them trying to eat each other alive.”

“Poor girl is probably scarred for life.”

“She asked Anna what the hell had got into her.”

“Reasonable question.”

“And you know what Anna said?” Thomas voice rises an octave as he tries a crude, cruel imitation of Anna’s thick Yorkshire accent. “She said, ‘I’ve just wanted to do that for a long time, Gwen. It was perfect’. Perfect!”

“Perfectly nasty,” says O’Brien. “I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, I know. Bates has always had the stick so far up his own backside that I didn’t even think he knew what the definition of ‘passion’ was. And how Anna can find anything interesting about that stuffy old git is mindboggling.”

“The less I think about that, the better. I’m already having a difficult time keeping my breakfast down. I don’t want to think of old Bates getting his leg over as well.”

“I might have to dig a bit, see what I can find out. If they did end up shagging on Friday then it’d be great. We’ll have so much ammunition.”

“They left separately.”

“So? Doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have met up later. And if they did, it’ll show us just how much of a hypocrite he is. He’s always so pious, the sanctimonious bastard. This’ll show him. It’ll do him good to be brought down a peg or two.”

John trembles. Blood pulses through his head, making it difficult to hear. He would like nothing more than to storm in there and grab hold of Thomas, shaking some sense into him. He pushes and taunts him time and time again and now, with the shock of him knowing about what transpired on Friday night, his nerves are frayed. He has no doubt that Thomas will push this to the limit, accusing him and Anna of all sorts of things. He can’t bear for them to be paraded around like exhibits at a museum.

At that moment, however, O’Brien’s voice changes. “Christ, look at the time. We’re five minutes late already. Carson is going to have our heads.”

“Let the old dinosaur,” says Thomas viciously, but John hears sounds of movement nevertheless. Hastily, he moves away from the door, backing back down the corridor. It won’t do for him to be caught there now.

At least he hasn’t been caught totally unaware, he tries to console himself. When Thomas comes at him with this—which he undoubtedly will—at least he won’t be caught wrong-footed by the knowledge that the other man has. He just has to be patient and find a way to fight back against it.

No longer feeling like he wants a cup of tea, he trudges towards his office and throws down his things when he gets there. Now he needs to fill his day with as many tasks as possible, so that he can avoid the stares and whispers that are sure to come.

It’s probably going to be easier said than done.

-- --

At ten to eleven, he receives his first test. There is a knock on the door, and it’s Charles Carson himself.

“May I come in?” he says.

What choice does he have? John nods. Mr. Carson edges into the room and closes the door firmly behind him, glancing through the glass windows at the office beyond as if to ensure that they’re not being watched. Everyone has their heads down studiously, but John is not fooled. They’ll all be watching out of the corner of their eyes, silently communicating, trying to lip read. There’s only one reason why Mr. Carson is here so early in the day, when he rarely drops by at all. Thomas hasn’t wasted a moment in spreading his poison, and the vitriol has reached his superior. He steels himself.

“Would you like to sit down?” he says, gesturing to the seat across from his desk. Mr. Carson shakes his head.

“No, thank you, I’m fine where I am.”

John suspects that it has everything to do with the power play. If Mr. Carson was sitting opposite him, it would look as if he’d been called there, not the other way around; by remaining standing, tall and forbidding as he is, it leaves John in no doubt as to who is really in charge, no matter the domain.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Carson?” he asks as pleasantly as he can, hoping that his voice doesn’t shake and betray him.

Mr. Carson lingers awkwardly by the door. “I won’t beat about the bush, Mr. Bates. Something’s come to light.”

“And what might that be?” He hopes that he sounds politely puzzled. Beneath the table, his fingers twist together.

Mr. Carson sighs. “It’s a delicate subject.”

Here it goes. “I’m not a delicate person. Please, Mr. Carson, I’d rather we speak frankly.”

Mr. Carson sighs heavily. “Very well. I have heard…a rumour being bandied about the office, about something that went off at the Christmas party on Friday. Something that happened between you and Anna.”

There’s no use acting coy and prolonging the embarrassment further. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the fact that Anna and I kissed.”

Mr. Carson turns the colour of beetroot. Obviously talking about anything the least bit personal is far out of his remit. John has never been able to imagine him as anything but stern and upright. Mrs. Hughes is usually better at navigating through delicate situations like these, treating all of the women under her like surrogate daughters, but she can also be stern, too; John has no doubt that he would be in for an even rougher time if she was here now, interrogated like a suspect in a murder case about his intentions.

“Well, that’s what the rumours are,” he blusters.

“They’re true,” John says flatly. He sees no point in delaying the inevitable admission.

“Mistletoe?” Mr. Carson says hopefully.

“No,” John sighs, busying himself with the papers on his desk. “There was no mistletoe.”

Mr. Carson looks crestfallen. Clearly he could have coped if he’d been told that mere tradition dictated it. He likes tradition. “I see. Well, you know more than anyone that this is a highly unusual situation.”

John doubts it; how many stories are out there of drunken fumbles at work parties? Their company itself isn’t infallible—there was some kerfuffle between Daisy and William last time, Mary and Matthew had a fling that started at one of these functions, and there had been that mad game of truth and dare at the ‘No Managers Allowed’ party, which thankfully he had not been invited to. Anna had shared all the details of that with him, and there were some that he’d rather not have known. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for his superior to continue.

He does so, looking more discomfited by the second. “I’ll be honest, I would rather not be having this conversation with you, Mr. Bates. I don’t like treating you like you’re some young boy behaving drunkenly and recklessly, but I have to be seen treating you the same as I would someone like James.”

Which John thinks is very unfair, considering the fact that his behaviour is nothing like Jimmy’s. “I understand.”

“We have a reputation to uphold, and we, as senior staff, need to ensure that we are setting the right example for the younger individuals in our teams. I know a lot of them can be easily led astray, and we don’t want to encourage such behaviour in them.”

“What do you mean?” John says before he can stop himself, the words coming out a tad more biting than he’d intended. But his temper is rising once more. It’s so early in the day and he’s already tired of the way that people are insinuating that what he and Anna did was dirty and wrong. It does not make him feel any better about the situation, and he wishes all over again that Anna was here with him, that he could see her reaction and at least know what to do one way or the other.

“Well,” says Mr. Carson, “we can’t have members of staff having drunken flings here, there, and everywhere. It will only cause a bad atmosphere and could lead to any number of disasters. If they look at you as a trusted senior member of staff and see you having a meaningless relationship with another member of staff, they’ll think that they’re fine to do the same.”

“I respect what you’re saying,” John says quietly. “But you’re wrong.”

Mr. Carson’s impressive eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re wrong,” John repeats, louder this time. “It wasn’t a drunken fling. I don’t drink. Anna had had a couple, but she wasn’t even tipsy. We were as clear minded as we would have been at any other time.”

“I see,” says Mr. Carson. His eyebrows are still somewhere in danger of falling off his head. “I see.” He doesn’t seem to know what to say now that he’s confirmed that it was more than what he’d thought it was.

And now John has to acknowledge that fact too. Even though he doesn’t know what the hell it really was to Anna, since she hasn’t said a thing to him, despite what Thomas alleges she said to Gwen—which could be a lie, for all he knows—he has to admit the truth to himself: what transpired between them meant everything to him. He’d always told himself that nothing could happen between them, but now that she’s kissed him…He knows that it will be impossible to go back to pretending that nothing has transpired. He’s wanted her for so long, and now that he’s had a taste of her, he isn’t sure how he can go back to pretending that they are just friends. Not now.

“So it’s serious between you, then?” Mr. Carson asks at last, the words seemingly difficult to get out.

“I don’t know,” John answers truthfully; it would be silly to do anything else when he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. But he can at least be honest on his own behalf. “Anna means a very, very great deal to me, Mr. Carson, and I certainly have no intentions of leading her on. My main concern has been, and always will be, her happiness.”

“Well, very good. And Anna feels the same?”

“That’s a conversation for when she comes back home,” he says carefully. “I wouldn’t like to be presumptuous.”

“Very well,” says Mr. Carson. “I’ll say no more for now. I just wanted to hear your side of the story, not just the rumours that are going around.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

The older man does not make to leave, however, shuffling uncomfortably. “There’s one other thing.”

John has a feeling that he knows what that is. “Yes?”

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to tell Robert about this.”

John’s heart sinks. Yes, that’s what he’s been fearing. It’s not as if his best friend will be unhappy—hell, he’ll be over the moon—but that is part of the problem. He would have preferred to keep this whole thing under wraps until he’d ironed things out with Anna, but that’s an impossibility now. And if Mr. Carson doesn’t tell Robert, then he’ll have to. He’s going to hear anyway, if the rumours are flying about as Mr. Carson is insinuating.

“I understand,” he sighs.

“I don’t like playing the part of Pontius Pilate, but I feel I have no choice,” says Mr. Carson with the air of someone with a great burden on his shoulders.

“I understand,” John repeats. “But I appreciate your frankness.”

“I think that will be all for now,” says Mr. Carson. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bates.”

“Not at all.” John rises and waits as the older man turns away and closes the door behind him. Only when he is out of eyesight does he sink back down into his seat, refraining from burying his head in his hands only because he knows that people are still watching him through the huge glass windows.  He can’t show any weakness.

Even so, he finds it difficult to focus on work for the rest of the day.

His phone remains ominously quiet.

-- --

He manages to spend the rest of the day holed up in his office, leaving it only to collect his lunch and sneak back in before anyone can confront him. He leaves long after everyone else has gone home, returning to his cold and empty flat, still with no word from Anna.

-- --

One Day Later

By now, he deduces that the rumour mill is rife; everywhere he goes he garners open stares from his fellow employees. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t really bother him, but it does. He’s never done well being the centre of attention, and certainly not since his injury.

He had another poor night’s sleep yesterday, too, tossing and turning and watching the hands on the clock move by as his mind whirred and buzzed. He spent the whole time wondering what Anna was doing, if she was having a good time, if she was as preoccupied by what had occurred as he was, if she even cared at all.

Coffee is what he needs. It’s still early, much earlier than what most people find to be an acceptable time to be in work—he found the tossing and turning to be absolutely pointless, and decided that he might as well get a head start on the day. It suits him just fine. At least this way he can be hidden in his office before the masses start arriving.

Making his way towards the kitchen, he is once again given reason to pause; the Yorkshire lilt he hears is unmistakable. It’s Mrs. Patmore, who runs the staff cafeteria. Her voice carries, klaxon-like, and his heart sinks once more.

Even here he is the topic of conversation.

He desperately wants to turn away, but he also needs the coffee. He just needs to get in and out as quickly as he can. He stumps down the rest of the corridor, but before he can push open the door and stop the conversation in its tracks, he hears Daisy say, “…So it’s true, then? About Anna and Mr. Bates?”

“According to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes,” says Mrs. Patmore. “Mr. Carson says that Mr. Bates admitted it himself. But don’t you go talking about it with anyone else, you hear me?”

“Thomas has been talking about it,” Daisy points out.

“Thomas is a scoundrel. You’ll do well to listen to me, Daisy, mark my words. We don’t want to embarrass them.”

“Why should they be embarrassed if they wanted to do it?” says Daisy.

Mrs. Patmore tuts. “I highly doubt that this is the way that they wanted it to come out.”

“Why not?”

“Lord, girl, are you daft? Who in their right mind would want everyone to know about something as personal as that when they haven’t even had time to grow into it themselves?”

She’s hit the nail on the head there, John thinks ruefully.

“I never would have guessed it, though,” says Daisy. “Not our Anna!”

“She’s a young woman who knows what she wants,” says Mrs. Patmore sagely. “We’ve always admired that about her. It’s what made her such a good protégé for Mrs. Hughes. But I think we’re sometimes prone to forget that just because she’s always here for people inside of work, she leads her own life outside of it.”

“But Anna and Mr. Bates!”

“I was shocked to hear it at first,” Mrs. Patmore admits. “But now that the shock of it has worn off, it’s not actually that surprising.”

“I suppose so,” Daisy concedes. “They do seem very well matched. They’re always together, aren’t they? And Mr. Bates does make Anna smile a lot. That’s always a nice thing.”

That gives John reason to pause. It’s unlike anything snide that Thomas and O’Brien were sneering about yesterday, and it’s actually heartening. He’s never really considered what their relationship might look like outside of his own tortured belief that people would look down on them. It’s nice to think that that might not be the case. And if Daisy and Mrs. Patmore think that he and Anna suit each other well…well, perhaps things aren’t as hopeless as he’d thought.

“I’m glad,” Daisy says decisively, at last. “I’m glad Anna has found someone she likes, and Mr. Bates too. He’s always been very kind to me.”

“Aye, that’s true, lass,” says Mrs. Patmore. “They look well together, and it’s about time Mr. Bates found some happiness after what that harpy of an ex-wife did to him. I’m sure it can be the start of something beautiful.”

The start of something beautiful. Christ, he hopes so. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time that he did put his demons in the past and do them justice. Do Anna justice.

Feeling buoyed, he bangs his way down the corridor, giving Mrs. Patmore and Daisy plenty of warning that he is arriving so that they can change the subject. When he enters the kitchen, he finds them both working hard to set the place to rights before the start of a new day.

“You’re here early!” says Mrs. Patmore.

John spins off the same tale of getting a head start on the day, and busies himself with making a cup of coffee as they finish off what they are doing. They bid him goodbye and he returns it, then waits until the door snaps to behind them before pulling out his phone. He might as well start to make some kind of amends now. Dawdling for a few minutes, he tries to find words to express how he feels. In the end, after deleting several options, he settles for something short and sweet.

I do miss you, you know.

He dallies for a few more seconds before adding the decisive, fateful kiss. He’s never used it before, not even with Anna, and he hopes that it signals to her just how much he does so.

He isn’t sure what the time differences are between Downton and where Anna is, but by the time he’s reached his office, his own message tone has pinged. He snatches his phone.

Her reply, too, is simple, but it raises his spirits more than he could possibly articulate.

I miss you too. X

-- --

Whilst Anna is not here, it seems that people are less inclined to openly make too many comments about what transpired at the Christmas party. He still catches sight of people whispering behind their hands, glancing his way when they think that he’s not looking, but it bothers him less than it was. He knows he’s going to have to stand up and face it in the New Year, but he finds that the prospect is less scary than he’d initially thought. He hasn’t heard anything from Anna since her last text, but somehow he feels more settled about it.

Halfway through the day, his phone rings; the internal number flashing on the screen indicates that it’s from Robert. Which means that Mr. Carson must have broken.

“Hi, Rob,” he says, pressing the receiver to his ear. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t you take that bloody innocent tone with me. Carson’s just told me something very interesting.”

“Oh?” John tries to keep his tone light, and probably fails horrifically.

“Yes, ‘oh’. You’re a dark horse. Come and see me. Now.”

“Am I in trouble?” he asks.

“That depends. Now, Bates.”

The line goes dead. John rolls his eyes. Robert would never go too hard on him, not after everything they’ve been through together, but even so, he’d rather not be subjected to the chat he knows he is bound to be. Anna has been an integral part of the Crawley family for years and is almost a sister to Mary, and he knows that Robert cares deeply for her well-being. Since Anna’s father is not around anymore to subject him to the uncomfortable parent chats, it seems that Robert is going to take up that mantle. Still, he cannot avoid it. Heaving himself to his feet, he limps out of the door and makes his way towards Robert’s office, ignoring the stares that have become customary now. He knocks on the door.

“Enter,” Robert calls, like a king in his castle. Pushing his shoulders back, John does so.

“You summoned me,” he says, a little sarcastically.

If Robert picks up on it, he does not acknowledge the insubordination. “Close the door, Bates.”

He does so. When it clicks closed, Robert stands up and drops the blind. As soon as they are hidden from view, a broad smile breaks across his face, and he is his boss no longer, but the friend he has known for so many years.

“You old scoundrel, Bates,” he crows. “Snogging our Anna. Gracious me. When Carson told me I almost fell out of my chair. If it hadn’t been for Carson with his face so screwed up in concern, I would never have believed it.”

“Is this going to take long?” says John, crossing his arms across his chest. “I have got other things to be getting on with, you know.”

Robert’s grin widens. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. You’ve got to let me have my moment. I never thought I’d get it again with you. You’re so stubborn that I thought I’d be forced to watch you live the rest of your life as a monk. Doesn’t look like it’s going to be that way anymore, does it?”

“Don’t be crude,” says John.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it. Pretty girl like Anna…”

“I thought you were supposed to be doing some kind of fatherly chat?” John interrupts. “You know, you’ll break my kneecaps if I do anything to hurt her?”

“And I would. It’d give you something else to complain about. Not to mention what Mary would do to you if you ever did anything to break Anna’s heart. But you’re my friend too, and I want to see you happy. I am a firm believer in second chances, and I think this one is yours. Take it, Bates.”

John considers his friends words, knows that he’s speaking from a place of experience. After all, his friend has been on the receiving end of that kind of forgiveness and second chance in the past, after a stupid mistake he made with Jane, one of their ex-employees. John firmly believes that Jane had never wanted to cause any trouble, for she had been conscientious and kind, but sometimes feelings are difficult to control, and she had not removed herself from the situation in time. Cora had, completely understandably, hit the roof when she’d discovered the truth, and her twenty-five year marriage had been on the rocks for a while. But love had also won out, and although it had taken time to rebuild the trust between them, they had decided to put the past in the past. His situation with Anna is far from the same thing, but she is offering him something that he’d never thought he’d have again, and that is trust. Companionship. Affection. Quiet intimacy. They’re all things that he’s been longing to have and has been too scared to take.

He has to take them now.

“So what happened?” Robert asks suddenly. “And how come you didn’t breathe a word to me about this during the rest of the night?”

“My mind was all over the place,” John says honestly. “I didn’t know what the hell to think. I couldn’t even begin to tell you any of that when I didn’t know what to think myself. To think that Anna actually wanted to kiss me was mindboggling.”

Robert smirks. “And very nice, I’d wager.”

“Yes,” John concedes. “It was. It is.” He thinks of her soft mouth and goes warm all over again. Christ, he wishes that she was here now, so that they could have that conversation…and so that he could kiss her again.

“So, come on, you’re still holding out on the details,” Robert persists. “I want to know everything.”

“There’s not much to tell. She followed me outside. We talked for a few moments and it just sort of…happened.”

“Just sort of happened, eh?” snickers Robert. “You finally snapped, did you? I thought you might. The way you’ve always looked at her…”

“I’ve never looked at her in an unprofessional way,” John argues.

“Of course you have. We all knew you fancied her something rotten. Mary teased Anna about it constantly, apparently.”

“About me fancying her?”

“No, you idiot, about her fancying you.”

The matter-of-factness of the statement makes John pause. It’s yet another thing that he’s never stopped to consider before. That Anna had made it obvious to her friends that she fancied him simply beggars belief. He is not some Greek-god type, the kind of man who inspires lust and fanciful fantasies in women.

“Oh, well,” he says, “that’s nice to hear.”

“Nice to hear? Bloody hell, Bates, if that was me, I would have been doing a victory dance. You’re not going to fuck this up, are you?”

The abrupt question takes him by surprise; he folds his arms across his chest. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure about that? If there’s one person who’s good at pushing away good things in his life, it’s you.” Robert softens. “Look, I just want you to be happy. Anna wants to try. At least do her the courtesy of letting her.”

John stares at his best friend for a long moment before scrubbing his hand across his face. For the first time, he admits the thought that has been plaguing him. “What if…what if I’m not enough for her?”

“You will be.”

“But you don’t know that. I’ve never managed to maintain anything before, have I?”

“That’s because you’ve never had the right woman before. Vera was completely insane. There’s no wonder that didn’t work out. It was a recipe for disaster from the beginning. Then again, you married her for all the wrong reasons.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says John. “I don’t need to be reminded of those right now.”

“You’re right. Best leave that in the past, and focus on what’s actually good in your future. And Anna is that, Bates, I know she is.”

“I know it too,” John says softly. She could never be anything other than good for him. He just hopes that he can be worthy of her in turn.

Robert slaps his knees. “Anyway, I think that’s enough soppy talk for one day. Time is money here. Get back to work, and when you’re done for the day you’re coming out for a drink down the pub, no arguments. I still need a blow-by-blow account of exactly what happened that night, you hear me?”

John knows that he has no other choice, for his best friend can be as dogged as his eldest daughter when he wants to be. “All right. As long as you buy the first round. I’ll need some sort of incentive to spill my secrets.”

“A pity I can’t get you drunk for that,” muses Robert. “Ah, well, I’m sure Mary will tell me anything that you don’t. Women like to gossip, don’t they?”

“I have no idea,” John says lightly, but he feels the heat rising in his face at the thought of Anna giving Mary a detailed account of the way that they had kissed each other. He isn’t sure how much he really wants Mary to know; after all, she has been almost like a niece figure to him over the years, and he knows that he would feel beyond awkward if she were to ever bring it up with that arrogant, knowing smirk.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll find out. Now, get out of here, Bates.”

John bows mockingly, but backs out of the room with relief. As much as he loves his friend, he’s tired of the questions. He just wants to be left alone in blessed peace for the rest of the afternoon.

And if that gives him a quiet opportunity to think about Anna…well, for once, he’s not going to stop himself.

-- --

Eight Days Later

Christmas has come and gone in a rare flurry of snow. John spends the time quietly at home with his mother. They have a small Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, John insisting on doing all the work to give her a rest. They exchange gifts between them, and his mother coos over what he’s got her. It gives him a purpose, knowing that he can do something like that for her.

Throwing himself into taking care of his mother also means that he has less time to brood on Anna. He still hasn’t heard from her since that text telling him that she missed him, and every time he contemplates sending her a quick message his brain freezes, unable to come up with any casual conversation starters. Above everything, he wants to respect her wishes.

If his mother notices that he is distracted, she is good enough not to say anything, though he does catch her gazing at him calculatingly a couple of times, and he has no doubt that she has put two and two together and reached four. She has always been very shrewd where Anna is concerned.

Once Christmas is over, New Year comes around in a flash. He had tried to persuade his mother to come to the Crawleys’ gathering too, but she had stood her ground.

“I’m far too old for any of that,” she’d complained. “All the noise would give me a headache, and I’m past the days where I enjoy a lot of company. Leave me here, son. I’ll be as happy as Larry with the TV and a book.”

John had made up his mind to stay with her too, but she was ferocious in her insistence that he go to his friend’s and have a good time.

“Do something for you, for once,” she’d told him. “I’ll still be here when you come home. You deserve to have some fun.”

And so that is where the hours leading up to the New Year find him, nursing a glass of water in the Crawleys’ huge house. If he is honest with himself, he would rather be at home with his mother. He has never been one for large crowds and lots of noise, and the surroundings make him feel rather claustrophobic. The music is too loud, the chatter grates on him, and apart from the Crawleys he doesn’t know anyone else. Under normal circumstances he could force himself to at least join in, but tonight, with so many things still unanswered, he does not feel like doing so. Likely Robert will accuse him of being unfriendly when it’s all over, but for the moment John can’t bring himself to care.

When the DJ invites the revellers onto the dancefloor for a lively rendition of Gangnam Style, John sees his opportunity to escape for a short while. He’d rather lose his right leg entirely than be forced to watch something quite so horrifying. A cigarette is the perfect excuse for him to get a breath of fresh air, and he waves the packet pointedly across the room at Robert when his friend raises a questioning eyebrow.

Outside, the air is deliciously fresh, and John inhales deeply, tipping his head back to contemplate the sky above him. Unfortunately the night is overcast, and he can’t see any stars winking through the thick black cloud. It’s a shame. He likes being beneath the sky like that. It makes him feel safer, less vulnerable. Which is odd, really, considering that he lost the full use of his right leg on the open battleground.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he fumbles in his pocket for his lighter and flares up, taking a deep drag and closing his eyes as the nicotine enters his bloodstream. There, that’s better. He leans against the wall and takes another drag. It’s nice, being out here in the quiet, far away from the other party-goers. At the moment he’s the only smoker out here, and he relishes the solitude—no doubt before long he’ll be joined by someone else and will be forced to make small talk over his fag.

He’s right: all too soon the door swings open again, and footsteps spill out onto the gravel. John closes his eyes, allowing himself to feel a stab of disappointment for a second before mustering a smile. He turns in the direction of the newcomer, ready to make a polite greeting—

The cigarette tumbles out of his mouth and hits the floor, where it continues to smoulder sadly.

“Whoops,” says Anna cheerfully.

Words will not come; he simply continues to stare, gaping like a goldfish. This can’t be real. He’s hallucinating. Dreaming. Anna is in America. She’s not due back until after the New Year, when they return to work. It’s not real. It can’t be.

If she isn’t, she’s doing a pretty good job of convincing him that she is. She comes to a rest at his side, folding her arms across her chest. She’s wrapped up in a thick winter coat that absolutely swamps her. It’s still one of the most attractive sights that John has ever seen. Her cheeks are rosy, from the wind or from the heat of the party he can’t say.

“What are you doing here?” he blurts. It comes across a little rude; he does his best to back-peddle. “I thought you were supposed to be in America until later this week.”

“I was,” she says, unfazed. “But I decided to catch an early plane back.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to spend the New Year here. I wanted to see you.”

The words linger between them, pointed and unashamed. John turns his gaze away from Anna’s. The way that she’s staring at him, with an intensity that he’s never known before, is disconcerting. It’s as if she’s staring right into his very soul, and just like that his insecurities come rushing back. She’s standing right there in front of him, looking all the more beautiful for having not clamped eyes on her for so long, and he feels so inferior by comparison. She could do so much better than him, and deserves to.

“I see,” he manages. “Well, did you have a nice Christmas?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“What?”

Anna gestures between them, defiance alive in her expression. “That. Brushing things away, pretending that we don’t have things to talk about. I’m done with that. We’ve done it for two years. Now is the time to iron things out once and for all.”

“I don’t understand what you mean—”

”Yes, you do. It’s time we talked about that kiss.”

He’s been trying to fight off the memory of that night from the moment she appeared behind him, but it’s irresistible; as he stares at her, half-terrified, it rises up in front of him like a phantom, consuming him. As he watches her mouth form words, he can still feel the soft weight of it upon his own. Tingling. Wrong.

Right.

“You know why I kissed you,” Anna begins without preamble. “I kissed you because I couldn’t stop myself from any longer.”

“And I told you why we shouldn’t,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. So many reasons, so many failures are back once more, acting as barriers to any happiness he might want to fight for, drowning him.

“And I told you that I don’t care about any of that,” she retorts, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “The past has no bearing on the present.”

“Of course it does—”

“Are you drinking yourself into oblivion every night? No. Are you still married to that harpy? No. Are you doing everything in your power to make yourself a better man? Yes. That’s what’s important, John. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not as calamitous as mine.”

Anna rolls her eyes, huffs, changes tack. “You kissed me back.”

The frankness of her words disarms him; he hadn’t expected her to simply state it as fact, with no shyness at all. He’s seen no-nonsense, unafraid Anna plenty of times before, but he hadn’t expected to see her here, in this situation.

Clearly he’s underestimated her again.

“That was…” he begins, unable to hold her unflinching gaze. “I didn’t—”

“You did it because you wanted to,” she overrides, blazing and beautiful. “It was instinct. It was your heart giving you away, John.”

And as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that she’s right. He’s always kept himself carefully restrained around her, contained and compartmentalised in all of the little boxes that he allows himself, personal and professional never allowed to intertwine. That line had blurred more and more the more time that they spent together, until it was impossible for him to keep his distance from her. But he had been determined to keep a lid on the feelings that had grown incrementally inside him, because he could not bear to make her uncomfortable or, worse, to ruin her life.

He’s failed on all counts.

“I know you feel the same way that I do,” Anna continues, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says now, hating himself for confirming her words but seeing no alternative.

“It matters more than anything,” she counters. “It’s time that you were honest with yourself, John. With both of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She juts her chin out in defiance, tilting her head back a little to look at him. She’s so short, but somehow the look in her eyes makes up for her small stature, and John finds himself taking a step backwards.

“You look me in the eyes now and tell me that you can live your life without me, and I’ll leave you now and we’ll never speak of this again,” she says. “We’ll carry on exactly as we are. You’ll still be my friend. I won’t resent you or treat you any differently than how I do now when I see you. But that’s as far as it will go. We’ll be friends. I won’t be able to spend all of my time with you like I currently do, because it would be painful for me. You know I have feelings for you, and it would be unfair of you to expect any different. Wounds won’t heal if you keep scratching them open. Do you understand?”

He understands completely, wonders if she’s alluding to more than just her own wounds. Has he not spent the last five years doing just that, preventing his own festering wounds from healing because he doesn’t think that he deserves it?

“Say it, John,” she says. “Say that you can live without me and I’ll drop this, I promise. If you can honestly say that you’ve been happy this week, then say it.”

And that’s the catch, he realises, the Kairos moment. Because that’s something that he could never, ever say, and he’s sure that she already knows that. He’s never known such misery as he has done this past week, living in a fog that hasn’t once lifted. He’s been living his whole life on a knife edge, desperate to know what she was thinking about the kiss, desperate to know that she’d felt what he had. Desperate to know if she had been thinking of his mouth as often as he had been thinking of hers, desperate to know if she had sat there with her finger hovering over the call button on her phone, too scared to call him and break this odd spell.

Desperate to know what he was to her.

He can’t live without her. He wants her in every aspect of his life. Wants her triumph, her disappointments. Her happiness, her tears. Wants her sharp wit and soft manner. Wants every inch of her with everything within him.

His silence speaks volumes.

Anna takes a determined step forward, her hand just shy of resting against his chest. Her blue eyes burn into him, a shade of sapphire he’s never seen before.

“Well?” she prompts.

The words are stuck in his throat. He cannot speak them.

Anna senses her victory, closes the distance between them, and rises up on her tiptoes so she can press her mouth to his. Before he can top himself he’s kissing her back, two weeks’ worth of confusion and anxiety manifesting itself in an explosion of desire. Her arms wind tightly around his neck, and she pushes her small frame up against his. He can feel every inch of her against him, is helpless to stop his arms from moving to her waist, pulling her even closer to him. He’s never needed anyone the way that he needs Anna, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures. Right now he can’t even bring himself to even try to disentangle the two emotions. They are a part of his DNA. For the first time in a long time, he allows his eyes to drift closed and simply enjoys the moment. Enjoys the intimacy of her mouth on his. Enjoys the softness of her fingers in his hair. Enjoys how small and strong she feels in his arms.

At length, Anna pulls away from him. It hurts to lose contact with her mouth, but John forces himself to open his eyes again, finding Anna’s right below him as she juts her chin up towards him. There’s a smile on her face, pleased and triumphant. She runs her tongue over her lips, and he feels something deep and primal tug at his insides. He clears his throat.

“See?” she says, oblivious. “Isn’t this so much better than fighting?”

“I can’t deny that,” he acknowledges weakly; to lie to her would be to insult her. “But that doesn’t mean that this is right, Anna. I would hate to bring you down or ruin your life.”

“The only ruin I recognise is to be without you,” she says, with such surety that it makes his heart contract. “Please, John, don’t make us both unhappy.”

He doesn’t want to see her pale, drawn, miserable.

He doesn’t want to see her flourishing again one day, all because of another man.

Selfish or not, this is the chance he has spent the last two years longing for. If he doesn’t take it now, he knows that he will never get another one, and he will have to live the rest of his life knowing that he wasn’t brave enough to take the opportunity when it came.

Anna is brave enough to take that chance.

He owes her the same bravery in return.

“I never want to make you unhappy, Anna,” he says. “I care about you too much. I just want what’s best for you.”

“Then accept that you’re what’s best for me,” she says. “Accept that I know what I’m doing and what I’m getting into. Accept that I don’t care about your past, just what the future might hold. Accept that you’re the right man for me.”

It’s time to stand up and be counted. He might not agree with her sentiment that he’s the right man for her, but he knows that to deny it for any longer is foolish and causing them more hurt than they need.

“I do,” he says at last, and the tide floods against them, rushing in, sweeping him away in a tidal wave of relief.  “I love you, Anna.”

Anna’s smile is enough to light up the whole world, and she launches herself into his arms with a laugh, almost winding him as they stagger back a few paces. He feels tears on his face—her tears of happiness—as she kisses him hard, squeezing him so tight that he very nearly forgets what it is to breathe. He doesn’t care. He simply holds her just as tightly in return and matches her kiss for kiss. This time, there are no interruptions, and by the time that the fireworks go off overhead with the distant oohs and ahhs of the crowd out front, he is lightheaded with joy. Anna pulls away from him, pressing her cheek against his chest, her smile so wide that it must physically hurt her face. He leans down and brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and she sighs, leaning further into his touch.

“I love you,” she whispers, and he only just realises that it’s the first time he’s heard her say the words too. He holds on to her that little bit tighter, his heart swelling. “Happy New Year.”

There will be many, many more to come.

-- --

Two Days Later

On the second of January, they walk into work together hand-in-hand, heads held high. John’s heart is pounding but having Anna by his side, matching him step for step, is all the reassurance he needs. Almost as soon as they walk in through the doors all eyes are upon them, and the whispers ripple through the room like a soft breeze as they pass on through. This time, John can’t bring himself to care. Let people say what they want. Anna’s opinion is the only one that matters; the rumour mill is nothing compared to the truth they hold so dear in their hearts. It might take a little while for people to come to see that, but he knows that one day they will. The truth will out, after all.

And this is the truth of the matter: he is in love with Anna May Smith. She is in love with him. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

He pauses in the doorway as the thought strikes him. Anna halts beside him, a little frown creasing her face. She squeezes his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs.

“Nothing,” he tells her, then raises his voice, moves his gaze around the room and meets each and every person unmovingly. “I’m in love with Anna.”

Anna’s intake of breath is sharp; clearly she had not been expecting him to make such a bold declaration. He’s taken himself by surprise, too. But it had to be said. He’s spent too long skulking in the shadows. He’s spent too long letting other people speak for him and create their own stories about him, sordid or otherwise. It’s time to take his destiny into his own hands. It’s time to stand up and be counted.

“I’m in love with John,” Anna adds cheerfully, her whole face alight. “We’ll take any questions you have later.”

Giggling, she tugs him after her, and he goes with a grin of his own, excited for what the future holds.

-- --

A/N: The prompt this was inspired by was:

What am I to you?

#John Bates #Anna Bates #Anna x Bates #Banna #Downton Abbey #my fanfiction #AnnaxBates #Anna/Bates #Team Bates #OTP: thank God and you

[ortheaux]

today i wanted to try and have a go at talking about my experience with PTSD based sensory overload.

i think it can be a source of kind of intense shame and embarrassment interpersonally for me because of the way it manifests, and i feel like we could all benefit from people understanding it as much as we benefit from being active in employing techniques and tricks in order to manage it inwardly too. 

i think with ptsd, sensory overload is quite closely linked with the hypervigilance side of things for me, and the fact that i’m actively aware of what feels like every tiny little thing around me because of a really heightened danger response all the time. it fluctuates, but i find that even in intimate social settings, it’s safe to say that my mind is often running at a million miles an hour and i have a lot of trouble navigating these situations(and more open, big ones ofc!), often having to try to self-soothe on the go! 

now usually people that know me well are thankfully really gentle with me and understanding about the fact that i’m quite jittery just as a person, i have issues maintaining eye contact and i often feel like i look quite tense but i think it can shock people that meet me initially, especially during times when it spikes and having a physical disability doesn’t help, because things like pain spikes and temperature sensitivity can make me even more aware of my environment and adds to me feeling uncomfortable in situations where everyone else is a-ok!

where your body is fine tuning your senses to respond to the ‘danger’, your body expends energy to tuning you into sounds, objects smells and images etc that are and would otherwise be completely lost in the background to other people and their brains help them maintain that behind the scenes. because of this, it feels like being able to hear a bit too much, see every movement in the corner of your eye and have a bit of a messy and nerve-wracking experience with both your background and your foreground happening in your immediate view at all times and then some. even just one example - imagine if you were also then aware of the complete existence, position and proximity of every object in the room you were in at all times? you know how that sort of thing just fades out and becomes a background thing? not with an SO/HV combo! then there are lights, sounds, movements, temperature changes that aren’t fading into the background either - it feels offensive and loud all at once, and that’s without incorporating other people into it - facial expressions and twitches, small nuances and movements and your brain/nervous system constantly trying to threat analyse everyone you come into contact with as well as ‘decode their tones’ despite your conscious brain being fully present and aware that they’re actually pretty great and not a threat - it’s all pretty intense and it can make me clam up periodically when socialising, make me sort of non-verbal whilst i’m calming down and trying to focus and obviously causes spikes of intense anxiety and irritability, and it often feels like trying to balance a see-saw or a stack of books on my head in my mind and display as little obvious discomfort as possible at the same time. the truth is, i’m often a bit uncomfortable! i find though, that i’m much happier when i push through the discomfort and focus on balancing as much as i can, because my reward is being present for my loved ones, interacting with them and connecting with them, as opposed to giving in to my symptoms and that discomfort entirely every time and refusing to come out or leaving situations entirely, even lashing out and snapping all the time instead of pausing to stabilise/acclimatise, instead maybe going to calm down somewhere quiet for a moment to equalise myself, practising grounding and coming back and trying again, reaching out and ignoring my danger response when i can recognise it to be irrational, making efforts to push through when i can or trying to say, ‘bear with me a moment’.

as i get older, with the help of therapy and life experience, i’m learning to manage better and better, but i find that in the meantime, i can experience some personal feelings of shame attached to slip-ups and poor management, because slip-ups often manifest outwardly for me as either intense twitchiness/jitters, or some irritability which i find really embarrassing. i usually feel irritable on days where i’m having quite intense sensory overload/hypervigilance and am having trouble managing or balancing all the input i’m receiving and tbh, i would rather it were only experienced inwardly rather than outwardly in any way. nobody around me is at fault, and they aren’t bad for like existing as a normal human, you know? but it’s quite an overwhelming feeling and oftentimes it’s not what they’re doing it’s the cumulative effect of being so painfully aware of the WHOLE environment that can just be so much for me, as it’s such a huge just... edge, to everything if that makes any sense? often, people use substances to take that edge off sometimes but recently i stopped drinking entirely, so i’m really playing it by ear and starting from scratch to employ self-soothing techniques for calming down in a healthy way - so when i don’t manage to pull it off the way i’d like sometimes, it can feel a lot like a failure which makes me pretty sad. but i do have faith in things getting easier, and i’m starting to feel more confident in these newer techniques!

an anecdotal example that’s pretty weird is the fact that usually when i first arrive somewhere, i can come across a bit like, stiff? i usually need some time to acclimatise to the environment change no matter how many times i’ve visited the area, all of the sounds and smells, the lights, the temperaments and the crowds etc and if i’m not able to do this in peace i can feel quite agitated - but on the other hand, imagine inviting someone over or taking someone out to a new restaurant, and when they arrive they’re really quiet and still, giving you sort of short verbal responses and looking really tense? wouldn’t you think that you’d possibly done something wrong, or made a mistake by inviting them at that time? anybody reasonably might think those things even if they’d known the person for a long time! the worst part is, other than that i have quite an even temperament so it can be kind of a stark contrast and i’m betting confusing. these days i work on doing that a lot quicker and taking pauses so that it’s less obvious but sometimes the room is busy or there are other factors and it can take me longer to sort everything out in my mind, so stiff-belle can come out for a while and that can make me come off as maybe unfriendly and that always feels pretty bad. this is what i mean when i say that it’s often hard to find the balance between making myself less uncomfortable, and trying to make others comfortable and it’s really a journey figuring out where that balance lies! i have always hoped that i could someday find a way to explain it so that whilst i’m working through it, i could express that ‘hey, i don’t hate you i just have ptsd, please just bear with me a moment!’ and not also feel really guilty for asking people around me to make allowances for me because of my own personal battles.

anyway, the thing that made me want to talk about this more today was the fact that i had a little experience with this the other day with my partner, and it wasn’t catastrophic or anything and we had a great day! it’s just, i noticed it and it got me thinking, because things are really great with us at the moment and i really want to be actively watching myself and how i react to things, and when i evaluate it, i’m a little disappointed in the way i managed things and think i could have done a little better. so, i talked briefly about our date night last weekend, and how i got really chilly and tired but i didn’t really go into the mechanics of what else contributed to the grumps lol. i’m hoping that anyone coming across my PTSD tags especially having physical health conditions with their PTSD, even one person might know that 1. this stuff totally does happen and the co-morbidity can be tough sometimes. it’s okay to feel like trying to juggle both stuff freaking sucks. if you’re anything like me and get that guilty feeling, like you can only mention one at a time - it’s okay. i try to tell myself too - it’s okay to say that the combo is tough, they both tie together quite inconveniently sometimes!! 2. your closest interpersonal relationships are not exempt! it just takes a lot of pivoting and self-awareness and you’ll both be fine - but hiccups? they happen and as long as you’re motivated to work together to create a good environment for the both of you, it’s okay that there are speed bumps. try to learn from them!!

so, anyway at the time we had to keep changing locations, so already my brain was giving me internal groans but i thought, whatever it’s fine brain ssh! between locations, it was unexpectedly REALLY cold and it started to affect my spine and joints, and after we got dinner we couldn’t seem to really escape it until the show so i was kind of trying to get used to all the scene changes and danger-point shifts, as well as stay ‘cute’ and maneouvre around building joint pain with building intensity in terms of my body and its reaction to the environment. then when we got to the venue we were a little early, and we had to do a couple flights of stairs and then go into a room with the air-conditioner on for an hour which, i’ve gotta be honest, sucked!! it was colder than outside, why was it on lmao?! then whilst we were up there it was fluorescent, (pretty, but) dark and a little group of drunk people were kind of coming in and moving around behind me and i couldn’t openly assess them every time they came near me because it would have made me seem really shifty and weird so i had to like, pretend that them moving around behind me was totally fine when it was kind of making my stomach do flips every time they disappeared out of view and i could hear them giggling, dancing(for me, that was just unidentified movement. eek!) and talking and i couldn’t danger-check! at the same time as my muscles are all now tense, my eyes are straining not to check and i’m attempting to look busy/more absent to kind of emulate what i wanted to feel, i’m FREEZING and i can feel the cold penetrating my bones and my back is like... not having it and by now my s/o’s like peering at me but knowing fuss isn’t what i need, and all the factors were like... a lot! so obviously with all this going on i’m like getting agitated and feeling kind of trapped but it wasn’t like a day ruiner, it was like something i had to try to balance and endure so that we could move to the next portion of the day but then when it was time to go down for the show, i had to take my pained body and try to handle the stairs, and then when we got in there, i had to do my pause thing and acclimatise to another new environment so i was still and quiet for at least 15 minutes and for me to reassure people i’m with adequately enough, i’d have to explain ALL of this i’ve written out every time, so obviously i don’t but i also feel rly guilty for the way i equalise y’know? but once i was calm, had danger assessed and everyone had taken their seats for the show, and i’d had a cheeky look around at everyone that was around me and all the exits, i relaxed and was comfortably out of the previous situation enough as well as stabilised enough to let my partner know like, ‘hey i’m hurting a bit but i’m okay’ and then i just played with the hair on the back of his head and we just scootched up together, watched the show and were that sickening couple in pubic like we often are at our best lol!

the point is like, navigating this stuff is like such a process, and there are some feelings attached to it that i’m trying to work out and work through, but at the very least i’m more aware of my processes and my experience than i’ve ever been and i remember a time where i would totally just shut down, become completely non-verbal, be actually interpersonally destructive and blow up/get ratty, not really understanding what sensory overload or hypervigilance was whilst i experienced it and just feeling so overwhelmed, scared, angry and confused and just really lashing out without apology, in a world before diagnosis and in a world raw from long-term trauma. but today, i wanted to share a part of my experience with sensory overload and the ways i move through and experience it, because it feels so different from before and i might still feel guilty and embarrassed but i’m also feeling hopeful, and excited for change and not furious, disgruntled, or only shameful for the ways i’ve tripped up. this is mostly due to having such a patient an supportive support system and what i hope is my own lil’ dedication to change too, and no matter what stage of your journey you’re in, i genuinely believe that with the right people around you and a passion for learning your tools, and your drive to survive, we are all going to be able to get there. i hope my lame anecdotes are helpful to anyone that comes to browse my PTSD tag or peeks at my journey, and that you understand what i’m trying to put into words!! the rewards and the connections are well worth the fight and the journey to balance and reclaiming your life from anger and fear, and i’m thankful of those around me willing to tolerate me as i figure it out!

#personal #this is for my ptsd tag don't worry if it doesn't interest you much!! #just felt like sitting down and having a talk about this through my own life #annasequilibrium #ptsd recovery #ptsd journey #cptsd #sensory overload #ptsd sensory overload #hypervigilance #hypersensitivity #ptsd #actuallyptsd #actuallydisabled #actuallytraumatized #anxiety #cpunk #neurodivergent #physical disability #spoonie

[ladystylestores]

‘Love and dignity’: Inside the UK’s special needs schools | Coronavirus pandemic

London, the United Kingdom – Twenty-nine-year-old Angela* had not had more than an hour’s sleep in two days when she heard a knock on her front door. Opening it, she was surprised to find a large parcel.

“I haven’t ordered anything,” she told the deliveryman, who stood at a distance with his mask and gloves on.

“It’s from your son’s school,” he responded.

Inside the parcel was an assortment of fresh and nonperishable food: pasta, lentils, chili con carne and long-life milk.

“I started crying,” she recounts over a video call. “I just felt so touched, because I had been worrying for the last week. We were running out of food … It made me feel for the first time in a while that I’m not invisible.”

‘They don’t understand’

Angela’s son, Shane*, is a pupil at Watergate, a primary school in the south London borough of Lewisham, for children between the ages of three and 11 who have severe learning difficulties.

Though he is rambunctious and good-humoured, six-year-old Shane needs constant support. Born prematurely, he has cerebral palsy and epilepsy, and is registered blind. He has also had a cerebral shunt inserted, which helps to prevent an excess buildup of pressure and fluid in his brain.

Shane does not adhere to normal sleep patterns and requires assistance with basic activities, from lifting his head to eating. Angela must be with him at all times in the absence of a carer or physiotherapist – an often relentless task that means she goes without sleep for nights on end.

A single mother, Angela gave up her job as a hairdresser to look after Shane. She receives no support from her family, and has almost depleted her savings on assistive technology and other essentials for Shane.

“I used to be able to see my friends, but we’ve fallen out of touch because they don’t understand Shane or our situation,” she explains.

Shane* during a physiotherapy session [Photo courtesy of Shane’s mother Angela*]

Anxiety

During the nationwide lockdown that started on March 24, 1.28 million children with special needs have had to confront unprecedented challenges in their daily routines. Their families and schools are under immense pressure to create and adopt new practices to ensure they can continue learning from home.

Anna Somerset is a fundraiser for Watergate and Brent Knoll, another school in Lewisham with which Watergate has a partnership in the form of a grassroots, parent-led trust and charity.

“Even in the best of times, a lot of these children are extra sensitive and suffer from anxiety,” she explains.

Routine, she emphasises, is absolutely crucial to their psychological growth. When that is taken away, the ramifications can be damaging.

Furthermore, time at school often presents the only opportunity for special needs children to mingle with their peers in a safe environment.

‘Real love’

Watergate’s curriculum is tailored to the needs of each child. Prior to the pandemic, Shane’s hydrotherapy classes, as well as lessons designed to boost his sensory engagement, had helped to improve his condition. More importantly, Angela explains, “School gives him the structure that he needs.”

She is worried that when he is finally able to return, he will be disoriented and fearful of socialising again, regressing to behaviour that he exhibited when he was first enrolled.

Currently, the Department for Education has issued guidance that educational facilities should be kept open for vulnerable children, as well as those whose parents or carers are key workers. Watergate remains open for a limited number of students who are safer in school than at home. A similar arrangement is in place at Brent Knoll.

Angela says that prior to the pandemic, attending Watergate had helped to improve Shane’s condition [Photo courtesy of Angela]

Following a discussion with the school, Angela decided that it was better for Shane to stay at home. Every two days, his teacher calls to check on them both.

Prior to the coronavirus crisis, Angela was able to go grocery shopping alone during Shane’s school hours. Now, she cannot leave his side, nor can she take him with her to the supermarket. Venturing outdoors could be lethal for Shane if he catches the virus, since he is immunocompromised and has a weak respiratory system.

“What makes them [Watergate] so amazing,” Angela says, “is that they don’t just care about Shane. There’s a real love for the families too. I don’t know how they knew we needed food – I never even asked.”

A formidable task

Lewisham, where the Brent Knoll and Watergate schools are located, is a culturally diverse borough with pockets of green spaces. But it is also afflicted by a variety of socioeconomic problems. Thirty-seven percent of children in the borough live in poverty, above the national average of 33.6 percent.

Income inequality cuts a jagged path through Lewisham: while there are affluent neighbourhoods clustered around the east of the borough, 63 of its communities are among the country’s most deprived.

Now, even more than before, special needs schools are having to step in to help their students’ families through difficult times.

Fiona Veitch, 57, has been head teacher at Watergate since last September. Exuding warmth, patience and humour, she says that as the pandemic rages on, “everything you know flies out of the window, and a new world unfolds in front of you.”

A student at Watergate dresses up as a superhero during holiday club [Photo courtesy of Julieta Nolde]

Watergate has approximately 100 staff members – teachers, therapists, nursery nurses. However, since the lockdown was imposed, only a core team of 25 is present at school at any time, in order to reduce the risk of transmission.

Her team, Veitch notes, “is often as frightened as the parents”, especially if they or their families have underlying medical conditions that put them in the high-risk category.

She believes her primary task is to understand and respond to the anxieties of both the children’s families and her staff, lift their spirits, and maintain remote learning where possible. That last task is formidable, since every child at Watergate learns differently, and resources may have to be adapted to each of the 130 pupils.

Lately, Veitch has begun staying in a budget hotel during the week, along with other key workers like healthcare staff, to reduce the amount of time she spends commuting and to ensure that she has more time for her staff and the children.

This entails being away from her family, but, she explains, “it’s important for me to be in school every day, because it is reassuring … and makes people feel more confident in an uncertain time like this”.

Public shaming

A typical workday for Veitch is now even busier than before. It starts with discussions with other special needs schools about how to acquire protective equipment for staff, organising deliveries to families that are experiencing food shortages, and carrying out individual risk assessments for every child to work out which ones are likely to be safer at school.

“For some of them, their families are so stressed and so vulnerable that it’s a relief to their parents if they are able to send their children in.”

Buying groceries and other necessities can be daunting for parents of special needs children, especially those who are already on the breadline or have lost their zero hours contracts, she explains.

“If you’re a single parent and all three [of your children] have high-level special needs, the pressure you’re facing is just so great at the moment.”

She adds that at last count, 44 percent of pupils at Watergate were from low-income families, and already eligible for free school meals from the state. But with the spike in unemployment, she estimates that this figure will have increased.

Bespoke play facilities are used by children at Brent Knoll during holiday club [Photo courtesy of Emily Ward]

There is also significant emotional strain associated with bringing a special needs child to the supermarket while social distancing is being observed. 

“In the case of autistic children, they can’t understand what is happening, why they need to stand in line, or keep a safe distance from someone else. They really need sameness, and when they don’t get it, it’s very overwhelming … even intolerable for them,” she explains.

She cites examples of how parents have been shamed and admonished in public for not “disciplining” their children. The fear of judgment is enough to keep these parents at home.

When panic buying took place across the UK pre-lockdown, Veitch was inundated with fretful calls from parents who said they were unable to get nappies and other necessities for their children with severe physical needs. With waiting times of up to three weeks, online deliveries were not an option. The school stepped in, arranging for local supermarkets to “save some of these supplies at their customer service desks” so families could access them.

‘We try to act like a community’

Ruth Elliot, who is Chair of Governors at Watergate and helps to oversee management of the school’s activities, has been involved in special needs education since November 2003. Her late daughter was profoundly disabled and had been a pupil at the school.

“I was very, very grateful for the support I had received [from Watergate] before she died,” she recalls.

“When you’ve been immersed in that world for so long, you can’t just pretend it never existed. So I just stayed on … in different capacities over the years.”

Along with 10 volunteers, other parents and school staff, Elliot helped to source food from a Lewisham-based charity called FareShare. This was then packaged into 130 different parcels and sent to vulnerable families with children at Brent Knoll and Watergate, as part of a COVID-19 relief initiative. Angela and Shane were just two of the beneficiaries.

Before FareShare partnered with the school, Elliot says that Veitch and other teachers had even pooled their own money to buy food for families in need. When asked about this, Veitch only says, “Everybody’s going through a hard time now … we try to act like a community, and hope that it’s enough.”

‘Dignity and respect’

Aside from helping families cope with some of their basic needs during the lockdown, both schools have had to devise creative ways to sustain the children’s learning.

Seven-year-old Lily Deitz attends Brent Knoll. She is a happy child who, according to her mother Laura, “loves being outside, jumping on trampolines and swimming”.

Lily also has autism and dislikes being interactive with other people. She is tactile and prefers sensory-seeking activities, such as washing her hands.

Lily and her parents David and Laura [Photo courtesy of Laura Deitz]

The Deitzes chose Brent Knoll for their daughter as it was the only school they felt was entirely committed to “being excellent… and ensuring that every single child in their care can reach their best potential”.

As the Deitzes have chosen to keep Lily at home, Brent Knoll has been sending them both electronic and hard-copy learning resources so that Lily’s education is not disrupted. Being familiar with how Lily learns at school, her teachers have dispatched a visual schedule to Laura. This guides her through the different pedagogic exercises for Lily to work through, including resources for a picture exchange communication system (PECS), which teaches children with autism to communicate using images.

The day starts when Laura, Lily and her two younger siblings sit down for “morning circle time”. They watch a video of Lily’s teacher, which encourages her to sing along to a tune that she ordinarily listens to every morning at school.

Under Laura’s supervision, Lily then alternates between a range of learning activities made accessible by the school over the course of the day. They include multisensory maths training, and online videos that are aimed at improving her linguistic and cognitive skills.

“Over the last few weeks, I’ve had some of the most meaningful interactions with Lily that I have ever had in my life,” Laura reflects.

Lily’s teacher checks in on the Deitzes every few days. Laura places weight on the fact that this show of care is not unexpected, and remembers being particularly moved on Lily’s first day at Brent Knoll: “The teachers knew not just her name, but also mine.” The school goes out of its way to extend “love not just to Lily, but also our entire family … they’ve always treated us with dignity and respect.”

‘There are days … I just cry’

Brent Knoll’s head teacher, Andy Taylor, has been exploring ways to offer parents remote access to counselors who can provide them with regular advice on how to support their children’s learning. But many of the bespoke learning resources that Brent Knoll has created are uploaded online, and he is worried about families who are unable to access the internet at home.

“There are quite a few of them,” he says, “and we send them exercises for their children by post.”

Emily Ward, 32, is a learning support assistant for Lily’s class, and says she misses seeing her at school.

Lily Deitz and her siblings painting together in lockdown [Photo courtesy of Laura Deitz]

Ward helped to run a holiday club for the school over the fortnight-long Easter holidays, which was attended by an average of eight children each day. For these children, the club is not simply a fun break from lockdown – it comprises sensory play, guided artwork and an opportunity for children with learning difficulties to get enough social interaction and physical exercise in a fit-for-purpose space. This is critical because for children in wheelchairs and those who have to be tube fed, it can be hard to play in conventional settings. 

Ward confesses that being an educator for special needs children is frequently trying. “I love my job so much,” she says, “but the pay makes it really difficult to live in London and have … any sort of lifestyle.

“I feel a bit like a mental health nurse. I’ve had children who kick and punch me, and I have to deal with that in a calm and managed way. There are days when I come home covered in bruises and I just cry. But then I tell myself that I’m doing something that’s worthwhile, and that the next day will be different. And sometimes it isn’t, but when I do make a breakthrough, I feel so happy.”

A sense of solidarity

One of the most commonly expressed frustrations within the special needs community is that government support for schools is gravely lacking.

Last year, a report by the think-tank IPPR North revealed that funding for special needs pupils in England had been slashed by 15 percent since 2015.

In 2018, the National Association of Head Teachers (NAHT) carried out a survey of 637 schools accepting children with special needs. Eighty-three percent of its respondents stated that they had not received any funding from health and social care budgets to support pupils who had been issued an EHC plan – a legal document detailing a young person’s special educational, health and social care needs.

Though there was a boost to school funding in late 2019, the spectre of austerity cuts dating back to 2010 continues to loom over special needs schools, and is likely to persist after the coronavirus crisis.

Another mounting problem is that of the parents’ mental health: whereas school gave them a few hours of respite each day when their children were not at home, now they have to care for them round the clock.

“For some parents,” Veitch says, “they get zero sleep.”

What is clear is that COVID-19 has cemented a sense of solidarity between the schools and families of special needs children. “I’m on different WhatsApp groups with parents at Lily’s school,” says Laura. “Knowing that you are understood, without having to explain yourself … is a very comforting thing.”

Veitch shies away from taking any credit for her work, and feels it is the least she can do. “Many [of our families] face being ostracised … by society in general. The current situation only serves to magnify that sense of difference and isolation, which is why it is so important that we are there for them in any way we possibly can be,” she says, adding: “We are not doing anything better than many other schools, both mainstream and special … and like them we do it with a real sense of connection and commitment to our children and their families.”

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[c-rankin93]

Uncle Archie Knows Best

A/N: so me being the anti-social person i am, decided to troll Tumblr. When i came across THIS lovely post about MMFD prompts, and i haven't done a prompt for many moons.. soo.. i wrote this in about an hour, because of my 'shes no you' multi chapter creation. so hope you like it even if its just thrown together and i though id just add the tag list to my other Fic.

Runs and Hides now... Because i dont even know where this came from!

Archibald at your service...

Now let me tell you a story, a fickle little shrine to two people I love dearly. A story so pleasantly surprising you'll be wondering 'what happens next?' You've seen Rae's point of view, and maybe even Finn's, but have you viewed it from the outside looking in?

I can read Finn better then a poem written by Shakespeare himself, and Rae let's just say hostility and regret can never be covered by a sarcastic joke. Her facial expression tell a story of their own, I just so happen to be a fantastic Explorer. Summer of '96, currently 3 days, 7 hours and 19 minutes ago was the last time I had seen or heard from either Rae or Finn. Which was incredibly odd because I ALWAYS get the one moody phone call from Rae everyday, telling me to get my arse moving and to meet her at the pub. Oblivious to the time she's calling, which would be tethering on lunchtime. And I, being the early riser I am would already be wide awake and on my 3rd cup of peppermint tea. Finn on the other hand would just levitate around, half the time fading into the background by the jukebox until it was time to see Olivia. Olivia, Finn's new prized possession. The 24 year old business women that seemingly found a newly fresh 17 year old attractive enough to date. And if Finn's docile smiles have any indications, he really didn't know what she saw either. That stupid boy jumped head first into a pile of his own shit, when he got involve with Olivia. I know why he did it though, Rae hurt him that night she broke up with him. He wasn't stupid, he had heard the rumours about Liam and Rae. The kiss. The fight. He wasn't even keen to go on the date in the first place, but he walked outta the pizza place with a new girlfriend. Coincidence? Yeah, your probably right. So what happens when Uncle Archie knocks some sense into a dim witted Finn Nelson? Nothing. You know why? Because they hadn't contacted me in 3 days! No 'thank yous' or 'Fuck yous', just a whole lot of silence. My mind maybe a little fuzzy, my alcohol ingestion that night was more then I'm willing to disclose. But I do remember what I said to Finn outside the pub after Rae made a dramatic, but also quite hilarious exit... (Fades off into a memory. Woooohooo *spooky fingers*) "Finn, a word. Outside?" My eyes gravite towards the gang; who are still wondering 'what just happened?' Before they land on the boy in question. He too looked a little put out, but agreed to talk. Finn kissed Olivia's cheek quickly, then trailed after me into the bellow freezing temperatures of a summers night in Stamford. We huddled close together around the side of the pub, away from prying ears. He kept looking around, trying to see what direction Rae sprinted off to and when he saw her fading figure he frowned. "What the bloody hell were you thinking Finn!" I pointed an accusing finger at him and shoved it into his chest multiple times. "Wot?" He replied, defending himself from my unslaught. "What do you think your doing bring Olivia to the pub? Especially when you know Rae will be there!" This boy was smarter then he looked. He knew exactly what he had done tonight, he brang Olivia to show everyone he had moved on. He just had no idea that was the topic I chose to broach with him tonight, we'll until now. "I didn't do anythin' wrong Arch. Liv wanted to meet you all tonight, especially 'Cause she knew Rae was there. She wanted to get to know everyone." I swear gay men are the only smart creatures on this planet. "You twat! She was sizing up the completion! 'Oh Rae how lovely to meet you, Finn talks soo much about you'" I spoke with a girly accent. It wasn't my finest work, but at least I got my point across.   "And what's with all this cheesy nickname shit. Bug? Really Finn! When you guys chose pet names, were you laying in bed cuddling too?" "Hold up Arch! Remember Rae left me! Not the other way around. She has to use to me datin' other girls-" "Woman" I interrupted. "Girls-women whateva! I had to deal with it, so does she." I shook my head at the stupid boy I decided to call my best friend. "Do you not listen to the stories that get spread around school" I asked honestly. After socialising in the same circle as Macca and Simmy for a few weeks, I had grown a custom to the foul things they talked about involving the other students. And to my regret, Rae had been a topic well and truly covered. "What are you talking about? You know I can't stand college" Finn stressed running a hand through his hair. I caught him look in the direction Rae headed, but unfortunately her figure had disappeared by now. "After your little disabled toilets stun, you two became quite famous. I'm surprised you didn't hear about your little escapade floating in the wind." "You know nothin' happened. We talked, and I kissed her. And it shouldn't matter what happened in there anyway! It's nobody else's business." Sighing, I thought of a different way to broach the subject. "Finn its a place full of teens, gossip is their only form of communication. We are a nasty breed of people, that will twist and turn the truth until it's a plausible story. It doesn't matter what really happened. All they know is you and Rae locked yourselves in the toilet, alone, together. They have an imagination. Everyone thinks you two had fucked." Finn scoffed acting like it was the stupidest thing he has ever heard. Then it clicked. The clogs in this brain meshed together in harmony, he finally got what I was trying to say. "What are they saying about Rae?" "Do you want the truth? Or would you like me to sugar coat it?" I asked honestly. It didn't matter how and what I said, I know Finn was going to be mad once he finds out. "Truth." "They are saying along the lines of... Rae is a fat minging bird that you felt sorry for so you decided to give her a sympathy fuck..." "And she's heard this?" I nodded. "What about you and the rest of the gang? Have you heard this?" I regretfully nodded again. "Why hasn't anyone told me this shit! Why haven't you done anything about it Archie!" I bowed my head in shame. Here I am berating Finn about what he's doing to Rae when I too was only hurting her as well. "I honestly thought you knew and shrugged off the silly rumour like you normally do, I mean when you heard about Rae and Liam you laughed. And I know I should of done something Finn. I'm just trying to fit in at the moment, and I fucked up! We all fucked up" I sighed. "So she believe what people where saying about her then? That's why she broke up with me? Not because she didn't want to be with me but because she doesn't think she's worthy of me." "I don't know Finn" I shrugged. "She had a mental break down not that long ago. Anything could be going through her mind right now." Finn patted his jacket pocket, checking for his wallet and what not before looking back at me with a sad smile attached to his face. "I have to go talk to her before she gets to the pigeon race." I snorted. "Really Finn?" "Look just tell the others I had to run off, I-ugh-I had toooo..." "Go to a pigeon race?" I laughed. "Yeah whatever. Just tell Olivia I'll call her tomorrow" he shouted the last part as he darted across the road. He ran down the road leading to Rae's house. I hoped I had done the right thing. "CALL ME!" I shouted, but Finn had already faded into the black. "Well what to do now?" I mumbled to myself staring at the pub doors. I didn't particular want to venture back into that domain, especially without Finn in tow. Eh. I think chop will be quite alright with the ladies tonight. I started walking towards my car. I think it was time for a peppermint tea. (And.. CUT!) But he never called me.. He never picked up the phone, his dad being away on a work trip didn't help. Even Linda didn't spill the beans, she just said she was out. So you see my glorious friends, here is my little story about how Uncle Archie either saved the day or got himself into a load of shit. Time will tell to establish the ending of this story. All I know for one, is it won't be ending with someone jumping on a train to Bristol. I'll shut that shit down quick smart. So until then I will bid you farwell- *Ringing* "Holy fuck" I mumbled wiping the drool sliding down my chin. The ringing continued to blare through the room as I picked my head up from the desk I fell asleep at. I rubbed my forehead and groaned before reaching over my lamp to grab the phone. "Ello?" I croaked, sleep still evident in my voice. "Archie?" I bolted up right as soon as I heard Finn's voice, which caused me to fall backwards off the chair. I laid there a few seconds before dragging the receiver to my ear and taking the base with it causing it to land on my leg. Fuck. "Yeah?" "Did you just- never mind. What's going on?" "What's going on? WHAT'S GOING ON? Three fucking days Finn! No contact from you, nothing" I sat up straight. "What happened?" "Uh well I broke up with Olivia" Finn said warily. I snorted. "Don't give a toss about that! What happened with Rae did you find her?" "Yeah I found her." "And?" I stressed. I'd start going grey soon if Finn kept talking in riddles. "Here I am stressing. Having waky ass dreams about me narrating a story about you two and all your giving me is a short answer. I need information Finn Nelson!" "Are you alright Arch? You seem a bit strange this evening" Finn had the audacity to laugh. "Finn!" "Ohkay. Ohkay. We talk, no details. And we sorted stuff out. Starting fresh. We're going to try again." I smiled. Whatever Finn said actually worked. Honestly I thought the twat would fumble over his words, but he actually did it. I was like a proud father. "Ohkay that's good" I played it cool but inside I was jumping up and down like a school girl. "Are you Bellends coming to the pub anytime soon to socialise? Or are you two not quite ready to come out of your bubble?" "Nah we'll see ya tonight. Catch." "See you then." The line went dead and I sagged back onto the ground. Oh it was glorious being Uncle Archie. Being wise beyond my years, with a dramatic  group of friends that helped expand my growing ego. I could sell my story and become a millionaire one day.

*dramatized exit*

@lily-pop-2 @eveerez @i-dream-of-emus @hey1tskat1e @arathewallflower @mmfdfanfic @luly310 @l88cym @tinakegg @milllott @milymargot @lurkernolonger

#mmfdfanfic #ilovemmfd #my mad fat diary #my mad fat fandom #my mad fat diary fic #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #archie

[christinthechronicallyill]

Letters of the Chronically Ill

To the friends of the ill

You’re important to me.

I live for the hours where I am with you, laughing about all the crazy adventures you have been on that week and for the moments where we talk about all things of your heart and what makes it come alive and thrive. I love hearing about the awkward party that you went to, the time your mum sucked the cats tail up the hoover and when you slipped down the hill on the way to college and ended up with a long brown skid mark. Tell me about how you walked for miles with your dog, how your partied into the early hours of the morning and how you had to wake up at 5:30 to catch a train to London for the day. I love hearing about your outings and gatherings with people- because I know that you are happy and enjoying life and that is all I want for you. To be happy, to know you’re loved and that you are going to be great. I will tell you all that is interesting in my life, so I’ll probably talk about my dog and her weird and wonderful tendencies, my brilliant reenactment of an elderly lady on a daily basis (pill popping and all) and how I am still heroically making it to most of my classes and the awkward moments when they ask how I’m doing and where my class work is (fairly sure my dog ate it?) Please don’t feel guilty when you are full of stories and I don’t have as many, I love to listen and when I do have stories, they are all the more precious to me because they are less. I also ask that you remember that I am still always here for you in whatever situation good or bad. I may not be able to physically be around but I am always a text or a phone call away and will always respond as soon as I can- you mean so much to me and I love and appreciate you greatly. I know sometimes you feel guilty talking to me about what is going on in your life; I'm not sure why as your issues aren't any less significant. I will always listen and offer advice and attention where I can, and will hug you tightly (or give you a clip round the ear) when I next see you. My life is difficult but it is still good. What you are struggling with isn’t less significant or not as important. It’s not the situation but how you feel in the situation. I won’t always get it right, but I will always try and keep an open mind and not allow how I am feeling on that day to effect us.

I spend a lot of time at home, which makes me very grateful for the technology that we have because I can still be connected through social media with you and see what you’re up to. For me, this can both be a blessing and a burden. I enjoy the mindless scrolling because it requires little focus and minimal energy and yet fills time that I seem to have. It’s good because I can ‘like’ and ‘comment’ on all your beautiful pictures and meme shares and meaningful statuses to my hearts content and I know that you see that and we remain connected through that. However; I often get jealous of you being well, not that I would ever wish that you were ill for a moment , but more that I wish I was well enough to be with you. When I see you with our other friends, laughing and sharing with one another the incredible outing you just had, I feel lonely and miss being able to be with you all. It is upsetting when I can imagine the wonderful time you are all having and I become focused on the fact that I was absent and that nobody seemed to notice or care. I know this isn't true. This is in my head and I am not sharing this to make you feel guilty because ultimately I love to see you loving and living life to the fullness that you are and embracing friendships and growing stronger together, I am sharing it so that you know that this is an area that I need to embrace and learn to have a more positive attitude towards and I am working on it and I hope that I learn this so that I have no ill feeling towards you. Social media also enables me to share what I get up to, and I post most things that I do when I do see someone or when I do something because I want people to see that I am still living a life and that it is a good life with good people- and I am thankful you are one of those good people in my life.But my primary reason for sharing those things is because I want a record of my adventures, something I can easily go through and see all the incredible moments and people I have in my life when I begin to feel down heartened about where I am at the moment. I don’t post lots of photos so for likes, but so that I have a record of what I have been up to and that I can share it with you and you be a part of it, even if you weren’t there. Other technology I am thankful for is the television as part of CFS is that I struggle to concentrate on things for long periods of time, so TV requires minimal concentration and passes the time when I am resting my body. I am not lazy, if I was able to be out when I am on the sofa, more often than not I would whole heartedly choose to be out but I need to rest and I am learning not to feel guilty when I am resting. For some people, chilling in front of the television all day sounds like a dream, but please don’t make comments like that to me because for me- it’s not how I would like to be living as where you dream of that I dream of adventure and for the days I can spend a whole day out with friends instead of a mere couple of hours. This is one comment that people sometimes make that is difficult for me to respond to as I am lucky that I don’t have a busy schedule, but being involuntarily idle is stressful in itself for me. Please don’t judge me for having to spend lots of time at home doing mindless activities- it is dull and exceedingly lonely but it does make me all the more grateful when I am well enough to be out and being with you.

I know that when I see you, our time is short but that isn’t because I don’t enjoy your company or that I have grown bored of our conversations. I am tired constantly and where socialising for you may not require much energy, it requires all of mine to walk and chat and laugh and concentrate on the conversation so I don’t miss bits- and I want you to know that you do have my full attention. I can’t always make it out to be with you, but I love it when you come to me so that I don’t have to use up energy travelling or waiting around. But if I can come out I will arrange to be out with you because that’s always more lovely to be out in the world, enjoying creation and life with you.

You are kind and considerate and try and help me in the best ways that you can, even if sometimes they are not the most helpful of ways. One of the things that can be difficult is for you to fully understand how I am feeling because, thank God, you aren’t struggling with it. I ask that you please don’t tell me about how to manage my illness or how if I change my diet I will be magically healed, or how theres new cures with lotions and things. Some of these things may or may not improve my symptoms, but they won’t make me better. Tell me how you’re praying or thinking of me, how you’re there if I need to talk or that you’ll drive me home if I’m too tired to get the bus. Tell me that I’m not my illness and that you know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s often difficult for you to know what CFS is because it is personal to the individual and is a description diagnosis; there isn’t a test that you can take to easily confirm it, which is why the diagnosis process is so long. Here are a couple of explanations that people have said to me that have resonated and will hopefully clear the air a little with what is actually wrong with me 1) Imagine you have had a long day at work which leaves you physically, emotionally and spiritually tired. Then imagine that when you wake up from a full night of sleep, you still have that overhanging tiredness and your body has all the aches and pains it gets when you catch a cold or the flu. 2) When you go to sleep, you recharge your batteries and then have a full bar of energy to use throughout the day. When I sleep, my batteries charge very little or not at all so I have to use my energy wisely. 3) Fatigue is different to tiredness. Tiredness goes away, fatigue clings onto you and drags down your physical and emotional capabilities. 4) It’s like having an old lady inside the body of a teenager/young adult. You can’t race around like a loon and need naps on a regular basis. Personally, I am lucky and grateful that compared to many who suffer from CFS/ME I do not suffer severely. I go out several times during the week, I am still able to study at college (part-time student) and I do odd job around the house. I do the same things that you do but on a much smaller scale. My symptoms include: • Fatigue • Achy and painful muscles (typically thighs, legs, backs of shoulders and back) • Difficulty concentrating for long times • Difficulty sleeping • Dizzy spells • Difficulty controlling body temperature On a good day, I will wake up with mild aches in my muscles and despite feeling drained and exhausted, I am able to get myself ready and be out for a morning/afternoon/evening with a couple of rest breaks in between activity. On a bad day, I will be exceedingly achy and will have to take painkillers to try and numb it slightly. I will take a long time to get ready as it will require most of my energy and I shall get downstairs and have to spend the day on the sofa doing very little. Most of my days are in between and make me thankful when I am having a bad day where I need to rest, that I’ve had a good days and that there are more to come. I may or may not ever recover completely from this- it is a permanent illness and is disabling in its own right but I don’t view myself as having a disability, I just take a little longer to complete a lot of activities. I hope that your opinion of me stays to how I was when I was ‘well’(or how it was before the CFS became publicly noticeable) and that you don’t give me any label to do with my illness but label me as a friend, a colleague, a mate, a partner, child of God or however you view me. I haven’t shared these details for sympathy because that isn’t particularly helpful, but I so desperately want to be honest and not have to hide my pain when I’m not having a brilliant day and I hope you will continue to love and support me, as you always have.

I’ve thought long and hard about ways that are helpful for me so here are a couple of ideas if you’re struggling with the right things to say or do, if you want to support but there is never any pressure for you to! Please remember that I don’t expect anything as you don’t expect anything from me but these are just some useful things I have found and appreciate greatly. Drop me a message every once in a while; ask how I am. I may be truthful or I may cover up how I am feeling but having someone check up on you is a reminder that you are loved and cared for and is deeply appreciated in its simplest form. Don’t be offended if I suddenly have to cancel our plans, I would love to be there but I will be having a bad day and it will frustrate me that I will have let you down. Please continue to invite me to stuff though, even if you don’t think I will be able to make it- I will often make it a priority to be at and even the invite is appreciated enough. Please be considerate if I have to leave early, I am not being rude or ungrateful I just need to go and rest so that I can see you again soon. Give me hugs and cuddles when I see you and be an ear if I need to just have a little cry or a laugh or am in need of some advice, as you have always done and as I will continue to do for you. Come and see me if you can, come alone or with a couple of others (please be sensitive not to overwhelm) and we can have times of friendship and fellowship. Skype or FaceTime works too! Encourage me to stay hopeful and to focus on the joy around me. Pray for me- if you’re a prayer: pray for healing; the restoration of my body, for the day I can be well again, for Gods strength and energy to fill me each day, for wisdom to know when to rest and when to work and for a continuous heart of compassion and love towards people. Pray for my family and friends who support me and that God blesses them and grows them into even more of the beautiful people that they are already. Thank God for me and for our friendship- as I do daily.

I love you dearly and you remain in my prayers and thoughts constantly.

#cfs #cfs/me #chronic illness #chronically ill #myalgic encephalomyelitis #jesusheals #chronic fatigue #chronic fаtiguе ѕуndrоmе #tired #christianity #jesus christ #christinthechronicallyill

[jackfallows]

From someone drowning in Final Year Fear and general feelings of inadequacy (as well as just referencing a tweet you wrote nearly three years ago), when was the last time you viewed your achievements in a way that wasn't quantitative?

The short answer to this is I’ve viewed my achievements in a non-quantitative way quite recently, but viewed them quantitatively even more recently than that. And I think there’s a lot going on with both viewpoints and neither are inherently good or bad. Gather round as I get wishy-washy in my old age about this.I’ve prattled on before about how we live in a capitalist and binary world and how much fun it can be to have an anxiety disorder and think about that all the time; it’s not long after learning to walk and talk and express ourselves that the people around us start asking ‘so what good do you think you’ll be to the world?’ - from the seemingly harmless question ‘what are you going to be when you grow up?’ and the idealistic excitement-driven answers young people give that we find so adorable, to the first anxiety-driven choice of academic subject to study here, job to apply for there, place to live, person/people to live with and so on. It’s a sometimes near-silent, sometimes near-deafening but ever-present expectation and like all forms of institutional suffocation, it’s person-made and someone is profiting from it. If naming that evil was enough to banish it, I would know a lot of artists, writers, musicians and other underpaid and misunderstood creative professionals whose work and general state of mind would undergo a significant liberation. But like our attitudes towards gender, race, social hierarchies, economic statuses, disability and so on, they’re aggressively socialised into us and it takes active recognition, followed by studied understanding and a vested personal struggle to unlearn many of them. This idea that we are worth only what we make or contribute was invented by people intending to milk us of our potential as a small wheel in a very large machine. But the reason it’s so readily accepted is that it sounds deceptively similar but goes one step beyond some very intuitive and human ideals that the majority of decent people hold: we should all do what we can to make things better (even if seemingly the only option is to make things better for our employers, educators, parents or other authority figures in our lives); we should all be treated with an equal amount of consideration (even if that’s very little, even if we’re reduced to a level playing field by simply glossing over the disadvantages and privileges that so obviously affect our standing within the system); hard work should be rewarded (even if that reward is quite separate from the work itself, even if the majority of that reward is taken by someone else). The ideals before the parentheses are good ways to stay motivated and take pride in what you’re doing, everything else is the gross feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, the sudden disinterest in what you’re doing, the lingering feeling of exhaustion and frustration that we blame ourselves for. Almost like if we made different choices or managed our time more effectively or were just fundamentally *better* at life somehow then capitalism and binary living wouldn’t be such a drag. So I view my achievements quantitatively on a daily basis. I partition up my time and tasks and I write lists and I tick things off and my mission every day becomes going to bed without feeling guilty. That’s because I’m still a long way from drawing a definitive line between pre- and post-parentheses thinking about all of these issues. That stuff is rooted deep and ironically (also depressingly) I don’t feel as though I have the time to stop and meditate on it before I’m dragged down the river again. But here’s something I realised a few nights ago when I was ranting about a trip I took to Amsterdam one Christmas. I explained that all the dread of being around family had dissolved, I felt beholden to no one, I was in a warm, safe hotel room surrounded by delicious food, in a blissful cloud of weed smoke with my headphones on, listening to one of my all-time favourite records and seeing the face of god. One of the people I was chatting to was my partner, very soon to be my co-parent. She joked, wondering if I’ll have as visceral a reaction to the birth of our child and I joked (but only a little) with my response: I said maybe the reason that was such an excellent trip and fond memory for me is because at that point in my life, being stoned in a hotel room on my own at Christmas was the peak of the happiness I thought I deserved. It was easy to revel in it because it’s actually pretty bleak - just slightly less bleak than the life I had just left behind at home. The really hopeful thing is that there’s no way I’d enjoy that trip as much now as I did back then. I have so many great people in my life now, an actual future that I want to plan and think about and feel excited for, a place I feel comfortable calling home and a creative direction with my work that I feel nourished by. These things can’t be quantified except maybe figuratively as a journey. Survival used to be the mode I operated in, so that even if I was just walking in a very small circle I was still upping the total number of days I hadn’t died and making progress. If you’re able to fight out of that, and able to learn self-compassion and open yourself to the brilliant and terrifying possibility that you are worthy of love and happiness, things will come to you that cannot be counted or commodified. And I honestly believe of you, and of everyone, that this is possible. A day will come when university will be vanishing in your rearview and the unique power and worth within you that it currently clouds and distorts will be sitting shotgun while you freak out into the future. Do your best. But do it for you and you alone.   

#Anonymous