#this all woke me up with an anxiety attack in the wee hours of the morning because when faced with my mom and aunt sans my dad I was thrille

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories #Youtube

[applecherry108]

Sooo… my xmas surprise this year was a video call with my mom and aunt rather than my mom and dad. And you can tell where this is going because it’s 5:53am.

I love my mom and my aunt, but I’m having a fucking anxiety attack and can’t sleep because they’re white women born in the 1960s and they have some…..Quirks.

During our call, I was reminiscing about a shitty coworker I had when I worked in retail a few years back and they…..were taking this woman’s side. This coworker, who was NOT a manager or higher up than me in any way, was a complete fucking Karen and had decided she didn’t like me for whatever fucking reason and decided to be petty and shitty to me to the point that I was calling out of work because she made me suicidal. And I told my mom/aunt the only reason I could possibly fathom WHY she had it out for me was because… I was too helpful at that job. As in, I always volunteered to clean the most difficult section of the store, I was typically the first one to respond to questions on the radio (bc lord knows the managers wouldn’t answer), and I was the first one to come running whenever any coworker called for backup. And this…idk. Pissed off this coworker? She was a transfer to our store but I had still been with the company longer, and she was mad I had cornered the market on this one section for cleaning because she “always got to clean that section at her old store” but like… our store was unique in that that section had a stupid labyrinthine layout, and before me no one ever wanted to clean it at night. So yeah, I got used to taking that bullet and no one complained before her.

All this to say… is because when I cited this possible reason during the call, my mom interrupts me to say, “you could’ve taken turns.” Like….. this was YEARS ago. This is long over with. And even if this bitch coworker’s issue with me had been “I wouldn’t take turns letting her clean a section of the store” (which we did. Because it was a manager’s fucking call. We DID take turns but she was still pissed off that SHE had to take turns), that is NO fucking justification for the way she treated me. She’d constantly talk down to me and make snide comments. She’d berate me for answering questions on the radio even if she wasn’t the one asking them. This mean girls army wife white cunt who was at least 10 years older than me had the BALLS to call me petty and act like we were equally feuding when she found out I would sometimes call out so I wouldn’t have to work a shift with her (again. Because I was suicidal and if I evaluated my emotional state before a shift and determined that I couldn’t handle the stress of working with her that day, yeah. I’d call out. Because my life and mental health was more important to me than a crappy part time retail job). This woman made my life hell.

And my mom was defending this person to me.

And something my mom said later in the call lines up perfectly, in a way. She was talking about how she was bullied in school and because how she, like me, was so much taller than the boys in school, she’d get picked on a lot. She tells a story of how when she was 18 she was a camp counselor and how she’d teach the girls (not the boys), that if, during a school dance, if a boy asked a girl to dance and the girl turned him down, she should sit out that dance completely to not hurt his feelings.

…….

She described her reasoning as “it probably took him a lot of courage to pluck up the nerve to ask a girl to dance, and if she declines but dances that song with someone else, it’s like she’s saying ‘ew gross’ to the boy she turned down.”

Like, maybe her thought process was not wanting a kid to feel as bad as she did when boys would literally tell her “ew no” but why only teach the GIRLS this? And more importantly, why the fuck is it their responsibility to protect the boys’ feelings?? Why should these little girls be made to have a bad time just because a random boy approached them? If a boy a girl didn’t want to dance with kept asking her all through the night, does that mean that girl just has to sit out every song? Why shouldn’t the boys fucking learn to take rejection? Teach the girls to say “no thank you.” Teach the boys to accept “I’m sorry, I don’t want to dance with you.” Teach them not to be rude about it but ohhhh that poor boy! It took a lot of courage to ask that girl to dance! The least she could do is not have any fun at all!

Mom, that’s so fucked up on so many levels.

And every minute that my bastard brain has replayed you taking that childish, bullying coworker’s side, I have to then remember that you also said to prioritize everyone else’s feelings over your own. Which, let’s be honest, is why your daughter grew up as an anxious, insecure, suicidal doormat.

#apple talks #to the tune of spam #long post #this all woke me up with an anxiety attack in the wee hours of the morning because when faced with my mom and aunt sans my dad I was thrille #this was supposed to be an anxiety free call but nope lol #I don’t think they understand how hard I’ve had to work as an adult to be able to set boundaries and take no shit #to make it clear that MY FEELINGS MATTER TOO #fuck even when they came over once to my current apartment they were throwing shade at me like ‘oh what does ur roommate think’ #???? my roommate?? that’s an adult?? and I communicate with like an adult??? #fuckers why do you care that I set up a cardboard barrier??? #I know my roommate is fine with it BECAUSE I FUCKING DISCUSSED IT WITH HIM BEFORE I DID IT #AND THE CARDBOARD IS THERE TO PROTECT *HIS* STUFF FROM *MY* CATS #my parents act like I should be breaking my back to please others #friendly fucking reminder that when I first became suicidal in college #all my friends and professsors and deans and doctors said #‘holy shit you have a 3.9 gpa and this is your last semester?? gurl just graduate who care if it’s with C’s’ #ah but my parents were like ‘but what about your grades? :/ ‘ to their daughter. that just told the #she wanted to kill herself. #so really should I be surprised by what my mom said to today? no. #but yknow. I kinda thought that whole experience had fucking opened their fucking eyes to the way I was treated. but nope. #but what about your grades? but what about literally everyone else’s feelings but yours? #this is why I moved 3000 miles away guys.

[hermionemonica]

The Road to Us, and Everything in Between: Chapter 2

(This is a no magic AU. There is no existence of the Miraculous or the superheroes in this universe.)

AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 

As time went on, Marinette felt distances creeping between her and Nathaniel. They still talked to each other over calls, texting and social media, and even met up with each other every once in a while. But all that grew more and more seldom. And for Marinette, this felt different. Of course, her affections for Nathaniel still remained unchanged, but it felt kind of liberating to not have his presence constantly looming over her life. And with the alone time Marinette now had away from Nathaniel, she found herself constantly rethinking her life and decisions. About what she chose, about what could have been.

Marinette had always had a habit of talking to herself. Now every time she felt herself falling into dejection, she would whisper to herself over and over, “I chose this. This is my life now. This is what my life will be from now.” That did wonders to push the fears and insecurities to the back of her mind.  

But as days passed, it started to get harder and harder. After all, it is an inexplicable pain to see the one you love right in front of you, be with them, all the time knowing that they'll never be yours. Being around him didn’t do anything to help her move on from him, even if she tried.  

Gradually, the secrets and the pretences began to take a toll on her. And with the new university and her fashion courses, it was all too much for her. She felt herself giving in to the pressure. Designing or baking did not work their therapy on her anymore. And the first thing she did when things started getting bad was slowly cut off Nathaniel. Not that she wanted to. It was just she couldn't trust herself to not explode in front of him. And after everything the boy had been through, the last thing he'd want was the only person he trusted to go off on her. So the only solution that she saw was to stay away from him. Only, she could not come up with an appropriate excuse. The poor boy kept asking her what was wrong, but Marinette would say she was fine. Until one day she snapped.  

Marinette was having a particularly rough day, after she had accidentally dropped her sketchbook, which held her designs that she had been working so hard on, right into the waters of the Seine. She had retrieved them, of course, but her work of weeks was ruined. She had shut herself in her room and decided to bury herself in her designs till she redrew them. It probably wouldn’t be as perfect as the originals, but she needed to submit something the next day to pass the class.

Unfortunately, Nathaniel chose that very evening to call her. Marinette ignored his calls and messages for a while, till the alert sounds were getting on her nerves. She finally picked up the phone and asked, “What is it, Nate?”  

If she sounded grumpy or bitter, Nathaniel obviously did not notice it as he went on a ramble about how a cute guy on the subway had complimented him on his blazer.  

“And this is what was so important that you called me for like, 17 times?” Marinette cut him off mid-rant.  

That was when it registered in Nathaniel's mind. “Uh, I thought you'd like to know,” Nathaniel spoke nervously.  

“Maybe I would, but not everyone necessarily has the time for this! Take the hint when I wasn't answering your calls or replying to your texts.” Marinette replied acidly.  

“What is wrong Mari?” Nathaniel sounded concerned.  

“Why does something have to be wrong?” Marinette was beginning to lose her temper. “It just happens that you don't seem to realise that some people might have more important stuff going on than just a random guy complimenting you on your clothes!”  

When there had come no reply from the other end, Marinette quickly disconnected the call and switched her phone off. She had too much on her hands at the moment.  

Marinette had fallen asleep at her table, sometime in the middle of the night. In the wee hours of the morning, she woke up to find a string of messages from Nathaniel, which he had sent right after the phone call the previous night.  

“So, this is it? I... I don't matter anymore? It’s okay, Marinette, I get it. I was just an unnecessary burden that you were carrying around although you didn't have to. This had to end sometime, right? After all, we both know very well that I'll never be able to give you what you want. I am only holding you back from everything that you could have, everything that you deserve. I'm sorry for everything Mari, I hope you can forgive me. Take care Marinette, and be happy. I promise I won't bother you anymore. Goodbye.”  

Marinette had not seen this coming. She couldn't deny that she had been a bit too harsh in her words the previous night, but was it that bad? Had she made it sound like she didn't want Nathaniel to be around her? She tried to remember what exactly she had said, but to her anguish, all of it was a blur. In exasperation, she kicked against the side of her desk, only to wince back in pain immediately afterwards. Surely, the voice in her head kept saying, this can't be happening. Nathaniel wouldn't just leave just because Marinette had said some harsh words, right? Their relationship was too above that, of course! After everything they had been through together, a little miscommunication couldn't possibly be what would break it! Over and over she read Nathaniel's texts, trying to make something out of it, something less painful. She tried to read between the lines, desperately trying to convince herself that it wasn't happening.  

The only reason she dragged herself out of her house an hour later was because she had to submit the designs that day. And the only reason she had left her phone without replying to Nathaniel was because she was scared that she might mess it up further.  

Three agonising hours later, Marinette sat in the cafeteria. Anger coursed through her. Anger at Nate, anger at herself, anger at the stupid deadline! As she desperately tried to reign in her temper, because that was what had caused the entire mess in the first place, she found herself regretting her decision to leave her phone at home. At least she could have called Alya and talked to her. At one point of time, Marinette had been glad that no one from her old school was in the same university as her, because then she could put everything behind her and start her life without the lies. It didn’t seem that convenient anymore. She wished she could talk to someone, anyone, right now. But since there was no way to do that, she went back to sipping on her iced tea to soothe her nerves.  

“Are you okay?” said a voice from behind Marinette, as a hand was laid on her shoulder.  

Before Marinette could turn around, the intruder came into her range of vision as he seated himself at her table.  

It was Adrien, and he was looking at her with concern in his emerald hands. Did she really look that terrible? Marinette asked herself. More importantly, what could she answer to Adrien, when he didn't even know anything about Nathaniel? But then again, she was stuck in the university for at least two more hours, without a phone and no one but Adrien to talk to. Adrien was the only friend she had for now, and Marinette felt she would combust from the stress if she didn't talk sometime soon. Sure, once she figured out how to begin.  

“It's umm... you know, about this boy,” she struggled through her words.  

Immediately, Adrien perked up. “Boy? Crush? Ex? Boyfriend?”  

Marinette felt a smile creep up onto her face in spite of herself. “Let's not use any labels, okay? It’s a bit too complicated for that,” she clarified.  

Adrien wiped the silly grin off his face and looked on with interest, silently urging her to continue.  

“So we had kind of an argument last night, and I may have been a bit rude to him. In my defence though, I was stressed beyond limits. And this morning, I woke up to a bunch of texts from him, saying that... that,” Marinette faltered. How do you put that into words?  

Luckily, Adrien seemed to have understood what she was trying to say. “That he’s leaving you for good,” Adrien offered.  

“Exactly,” explained Marinette. “Except that I meant nothing like that and he took it all the wrong way and he thinks I want to get rid of him and oh so I feel so angry at him right now because after all this time how could he misunderstand such a simple thing and I-”  

“Woah there,” Adrien interrupted. “Slow down. Maybe drink a bit more of that drink you've got there.”  

“Iced tea,” murmured Marinette, “soothes my nerves.”  

That was when she realised that her hands were shaking so badly that she could not even hold the glass in her hand. And on the top of that, a pounding began in her head.  

As she clutched her head in her hands, Adrien reached over. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need anything?” he asked.  

But Marinette could not hear him over the incessant buzzing in her ears. Breathing had never felt so difficult, it was as if something was blocking her trachea.  

Adrien could see Marinette gasping for breath, and shaking uncontrollably, and it scared him. What was happening to this girl? It took him a moment to snap out of his fixation, but then he got up and picked Marinette up in his arms, rushing to the nurse's office, ignoring all the odd looks he could feel on him in the corridors.  

The nurse injected a mild tranquillizer into Marinette's blood. It took effect pretty soon, and soon Marinette had drifted off into a dreamless slumber.  

“It looks like your friend over here has had an anxiety attack,” the nurse explained to Adrien. “Is she under medications for such attacks?”  

Adrien simply looked on with bewilderment.  

Either he is too stressed out to comprehend my words right now, thought the nurse, or he seriously has never heard of an anxiety attack. Deciding on the former, she went on, more gently, “Has she ever had spells like this before?”  

Adrien looked down, his expression guilty. “I-I don't know. I don't spend much time with her.”  

The nurse shook her head. “Well, I am guessing by how freaked out she was when you brought her in that she is as unacquainted with these attacks as you are, young man. Whatever be it, I need to contact her parents. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you said?” The nurse asked as she scrolled through the student records on her computer.  

Adrien nodded.  

“I assure you that your friend will be okay, you may take your leave if you have classes you need to be at now.”  

Adrien took a glance at his watch. His class had started fifteen minutes ago. Since he was late anyway...  

“No,” he confidently lied to the nurse. “I don't have any classes for another hour.”  

“Fine,” obliged the nurse. “Do keep the young lady company while I go call up her parents.” Adrien silently sank down on the edge of the bed Marinette was asleep on. As he stared at her face, he noticed how ill she looked. The colour had faded from her cheeks, and dark bags hung under her eyes. What could have been so terrible that upset this amazing girl like this?  

Marinette's parents came in some time later. Adrien noticed the stark difference in their appearances. While Marinette's mother, who looked and dressed Chinese, was a small woman like her daughter, Marinette's father could aptly be called a giant of a man. They seemed like very nice people, by the way they talked to the nurse. Mrs Cheng assured the nurse that her daughter did not have any history of anxiety attacks. In that case, the nurse advised them, they should get their daughter a professional check-up at the earliest. They thanked the woman for her help and turned to leave.  

As Mrs Cheng left the room with her daughter leaning onto her, still not quite awake, Mr Dupain stopped at the door. He turned to look at Adrien standing there, and Adrien couldn't help but be intimidated. But Mr Dupain had the kindest of expressions on his face as he grabbed Adrien's hand and firmly shook it. “Thank you for taking care of my little girl,” he whispered gratefully.  

Adrien was surprised to know that the huge man could speak in so low a voice. “It was a pleasure,” he smiled in acknowledgement.  

After he left, Adrien wondered if he had even done anything that special to receive such warm gratitude. “Taking care of” Mr Dupain had said. Funny, thought Adrien, for anyone would probably have done the same if a friend went through something like that in front of them. Nevertheless, Adrien decided that the Dupain-Chengs were probably affectionate people by blood.  

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #the road to us and everything in between #chapter 2 #no magic au #alternate universe - no powers #marinette dupain cheng #nathaniel kurtzberg #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #tom dupain #sabine cheng #adrienette #slow burn #my fic

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Someone Like You-Final Chapter

All previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 35

On the Saturday before Christmas Edith and I made Beef Wellington and served it to my two friends from school. They were coming to look at the carriage house to rent for the next school year. Jamie and I had already moved all my things to Lallybroch and I felt so weird walking through the place empty, so many memories here.

After they measured everything we all sat down to eat with doctor Lu and the girls were very complimentary. Lu kept them entertained with the medical application of hypnotherapy and Edit and I smiled watching him in his glory. The girls agreed to rent and I was happy to have arranged Edith’s next tenants so I didn’t leave her in the lurch.

The butter lovers had played until exhausted and the four of them were crashed out in Butters bed while he laid on the carpet and put his head on one of their beds. Edith got quite a laugh out of that and brought out her camera to take some pictures of our ridiculous dogs.

“I didn’t know they still developed film, Edith.”

“Of course they do and I will compare my pictures with any taken with a phone, any day.”

I hugged Edith goodbye after she loaded me up the leftovers to take home and a pecan pie she made for Jamie, his favorite. I fell into my car completely exhausted and made my way home. As I turned down our street it started to snow, big, fat flakes that stuck to the windshield and wipers. It was beautiful. I pulled over and got out to see the heavy snow falling as far as the eye could see. I marveled at the silence. I started doing this to ease my anxiety of driving in the falling snow after I got lost. Now I couldn’t stop.

I opened the kitchen door to banging and the sound of loud ripping. When I  put the food away I followed the noise and was shocked when I opened the study door. All the walls in three rooms had been pulled down and it was a big open space clear to the block wall of the house. I was thrilled at how much they accomplished today until I heard the voices of Rupert and Angus and realized they had help. That made me feel warm and fuzzy inside until Angus started telling Rupert about seeing my ass hanging off Edith’s roof. Rupert could have been super rude with his comment but he just smiled. I was already feeling embarrassed so I was grateful.

“Claire, glad ye home, we need to get started on these invitations. Grab yer favorite pen. Stormy is comin to help us.”

I was excited about seeing Stormy but the rest could hang in my opinion. Jenny had already called the guestlist for the wedding since it was a short week away, why did we need formal invitations? She insisted every invitation be handwritten as well. I would rather build a snowman with Butter and Jamie. In protest, I walked extra slow to the kitchen.

“Christ almighty, look at the snow come down. I’m callin Stormy to stay home. It’s not safe to be on the road tonight. Them boys might want to get out while they can.”

“Oh no, Jenny! You sit. I will tell them and be right back.”

When I joined Jenny again I had told each person it was snowing like crazy, gone to my room twice to look for my favorite pen, and checked on Butter. I looked at the list thrilled Jenny was almost done. I started to write an address and found myself staring out the window at the snow, pen twirling in my fingers.

“Claire yer worse than a ten-year-old. Concentrate lass and let’s get this done.”

By the time I finished my envelope, Jenny was done with the list and I launched out of my chair, throwing on my jacket, scarf, and gloves. I turned around to get Butter and he was right on my heals so I almost tripped over him. When the kitchen door closed I took a deep breath and tried to shake off my claustrophobia.

“Ok Butter, watch and learn.”

I started with a snowball and rolled it in the wet snow until it was about to my waist, then I did another but I could not lift it. Damn, I thought, the size I can lift will look like a toy snowman. I sat on the largest ball and thought about how I might do this.

“Please tell me yer not having second thoughts mo gradhag. You look like ye got the weight of the world on ye shoulders.”

“I do, it’s just too heavy. The snowman’s stomach, it’s too heavy for me, but not you! C’mon, I’ll help.”

I jumped off the snowball and crouched down to help hoist the midsection on top of where I had been sitting. Jamie pushed me away smiling and pulled the ball of snow on top of the other. I was already rolling another ball and picked it up easily to set it on top.

“Perfect!”

Jamie hugged me and pulled me into the house. We all thanked Angus and Rupert for the extra hands and they were anxious to exit our road before it became impassable. They both pointed and laughed at my snowman on the way to their vehicle. I stuck my nose in the air like I didn’t care and went upstairs to relax.

When Jamie came up later he jumped on the bed next to me and fanned out all the brochures he had collected of the islands and the fun things to do. I was so excited about the hut he rented over the water. A peer stretched 500 feet into the ocean with huts attached. Ours was on the end so it was just us and the ocean out there. It had a glass floor so we could watch the sea life underneath. We completely agreed on snorkeling daily and picked out the restaurants after reading the reviews. The rest we would figure out once we got there.

“It’s like New Orleans on steroids mo chridhe.”

It was indeed and I couldn’t wait to get there as Misses James Fraser. We just had Christmas and the wedding to get through. I should not be thinking of them as a chore but right now that is exactly how I saw it. *********************

It is the eve of my wedding and I cannot sleep. I’m having an anxiety attack and coming out of my skin from the walls closing in on me. I need Jamie like I need my lungs but Jenny insisted we separate for twenty-four hours before the wedding. She asked if I wanted to jinx my own wedding which I certainly did not. Jamie kissed me at the bottom of the stairs tonight and I almost cried the way he looked at me. Now I wander around our room feeling so weird, so displaced and I don’t understand it. I feel like I want to sob my heart out, on the night before my wedding?

I sat on the stairs with a blanket around me shivering in the cold house. It was like I was transported back in time to when I was ten years old dreading my trip back to Peru. I was going to marry the man who pulled me into his room that night and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. So why am I blue? I crept down the stairs and laid next to Jamie on the sofa feeling his arms pull me to him immediately.

“I could hear ye pacin upstairs and hoped ye would come down here so I can tell ye how much I love ye. What’s wrong mo chridhe?”

“I don’t know. I feel anxious and sad and excited all at the same time.”

“Well, if yer like me yer missin yer parents. I know I am. My mam talked about fallin in love and having a family of my own. I would give anything for her and my da to be here.

“Yer missin yer parents tonight love?”

That did it. The sobs came and I clung to Jamie for five minutes of emotion that had been right under the surface for the past week.

“Dinna fash wee one, I’ve decided I love ye enough for me and them. I believe in heaven Sassenach and yer parents and mine will be here with us tomorrow. I believe we will feel their presence and their blessing. With all my heart I believe that mo chridhe.”

I started to get up and he held me to him asking me to stay for a few hours, then he would carry me to bed. I was so relieved I melted into him and started to relax. I felt him lift me off the couch hours later and he laid next to me in our bed until I was asleep again. Jamie was gone when I woke up and I didn’t see him until the wedding.

I fed the chickens and piled hay into their cubbies for warmth even though our heat lamp provided a toasty environment for them in the barn. I worried about Golfarb and went to look for her. She was nowhere to be found. With a pounding heart, I quickly counted the chickens and there were twenty! Golfarb was with her sisters, probably to stay warm, but I was thrilled. While the chickens ate I gathered the few eggs I found and carried them to the house. Egg production had nearly dropped off completely with the onset of winter and I was not unhappy about that.

Jenny was up stirring her maids punch when I walked into the kitchen. It is a wicked brew that includes a bottle of rum and a dozen other ingredients of which half are alcoholic. Jenny would be my only maid due to the limited space but six of our girlfriends were coming early to help decorate and drink.

“The bride is up and has her snow boots and parka on. Put them boots outside before ye track mud all over the house lass. Are ye ready to marry my brother Claire?”

“I have never been this ready for anything in my life Jenny.”

“The way yer blushin, yer gonna be a beautiful bride. But get those boots off and get in the tub, the big tub, I left ye a pre-weddin gift. Dinna tell Jamie about it cause I didna get him anything.”

I laughed and hugged Jenny before going upstairs to enjoy that amazing tub and lose myself in COCO Chanel! I jumped up and down and yelled out the door that I love Jenny more than Jamie right now. I poured it into the hot water and closed my eyes as the room filled with that magic scent. After twenty minutes of heavenly hot water, I grabbed my razor for what I hoped would be a fun surprise. I had steadily increased the width of my racing stripe for this very occasion and took my time sculpting a perfect heart. I was very happy with the way it looked and I hoped Jamie would like it or at least think it was clever. I wanted the heart right above my bud so much of my racing stripe was now gone. It felt a little bare but it looked really good. At least I thought so.

I realized that we would be swimming in the crystal clear waters of the Bahamas at this time tomorrow, and my heart rate shot up. Every single thing in my life was exciting at this moment and I felt ready to burst.

I was already packed for our trip because we were taking the red-eye tonight giving us two hours to enjoy the party before we have to leave for the airport. It seemed exceptionally odd to be packing sundresses in the middle of winter but it made me count the days to eighty-five degrees and sunshine and it was finally here.

There were all kinds of commotion downstairs and I looked out the bathroom door and saw two men bringing huge flower arrangements into the room. They were beautiful with white roses and orchids, baby’s breath and evergreen branches. I wondered where they came from because Jenny and I had not planned for those arrangements.

By the time my hair was dry Jenny was laying on our bed resting her back. She closed her eyes and announced she felt nothing otherworldly happening to her, she didn’t have a mad urge to rape Ian.

“I suspected ye were in an energy vortex like I saw on U Tube, but I feel nothin unusual so that can’t be it. I want to believe there’s hope that I will scream with a minute-long orgasm so I refuse to believe it’s ye and Jamie. Oh well, let’s start yer hair. Stormy called and she is on her way.”

“Jenny, I can start my own hair. You stay right there. Stormy can help me if I need it. Can I get you to do the Jessica Rabbit hairdo at the end? Hey, what do you think of my heart?”

“Holy shit Claire! Give me some warnin before ye expose yerself that way. I am so jealous I want to drop to the floor kicking and screaming but this baby is in the way… of everything.”

Stormy is such a great friend and she was so gentle with my hair while we gabbed about everything. I was so relaxed with her soft hands in my hair I lost track of time. Jenny woke up, looked at the clock, and turned into a house on fire. Her large brush drove into my hair pulling it into a flat iron with an intensity that snapped me out of my Stormy haze. The wedding started in one hour and Jenny still had to dress so I sat perfectly still and helped however I could. The whole time I heard banging and dragging going on downstairs and wondered what on earth was happening down there. Two of our friends did my make up with Jenny watching closely, smiling for the most part.

Jenny was touching her fingers like she was counting and mumbling. Then she announced I did not have something borrowed to get married in. I thought it a weird tradition until Jenny returned with the most sacred possession of her mother’s and we all gasped looking at them.

“I insist you where my mam’s earings Claire. You were a daughter to her, same as me. She is here today with da, I know she will feel honored that ye wear them to marry my brother.” Loops of sterling silver, so thin they moved like water and caught the light as they shimmered. They were absolutely perfect for my dress and the winter theme of the wedding. I felt my eyes well with tears and the whole room was running at me with a kleenex. I held up my hands and laughed at the startled looks.

With my hair swept up and ringlets falling at my temples and down my back, beautiful silk stockings and the tiniest beaded thong, I stepped into my shoes as Jenny chased the girls downstairs and suggested they drink her special Maids punch. The silence in the room was so wonderful for my frayed nerves. Jenny held my dress up as I had done for her and I slipped into it, suddenly transformed into a bride.

“Christ and all the saints yer a beautiful bride.” Jenny grabbed a kleenex and wiped her tears.

“I have something for you Jenny, to say thank you for being my best friend my whole life.”

I handed her a box and watched her open the special gift I spent days looking for. I decided on a delicate eighteen carrot gold bracelet with four diamonds that were a half-carrot each and superior quality. I could tell instantly that she loved it because her eyes were popping out.

“Lass, it’’s amazin how real cubic zirconian looks these days, is it nae?” She said it just above a whisper and her face was the color of a pink rose.

“Thank you for saving my life year after year with letters and hugs hello and promises goodbye. I love you so much and those are not cubic zirconian. Thank you for everything Jenny.”

She turned around and left to get dressed with a dreamy smile on her face, then she ran back in and kissed me, then gone again.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Edith peaked in. She took my hands and looked me up and down. “Well, my little mustang is a beautiful bride. I love you. Congratulations sweetheart.”

I wanted to see and feel Jamie so badly it was hard to sit still. When Jenny came back I jumped to my feet. She wore the bracelet and it shot sparkles out in every direction.”Ready lass?”

We went down the back stairs and I nearly fell over when I saw Murtagh in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back and a shiny face.

“Murtagh, you look amazing.”

“Well lassie, I dinna ken the right English words for how ye look. It might take some time.”

I giggled at that and took his arm. Robbie Mcnab, the son of a neighbor was waiting to give the signal and ran around the corner when Murtagh told him to. What seemed like seconds later the massive front door opened and Ian offered his arm to Jenny, walking her into the house. I heard the wedding music and Murtagh walked me in slowly. I lifted my eyes to Jamie’s cool, sparkling, indigo gaze and felt my heart in my throat. Murtagh kissed my cheek and handed me to my true love.

Our favorite reverend officiated the wedding and started the ceremony with the story of when we met. He spoke eloquently of seeing the love in Jamie’s eyes as he watched me that day and the way I blushed like a spring rose when he held my hand. It was so beautiful and wonderful of him to speak of it. The ceremony was beautiful too I imagine. I was too lost in Jamie’s eyes to listen but I felt soft warm fingers on my elbow and knew it was time to bless the rings. I turned slightly to smile my thanks at Jenny and realized she was too far from me to reach my elbow, In fact, no one was close enough to touch that arm. Then I heard, “you may kiss your bride.”

Jamie’s kiss was a promise of undying love that touched my soul. The reverend said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce Mister and misses Fraser." I could feel myself smiling and saw so many faces approach, hug, and speak to us. I was in a pink bubble of happiness and looked at the most beautiful decorations throughout the lower level. It was hard to take it all in and I wondered who set all this up. I looked around at all the friends I have in my life now, the people that I loved, and knew any one of them would have done it for us.

Jenny pressed a glass of juice in my hand and smiled at me with so much excitement.

“Are ye alright lass? If yer feeling faint just look at that ring on yer finger and it’s sure to wake ye up.”

“Ring?”

I lifted my hand to see the sparkling diamonds that spanned the top half of the band. I looked at Jamie wide-eyed and he kissed me before leading me around to thank our guests for coming.

Doctor Abernathy and his wife Gail were there as was Lucy who was loving the punch she found in the kitchen. While we talked I watched people bringing trays of food from the kitchen placing them on any flat surface they could find. I was flabbergasted at the quantity and quality of the food. When I found Jenny again I asked her where all this amazing food came from.

“Mister Dunsany provided the flowers and catering, the likes of which we may never see again so eat as much as ye can, everything is delicious. Oh, Claire, he sent an envelope with yer name on it. It’s next to one of the arrangements." I found the envelope and felt dizzy when I pulled out a one thousand dollar gift certificate to the baby store in Edinburgh. How extraordinary, I thought.

Before time ran out I spoke with all of our girlfriends and gave them the date of Jenny’s surprise baby shower. All heads nodded and smiled and I promised to call them when we got back.

I laughed at the level of happiness in the room and it made me so happy.

“Sassenach, we have a minor problem. The snow is comin down heavy. It won’t impact Jenny’s Hogmanay guests, they’re used to the flatbed shuttle the neighbor provides. He makes a boatload of money from tips so he’s dancin a jig right now. We need to find a way out of here tonight or miss the plane. Can ye get changed and ready to leave? I’ll see if Angus will help.

Alarm bells were going off in my head and I quickly slipped my dress back on the hanger and changed into my jeans and a soft long-sleeve T-shirt. In ten minutes we were wading through so many people just trying to get outside. Angus was in his truck gunning the engine. I hugged Butter and reminded Jenny to feed the chickens and collect the eggs or they would eat them and we would be out of the egg business. ”And don’t forget Butter’s food is in the freezer, and have Ian check the warming light every night in the barn and …” I felt Jamie lift me up and wave us out the door.

We jumped in Angus’s huge truck, out of breath of running. It was toasty warm inside.

“My God it’s comin down, pray they don’t close the airport tonight,” he said with an evil chuckle.

They did close the airport however we were already in the air high above the swollen clouds that threatened our honeymoon. We stole kisses from each other whenever we could and curled up to sleep our way to the Bahamas.

24 hours Later

I laid on Jamie’s chest in the huge hammock that attached to our hut and hung over the water. It was so relaxing to swing and watch the crystal blue water. We had snorkeled all day and now, pleasantly exhausted, we tried to rouse each other to shower and dress for dinner. Laying in each other’s arms, watching the sunset over the water was too much of a pull so neither of us could move until it was dark.

Jamie kissed me deeply and whimpered in my ear he was hungry.

“I am not sure how we were able to do this Sassenach but we have not consummated our marriage and I am too weak with hunger to try.”

“Well, you are my favorite thing to do but the water was so amazing. Let’s go eat and remedy the situation. Oh,” I said giggling, “I have a silly surprise for you.”

“Give me my surprise Sassenach, it will give me the energy to get to the restaurant.”

“It’s not like a decoder ring or anything like that. Now I feel weird mentioning it.”

With great effort, we made it into the hut and Jamie gave into temptation and laid on the floor to watch the sea life through the glass floor. There were so many fish that were attracted to the underwater light. “It is a mystery this surprise.” He grabbed my ankle and pulled me down to the floor with him.

“I have a surprise too mo chridhe.”

Jamie stretched his arm and pulled the refrigerator door open laughing.

“Holy shit! Where did all that come from?”

"I stuffed a thermal bag with all that, zipped it up, stuffed it in another suitcase and checked it. It was still cold when I took it out. I forgot all about it." He started pulling gorgeous treats out that looked more like a piece of art than food.

“Oh my God, this is so good Jamie. This one is even better. What does that one taste like?”

At some point in our gorge-fest, Jamie picked me up and carried me to the bed nibbling on my stomach, making me giggle. I was still eating but it was getting harder because his nibbles were now warm and wet. He pulled my bikini top off and sucked on my breasts before he linked his thumbs into the bottom half and pulled them off.

“Christ Sassenach, oh my God, what a perfect wife ye are! I love it and ye so bare now.”

“Oh yea, that’s my surprise.” Jamie was rubbing his cheek over all the new skin exposed.

“It’s so much better than a decoder ring mo gradhag, he laughed. I love ye, and I’m fallin in love with yer pussy all over again.”

He opened my legs and laid on my thigh looking at me and touching places that were stealing my sanity. When I felt his warm wet tongue I was but a minute away from my explosion. I pulled Jamie up and pressed on his buttocks to push him toward me. I wanted to feel him inside me for as long as possible and like the best husband that ever lived, he made it last.

We had an amazing shower outside of our hut with the full moon shining down on us. Jamie kissed me over and over as I spread soap lather all over him. I felt like someone had given me knock out drops however and walked quickly to the bed before I passed out on my feet. I heard Jamie’s voice echo in my dream asking to see my heart again. I don’t know if I answered him or not.

My eyes opened late in the night and I heard Jamie breathing next to me. I turned my head and could see his face in the moonlight. I smiled at his serene expression and tried to fall asleep again but couldn’t. Rather than wake him I slipped my short robe on and walked outside to lay on the tiny patio in front of the hut. It was so peaceful and I ached for Jamie until I felt his hand on my hip as he laid behind me whispering lovely things in my ear.

“You’re naked Jamie.” I looked down the length of him and wanted to touch him everywhere.

“I came out to lure ye back to bed but that’s not gonna happen with ye lookin at me that way.”

I pushed him onto his back and crawled to his feet placing kisses from his ankle to his knee. He was watching me and I smiled. From his knee, I kissed deep on his inner thigh letting my kisses get wetter as I got closer to his lovely balls. I pressed my face into them sucking and licking, hearing Jamie start to pant. I played with his heat until he held my hair and pushed my mouth onto him. I teased his arousal to the brink of orgasm and then backed off. When I did it the second time he pulled me off of him and spun my back to his chest locking me into position with his thighs and arms.

“Yer a wee tease Sassenach and I’m gonna punish ye for it. “

Being completely at his mercy I could do little when he pushed into me with force. I felt him so deep as he pulled my leg behind his knees opening my core to his touches and making me pant for release.

“Come for me lass,” he panted in my ear as he rammed me. “That’s a good lass, oh God Sassenach.”

I was thrown so high I barely noticed Jamie’s climax, becoming aware of his grip on me as I came back to earth. We made it back to bed and slept like the dead until morning.

For the next week, we played all day, ate sumptuous food in the evening and made love through the night. Jamie was cerebral about my new heart for the entire week. He would get very quiet and then pull me to our hut, remove the bikini, and stare at my heart. 

We walked down the beach to listen to music one night and Jamie danced slow with me. Halfway through the dance, I knew he would be pulling me out of the bar. We couldn’t get home fast enough so he pushed me into the sand in a secluded place and pulled my clothes off. I could see his neck pulsing with his hammering chest. Once he could see the heart he just touched it, almost reverently at first. It started with a kiss, additional kisses, my hands in his hair, pulling his head to my bud, panting his name, his wet tongue, my deep moans and begging for him, and then he stopped, leaving me breathless. He dressed me again and pulled me along as we ran down the beach to our hut. I laughed so hard I almost tripped but when we crossed our threshold the humor ended and Jamie rocked my world.

I had trouble sleeping again that night and finally went outside to lay in the enormous hammock. The sounds of the water under me was calming and I dozed on and off. Jamie woke me with a dozen kisses on my face and cuddled us back to sleep. Just before dawn, I felt him suck my nipple and I gasped. I saw fire in his eyes and tried to get out of the hammock but he held me there and pressed into my slick center. His kiss took my breath away and our stomachs slapped together while he pushed into me without mercy. I felt him pushing me right off the hammock but could do nothing except tell him harder and faster. When we both climaxed together I was staring down at the ocean beneath us and Jamie was holding onto to my hips gasping for breath. I told him to let go and my naked body slipped into the water just four feet under us. 

Jamie and I swam naked as the sun peaked over the horizon. It was magical. We climbed out and showered off before being caught by the fishing boats that passed each morning. 

When I woke up there was coffee and scones to fuel my excitement for another incredible day.

We packed as much as possible into every minute and I knew I would never forget our incredible honeymoon.

I felt Jamie’s kisses all over my face before he nuzzled into my hair.

“Sassenach. We’re home, time to wake up.”

I could see he just woke up himself and I was relieved he was able to rest.

Scotland looked like a winter wonderland. It had snowed again for the last three days and I was very happy to see Angus waiting for us curbside. My God it was cold. As we piled in he handed us our coats and we were homeward bound.

What awaited us at home? Let’s see, pounding, sawing, drilling, hammering and an inch of drywall dust on everything. Snarky Jenny going into her last month of pregnancy. I start the hardest semester of my nursing program tomorrow and probably cannot get down our road with all this snow. I will probably deliver our baby after second semester, during finals week, necessitating special arrangements, proctors when I can take the exams, and a letter from the Dean to allow it all.

I looked at Jamie when he whistled at the depth of snow on our slightly plowed road. In my mind, I just saw roses… everywhere. They were up and down the road, all over the white fields, blooming every color imaginable. They were even in the rooms under construction. Everyone else might see a construction disaster zone but I just saw roses. Life's challenges will have to get much harder before I dread a single moment of this beautiful existence with Jamie, and that makes me happy.

The End (for now)

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction jamie and claire

[obsidianarchives]

Imani

Imani; Faith — To believe with all our hearts in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders, and the righteousness and victory of our struggle.

[Book Year Seven]

Desiree Warbeck’s arm was bleeding through her pink cow pajama top and dragon leather jacket. She was trapped in the Hogwarts kitchens, behind a fallen giant icebox that was too wide to climb in her injured condition and too heavy to lift with magic. This was it, the final battle everyone was worried about. An explosion had knocked the icebox down in front of her, with Desiree pressed tightly against the wall when she’d moved to avoid being hit. She’d banged up her back in the process and everything just hurt so much.

The blood had come from the Death Eater she'd been running from when she’d sprinted from the 7th floor – where she’d been helping the first years evacuate the castle — down to the kitchens to make sure the house elves were taken care of. She’d met Professor Sprout in the chaos and together they made it to the fruit bowl portrait and informed the elves. Some Apparated directly out, while others, led surprisingly by Kreacher, armed themselves to the teeth and swarmed up out of the room. Professor Sprout ran after them at Des’ assurance that she was okay, but several explosions left the Hufflepuff Seventh Year sweating, bleeding, and alone in the dungeons, with no one aware she was down there.

Desiree was sitting pressed against the wall, tensely listening for any intruders or helpers and feeling her knees cramp from the awkward position, when she heard He Who Must Not Be Named’s message of a truce while he waited for Potter. She let out a cool sigh through puffed cheeks and slumped against the wall, the weight of her battle exhaustion bearing down on her. Desiree searched her pockets, hoping she had her magical BSU parchment, but there was nothing. She rarely wore this jacket. It had been a gift from Blaise their fifth year and it made her feel badass. It was why she grabbed it on her way out of the dorm.

As she rested her head against the wall, trying to finally catch her breath, she thought of the brooding Slytherin. She hadn’t seen much of him this year. While last year he’d kept his distance in public, he still attended BSU meetings and hung out with her in the library or their spot behind the greenhouses. Their last real moment together had been in the music conservatory after Dumbledore’s funeral. This whole year they’d spent apart — Blaise keeping a low profile with Snape and the Carrows in charge, Desiree doing the same. She only saw him in class and they both avoided eye contact when they passed each other in the halls or at meal times. It was too painful. In her heart, she knew his unspoken feelings and she hoped he could feel hers. But that didn’t make their year (so close and yet so far apart) any easier. And she nearly felt her heart break when she saw him stride out of the Great Hall earlier when Headmistress McGonagall (Snape who?) ordered Parkinson and any other Slytherins out.

But Desiree knew Blaise. Even with You-Know-Who in charge of the Ministry and the school, Blaise wasn’t part of the torture squads the Carrows had formed. She wasn’t sure how he’d charmed his way out of that one, but she knew that he worked hard at maintaining an image, one that was ever so fragile because even Black pureblood families were in danger under He Who Must Not Be Named. But Des had challenged Blaise before about his relationship with Malfoy and his gang, and even as he pulled away from the BSU, she noticed that he had pulled away from that crowd too. Whenever Desiree saw him this year, he was alone and unsmiling. She missed his smile.

She started to feel a cold, creeping feeling.  She couldn’t be bleeding out, it wasn’t that bad, but her arm was too weak to pull herself over the icebox to see. Even in the warm kitchens, wearing two layers of clothing, she felt an icy grip start to worm its way around her heart. She remembered all the times this year that she had spent crying in her dorm, terrified to leave. She knew she wasn’t the only one. Plenty of students had horror stories of torture and abuse by the hands of their fellow students, both in their off hours and sanctioned by the Carrows. She always felt guilty for feeling so scared — she was a pureblood, with a famous grandmother. That meant wealth and privilege, even if her Blackness sometimes put her at a disadvantage. There were so many students who had it worse than her, but she still woke up in the wee hours of the morning before her alarm, unable to go back to sleep.

That feeling of dread hit her now, the prickle of tears catching in her throat and behind her eyes. She was suddenly struck by the thought of being trapped here forever. What if no one ever found her? Or worse, what if the Death Eaters all came looking down here and attacked her? What if she did slowly bleed out over the course of three days, getting weaker and weaker with no one to come help? Now her breath was shallow and coming fast. She grasped at the floor, trying to figure out why she was spiraling. Then she heard the robes sliding slowly across the stone floor of the kitchen and knew what was happening: a dementor.

Desiree tried to remember what you were supposed to do for dementors and regretted never joining Dumbledore’s Army. She knew the incantation, but what was she supposed to do with it? It was hard to think with the fog of anxiety. In the back of her mind, the thought of Blaise saying her name suddenly pierced through the fog. He often said it with a laugh. She prided herself on being one of the few people who could make the stoic boy, well, man now, laugh. There…that was it. Happy thoughts, wasn’t it? That was what was supposed to go with the incantation. She thought of Blaise sitting at the piano in the conservatory and thought she heard her name again.

She lifted her arm, “Expecto Patronum” she whispered, but her injured arm was her wand arm and nothing happened. Thankfully, the dementor seemed to still be a ways from finding her. She clenched her eyes tightly and tried to root deeply for that feeling. She was heartened by the thought of Blaise saying her name again, and felt that feeling grow. But the overall dread still stuck in her throat, tears pricked behind her eyes and began to leak out onto her face.

“Desiree!”

Why did that sound so real? “Expecto Patronum!” said a strained voice. Desiree immediately felt the air lighten. “Expecto Patronum!” Again, it felt like a thin light cutting through darkness. “Expecto Patronum!” The voice, that had been searing her thoughts was now echoing off the stone walls and the dementor was gone.

“Desiree?” Blaise said one more time.

She raised her good arm weakly and said, “Over here.”

The icebox was ripped away and suddenly he was there, his face still lacking that delicious smile. Then suddenly his head was in her hair, his hands clutching the back of her jacket. The pinpricks of tears were still in her throat, but now she could release them as she clutched him back with her good hand. They stayed like that for a moment.

“Are you okay?” He said, his voice still muffled by her hair. She could only nod, feeling his heart thudding against her hand as she clutched his velvet cloak. Even in the middle of a battle, he was dressed to the nines. It was an absurd observation, and she laughed. It was then that he pulled just far enough back to see her face. He stared deeply in her eyes and caressed her cheek. It took everything for Des not to close her eyes again. “What’s funny?”

“Your cloak. It’s so…posh. We’re at war, or didn’t you know?”

“You’re wearing a Gladrags dragon leather jacket. Looks like I’m not the only one dressing up for the end of the world.” He fingered the lapel of the jacket he’d once given her with one hand, the other still pressed to her cheek.

“How did you find me?”

“I knew you’d come to the kitchens. You spend enough time down here. Then I saw this outside.”

He held up a chocolate frog. Attached was a square piece of blank parchment. It resembled their BSU slips, but was smaller and had a drawing of the two of them together on it. They were laughing. It was likely a sketch from a BSU meeting. “Did Dean do this? Was it in my pocket?”

“I see you’ve been wearing my gift often then,” he said sarcastically. “Yeah, it was in the pocket. I saw it on the floor at the doorway. And then I felt the dementor…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been good with the Patronus Charm, but I just thought of you and was able to throw some silver slivers at it. I think they were called back to their master anyway.”

“You thought of me and produced a Patronus?” Desiree knew it was the middle of a war just floors above them, a count of the dead and injured to be had, but she felt like it was just she and Blaise left in the world.

“It should’ve been stronger.”

“It doesn’t matter.” And with that, she closed the gap between them, clutching the back of his black velvet robes as their lips pressed together. He responded in turn, both of his hands deftly sliding into her thick hair.

When she let him go, she grinned, “Be careful, your hands might get stuck there.”

“I don’t need them anywhere else,” he replied breathlessly.

They breathed each other’s air for another moment before a distant wailing broke them out of their spell. Blaise took a step back and looked her over, his face hardening at the sight of her bloody arm. He pointed his wand at her and muttered a spell. Desiree could feel the pierced skin knitting back together. He waved his wand a second time and the dripping blood disappeared. As he helped her to stand, her knees cracked, but she found that her previously shaking legs felt stronger with her hand in his.

“How’s the damage out there?” she asked. She lost track of how long she’d been down in the kitchens, but she assumed that more chaos had ripped the castle apart in her absence.

“I think it’s pretty bad, but I was only focused on finding you.” Desiree felt her already hot face flush anew at that. “Look, Des, I know it looked like I left but—”

“No, I get it. You had to do what you had to do to get the younger—”

“—I wanted to get the younger kids out.”

“Yeah.” For the first time ever, Desiree felt like they might be on the same page. “That’s more than most of your House. I can see how you’ve changed Blaise. Even when it’s seemed like you were farther away from me than before. I had faith. I could see you, Blaise.”

“Yeah, you always could,” he said with that perfect soft smile. Desiree felt another spark of warmth clearing away the chill left from the dementors.  

They turned from each other, looking to the entrance to the kitchens, hesitant to go back out into the chaos.

“We should find the other BSU members,” Desiree said softly. “Make sure everyone is alright.”

“Yeah.”

They stood together for another minute. Up above, they could hear the scraping of benches and the sound of dozens of voices getting closer to the stairway near the Great Hall. Something else must be happening. The two looked at one another.

“You ready?” Blaise asked.

“I have never felt more ready.”

And together they stepped out of the portrait hole and up the steps, hands still entwined. They were going to face whatever was next to come with their community, with their school, and with each other. Nothing could stop them now.

#Blaise Zabini #Desiree Warbeck #Hogwarts #HogwartsBSU #Harry Potter #Kwanzaa

[wingletblackbird]

Diabetes Challenge: Day 2

My Diagnosis Story

I’m one of those rare diabetics who were too foolish, blind, or hopeless to go to the doctor within a sensible length of time. I’m told that to get diagnosed through DKA as bad as mine is uncommon. I’ve actually been told there’s no medical explanation I’m alive. I walked into the ER under my own power with an ABG of 6.38, and a blood glucose level of 32.4, (or about 600 for those who aren’t using the Canadian system.)

I first noticed the symptoms of diabetes when I was a week or so into a brutal accelerated calculus course. I was studying something like eight hours a day, and thought that symptoms like blurred vision, and fatigue were just me pushing myself too hard. Also, I drink a lot of water as a rule, since I once passed a kidney stone, so I didn’t even notice I was drinking more than usual, and just attributed the frequent urination to my drinking habits. *sigh*  I always drank more than most people in my life anyway. 

In any case, I finished my exam, and went to by grandparents house the next day to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. We indulged in lots of stuff that was particularly bad for me: milkshakes, cake, cookies, chocolate, chips, sprite, coke, and orange juice. As you can imagine, I felt terrible the next day. I assumed this was because I hadn’t seen the sun in about a month, so I decided to go swimming. On the way, I used my birthday money to buy myself an Orange Julius from Dairy Queen: Not good. I drank it all, and it was, naturally, the largest size, then took the bus to the pool. As I jumped into the water, I experienced extreme chest pain, and rapid breathing. I honestly assumed it was an asthma attack, since, for me, it can be stimulated by exercise and cold, and that water had been freezing. I was scared, but I really didn’t think it could be that bad.

After about an hour just lying down, I realised that I didn’t have the energy to even get up and walk to the bus stop, so I called my cousin to pick me up, and he took me home. He said I looked really bad, and maybe I should go to the ER. However, in all of my non-existent wisdom, I insisted I just needed to take my puffers, and it would be fine. I’d been hospitalized for asthma once when I was a kid, and this wasn’t nearly so bad. It was bad, but not that bad. 

I changed my mind when I threw up all over my sheets as I headed to bed. I thought that was strange, because, to my knowledge, vomiting was not a typical symptom of asthma. I wasn’t thinking very clearly either way, as DKA tends to have that effect. I just put my sheets in the laundry, and drank a lot of juice, milk, and water, because I was so thirsty, and if I was sick, I needed to keep hydrated. Hindsight being 20/20 the milk, and especially the juice was a bad idea. I spent most of the night trying to focus, because I felt so tired. I remember thinking I could pass out from exhaustion. I still didn’t call an ambulance though; I thought it would get better, but it didn’t. Eventually, in the wee hours of the morning, with my laundry all done, and pulling an all-nighter, (I am so glad I didn’t go to sleep, because I doubt I would have woken up, and no one would have missed me for days with my parents out of the country, and my friends overseas; they would have just found my corpse probably a week later…), I called my grandparents, and asked them if they would mind driving me to the ER.

They drove me there, and all I remember is pain. My memory comes in flashes. I remember just focusing on the goal, on the next step of the mission. Walk to the elevator. Walk to the van. There’s a lot I don’t remember if it wasn’t to do with anything outside of my very deliberate and determined focus. I don’t remember, for instance, but I’ve been told my grandfather actually wiped saliva off my mouth, because it was hanging there in strands. I guess it was from the rapid breathing. Likewise, I didn’t notice, but my grandmother told me that when I walked my knees visibly shook trying to support my weight. Both of them told me I was pale as a sheet. All I remember though is pain, and forcing myself to stay awake, and push through it all. I could feel every individual muscle in my rib cage strain with each rapid, shallow breath, and I felt like a knife had been stabbed into my sternum. When we were in the elevator, I curled up into the fetal position, and when our floor came, I would force myself to stand right back up. My vision was blurring so much the memories now come in flashings of light and incoherent images.

When we got to the ER, I looked so bad they brought me up to the front of triage immediately, and I honestly didn’t have to wait at all. I still thought it might be asthma, so they put me on Ventolin, but I knew immediately that it wasn’t working. I remember trying to explain that it wasn’t working, that clearly this wasn’t an asthma attack, it was something else. I recall the process of communication felt so difficult, like talking to someone on the phone, but there’s a bad connection. You just can’t quite get the message across. You’re mixing things up, getting things wrong, and repeating yourself a lot. You wonder why they just can’t get it. Why don’t they understand you? There was significant frustration of simply trying to articulate what I meant when my thoughts were hard to string together, let alone my words. I think my speech was slurred. Eventually, I got the nurse to believe me that I wasn’t panicking, and they went to get the doctor who was at a complete loss. Maybe, it’s anxiety? No, I’m not an anxious person. Maybe you’re pregnant? Impossible, I’m a virgin. Maybe you’re…? So on, so forth. They gave me EKGs. They took X-Rays of my chest. All results came back, and lead to nowhere. Finally, another nurse noticed that I kept asking for more water, and she went up to doctor and said, “Maybe, she’s diabetic?” Then, everything clicked.

The doctor explained to me that the chest pain was coming from my heart struggling to pump my blood, because it was so thick with sugar. I remember almost seeing a light-bulb go off above her head, and almost hearing something click into place in mine. You see, my paternal grandmother, who passed from complications seven years before I was born, was Type I. Ironically enough, I was named after her, and I remember by father telling me a story that she had told him once: She’d said when she was about sixteen, she and her friends had gone out, and they’d all gotten milkshakes. She’d been so frustrated that she couldn’t eat and drink what she wanted, she drank the milkshake with them against her better judgement. She went into a coma, but she remembered waking up once, and feeling her heart strain to pump the viscous blood, and that was when she vowed to take better care of herself. I remember having that flashback, and going Oh! That’s me now!

After that, I was placed on a gurney, and rushed to ICU. I remember letting myself pass out, since I figured now that they knew what to do with me, I was entitled. The last thing I remember before the black was one nurse taking my blood sugar, and another trying to find an artery to get my ABG. The last thing I saw was the shocked look on their faces when they saw what the results were…

I was unconscious for about twenty hours during which they took my blood every four hours, but I remember waking up briefly in the wee hours of the next day, and being so hungry. I asked for something to eat, but the nurses looked shocked I was even up. They looked at one another skeptically before saying that I could eat if I could hold down some juice. I tried, but I threw it up immediately. I remember saying, “I’m willing to try again,” but they told me no. The gravity of the moment settled on me, when one of the nurses said, “Your blood is poison, honey, you can’t keep anything down right now.” I nodded blearily, and passed out again.

I woke up the next morning strung up on 6-8 IVs. This is not an exaggeration. I had four needles in me: Two at my wrists, and two in the crooks of my elbow, and they had double outlets. Hence, 6-8 IVs. My forearms were just massive bruises. I was attached to the IVs for two days, with some gradually getting removed as I got better, until they were all gone: some were insulin, some were electrolytes, some were saline solution. The magnesium was particularly bad. It burned as it went in, and all the nurses could give me for it was an ice pack. (Also, thank you to all the nurses out there. The ones who were assigned to me were all just so kind, and I can’t thank you enough for all you do to take care of us. It’s really very humbling, and I quite appreciated it.)

I slept for most of the first two days I was in ICU, and the first day is mostly just blur. I do recall needing to use the bedpan, and how it registered to me that I wasn’t remotely embarrassed about someone else being there to help me use the bathroom. I just felt so helpless, and exhausted I didn’t even care I needed help with basic bodily functions. I realized then I must really be bad off if I just didn’t care. I was so tired, sooooo tired…

The nurse came to explain that I was diabetic, and I just took it all in. She didn’t have to explain much, because I already knew a lot about it a) because I took an advanced biology course, and b) because it was in the family. I remember feeling like there was a certain inevitability to it. My grandmother had it. Now I have it. I was named after her. It just seemed so poetic. All the nurses said they were impressed that I was taking it so well. I didn’t know what to make of that statement. In many ways, it wasn’t real. I was diabetic now, and that was it. Shrug your shoulders. How was I supposed to take it? I had my diagnosis, and that was it. I didn’t understand why they thought I was doing so well. Was there a way that I was expected to take it…? Was I supposed to pitch a fit? Freak out? Have a tantrum? I said thank you, when they told me I was taking it well, but I honestly didn’t understand where they were coming from. I felt lost, but I did what I was told, and was as good a patient as I could be.

It started to become more real when I was discharged. I went home and I was still quite insulin resistant, and weak, but they needed the bed at the hospital, and I was able enough to manage, so I went. They gave me needle tips, insulin pens, test strips, and lancets, a massive sharps container, and told me to expect the nurse to call. Looking at the size of the sharps container was when my head knowledge began to become my heart knowledge. It was huge, and I realized that was because this was the rest of my life. That container was going to be filled with needles, and loads more would be filled besides. It started to feel more real, and it didn’t stop. It continued as I called the nurse with my numbers when she asked me to, when I started planning meals, when I started taking care of my blood sugar all by myself, when I started rearranging the rhythms of my life, but it was still so strange, and so much to remember. I staved a lot of how I felt off, and looking back, I think a lot of it was just me dissociating, because I needed to take care of myself, and be strong. Everything else could wait.

I finally broke down three days or so after I got out of the hospital. My mom, who had been out of the country, came back as soon as she heard the news, and as we were driving home from the airport, I finally felt safe enough to cry. Now, it was real. I cried, and I cried, because this was the rest of my life. I cried because I felt trapped. I cried because a whole future I had planned out where I took being healthy for granted just died. I cried because I was scared. I told my mom, “I feel like I’ve got a bomb strapped to me and any day it might go off.” I cried because I’d almost died. I cried because I knew that if I ever stopped taking care of myself, I was dead. I cried because eventually no matter how well I took care of myself, there would be complications. I cried because my grandfather told me I was released on the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. It was just too much. I cried. I just cried. 

#diabeteschallenge2k17 #Day 2 #Diagnosis

[hanreflects]

10/28/19

Today was one of those days. I woke up foggy from smoking too much weed the night before and literally felt negative and foggy all the way throughout the school day and now its 3:27pm and I’m trying to have a new start. However, that crazy thing is happening in my body where there are voices growing louder and louder. Also, every single sound that my ears and brain process sounds like its growing louder and is attacking me. It feels like the more I type, the louder the typing noise is and the more it is interpreted in my body with so much insane amounts of stress, like that as I am typing that there is someone saying out loud in an angry tone toward me. The voice grows louder and more angry and more stressed and aggressive and it will not quiet. I smoked some from my weed pen and it only continues to grow louder, the weed did not still or calm the voices. And the stress continues to grow like something bad is about to happen, but nothing bad is actually happening it is like an illusion. Like I’m sitting here panicking but actually everything is fine. 

I feel like within a few minutes it will quiet. I’m going to try an experiment.

I love you

Everything is okay

You are going to be okay 

Just wait until it passes for a few more minutes. 

Work today was frustrating because (mostly because) of my own headspace. Like I simply felt like I was waiting all day to wake up. I thought the foggy would pass sooner, but alas it did not so I was essentially impatient and grumpy all day. This weekend I spent time doing things that were hopefully going to sooth me and make me ready for the week. I still think in the end I did a great job with self-care and that the weakness of my weekend was doing so much to my body that is self-destructive sometimes. Like i smoked a shit ton of weed all three nights, and drank a lot on Saturday night. I stayed up late and I didn’t process my thoughts and emotions. 

My therapist said that she’d love to see me writing more, and I too would love to see me writing more. So this tumblr titled, “Han Reflects”, is me making a space in the universe to process my thoughts freely and only for me. I want to reflect and process more, so that I can be the most engaged and present in my life. It’s okay to check-out every once in a while, but recently I’ve been doing a lot more checking-out than engaging in my life. It’s like life is so much and it just feels unbearable to make it through an entire day without checking-out. Most days actually every day I come home and immediately smoke a cig on the patio. I sneak the last bit of sun, or put my feet up for the first time all day. I then go on my phone for an hour, and then  usually I struggle to get up and go where I am supposed to be later that night, like a date with a friend or therapy or to clean the Airbnb or go work out or something. These habits don’t help me process, take care of my mood and mindset and physical health, nor do they help me rest and rejuvenate even though my impulses like to think they do. 

If I were to zoom out on my life and analyze it like a literary novel, I would do a character study on my habits and values. Based on a data chart of how I spend my time, it appears that my greatest values are belonging, euphoria and learning. My habits are reading NYT, smoking cigs, sex, smoking weed, therapy, art making, time with mariel and alicia, taking meds, masturbating, youtube, social media, cooking, grocery shopping, calling my mom, instagram, cleaning, driving, shopping. I do things to make me feel good, experience floating, push me toward moments of euphoria and giddy energy. I like to learn about what’s happening in the news and with the people whose lives I watch pictures of. I want to belong to a family, a person, a community and I spend lots of quality time investing in the relationships that really matter to me: Mom Dad Matt Zach Mariel Alicia Lennox

I have pretty low balances in my bank account right now but I get paid in a couple days. There’s a long list of new clothes that I want to purchase. I spent a shit ton on clothes and goodies this past month, way more excessive than I ever have I think. I feel like its a pendulum movement that started in August when I dropped $366 at Urban Outfitters. Speaking of which, I sent two emails of feedback to Urban Outfitters and Airbnb on Friday. 

Its hard to stay focused, there’s all kind of thoughts and feelings buzzing about in my mind. 

Last night I sat on the porch at sunset, smoking a cig of course, and I watched the light shine through the leaves of the trees in my alley way. It was golden light and there is a spot where the light is hitting the roof of a home and the roof intersects visually with leaves of a tree waving in the wind. There were wee bugs flying and drifting about in this space of intersection, appearing like fireflies with their backs reflecting sun’s light. The moved about and I watched them, amazed and mesmerized. 

Time moves quickly, there is never enough time but mostly never enough natural motivation and incentive to do the hard work of life. To go to the grocery store, to the gym, to the walk around the block, to the forgotten friend’s porch, to call your brother, to stay sober, to read and to study and to do the inconvenient but ultimately helpful and life bettering tasks like vacuuming out your car and returning your Everlane order. 

What holds you back? Is it too hard to stay with a sober mind? Is it too much to bear the anxiety of being in public? Is it too much to ask you to give a little more after work, after giving your whole self away over and over and over? Is it too much to endure intentional conversation which wears you out? Is it too much to bear the discomfort of panting, sweating and mental frustration? Is it too much to focus on reading more than a few pages of a good story? Is it too much to bend over and scrub out the mold from the floor of your car? Yes that one is too much. 

 I am twenty two. I turn twenty three in 16 days. That’s pretty exciting but also intimidating, like woah Im 23 im bout to be 24 then 25 then 26 then 27 then 28 then 29 then 30, like that was so easy to type out all those numbers and already its 30>??? The years are just going to fly by as quick as I typed them, 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100. ? 

80-22=58

If i live to be 80, then I’ve only got 58 more years to live. Wow! I’m like a quarter of the way through my life. Thats a significant chunk. I hope that I get to live until I’m 100 as long as I have love in my heart. 

[normal-for-me-bpd]

BPD and Me #1

⭐️BPD and ME #1⭐️

So today has been somewhat of a rollercoaster.

I woke up to feel the throbbing pain of now day 4 of a migraine and sore knees and wanted just to go back to sleep but I knew my son needed breakfast (he was already up, I’d heard the tv come on 20minutes earlier) and the dog needed to go out for a wee!

So up I get, bacon butties and squash for the boy and strong coffee and porridge for me. My head still pounding and now anxiety has decided to have a go...........

thoughts creeping into my mind, negative, over the top but fear provoking thoughts “what if it’s a tumour” you’ve made it worse, feeding it with caffeine” “what if I’m dying or what if this pain never ends” my mind was spinning out thought after thought whilst I’m merely trying to muster up the energy to tackle the day!

I let my son know I needed to go upstairs for a while. I had to stop this line of thinking before a panic attack strikes

⭐️Coping method 1 - I spent 10minutes of a guided meditation for dealing with pain - Result - feeling calm, anxiety at normal level

I needed to run some errands and my partner had agreed to look after my son. Sunglasses on(even though it was wet and cloudy but too bright for my thumping head) and off I go, first stop the pet store. Get what I need then the spontaneous bit of BPD kicks in, I want to spend money(a problem I battle daily but with careful budgeting I conquer daily too) I know there’s gift shops just around the corner, lots of lovely items I’ve seen many times but decided were unnecessary every time before.

My mind filling me with ideas why today was ok, why today an exception could be made, I mean I’m in pain, I deserve a treat, how good would it make me feel, let’s just take a look were some of the qualifying thoughts I was giving myself.

The reality is that I knew I didn’t have the spare money this week, I had done minimum hours owing to my decline in health over the last few weeks and all money had been budgeted for so in comes;

⭐️coping method 2 - conscious spending, which consists of me running questions through my mind to put myself off spending money unnecessarily, things like “when will I use this” why do I want to buy ......?” Do I have anything similar” - Result - I left without buying anything other then what was on my list. I felt good as I recognised this was emotional spending in a bid to try and feel happy through today’s pain

When I got home I made lunch, done some housework and thankfully my headache was now just a dull ache but my knees weren’t feeling too great so I knew I needed to rest them, I was also having palpitations, no trigger for them but these do invoke fear of a panic attack so I needed something to distract me, so I got the arts and crafts station ready (kitchen table!) for me and my son to get creative so I’m now at

⭐️Coping method 3 - therapeutic art, getting the creative juices flowing does wonders for keeping an anxious mind quiet, it’s great practice at mindfulness and it’s fun too and of course I got to spend quality time with my son - Result - calm, happy and less sore knees 😀

So you see although a mind actively wishing to insight anxiety and panic attacks, wish you emotionally indulge in spending activities and a body that throws a whole lot of pain at you; there are coping methods and to be fair they help me create a relative sense of normality even when it’s a continuous battle inside my head.

The rest of my day has been fairly chilled, worked a bit on my business, fed the humans and animals of the house and chilled out in front of a film.

Alls left for me to do is wish you all good night and look out for tomorrow’s blog/diary post 💜💚💜

[laraholl-blog]

Rosie was sleeping soundly when she was awakened by a gentle hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes only to see her wife in obvious distress. "What's up, love?" she asked softly, the sleep still in her already raspy voice. "Panic attack," were the only words Rose could get out, her breath laboured. Rosie immediately came to her senses, like her body had just gotten the full effect of two cups of coffee.

Rosie still remembered the first time it had happened while she was with Rose. It had been terrifying for both of them. Rose couldn’t get to sleep that night, even though Rosie was slumbering peacefully next to her. She knew she was getting panicky, she could feel her own anxiety rise, but their relationship was new enough then that she didn’t even think of waking Rosie up and tried to get through it on her own. She regretted it later though, when she had worked herself into a full blown panic and Rosie had woken up anyway because of Rose’s loud crying and panting. Eventually Rosie started crying too, because she couldn’t get Rose to explain what was wrong, she had no idea what to do, and she felt horribly helpless. If someone had asked Rosie – what’s the thing you hate the most, what’s your least favourite feeling in the world – this would have been her reply. Being unable to soothe the woman she loved.

She wanted to call an ambulance that night, because she genuinely believed Rose was going to die from choking on her own inability to breathe. But as she started to dial, Rose began crying even harder and shaking her head. “Do I call Laura?” Rosie asked, at the end of her wit, and this time Rose’s reaction seemed a little more positive. Rosie had to fumble among blankets and sheets to recover Rose’s phone, found Laura’s number, and called her, feeling the most useless girlfriend ever. Laura was a bit annoyed when she answered her phone, since it was about 4:30 A.M., but she got worried upon hearing Rosie’s frightened voice. When Rosie explained through tears what was happening, Laura calmed down, still sad for Rose but relieved her sister wasn’t dead or in danger. “She’s having a panic attack,” she said to Rosie matter-of-factly. “Hand the phone over to her”. Which Rosie did. Whatever Laura was saying to Rose to guide her through her panic attack, Rosie couldn’t hear it; but it seemed to work, because after a few minutes Rose had stopped crying, and her breath was more regular.

When she felt calm enough to get off the phone with Laura, Rose was overcome by pure fatigue because of the last hour’s events. She mumbled a few words of apology to Rosie, feeling embarrassed as well, saying she really wanted to sleep now, and that she would explain tomorrow. She took Rosie’s hand in hers and fell asleep right away. Rosie lied awake for another hour and a half, thinking about what had happened, trying to calm herself down as well, not bothering to try and get back to sleep since she had to get up to go to work in a bit anyway.

They did talk about it the next day. Rose explained that she had been suffering from panic attacks since she was about twelve. She told Rosie that they had gotten less severe and happened less often since her terrible teenage years, but still something like this happened every couple of months, sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes during the day, even when she was out in public. It was something entirely different, she explained, from the feelings of anxiety she experienced because of her OCD. Maybe they were related, maybe not: these kind of panic attacks had no reason at all, no identifiable trigger whatsoever, and that was what was so terrible about them.  Rosie could feel that Rose was embarrassed and tense about this, so she let her girlfriend go back to her usual playful self after she’d given her this minimum amount of information. But Rosie, not being a terrible girlfriend at all, but in fact a really good one, went on and did her own research. The next time it happened, while they were out shopping at Tesco’s, she managed to bring Rose down on her own without having to call anyone. She didn’t even cry herself, even though her heart completely broke at the sight of Rose sweating and trembling and crying and gasping for air in the fruit and veggies aisle.

So this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Not even the second, or third, and Rosie knew perfectly well what to do. This hadn’t happened for quite some time now, but she was still a pro at it, she thought with sadness. On seeing Rose’s frightened eyes and hearing her choked breath she didn’t lose a single second. She placed a hand on Rose’s belly, gently bringing her down with her from her sitting position into a comfy horizontal one. She cuddled around Rose, feeling her girlfriend’s muscles all stiff with strain. Rose was still having a hard time breathing and looked at Rosie with pure terror in her eyes. “Rosie, love,” Rosie murmured softly into Rose’s ear, affectionately calling her wife with her own name. “You’re safe, baby, you’re here with me. You’re not in any danger, it’s just a panic attack. It’ll be over in ten minutes tops, and you’re gonna be fine, love.” Rosie kept caressing Rose’s belly as she was lavishing her wife with the most soothing words she could think of, in the softest voice that she could. She was warm from being under the covers, and Rose was sweating profusely, but still Rosie snuggled closer to Rose. She took her hand and brought it to her chest. “Can you feel my heartbeat, baby?” Rose nodded after a few second, her eyes wide open, her hand pressing into Rosie’s chest. “Good girl,” Rosie encouraged her. “Feel my heartbeat, focus on it for a while, baby. Try and concentrate on its rhythm. You’re ok, love, I got you, I’m here with you.”

Rosie planted a kiss on Rose’s head, lingering with her lips against her wife’s hair for a few seconds. She could feel Rose working very hard to inhale and exhale, with little success. “Can you feel me breathing, Rosie? Try and breathe like I am, love. Feel my hand on your tummy? Try and push it up, fill your tummy with air, baby. It’ll be over soon, Rose, I promise.” Rose could finally take in some air. “Just like that. You’re doing fine, baby. Exhale now, I’m going to push a bit with my hand on your tummy to help you get it out. Now try and breathe in again, my love.”

They kept at this for a few minutes. Rose’s laboured breathing became a little bit easier with each successful breath, always encouraged by Rosie’s soft whispers. She still gasped once or twice, but her breath was mostly regular now. Rosie wanted to keep talking to Rose, and she tried to think of happy things she could remind her wife of, to distract her and comfort her. This was tricky, though: their new book, their new house, the upcoming tour – all these were happy things, yes, but a little scary too, and Rosie decided not to risk mentioning them in case they brought Rose to a deeper state of anxiety. She settled on reminding Rose of their previous night walk with Wilma, how relaxed they had felt on that unusually warm British spring night, how they had held hands under the stars, happy even in that ordinary mundane moment while the little doggie thoroughly enjoyed herself. Rosie had painted such a soothing picture with her words that Rose couldn’t help enjoying the memory and relaxing a bit.

Rosie sensed this, and she felt relieved that the worst was over. She moved a bit and put her free arm under Rose’s neck, drawing her face close to her and kissing her softly under her ear. Rose felt better, but still very raw. The gesture made her eyes fill with tears, and she started to cry softly. “Rosie, I’m sorry, I…” Rose spoke, trying to reassure her wife that she was ok, that she didn’t feel like she was going to die anymore, and to explain that she didn’t really know why she was crying, but she couldn’t get the words out. “Shh, baby, I know. Don’t worry about it, love, go ahead and let it all out. Just try and keep breathing regularly” Rosie comforted her wife, brushing the hair away from Rose’s sweaty forehead, gently cradling and rocking her. When Rose stopped crying a couple of minutes later, she felt like she had got run over by a bus. She kept herself close to Rosie, not really wanting to let go, not wanting her wife to stop caressing her hair. “Are you ok, baby?” Rosie asked. “Are you warm enough, are you thirsty? Do you need to go for a wee wee?” Rose shook her head. “You should drink something though, love, let me get some water for you.” Rosie started to move, but Rose held her close. “Can we stay like this for a couple more minutes?” Rose asked, her voice hoarse from having cried. “Of course, love. Of course we can.” Rose fell asleep instantly in the warmth of their embrace. Rosie didn’t have the heart to wake her up after the night she’d had, and decided that water could wait until the morning.

When Rosie woke up she found the bed next to her empty, except for Wilma sleeping on her feet. She glanced at her phone and, finding it was quite late already, she decided to get up and go downstairs. When she got to the kitchen she was amazed to see a full breakfast on the table, together with a single rose, and her wife attending to the boiling water on the opposite side of the room. Flynn rubbed against her legs and meowed, catching Rose’s attention. Rose turned and saw Rosie, still sleepy and as cute as can be in her pink jammies and slippers. “Good morning sleepyhead!” Rose grinned, having gone fully back to her usual playful, happy self. She marched towards Rosie with one of her funny walks, and when she got near her, she picked her up with some difficulty and tried to carry her to the table. Of course she failed spectacularly and they both collapsed, laughing, Rosie landing on Rose, and Rose on the hard floor. “OUUUCH!” yelled Rose. “It’s all your fault Rosie! Stop making me pick you up and carry you around!” Rose laughed at her own shenanigans and Rosie laughed along. Still half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, they kissed slowly, and kept on nose-nuzzling even after they had stopped. Rose was suddenly serious again. She took a deep breath, and started speaking: “Rosie, I wanted to thank you. I know it’s not enough to simply make you some breakfast, it could never be enough, but you were so good to me earlier, I just wanted to do something to show you immediately how grateful I am and…” Rosie put a hand on her mouth. “Babe, we’re married. That’s what married people do. Be there for each other. I want to be there for you. I love you.” Rose playfully bit Rosie’s hand. “I love you too, Roseanne Elizabeth Spaughton. I’d do anything for you.” “Anything?” “Yeah, pretty much.” “Princess time, then.” “At your service, my lady.”

#rose and rosie #fanfiction #rose and rosie fanfiction #rose ellen dix #the roxetera #panic attacks #fanfic #ffic #the roses #lesbian #lesbian youtubers #LGBT #bisexual #mental health #copenhagen

[bestmovies0]

The Shocking Abuse Allegations Against Michael Fassbender

As Hollywood’s producing humen fall prey to the reckon over sex misconduct, certain -Alisters have managed to sidestep scrutiny.

But Twitter never forgets.

While the media gushes over Michael Fassbender’s secret Ibiza nuptials with Alicia Vikander and their new home in Lisbon, dark #MeToo-style allegations from the actor’s past have been demoted to social media.

In her March Vogue cover-up, Tomb Raider actress Vikander referenced her domestic bliss with Fassbender, telling the magazine,” I feel I’m more happy and content than I’ve ever been .”

Yet the newlywed Fassbender was a no-show at the 2018 Golden Globes ceremony. While other alleged abusers walked the red carpet in all black, triggering social media backlash over their perceived hypocrisy, Fassbender appears to have simply opted out. Vikander, who was a presenter at the ceremony, arrived, posed for photos, and did E! interviews alone. In conducted in conformity with the Time’s Up initiative, Vikander wore black.

Fassbender may have avoided the Golden Globes and a flurry of envision pieces, but allegations regarding domestic abuse have silently trailed him in recent years.

The domestic abuse allegedly occurred in 2010, just two years before Fassbender made his X-Men debut as Magneto and made an award-winning performance in the critically acclaimed Shame . A 2012 Hollywood Reporter article,” Fassbender on Fire ,” chronicled the German-Irish actor’s meteoric rise , noting that, while” development projects started pouring in from top-flight administrators” around 2009, it wasn’t until 2011 that Fassbender had his” real introduced by renown .” The 2012 profile continued,” One of the most gifted actors today, the sun of Shame , A Dangerous Method and the upcoming Prometheus has the industry in awe .”

A 2016 Guardian profile goes one pace further, positing that Fassbender’s career has been characterized exclusively by personal and professional success.” Twice nominated for an Oscar, the 39 -year-old suns in three new cinemas between now and January alone, one of which he likewise rendered ,” Fassbender’s interviewer raved.” And all this with scarcely a misstep( he opted not even to watch the 2010 flop Jonah Hex ), nor gossip editorial indiscretion. It is about as flawless a movie star career as would be possible to perfect .”

” He was sleeping in urine. I woke him and he began to be violent and threw me over a chair, transgressing my nose .” div>

— Sunawin Andrews on Michael Fassbender

In the age of the internet, it seems altogether too bold to publicly declare any human being to be indiscretion-free, let alone Michael Fassbender. It simply takes a simple Google search to find the TMZ bulletin that vividly chronicled Fassbender’s alleged abuse. While the 2010 report landed right before Fassbender’s mainstream success, it came after Inglourious Basterds — and was promptly discounted and apparently forgotten by writers, -Alist administrators, and Hollywood executives alike.

Fassbender has never commented on these allegations from his former girlfriend Sunawin ” Leasi ” Andrews, then a 36 -year-old aspiring model and actress.

Nearly a decade afterward, it’s hard to pinpoint a single way in which these allegations negatively affected Fassbender’s career, or even find a single profile of the actor that mentions them. Fassbender, who has wrestled with the misogyny and violence of some of his disturbed characters in publish, has apparently never been asked to comment on his own past.

The closest thing to an official statement comes politenes of Fassbender’s mothers. His mother, Adele, told the Daily Mail ,” Anyone who knows Michael at all knows that it’s a complete fabrication .” The actor’s father, Josef, told The Irish Sun that,” I don’t know where she is getting this story from, Michael is the most gentle boy you could ever meet .”

But a petition filed in courtroom by Andrews and obtained by The Daily Beast tells another story: one where Fassbender, on separate occasions, was alleged to have dragged her alongside a auto and violated her nose.

Reached by phone, Andrews declined to comment on the tale and pertained a Daily Beast reporter to her tribunal filings.

” You’ve got the paperwork. What more is there to say ?” she said.

Fassbender’s representative did not respond to repeated requests for comment.

According to court filings, Andrews filed for a restraining order against Fassbender in Los Angeles County in March 2010, requesting the actor stay at least 100 yards away from her, and her then-1 8-year-old daughter and 3-year-old son.

She likewise tried lawyers’ costs, nearly $24,000 to pay her medical bills( allegedly arising from hurts she suffered at Fassbender’s hands ), and requested Fassbender enroll in a 52 -week batterer intervention program.

In her petition, she listed the” date of most recent abuse” as Nov. 18, 2009. But in her narration of the encounter, she wrote that she visited a hospital on Nov. 29.( Her medical bills, submitted in the filings , note a Nov. 29 date of service. It’s unclear whether Nov. 18 was a clerical error on her proportion, or if she sought medical attention 11 days later .)

One disturbing episode allegedly occurred when Fassbender, Andrews, and two friends dined at a eatery. According to Andrews, Fassbender became enraged when one of her ex-boyfriends approached their table to say hello.

” Michael was booze and became angry ,” Andrews wrote, adding that, when it was time to leave, her worried friends followed them home.” Michael was driving my auto dangerously fast and hollering at me. I implored him to stop the car in fear of road traffic accidents or for my children who were home asleep ,” Andrews continued.” As we got closer to my house I throw my auto in stop. Get out walked around the car to draw key from ignition. Michael drove of[ f] dragging me along from the car .”

Andrews claimed that Fassbender” stopped after he recognized I could not walk and get out of automobile. He picked me up and put me in vehicle as my friends pulled up behind us. They stayed the night to aid calm things .” She woke on Nov. 29″ in a deep sweat and pain with vaginal bleeding ,” her petition countries.” I went to the hospital and had a distorted left ankle, blown out left knee cap and a bursted ovarian cyst ,” Andrews continued.” Lots of internal bleeding .”

One former friend at dinner that night, who didn’t want to be named and refused remark, said she didn’t witness the alleged car-dragging incident.

” I was with her that night. I know that they had a fight but I didn’t witness anything he did to her ,” the onetime buddy said when reached by phone, adding,” When we got to the house, they were not fighting anymore .”

Andrews detailed a second alleged incident at a film festival in July 2009. While she doesn’t name the event, Andrews was most likely referring to the Ischia Global Film& Music Fest 2009 in Ischia, Italy.

The actress claimed in her petition that Fassbender assaulted her after a nighttime of boozing at a festival “ceremony,” courtroom papers uncover.

Andrews alleged she went to bed but Fassbender continued partying until the wee hours before returning to their hotel.” He entered the room with a friend at about 5 a.m. drunk and they tried to get into bed with me ,” Andrews noted in her petition, adding that she checked into another chamber, apparently to catch some sleep away from them.

The next morning, Andrews returned to aftermath Fassbender for a panel. According to the schedule of events for the 2009 celebration, Fassbender was slated to appear at a 10 a.m. Movie Educational Seminar on Thursday, July 16 — the morning after an 11 p.m. Dinner Party with Award Ceremony “to follow.”

Fassbender was allegedly a mess when Andrews find him.

” He was sleeping in urine ,” she wrote in her court filing.” I woke him and he began to be violent and threw me over a chair, breaking my nose .”

According to the court record, a magistrate awarded a temporary restraining order that called for Fassbender to move out of the couple’s Bel Air home, which she said was leased in her epithet. The tribunal built the ruling based on Andrews’ claims that Fassbender was currently out of the country and therefore not living there, records show.

” Michael is currently shooting movies and is to return to the USA in the coming week ,” Andrews wrote in the petition.” I currently live alone with my two children where this is his only US address. I am still retrieving from my hurts and am afraid for my safety. I pay all bills and lived there before him .”

Of course, Fassbender isn’t the first actor not to be derailed by allegations regarding domestic mistreat. The entertainment industry is riddled with accused and even acknowledged abusers. Still, perhaps because he was just on the cusp of notoriety, Fassbender’s case made surprisingly few waves. Aside from a short TMZ piece, there was a 2010 article in the Irish Mail on Sunday digging into Fassbender’s accuser.

After hailing Fassbender’s streak of high-profile roles, the article wasted no time impugning Andrews’ credibility.

The Irish Mail declared that Fassbender’s” status as Ireland’s hottest young sun was placed in jeopardy” by Andrews'” string of lurid accusations .”

” Leasi, a modeling, claimed that the Killarney man attacked her in a drunken fury after a film festival, violating her nose and inducing her to anxiety for her two young children ,” the article stated.

The report went on to attack Andrews, smearing details of her” seedy past” across the page.

” However the Irish Mail on Sunday em> can reveal that the woman who is threatening the 32 -year-old Irishman’s reputation and, indeed, his very subsistence, is herself a woman with a troubled and somewhat seedy past. The model has had a string of lovers including an internet porn noble and a married man; she has children by different father-gods, her first as an 18 -year-old; and her early years were spent posing for’ erotic’ lesbian portraits .”

The unabashedly victim-shaming article concluded,” Nor was it the only instance of domestic violence in Miss Andrews’s chequered past. Indeed, much of her history seems to suggest that, either she suffers from a persecution complex–or else she genuinely brought about by the worst in humen .”

When contacted again by The Daily Beast, Andrews said the negative reports were inaccurate and that she’d been targeted by a smear campaign. She was a swimsuit and lingerie modeling and cinema and Tv actress, but never did X-rated project, she said.

According to one 2009 report, Andrews and Fassbender met when she visited her ex, producer Lawrence Bender, on the set of Inglourious Basterds in Germany. A 2006 article in the Seattle Weekly offered further details on the past that the Mail on Sunday alluded to.

In 2005, Andrews reportedly procured a one-year restraining order against her then-boyfriend, Seth Warshavsky, otherwise known as” the Bill Gates of porn .” Andrews, who was 25 at the time, claimed “[ Warshavsky] choked her during a limousine journey in Las Vegas last fall and has physically assaulted her in front of her 6-year-old child .” According to court documents, Andrews accused Warshavsky of” stalking her home” and threatening” to have my baby’s father killed .” While Warshavsky insisted that the civil action was ” simply a frivolous restraining order in an attempt to extort fund, and is in the process of being fell ,” the order was renewed for another time, according to the Seattle Weekly .

After domestic mistreat allegations against Fassbender first transgressed, the Daily Mail asked,” Now, after an Affair with a Former Porn Model and Accusations of Domestic Violence, Has It All Gone Wrong ?” The newspaper quoted a” senior movie industry figure” as went on to say that,” Attain no mistake, this has been noted at the highest level .”

” Nobody knows the full circumstances of the case but it seems exceedingly out of character ,” the source added.” Sure, he likes to have a sip now and again, but he is fundamentally a gentle guy. If he has a weakness, it is wives .”

Fassbender’s camp called Andrews’ restraining order into question because she filed it while the actor was filming in the U.K. When asked to comment on Andrews’ restraining notice, his “surprised” father responded,” Michael has been in England for the last six months. I don’t know how anything like that could have happened .”

Filming on Jane Eyre has just taken place in the U.K. from March 2010 through May 2010. Andrews filed a request for dismissal on April 5, 2010 — the working day before a scheduled hearing on the matter.

At the time, the New York Daily News cited “sources” who claimed that,” Andrews still wants Fassbender, “whos been” filming in England, to maintain his distance. But she feared her objection could get the Irish-German sun barred from returning to America .” One friend told the News ,” She doesn’t want to injured his job .” The insider also claimed Andrews didn’t want to damage Inglourious Basterds as an Oscars contender, as the film’s producer, Lawrence Bender, is the father-god of one of her children.

Court papers reveal that TMZ had requested a judge’s permission to livestream the April 6 hearing for Andrew’s protective ordering. Whether the court granted the outlet’s petition is unknown.

The temporary restraining notice expired when Andrews receded her petition the day before the hearing for a permanent protective order, records show. Court papers do not indicate why Andrews canceled her request.

In 2012, Fassbender and Andrews had a brief, well-publicized reunion after the Golden Globes. The former pair was spotted together at The Writer’s Room in Los Angeles, and Andrews was appreciated leaving the actor’s hotel the next day.

It was the last tabloid sighting of the former couple.

The Establishment picked the domestic violence accusations back up in 2016, questioning whether Fassbender’s race dedicated him a free pass.

The author, Becca Rose , noted Andrews’ 2012 reunion with Fassbender and the withdrawal of the restraining order complicates the narrative. But she said it’s the media’s occupation to look deeper into the perturbing allegations.

Andrews never publicly forswore her allegations. Meanwhile, Fassbender has catapulted to success without having to answer to the allegations or” suffer any significant outcomes ,” The Establishment piece notes.

” Leasi Andrews gets a mention on his Wikipedia page, but simply as an ex ,” the article nations.” To find anything on the abuse allegations, you have to hunt for it. It is, for all intents and purposes, like it never happened .”

On Fassbender’s current Wikipedia page, the actor’s” personal life” begins with a mention of ex Nicole Beharie in 2012, and ends with the actor’s recent wedding to Alicia Vikander.

Andrews has been completely erased.

Brandy Zadrozny lent research to this article . em>

Read more: https :// www.thedailybeast.com/ the-shocking-abuse-allegations-against-michael-fassbender

from https://bestmovies.fun/2018/02/14/the-shocking-abuse-allegations-against-michael-fassbender/

[exosmutxoxo]

Love You To Death 🌙

A/N: So I stumbled upon this in my word documents, which I wrote when I was thirteen years old. And I must admit that my writing style hasn’t changed much in the past four years, much to my embarrassment (oops). Please forgive me if you find any cringey stuff in this fic because let me repeat, thirteen years old and I know that most of us refuse to acknowledge our thirteen year old selves. Anyway, enjoy some kinky ghost Kai while I finish up requests x

Pairing(s): Kai/Jongin x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Genre: Very light smut/light supernatural

Requested: No

Summary: You and Ghost! Kai ‘interact’ with each other in the wee hours of the morning.

Word Count: 2563

*Side Note: This is a snippet from an old fic of mine, so if certain aspects are unclear, don’t fuss about them too much.

As silently as I can, I shut the door behind me and quietly slip on my Converse. The icy night air whips at my face, numbing it as I make my way down the pitch-black corridor, occasionally bumping myself against the wall.

Ow.

Using my phone as a flashlight, I slowly navigate my way to the end of the corridor and inch up the creaky stairs that links to the attic. I’m not even supposed to be awake at this time of night as it is forbidden in the dorm…but who’s to stop me from doing what I want?

The trapdoor to the attic is stiff and creaky from lack of use but I manage to open it eventually. Dust surrounds me as I squint into the darkness, desperately searching for what I’m looking for.

Books, old clothes, broken furniture…

I paw through the piles of junk blindly, hoping to feel the silkiness of the cloth-wrapped package that (Y/F/N) chucked away. Then I stop, goosebumps forming on my arms and the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. The temperature of the atmosphere drops rapidly.

He’s here.

I whirl around and there he is, standing there and glowing indignantly with an annoyed expression on his pale, handsome face.

And I’m the only one who can see this handsome ghost.

“K-Kai…” I stutter, my voice dangerously shaky.

Kai –the guy who is supposed to be dead but whose ghost is still hanging around me- raises one eyebrow.

“What are you doing here at three in the morning?” It’s obvious from his tone of voice that he’s pissed. I gulp. Making a ghost angry is never a good idea.

“Nothing”, I blurt out, even though it’s obvious that I’m up to something.

His haunted (literally) eyes sweep over me and he takes a step closer, that familiar smirk crossing his glowing face. Uh oh.

I back up against the wall behind me, still squinting in the dark, which isn’t so bad now because of his glow. My back comes in contact with the cool wood of the wall behind me as Kai slowly corners me, reaching out to touch my face. Normally, a ghost would be icy cold but not when you can see them or feel them. Kai’s fingers are warm against my cheek, much to my anxiety.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, so as not to be heard by anyone awake downstairs.

He slides his hand to the back of my neck and leans in closer, so close that I can smell the caramel chocolate on his breath. It’s worryingly satisfying.

What the hell am I doing? I think to myself. It’s three in the morning and I’m about to make out with a ghost in an attic. Okay, so Kai is a really sexy ghost and no one actually knows what I’m up to but it’s still…awkward.

He nuzzles his face in my neck and for the thousandth time, I wish he can just walk through me like how he walks through normal people. A drowsy feeling clouds over me as his lips come in contact with the skin of my throat and my knees give way, causing me to slide quietly to the floor with a friendly ghost on top of me, now starting to suck on my weak spot.

“Kai…” I croak hoarsely as his fingers creep beneath my shirt, playfully toying with my bra strap.

This is sick, I tell you. But also really hot. With him sucking on my neck and running his fingers over the bare skin of my tummy, I feel my whole body relax in his embrace like I’ve just stepped into a bathtub full of hot water.

The moonlight shines through the attic window, allowing me to see him clearer in his shimmering ghost form. As if it has a life of its own, my hand starts creeping its way into Kai’s jeans, fingering the edge of his boxers and slipping in, plunging deeper and deeper until my fingers curl around his cock, which is hard and alert. I never knew ghosts could have erections, I smile to myself as his lips travel up to my mouth, which automatically parts to allow his tongue to enter.

Just as he pushes his tongue down my throat, the trapdoor starts creaking and someone calls my name. “(Y/N)?”

I scream and bolt upright, shoving the horny ghost off me. Kai disappears in a flash just as (Y/F/N) pushes the trapdoor open and flicks the light on. Trembling in the sudden brightness, I can see in the cracked mirror opposite me that my hair is badly dishevelled and my shirt is askew. And, I realize with horror, there is a huge hickey on my neck. Pulling up the collar of my shirt to cover it, I gaze up at (Y/F/N) with guilty innocence. Man, that was the worst oxymoronic phrase ever.

She studies me with concern and suspicion. “Are you alright? What are you doing up here at this kind of time?”

My face is starting to get hot as the seconds tick by and I frantically rack my brain for a witty excuse. “Um… I came up here to explore. There is so much fascinating things up here, you know. It’s like a yard sale”, I burble stupidly, firmly pressing my collar against my neck to hide the evidence of my near-sex encounter. I get hotter as I recall how it felt to have Kai on me just a few minutes ago…

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“Oh, I tripped and fell. How clumsy of me”. I giggle nervously and to my relief, her suspicious expression clears and is replaced by a relieved one.

“Sheesh, you nearly gave me a heart attack when I woke up and discovered that you were missing”. She leans closer, furtively glancing over her shoulder. “I thought it had finally gotten to you”, she whispers.

I blink drowsily at her, only half-listening to her. Well, what do you expect? I’d nearly had sex with a ghost at three in the morning. How do I listen to my best friend and hide the hickey at the same time while trying to maintain a poker face expression? “What do you mean?”

(Y/F/N) shivers. “The ghost”.

I can feel my whole body flushing as I pull my collar up higher. “There is no ghost!” I say a bit too loudly, suddenly feeling so worked up. I can’t let anyone know about my invisible “friend”.

She shrugs. “Nobody knows. But whatever. We can’t see anything even if it’s there, right?” She cocks her head to the side, gazing at me right in the eye.

I look away uneasily. “Yeah. I guess…”

“Well, I’ll get going then. See you tomorrow”. With one last jaw-cracking yawn, she gives me a sleepy smile, leaves the attic and shuts the trapdoor, abandoning me in the now-bright attic. I just sit there on the floor, clutching my knees to my chest and finally letting my collar slip so that I can see the huge red mark on my neck. My reflection in the cracked mirror stares back at me, showing me a small, dishevelled girl in her crumpled clothes with a stunned expression and a bruise on her collarbone.

A glow appears at the corner of my eye and my horny ghost friend stands there, causally leaning back against the wall with his arms folded and an unsatisfied expression on his face. “Well, that was just plain rude”, he complains, pulling a face.

Suddenly, I’m angry. No, that’s an understatement. I’m the “bubbling, about-to-erupt, about-to-scream-and-tear-the-walls-down” mad.

I’m mad at Kai for taking advantage of me ever since he died and became a lingering spirit that refuses to leave me alone.

I’m mad at (Y/F/N) for interrupting our delicious moment just now.

I’m mad at myself for coming up to this stupid attic in the first place.

I’m mad at myself for being head-over-heels in love with this fucking drop-dead sexy ghost.

Pulling back my collar with such brutal force that I’m surprised it didn’t tear, I reveal the hickey to him. “What do you mean by rude? I should be thankful that she interrupted us and saved me from being eaten alive by you. Look at what the hell you did to my neck!”

Kai stares at her, at this blotchy-faced nineteen-year-old girl who is bristling with anger and exposing a hickey on her pale neck and his little ghost heart thumps faster. How did I fall in love with this crazy woman? He thinks silently to himself, admiring at his excellent skills, the evidence prominent on her beautiful neck. Out loud, though, he says, “Hey, you should be lucky that you can see me. Out of all the millions of people out there, you are the only one who gets to touch me, feel me, talk to me”.

As I sit there and absorb what he has just said, a dark part of me is actually ashamed to admit that what he said is true. I love the fact that I’m the only one who can see him and keep him all to myself. He’s my dirty little secret, my best guy friend, my joy, my sadness, my frustration, all combined in that hot body of his. The body I so badly want to see completely naked next to me in bed, I think wistfully to myself. But of course the stubborn part of me refuses to confess all of this and let it out into the open air.

“Oh, that’s so typical of you to think that every single girl is willing to drop dead and roll over on their feet for you!” I snarl, trying not to look at how his shirt is unbuttoned at the bottom, wide enough for me to see his abs.

“Like as though you are not willing to do that! Admit it, (Y/N), you’ve got the hots for me. Don’t even try to deny it anymore”.

“Shut up!” I scream at him childishly, covering my ears with my hands. “Just shut up! You have no idea what you are talking about! I don’t even-”

Suddenly, everything switches to slow-motion ; Kai appears directly in front of me, shoves me back against the wall with strength a human can’t compete with, suctions his lips on mine and rams his tongue down my dried throat, his hands pushing up the fabric of my shirt and squeezing at my sore breasts. A moan escapes from my mouth and my hands slither their way into his jeans once more, squeezing his erection as hard as I can until he starts to moan, groan, growl, his fingers digging into my skin ferociously like a beast that hunts for me.

“Kai, wait-”

I pull back so quickly that our mouths disconnect with a sucking sound and I knock my head on the wall behind me. Now that I’m leaning back, I can see the expression on Kai’s face: confusion, annoyance and even a bit of impatience. “(Y/N)”, he says with an irritated edge in his voice, “what now?”

Gathering my shirt around me and licking at my lips self-consciously, I immediately feel a pang of regret for pulling away just when we were about to reach the climax of what was happening between us. Why am I so stupid? A totally drop-dead (haha, very funny) gorgeous ghost is willing to leave hickeys on my neck and have sex with me and I pull away. Great.

I swing my gaze away from his and pick at my jeans awkwardly, the silence so overwhelming and freaking loud. Kai exhales heavily, as though we actually fucked. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” he finally says, eyeing me with exasperation.

His hard-hitting question makes my heart ache and my whole body to feel sore all over. I’m tired, so very tired. I just want to crawl under the covers and sleep for a million years but I can’t. Thanks to the peeved ghost hovering over me, looking like he’s ready to shove me back against the wall and kiss me all over again. As discreetly as I can, I sneak a glance at his jeans and I see something move down there. Typical. Even when we’re sitting in silence, Kai still has the biggest erection I’ve ever seen. Deep down, though, I’m secretly thrilled that he’s easily turned on as we can fuck whenever we want to. Just not now, of course. “Nothing’s wrong, Kai. I’m not angry”, I say tiredly, rubbing at my eyes.

“Oh, really? Then why did you pull away? I thought you were enjoying it as much as I was”, he grumbles, scowling.

I flush. “I was enjoying it. I’m just really tired now and I’m not in the mood tonight”.

“Well”, he snaps, “I guess I’m not in the mood too”.

I flush even more at his sharp tone. Why is he so pissed off? Does he really expect us to do it at this kind of time, when the clock shows that it’s nearly four a.m? I’m cold, sore, confused and exhausted and I probably won’t have the strength to do anything with him, even though I want to. “Fine. I’ll see you around”. And with that, I scramble to my feet, adjusting at my shirt and trying to avoid eye contact with him.

Kai heaves a sigh, causing all the stuff around us to vibrate due to his irritation. “Fine. Goodnight”. He nods his head at the trapdoor, opening it up for me with just a snap of his fingers. I nod back at him and leave the attic, slowly climbing down the stairs. Once I’ve reached the fourth step, I turn back to glance at what’s behind me. But he’s already gone, of course.

A whole world away, Kai hits the wall furiously, earning a bruised fist in the process. He may be physically dead but that doesn’t mean his emotions are. Back when he was alive, he was still the same. Aggressive, quick to anger, hot-tempered. He always flared up whenever the girl he was with refused to do what he told her to. He was always mad at the girl.

But not now. Now he’s mad at himself. He was such an asshole to her and yet she just took it coolly and walked off, unlike other girls in the past. The others would cry, scream and whine until he was forced to calm them down, his teeth gritted. But not this particular one. She’s different from the rest; she knew her own mind, she’s strong-headed, stubborn, tough, beautiful.

It must be so hard for her, Kai thinks, to be the only one who can see the undead. She’s the sucker who has to clear up the mess that the dead ones leave behind. She has to be careful to avoid being caught talking to “the empty space” around her. Recalling the heated moment between them, Kai’s now-pale cheeks glow as red as a tomato. She was just so hot. And then he had to go and screw it up by forcing himself on her for a second round.

He cradles his head in his hands, but not before kicking the wall like a kid throwing a tantrum. God, love is tough. Especially when you’re dead.

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