tristan-hawkins

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

If you put a gun to her head there and then, Clea could not have told you a single thing about the book she had tightly clutched in slightly too cold hands. Not the cover, the author, when it was set or when she’d picked it up. All she could suddenly focus on was this man, and the quiet rageandhurt that turned tumultuously in her gut. Anger, after all, had been her primary emotion, angry tears that had led her to smacking her palm against the wall of their shower, to breaking more than a few glasses in the weeks they’d been apart and the one, isolated instance of burning a blanket they’d gotten as a wedding gift in the woods. 

The last thing, something Clea would never cop to, had been the last together act of a visit from her older sister Kate earlier the past week. The annoying youngest,  Clea often felt the most distant of her large family, but Kate was the one half sister that considered herself Clea’s keeper, and it was she who Clea had spilled the news to. It had meant so much to Clea that her high powered lawyer and mother of two sister had taken time off to spend the weekend with her little sister, but she had forced Clea to answer the questions she’d been too afraid to give to herself.

Do you still love him? 

Clea did. Still with everything she had, though parts of her were tainted with hurt that would never be whole again. She hated that she did, maybe, but there had been a reason she’d said yes to his proposal when everyone thought they were far too young to be thinking of such things. Clea had looked into his eyes, and known to her core that there would never be another man who’d tempt her like him. Whose embrace she’d feel safest in, whose smile she’d never get tired of, whose life would always entangle with hers. Clea still loved him, the bastard, even though he’d taken the fragile bits of that too tight heart and been foolish it, clumsy and destructive.

Do you think you could forgive him?

Maybe. Maybe she could. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But she wouldn’t be able to do it by herself. Clea shouldn’t have to. Tristan should have to prove that he was worth forgiving because he truly had hurt her so. This, this is why instead of turning tail and running, knowing he wouldn’t come after he, the dark haired woman willed her feet to turn to cement and her spine to grow ramrod straight and swallowed a stuttering breath hard, with something nearly akin to a weak smile playing on her lips. “You know what they say. Think alike, and all.” Her dark, dark eyes flit to his long hair, sable strands that she’d run her fingers through more time than she could ever count. “You need a haircut.” Clea adds, nonsensical and soft. “How,  um. Have you been?”

To expect Tristan to have his thoughts collected in this instance was a mistake. By now, Tristan should have known what to say to Clea, apologising profusely, begging to be by her side, offering solutions to his fuck up. But Tristan’s mind was fucked up and had been for years. All he knew and all he could say was that he loved Clea like the stars loved the moon. How every night they shared the night sky, he wanted to share the rest of his life with Clea. Instead he stood there, his vocal chord twisting as he tried to utter something that would show Clea that he missed her. 

Tristan was not expecting forgiveness, hell, he was not expecting Clea to take a time out of her day to acknowledge him. Flashback to the night Clea asked him to leave their home, Tristan recalled the exchanges they made. The reminders of how badly he fucked up, how he broke Cleas. He was silent most of the time because as much as Clea wanted the details of his sordid one night stand, he couldn’t put her through it, nor did he want to relive his biggest regret. 

With the mention of his hair, his brushed his fingers through his untameable strands, attempting to make himself look more appealing than he probably presented. “I should be the one asking.” He huffed, eyes dropping to the floor. Truthfully, Tristan did not want to know because he knew Clea and couldn’t bear knowing he was he cause. It sounded selfish but Tristan needd to find ways to move forward with or without Clea. 

“I – uh, I got a job.” His voice peaked with more confidence. Since his return, this was an accomplishment. His eyes picked back up, locking onto hers, allowing himself to take her presence in. Could he really walk away from her all over again? His heart ached at the idea. “I wanted to call you but I wasn’t so sure you’d pick up.. I used to think I knew what you’d be thinking but right now, I have no inklng.” Tristan let out a deep sigh, his facial expression tensed. “And if we’re being honest, I miss that I could. I miss you. I know I dont have much right saying that but I want you to know that. ” 

#( c: tristan x clea ) #( interaction: clea )

[tristan-hawkins]

#( audio )

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

It’s been three weeks and some change. Three weeks, two days, and a short number of hours, if Clea was being honest about how every one of those seconds had drained her, just as had every moment since those words had fallen out of his mouth.

I slept…with someone else.

What an innocent phrase, when taken all apart. When dissected and removed from its real meaning, from the pain it constantly drew on her heart. They squeezed her heart in sharpened thorns, bleeding every time she took another breath. The worst part was, she still loved him. The worst part was, for as much as his broad muchness was out of their home, it had done the opposite, made the lack of him even more stark and crushing. The worst part was, Clea couldn’t even settle on which one it would be. Because it was all devastating.

It’s a nippy day, brisk wind requiring a jacket or maybe the occasional hat, and she is headed out on the way to her favorite bookstore in Klover. When her real life was terrible, Clea had always been able to drown it in the happily ever afters she could read so easily, and she’d been tearing them, using them to distance herself from the shattered remains of the beating thing inside her. Her long bob shone mahogany dark under a warm beanie, arms clad in a long, thick sweater dress. The store has a tiny bell that rings when she walks in, but no one looks up, the atmosphere content and full of people looking for books or reading. Just being there soothed Clea a little bit, and it was this feeling that she got to hold onto for a precious few minutes, before she walked around a shelf and got an eyeful of sable hair. 

Oh. You.

Her eyes widen, dark and fractured in the light streaming through the windows of the early afternoon. The debate of whether or not she would engage or run away like Clea so desperately wanted to was stolen from hair when a flick from that tall, tall height (thirteen years and she’d never be over it) has their gaze locking. Her heart begins to pound without any of her control, and she takes in a tiny bit of air as she regards her husband, the man who still held every piece of the heat he’d broken.

tagging: @tristan-hawkins​

He thought the days were longer across the seas but Tristan was wrong. Every passing moment since the spill of his wrongdoing felt like an eternity, not even Hell could compare to the sinking feeling in his gut. The days grew longer and Tristan was coming to terms that his marriage was over. There was no going back.

His friends encouraged him to throw himself into some form of distraction and so he did. Spending the last few weeks at a friend’s, Tristan needed an excuse to not overstay his welcome so he would head out. It started on as days with nowhere to go, hopeful that he could return to his home. Eventually, Tristan knew he would need to look for a more permanent setting. In between flat hunting lead to countless trips to coffee shops, small on going events in Klover and his usual favourite pastime, the bookstore. 

It was usually quiet, a quaint store that was barely filled with customers but today the shop was busy. Tristan didn’t mind it. It appeared everyone else had the same idea as he did. His eyes travelled through the aisle of books till he reached a section that peaked his interest. He reached for a book and opened it, beginning to browse through. With his head tilted, Tristan’s unruly hair fell, blocking his view of his surrounding. It was pure luck that feeling someone’s presence did he glance up. 

Tristan could feel his heart tugging in his chest. For a moment, Tristan could only think about how beautiful his wife was. How he missed the sound of her soft soothing voice when he needed to hear it. He blinked a few more times, to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Was this a sign of fate? hope? Tristan gulped as he gazed into her dark hued eyes, witnessing the reliving of the sorrow the day he told her the truth. 

“Hi.” Was all he could muster himself up to say. He cursed himself for not being able to say more because he wanted to. To repeat how sorry he was for the what he had done, sorry for not loving Clea more than she deserved. There was only two ways this conversation could lead and Tristan wasn’t hopeful that it would go the way he wanted. “I guess we had the same idea.” He coughed, his eyes shifting over to the collection of books. One of his favourite things about Clea was the way she would get lost in fairytale endings. He hated that he was the reason she was not living reality in the same way. 

#( c: tristan x clea ) #( interaction: clea )

[tristan-hawkins]

We should ask God to increase our hope when it is small, awaken it when it is dormant, confirm it when it is wavering, strengthen it when it is weak, and raise it up when it is overthrown.

⌜ •° ✦ °• — Is that JARED PADALECKI? no, that’s TRISTAN HWKINS  they’re THIRTY-EIGHT years old and use HE/HIM pronouns. what do they do here? they’re job hunting and they’ve lived here all their life. ── ( monica. 26. her/she. gmt ).

TW: drugs, bullying.

- Tristan Hawkins, born March 5th 1982.

- Son of Christopher (A security officer) and Caitlin Hawkins. Tristan grew up into a not-so-average family, at least from what he could and would recall of his younger years.

- At the age of 4 years old, innocent and naive, Tristan found his mother with a needle injected into her arm, passed out in her bedroom. Tristan barely remembers much of what followed that day however since, Tristan’s relationship with mother has been a battle - of hope, of support, of strain. By the age of 7, Tristan memorised the protocol that would save his mother’s life on numerous occasions –– when she stuck around long enough to want to be his mother, claiming to want to be saved.

- The next 10 years for Tristan resulted in experiencing things no child should have. Whispers and sometimes outright comments as he walked through the community and through school about his good-for-nothing mother and broken family. Physical altercations in retaliation to bullying. These things only made him determined to keep fighting for his family; hope that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

- The only thing that got him through was his one consistent; his father. Christopher never wanted Tristan to witness the things he had but this was Tristan’s choice out of love for his mother and his father never strayed. Unfortunately his father, being the sole provider was gone most nights for work but he always made up for it with a batch of pancakes in the morning to share before school. It were the little things that meant the most to Tristan.

- The few years following were more progressive. Tristan was slowly excelling in his classes, made more friends and started building for his future - gym, extra-curricular sport activities all in preparation for enlisting in the army. His relationship with his mother had improved significantly as she reached 5 years sober and clean.

- It was during this time of his life, Tristan met the love of his life. A whirlwind romance he never thought he’d find and determined to keep hold onto. So a messy proposal, small intimate wedding, Tristan locked down one of the most important persons of his life. Clea. 

- It wasn’t long after, he was deployed and the trials and tribulations of his relationships began. Tristan tried to hold his marriage together but when two different worlds collided, he began to struggle. His marriage even took a toll on his time away in the Army whilst being the only thing to keep him together. After a long service period, Tristan was given an honourable discharge. He never speaks of it. 

- His return to Klover, his marriage remained fragile, explosive and downright complicated. Tristan will never admit his weakness and continues to hold out for hope that his marriage can be saved –– but in his eyes, can some things be saved?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

#re: introductions.

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

It’s only about a minute before her question gets an answer, Tristan’s deep voice calling through their home. One of Clea’s favorite things about the house is that from the outside it looks deceptively like a simple, cabin modeled sort - when in fact, it had two floors and sprawled out over some thousands of feet. Hearing that he was outside prompted her to change her work heels to some ballet flats before heading to find him, Yoda excitedly following near the swish of her skirt against her legs.

Tucking a thick strand of silky blackness behind her ear, once the fairy lights hit her vision they sparkle in her dark eyes, widening at the sight before her.  It’s her husband that her eyes drink in first, dressed nicely for the first time in what was honestly too long. A pair of jeans that fit him nicely and a snug henley the betrayed all the ways that despite his dischargement, he’d kept more than fit, clothed the attractive man along with a proud smile. Slowly Clea takes in the rest - the soft glow of the lights strewn around their patio, the set table, and that throw blanket that she’d spied a few days ago. 

He’d made her a date. 

They weren’t fixed, not by a long shot, but this proved to her that Tristan was genuinely going to try, and that combined with his eagerness for her approval and the clear care he’d taken with everything made something grow warm and soft in her ribs. It had been a long time since Tristan had inspired that inside her, and it was nice to know he still could.

There were a lot of things Clea could say and do, but she settles for a smile that  lifts her cheeks and shines in her face. Walking with purpose towards him, she chooses for a moment to push down the hurt and trauma of their relationship for a few moments so she can slide her arms around Tristan’s waist, linking behind him. Standing on her tiptoes, she presses a kiss to his lips, the first one they’d shared in a long, long time. “I love it.” She says simply, kissing him once more. “Please tell me you made my favorite?” Ravioli had always been her Achilles heel of pasta, much like he was her Achilles heel of men.

Yoda trailed along further towards Tristan, seeking his attention by pouncing up at his legs. As much as Tristan would have knelt down to give him a pat, he was far too nervous to make any movement. He tried his damn hardest to make things romantic and hoped to see his answer in Clea’s eyes. When she entered the garden, Tristan watched as her expression visibly changed brought a sense of warmth. He felt like he belonged after so long. 

To explain how he felt in the previous weeks was far too dark and something he wanted to shove in the corner of his mind and for tonight, that was exactly what he planned to do for at least one night. 

As Clea approached, her small frame at a significant disadvantage to his height, yet it didn’t stop her from displaying affection. One that Tristan had forgotten the sensation of. When she slipped her hands around him, Tristan automatically followed, wrapping his around hers, tightly. And then followed a kiss. It was a stranger to this senses but soothing. Her lips felt right pressing against his. He proceeded to kiss her forehead, squeezing her tighter in the hug, to let her know the man she once loved continued to exist underneath the hard shell he’d become. 

A smile followed her question along with a low level chuckle “You think I’d do all this and miss out the main part?” Due to the dynamics, Tristan was the cook at the home. If this was asked years before, Tristan wouldn’t have even known how to make himself noodles but he learnt with Clea’s help. And he loved it. The kitchen was his space. “And that’s not all of it.. wait till you see whats for dessert.” 

Tristan gestured out to the blanket where two glasses of Clea’s favourite wine awaited. He guided her over to her seat, lowering himself down to hand her a glass. “So... I kind of had this idea.” His voice trailed. “With everything of recent,” Tristan had to gulp in order to allow his words out. “I guess, I kind of feel like a stranger here if we’re being honest.” And it was true for Tristan. He felt out of place but slowly he was recognising his place. He knew if he wanted to move past the shit storm they were in, he would need to be honest but timing was everything. “I know we know enough about each other but I just want to hear about you again.” A nervous laugh followed. “Think of this like a first date. All over again. Except we’re not awkwardly dressed with a God awful hairstyle and spots.” Tristan continued to laugh as the remembered the early days of their relationship. 

#c: clea #jeeeeez took my time #lmao whoops #throw this out into the wind

[tristan-hawkins]

❛ i’m the problem . and there’s nothing i can do about it . ❜ [ TRISTAN & CLEA ]

Clea is frozen, motionless on their bottom step, hands trembling where they clutched at her nightrobe. While the lavender silk has always been a source of comfort to her, it is no protection, no shield for the words that sound in their home like a gunshot. Her eyes, big, dark, and shattered in the dusky light of their living room lamp, can’t help but train on her husband, the man in question sitting heavily on their couch. It had been made into a makeshift bed, and it’s his first night back. His first after telling Clea...that.

They were bold words to say, honest and sharp, but not nearly as slicing as her shattered heart, spread around every inch of their home. Tristan’s long hair hides his face, but she knows there is shame there. It aches at her to know that it’s there, but not more than his betrayal did.

“You could’ve just not slept with her, Tristan.”

“If you know you’re the problem...” She whispers, unable to drop her gaze. “Then fix it, damn you. Because this...this is one so big it could finally break us.”

#[ int: clea ] #my soul hurts after this #tdjhghjf

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

Clea wasn’t quite sure if she could say that things had gotten decisively better since they’d left Olivia’s company. They hadn’t had any fights really, but there had been a slight rhythm of tension between them since they’d come back home. It had only been a few days, but sue the photographer for hoping that she would’ve seen something really change. She hadn’t tried to do any of the things Olivia had tried to instruct them to of course, but neither had Tristan. It takes two to tangle after all. Two that wouldn’t happen when it seemed like Tristan was making a pointed effort to keep physical space between them. Didn’t he know that was the very opposite of the outcome Clea had hoped for?

What she had noticed was a few odd things, though. Since he was discharged, her man had been a house husband for a year or so now. Maybe to others it would be a little odd to have her be the one to leave every day to make the bread, nearly always with a kiss to Tristan’s bristly cheek, but Clea had been leaving a mostly empty house behind her for longer than Tristan had been in it. That didn’t mind that a wrinkle hadn’t appeared in her brow when a new throw blanket appeared in their living room. Had he gone shopping? By himself? (And it wasn’t a terrible color?) Clea was honestly a bit baffled.

It hadn’t been a particularly tiring day or anything, but relaxation still struck Clea’s elegant shoulders when she pulled into their driveway, turning out the key while the engine died. Today she’d worn a flowy royal blue dress to work, with long thin sleeves to match the tiny belt. Her heels would’ve made little clicks if they hadn’t been drowned out by the sound of Yoda excitedly skittering to the front door. After cooing at her furry son, Clea looks around, long bob brushing her shoulders, wondering why the other occupant hadn’t greeted her at the door. “Tristan? Where are you?”

It was difficult to pretend as though Tristan was occupied elsewhere within the home in the morning when he had been a house husband for quite sometime now. His routine was set in its ways so to suddenly be kept busy was questionable. There was nothing Tristan could be occupied with perhaps other than his motorcycles and even then, the motivation had been lost for quite some time. But Tristan continued to disappear each day, ensuring he completed his standard homely expectations so no further questions were raised. And each day, Tristan completed building his vision till the day had come.

This routine continued till the day he had waited for and once Clea had left for work, he had begun finalising. Time had passed quickly that day because before he knew it, he had to rush to change into something more attractive than some torn t-shirt and shorts. A shirt and some jeans. Casual yet... date-worthy. And a touch of Clea’s favourite cologne. Pulling his hair back by the grips of his palm, Tristan gave a heavy sigh, nervous that perhaps Clea would not be interested after a long day or that she would have wanted a smaller step of reconciliation before a leap. 

Tristan moved from kitchen to garden numerous times, checking repeatedly that he had everything in order. It wasn’t until he heard his name from indoors that he gulped before throwing a smile on. “Just out back.” He called out in a nonchalantly tone, his hands reaching out to turn on the fairy lights he attempted to place up. Tristan could hear Yoda making his way excitingly through the home in his direction so he placed a smile on his face. He knew that when Yoda skipped through the home, it was because Clea had graced him with her presence after spending hours without her. 

“Surprise...” He let out a huffed chuckle, unsure how this would be received. A fire-pit setting, dazzled around in fairy lights, a warm throw for the colder nights and 3 course home cooked meal. “We always spoke about doing up the garden when we used to sit at the fireplace––– so...” As his hands gestured around, Tristan couldn’t wipe the proud smile that flared in his expression. “I thought why not get a few things checked off our tick list.”  

#c: clea

[tristan-hawkins]

@loloskids

Tip-toeing his way around the home, Tristan had monitored Clea’s whereabouts and often steered clear of her. Not because he was avoiding what had been a confrontational session a few days ago in their therapy session but because he felt he needed to make more of an effort and this was going to be his way. A grandeur gesture that allowed Clea to know he was taking all of this seriously. Unfortunately, Tristan’s attempt to hide things evaporated at a glance from Clea and he couldn’t have that. 

The one thing that stood out to Tristan was the idea of a ‘date night’. Although their last date night had been God knows when, Tristan held recollections of some of their evenings from their college days all the way into the marriage. His time away in the Army often resulted in more alone time within the home because of his dark frame of mind that tagged along. It was process which then lead to less time being spent with Clea and.. before they knew it, they were in therapy. 

Perhaps his approach had been all wrong but the element of surprise was where he wanted to catch Clea’s attention. It was perfect that Clea would spend hours away from the home as it allowed him to scheme and plot–– and more so, hide all of his plans in plain sight. The brand new throw that laid out covering a chair, a gift hidden in the shed (because that was his hideaway where Clea rarely entered these day), the days it was his turn to complete a food shop allowed him to purchase items they hadn’t typically eaten. 

And the set up in Tristan’s eyes were perfect. He only hoped the company matched the vision he hoped for. 

#c: clea #hadghjhjdfgjh #FLUFFY FLUFF TIME

[tristan-hawkins]

“We’re going to make it.” Clea + Tristan akdjskds

Tristan couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he cusped Clea closer into his chest. The woman he loved. He buried his face into the top of her messy, waved hair, catching a whiff of her scent. In what felt like a lifetime, they had a good day. Shared moments of laughter, inside jokes, undertaking small gestures only they knew of the other. His finger trailed across her skin, brushing gently across her arm down to her finger tips. If he could rewind to the moments leading up to now, he would have. It was a memory for the books. 

A sigh escaped Tristan’s lips. A sign of relief that the better days were ahead. He knew this wasn’t the closing of a chapter just yet but they tried so hard to push past the shitty elements of their relationship. “God– I hope so.” He muttered under his breath, as his chin rested upon her head. “You know, I really don’t think I know what I’d do without you.” He confessed, still allowing his fingers to explore across her body. 

“Isn’t that what marriage is about?” He shrugged, tilting his head so he could get a better glance at her beautiful face. “I know we were in a mindfuck of rainbows and sunshine–” The naive days where happiness clouded their judgement of reality. “–– But we make a good team.. don’t we?” It wasn’t that he didn’t think this but Tristan wanted reassurance they were on the same page. 

#londonrphs #{ ask and you shall receive } #the aftermath of some very smutty sex

[tristan-hawkins]

“I couldn’t sleep last night.” Clea + Tristan

Tristan was faced away from Clea, as he placed the kettle on. His hand rested on the worktop and a heavy yawn followed. “Oh really?” He knew how exactly how Clea felt. It could be seen under his own eyes. The darkness, the embedded pull of his skin that displayed his age. But Tristan wasn’t going to admit that he knew Clea was restless all night which in turn, left him awake too. All he could hear was the slight shifts of comfort, one movement then another, and another. It was a bizarre sense of unity, staying awake because Clea was but one that Tristan welcomed. Almost as an attempt to keep an eye out for her at a distance. 

Making way over to his favourite spot, he sat down. Without another thought, Tristan released his arms out as a gesture, an invite, hoping she’d accept it and fall into his arms. Some days, amongst their tense environment, were days of surrender. Days where they didn’t talk but simply spent time together in silence. No awkwardness. No bickering. No reason to confront. Nothing but peace amongst one another as they did their own thing but also the simple things, like watching TV or reading books/comics. 

He pulled her down onto him, wrapping his lengthy arms and legs around her–– their usual restful position. Tristan closed his eyes as another yawn followed. His head shifted onto Clea’s. He wanted to spend the rest of his day there in that seat and whilst he knew that wasn’t going to happen–– he was exhausted, he knew his wife had not slept either and therefore a day of nothing was exactly what they were going to have. “Try to get some sleep now.” He kissed her forehead, before turning his head to rest back onto hers. 

#londonrphs #{ ask and you shall receive } #dfzhjsjhadfjh

[tristan-hawkins]

“Do you really love me?” Clea + Tristan

A heavy sigh escaped from Tristan’s throat as he ran his hands over his face, pulling his hair back. Each day continues to be a stringent of arguments.  oday was the first day they had managed to get through without throwing-away comments but then all that left was an awkward silence. The realisation struck Tristan that maybe they weren’t getting any better. A fear that pulled Tristan apart because he wanted to do better, be better for Clea. So why the fuck was it so hard to just speak to her without the defence mechanism? Tristan couldn’t answer himself. He sat at a distance from her, casually looking over when she hadn’t been.

It was Clea who took the first step to break the ice and when she had, the words echo’d in Tristan’s mind for several minutes longer. He was taken back by Clea’s subtle outburst that it had left him completely and utterly speechless. Clea’s tone of voice broke Tristan, almost as if she had already known the answer. 

Tristan’s face clenched, his eyebrows dropped and his mouth parted, trying to form words. To challenge her tone. This did not last as the moment he looked at Clea, his expression softened to match how he truly felt inside. A fucking mess. It had been difficult holding in these broken fragment of his feelings and thoughts and now they were seeping out. Had their relationship divided so far that this was now embedded in Clea’s mind? His mind went into overdrive, wondering what else she had been thinking. 

“Do– do you think I don’t? He finally mustered the courage to speak, panicked and afraid to hear the honest truth. Tristan took a step towards Clea, shaking his head. “Clea.” He stuttered, continuing to sway his head in a dismissive manner. He took her hands, squeezing them into his chest. His eyes pierced through to her disconsolated irises. This was the closest they had been in... a long fucking time. “Of course I love you.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I love you so fucking much, it kills me.”

“I wish I knew how to fix this. How to fix me. Us.” 

#londonrphs #{ ask and you shall receive } #sdgjsdghjdsh

[tristan-hawkins]

Tristan Hawkin’s Instagram - @tristanhawks

CAPTION 1: This is dedicated to the person whose beauty radiates into my life everyday like none other, so beautiful, almost blinding to look at. Words just can’t describe.  Oh and my wife. love you x

CAPTION 2: Not-so-baby Yoda. Photo Credit: @cleahawkins

CAPTION 3: I thought to myself “huh, this is a weird looking dog.” He received cuddles anyway. 

#klover.edit #{ mind over musings }

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

She’d honestly suggested this as a last resort, Clea had. Their relationship had been good, and bad, and a lot of things in between, but things had become so strained recently that she hadn’t known where to turn to. Her wine club was one place, and the bottom of that Merlot she hoarded for occasions that she allowed herself to wonder what her life would’ve been life if she’d resisted that scruffy smile her sophomore year of college, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that. In a lot of ways Clea couldn’t imagine who she would be without Tristan. He’d helped her grow into the woman she was, with all her flaws and insecurities, and he was a part of her. A bigger part that she doubted even he knew. Would therapy fix everything in their relationship magically? Clea had no such illusions. But maybe it could help. 

And if it could, it was hope enough for her to hold onto tightly with all she had.

Wherever that thread of admission would’ve gone between the two of them, Olivia put a halt to it for the time being, inviting them both down a different road.  Clea believed in second, third, fourth chances like your next person, but…maybe she was right. Maybe it was never too late to try and make the right ones. Tristan hadn’t stormed from the room yet, and that was always a good sign. It meant a lot that he’d even agreed to this, and was on the couch beside her right now, despite the heavy emotions that had underlaid all they had said so far.  The dark haired woman snuck a peek at the man she’d promised to share her life with - and saw, to her shock, a little smile. Had it been something she said? A private  joke, at her expense? Or the therapists? Clea didn’t know, but she found that she wished painfully to.

Something that she liked about Tristan. That list flung long and near endlessly in her mind, a montage of little moments and big things that she’d collected over the years with him. The way he said good morning to her, right in her ear, like he couldn’t stand to be further away when he greeted the day next to her. The way she always had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him hello or goodbye, whether or not Clea was wearing heels. The way that the stress lines on his face smoothed out when he was sleeping, a contentment that she always longed to see, unable to stop herself from smoothing away a lock of hair or pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Even when she doubted his love Clea would never doubt her love for him. 

He answers before her, and she can’t help but affix big brown eyes on him, vulnerable and intent, shocked a little when Tristan meets them. The slight rasp on them is just indicative of his voice that she knows and loves, and something inside her turns a bit mushy when the thing that Tristan comes up with is her attention to the little details in life. To call her type A would be too kind, but it was true, and often something she worried about becoming annoying. The second thing he says - that stings more, because it was true. Awareness of the fact that Clea knew he saw through her at those times hadn’t been hers for a long time, and the reminder did a bit of slapping her in the face. He noticed?

Her hands smooth on the lines of the silky skirt she wore as Clea built up the courage for her own answer. “Tristan’s always possessed an extraordinary ability to be kind and caring no matter who it’s directed towards.” She admits in a little sigh, chancing a look at him again. “I’ve always liked his big heart. For what I don’t…” A note of pleading enters her voice, tired and weary, much like the soul it comes from. “I don’t like that he tries to protect me, from everything. Even himself. I miss him being my partner, instead of just my protector.”

Just for a moment, witnessing Clea as her natural self brought Tristan back to the reality of it all. To the first time he laid his eyes on her and knew he wanted to get to know her. Quirky with a confidence he never had. The beauty of her eyes when she glanced his way. Sure, there were other girls who sparked interest but Clea held this whole hearted spirit and from that moment, Tristan experienced a happiness he’d never known. 

His soft smile shifted into a more slumber expression as he remembered where he was and why. It was easy to remember the positive times but at this moment of them, their negatives were weighing down the rest of their relationship. Tristan continued to recall the first time they met, how far they had drifted since and it ached his heart to know. 

Tristan didn’t know what to expect from Clea’s perspective of her likes and dislikes. When she had spoken up, where her words should have sent warmth and comfort knowing how she viewed him; instead the sensation of a sharp stabbing pain shot through him. Those words belonged to someone but it was not Tristan. After all, no-one who was kind and caring, would not have held the kind of secrets he did from the love of their life, the kind he promised himself he would take to his grave. In a selfish attempt to save himself at that. As always, when his thoughts ran away to the deeper, darker side of his mind, he couldn’t control his suspicious expressions. Guilt. Tristan began shuffling in his seat to avoid being outed. 

He knew if Clea caught on, he was terrified of being confronted and not being able to hide the truth. Tristan always said he would be honest if she asked outright but he had thus far managed to avoid–– barely. 

He was already on the brink of exposing himself.  

As Clea continued, Tristan gulped heavily, awaiting to hear what terrible thing he could have done to hurt her/piss her off/or be spiteful towards. His eyes peeked up, watching her emotions drain in tune with her words. His expression matched hers once more, knowing he had caused this. She didn’t lie on a single sentence she uttered. He held himself back from the one person who should’ve been able to see through him. He wanted to defend himself, defend his actions but there was nothing he could vocalise.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Olivia stepped in, leaning forward. “Do you both see that amongst the dislikes, if you deconstruct it––” She glanced over Clea then towards Tristan. “Your dislikes are based on things you used to like about one another.” Tristan thought about it and the more he thought, the more Olivia was making sense. They were once so passionate, so in tune with one another, somewhere down the line it had started to become fragmented and the next question to answer was why? 

#c: clea

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

She couldn’t help but keep her arms tight to her body even as she told Tristan  off the the deep loneliness she felt when he was gone, something that wasn’t in itself ether of their faults but something she still, Clea guessed blamed him for nonetheless. Fear had risen like a tsunami inside of her the day that he had told her that he wanted to enlist, the two of them having been engaged for over a year. The thought of him in the midst of any action, the threat of a bomb or a gun or any thousands or millions of things that she could do nothing to protect him from had torn her heart to shreds, but she had seen in Tristan’s eyes that it was something she wanted. And Clea would never hold him back from back, would never do anything but support him, she’d known at that time, no matter the collateral damage on her, unable to tell how it would shake what they shared.

They’d had more than enough fights by now for Clea to be able to tell when her husband was close to boiling over, to unleashing a torrent that she had mentally planted her feet against time and again to weather through it. “Our vows have, and always will mean the world to me. I meant them, Tristan -” she began, cutting herself off sharply when she hears ‘I had to look out for you’. The phrase brings only more firmly to her heart the idea that she was some sort of anchor, holding him down, something he had to take care of. Don’t get her wrong, Clea did need taking of more often than she’d like to admit, but it hurt that it seemed like she hadn’t done her job in taking care of him, right back. 

Her own eyes roll at his sarcasm, a near snide undertone that she’d always known that he felt. It wasn’t that, of course it wasn’t that, Clea understood the things that fell victim to someone engaged in active duty, but there were times when she knew that he could’ve called and didn’t, the downside of being friends with military wives in the same segment Tristan had been so often with. In her mind rebuttals formed easily, truths that wanted to be said. Your body has never been fucked up to me. Any version of it is beautiful, as long as it’s you. It was a pain I was glad to bear, those nightmares, if you’d given me any indication that my presence helped you. Like I was useful, like I could do ANYTHING to protect you the way you always protected me and the whole country. Didn’t he know that whatever happened to him made an impact on her too? He was the storm of her life but she would never leave that port, would take every whip of wind and lash of salty water he could throw at her. 

For him, despite all the reasons why not, she could do anything.

Their therapist clearly had started to get a more put together picture of them as a couple, and stepped in before Clea could respond to Tristan. A harsh laugh escapes the photographer at the mention of a breather, paired with a slight shake of her head. “There are no right answers between us. And if there are, we’re constantly making the wrong ones.”

Olivia pursed her lips thoughtfully at that, and then readjusts in her seat. “It’s never too late to try and make the right ones, Clea. Now lets try something a little different. I want each other you to tell me one thing that you like about the other, and one thing you dislike. Calmly, please. And make it something that means something to you.”

At this moment in time, Tristan wanted the fuck out of this room, out of his building where he begun to feel suffocated by the four walls that contained him. He felt pushed to the edge and his words only made the situation worse than it needed to be. Tristan knew his words struck a chord in Clea that could permanently damage and that was never his intention to begin with when he opened his mouth. Tristan questioned whether a therapist was the correct route to solving their marital issues. His body etched back into the chair, a sign of surrendering because in all honesty, they could’ve gone back forth with no real progression. 

Tristan had no clue what was going to happen next. Was their ‘discussion’ going to descend further into chaos? It wasn’t until the Therapist interrupted that he felt some sense of ease. That the conversation was being taken back in control of the mediator. But then Clea responded as her usual self would and though he didn’t want to back down completely, a smile lifted in his expression. A laugh would have followed had they not just thrown back forth some intense exchanges. 

When the Therapist asked the two to try something different, Tristan’s thoughts immediately went to a series of perfections and imperfections he could highlight that he loved about Clea. From the way she wrapped her tiny legs around his wide waist as they cuddled in bed, or when she got angry, the way her nose scrunched along with her eyebrows, or the when she left him little notes of admiration around the home to find whilst she was at work. It was nice for Tristan to be on a scavenger hunt as he completed his homely duties. 

It didn’t dawn on him that his lists of dislikes were far and few between considering they bickered constantly. 

“I guess for me––” He paused, lost in thought. His eyes dazzled across to Clea. “What I like about Clea is how she remembers the smallest details in things.“ The corner of his lips pursed into a soft smile but soon faded as he moved to his the next. “And what I don’t?” He huffed, wondering if he should continue. “When she pretends she’s ok but... I know she’s not. Even then, she holds it back.” Tristan swallowed. Hard. He didn’t know if Clea knew those times he could tell but now it was out there in the open. 

#c: clea

[tristan-hawkins]

Tristan x Clea playlist - the world is brighter than the sun, now that you’re here. 

1. Sleeping at Last - Light

2. For KING & COUNTRY - Without You

3. Boyce Avenue - Find Me 

4. Sleeping at Last - Touch

5. Tenth Avenue North - Control (Somehow You Want Me)

6. Hurts - Stay 

@loloskids

#tristan x clea #{ otp: you are loved more than you know } #playlist #links w/ each song #~SCREAMS INTO THE ABYSS~

[tristan-hawkins]

loloskids​:

She can still picture, sharp and clear in her head, how he’d looked that night. After her sobs and his comfort, after his words had flung from him as if torn out, accusing her of things that she couldn’t dismiss because she had, in fact, done them. It was near three AM, and she hadn’t been able to sleep, noting that the bed was empty besides hers. Noticing that the light under the master bathroom shone, she’d crept to the door and peeked in. Tristan, his head hanging heavy in his hands, shoved deep through that silky dark hair. Broken, gutted, a reflection of how she felt in the flesh in front of her. Maybe, things would have been better if she had gone in, but Clea did what she did best - withdrew. Quietly returned to their bed and cried herself to sleep for what they had both lost.

The weight of Tristan’s gaze cut through her like a knife, almost like the expression on his face as she continued talking. When his mouth opened against, Clea forced herself to take all his words had to offer, eyes wide and locked with his. A little portion of her heart crumbled with the crack in his words, the truth in them a dull ring beneath them. She hadn’t given him that chance. He was right. If she had to go back, would she do it again? (No, never.) The urge to take his hand, when he tells her that he had to put his own grief to the side for her, is strong, and it takes all she’s got inside her to fight it. 

Perhaps that was another issue the two of them shared - Clea withdrew from her own feelings whenever possible, yes, but Tristan had changed. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been emotionally vulnerable with her through his own will, not through the harsh truths of their fights. She missed him. He was right in front of her, now, after so many years speckled throughout their time together being apart, but she still missed him. Damn it all to hell. “I never asked you to do that.” Clea near whispers, knuckles white, opals cutting into her thumb once more. “Look, I know…I know I should have allowed you your grief too.”

She falls quiet for a moment when he scrubs at his face with his hands, pushing from her mind how well she knows the way his scruff would prickle at her own, and Olivia appears to be about to say something before Clea cuts her off, something bubbling inside of her that she can’t hold back. “Yes, Tristan. Yes, I made the choice to go through that alone. But you haven’t given me that choice in years.” The words aren’t a hiss, but they’re far from soft. “The last two times you left, you barely called me. I was worried sick about you, drowning myself in my work, and you didn’t freaking call. You’ve been deployed what, four different places? In ten years, and yet I know almost nothing about those times in your life. It’s like you wanted to cut me out.” Clea’s hands go out, open and empty like she so often felt herself, gesturing towards Tristan, almost pleading. “You had a life, far away from me and until you were discharged it felt like you wanted to be a part of that one more than you wanted to be with me.”

The room was below temperature and Tristan could sense this was only sinking further into realms neither of them are ready for. He knew he couldn’t begin to discuss certain things. Ever. Tristan was feeling heated by the frustration. He always bit his tongue until the last moment in their arguments, which never ended well and it appeared even now in the open, speaking up would lead to the same fate. His body was turned towards Clea, directly confronting in regards to their discussion. It was always easier to mask away the truth through avoidance and today, they were laid bare. 

“No, I didn’t but if I didn’t, what the hell would our vows meant?” A shrug followed with an exhale of energy. Tristan replayed their vows in his mind. His promise to his wife to always put her above him, to show her a love like no other and though not everyday would come easy, Tristan knew his days were brighter with Clea there. “I had to look out for you.” There were many things Tristian would get wrong in this relationship but if there was anything he learnt from his parents, it was putting Clea before himself where he could––– and now he questioned whether he actually had as she accused him of leading another life. That caused the hairs on his skin to raise. To understand her perspective was a harsh reality to face for Tristan because it was the truth. Clea’s words burned into Tristan, knocking him back. His eyes dropped and he was silent for a moment, allowing her to dash her assumptions in his face. But how false were they? Clea held her secrets but she was right, Tristian had his own life which came with darker secrets. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I couldn’t just drop my team in the middle of active missions to answer your call.” The sarcasm rolled out naturally, his defence mechanism needing to come into play. “Have you ever thought that I didn’t tell you because it’s bad enough that you have had to see my fucked up body in the aftermath or the night terrors you had to deal at the start on top of going through what you had?” The decibels rose slowly with each sounding letter. “Or maybe realising actually what I had to do out there was too shameful to bring home? That you’d no longer see me in this light of a man who went to serve his country for all the right reasons.” 

“What happened there, needed to stay there for my own sanity, Clea.” He admitted, his toned it at a lower level. “This darkness I have that lingers over me? I couldn’t put that on you.” Yet, in many ways Tristan already had. Subconsciously, even across the seas, his dark edges seeped into his relationship with Clea creating a divide. 

Olivia placed her pen and notebook down with a heavy sigh. She glanced over the two bickering couple. “I think we need to take a breather.” She spoke with dominance, taking control of the conversation. “There’s lot to unpick here. A lot of... resentment? For experiences that are both out of your control.” She explained in a calm manner. “Experiences that hold no correct answer in how WE deal with them individually.” 

#c: clea #wheeeeeeeeeeeeeew #came with fire #how is this only session 1 #and theyve only touched the tip lmao

[tristan-hawkins]

The truth is like blood underneath your fingernails You don’t wanna hurt yourself

#{ audio }