#... and then claim that she's the victim. the least harmful option to my well-being is to say nothing at all

[itshomobirb]

"i know, you don't want me to touch you 🙄"

then don't??? touch me??????

[calamitydarcy]

people reblogging this w/ any variant of "yeah lapis is an abuser too! malachite was mutually abusive!!" are exactly who i'm talking about btw.

mutual abuse is not a thing. it does not exist. it is a harmful myth used by abusers, abuse apologists, etc. to push victims down, make them think they're bad too, and make them feel like they deserve the abuse.

lashing out at your abuser in defense of yourself or others is not abuse. is it healthy to lash out and take everything out on people? no. but in this case it is NOT abusive.

here are some resources on mutual abuse:

Mutual Abuse: It's Not Real - The National Domestic Violence Hotline

Is Mutual Abuse Real? - DomesticShelters.org

Mutual Abuse Is a Myth: Why Relationships Can't Be Mutually Abusive - GoodRx

Can A Relationship be Mutually Abusive? - The Mend Project

You Asked It: Can A Relationship Be "Mutually Abusive?" - Mount Sinai Adolescent Health Center

i have been in one of these "mutually abusive" relationships. i have been accused of being abusive as well. do you want to know what happened? it was a situation similar to malachite except. well. without any of the gem magic stuff. i'll spare the details (don't want to get too into it on a post about the gay rock show) but basically there was a person who was abusing practically my entire friend group, concentrating on a select few people, me included. i was threatened with my friends being hurt if i didn't comply with them and essentially be the main or only one being abused. this would also involve isolating me from everyone over time until i was basically alone with them without a support group. and so i took that offer, because what choice did i have? let everyone else get hurt?

i did everything i could to keep that person "bound to me" just like lapis. even used a bit of manipulation to keep their focus on me. i took the pain, the abuse, so my friends didn't have to. and yes, i did lash out at them a few times. because i was fed up with the abuse and i wanted the pain to stop, i was desperately trying to protect myself.

was i abusive there? no. they were the only one to blame.

lapis fused with jasper because she was coerced into it. she really had no other option, or at least she felt that way. jasper was literally tossing her around. just before that she was prisoner on jasper's ship and then buried under rubble. she is battered, dazed, weakened, and jasper was tossing her around like it was nothing. her powers take time to use, so she couldn't use them to get away; jasper would recognize her Signature Power Activating Pose and could easily poof or even shatter her. she couldn't run, she tried that already. when you are standing before your captor, the Strongest Quartz Soldier, and you are basically a glass cannon of a gem and being yelled at to comply, you comply. doesn't matter if you really wanted to. and that's not consent.

she trapped their fusion at the bottom of the ocean to protect steven and the others. and when we see her in chille tid fighting for control, jasper emerges from the mind ocean without a scratch while lapis bursts out battered and bruised, and i hardly think that's an accident. it's meant to show that lapis was being hurt down there. not to mention the obvious signs of trauma she shows from it (fearing water, believing she is horrible and feeling immense guilt - which is a ptsd symptom!!) as well as her trauma bond symptoms (missing jasper in alone at sea)

also the stuff jasper was spouting in alone at sea? classic abuser rhetoric. that wasn't "stockholm syndrome" or whatever people are calling it. she was attempting to isolate lapis from her support system and trying to reinforce the belief that lapis is a horrible person ("you're pointing that shield the wrong way, she's the one you should be afraid of" "i thought i was a brute. you, you're a monster."), claiming lapis was too dangerous for everyone else ("i'm the only one that can handle you"), even spouting shit like "I've changed, it'll be better this time!"

the fucked up trauma responses i'm referring to in this post do NOT include being "mutually abusive" (or abusive at all) towards jasper. they refer to things like taking the barn, isolating herself on the moon, destroying peridot's gifts without really considering how that'd make her feel, etc. which are all REALISTIC THINGS for abuse victims and traumatized people to do.

these examples and more are things we can hopefully all agree are Messed Up. but they're realistic. and no, they're not signs of lapis being abusive; they're signs that she needs help. and she does feel regret for a lot of her actions and works to change. that's the difference between her and an abuser (such as Jasper, who... doesn't really change at all.).

"we need more traumatized characters/characters with ptsd and/or who are abuse victims portrayed realistically with symptoms that Arent cute and soft and pretty!" you guys couldnt even handle lapis lazuli

[graha-stan-account]

FFXIV Write 2022 Day 8: Tepid

Tepid: adj. 1. showing little enthusiasm.

Masterpost: [link]

After the Calamity, a young Ja'napha was finally ready to act on her half-brother's advice to visit Gridania and further develop her carpentry. But the city-state instead needed adventurers - canon fodder. With little choice, she takes up the mantle, doing odd jobs for the very citizenry which victimized her people for generations.

---

"The Guardian Tree is the oldest living thing in this ancient forest, and it is held sacred by every forestborn Gridanian."

Hardly, Ja'napha thought.

"Should it come to any harm, the elementals would fly into a rage beyond pacifying."

Would pay a mighty sum to witness that.

Mother Miounne's words, for all her well-intentioned and long-winded explanations, were wasted. Perhaps for a true newcomer, someone who had not cut their milk teeth on Gridanian cruelty, nor witnessed their cowering behind their impotent elementals, her advice may have been a boon. But Ja'napha could too claim the Twelveswood her birthplace, and no horned Hyur or Elezen could tell her different. Despite generations of her splinter tribe having been literally born in the Black Shroud, the Gridanians never ceased warning of Greenwrath, which never beset them. Instead it was Wood Wailers and Twin Adder scouts who sprung their hunting traps, killed their nuhns and denied them barter when infection ravaged their children. Instead Gridania tossed them together with Coeurl Claws and Redbellies. The Ixtal, she realized after being tasked with laying them low, were spared no Gridanian ire either.

So Ja'napha was less than enthused to help pacify their petulant crystalline overlords, and somehow even less so, to play hero to their chief Hearer. In a way, it was Kan-E-Senna Ja'napha blamed above most.

And if she didn't feel her life hinged on her goodwill, she would have her know it.

But Ja'napha had swallowed her pride at Gridania's gates and continued to swallow the bile down since. Hungry for any aid Gridania could get, they welcomed self-proclaimed adventurerers who might tip the scales in their favor. Even a Miqo'te - were they truly so reckless about their recruitment? Sign your name in my book, Mother Miounne had said, adding she could spot a lie. Could she for true?

For a brief moment, Ja'napha had considered hiding her identity completely. So certain she was everyone knew and agreed upon which groups the city-state would victimize. But then a bit of nerve bubbled up inside her. Still, she made a small omission in Miounne's book, one she hazarded would go unnoticed by a people who didn't seem to know the difference between a peaceful Seeker camp and a band of Keeper outlaws. There was no reason she could not reinvent at least some small part of her history, claim a bit more prestige than a family line which had so long ago crossed paths with decay.

And it looked more official, to boot. Competent. More respect seemed to emanate from a name begun with just one of the original 26 tribes. And so Ja'napha became J'napha. But Miounne didn't even blink twice.

In fact, no one blinked twice as they assigned her ever more arduous tasks, which she completed for lack of better options. Her chisel and saw rusted over. Gridania had no use for more carpenters. What they did have use for was an envoy, something to prop up and parade around. At least the mask would hide her lack of enthusiasm.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 6

This one is a little bit shorter, but I hope you guys still enjoy! It’s pretty intense.

Last time, our custom choice won out: Option C. However, there were still quite a few votes for both A and B. On account of the voting, Villain will attack Hero specifically.

Thanks to everyone for all their suggestions. There’s a lot, so I’m not going to name them all, but you know who you are, and thank you!

Now, let’s see our Villain suffer >:)

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, (fantasy) steroids, extensive discussion of fire, torture, beating, blood, ambulances, being unable to breathe

You make fire. That was all you were, once. Before they knew your name. The pyrokinetic. The arsonist.

Villain felt their heart catch in their throat. The heat was suffocating them, now. Their breath had turned to steam. In tiny puffs, it escaped through the sides of their mouth-- though they could not be quite sure if that was real, or not.

They were Villain. Not a prop. Not a doll.

They cast their gaze, once more, out over the people looking on. The innocents that Hero claimed to work so hard to protect. To care so much about. The city.

And yet, it was Hero who had brought the firebrand to this place.

Kerosene welled up in their veins, flooding their heart, stretching ventricles until they threatened to explode. This flame, they had been forcing it down for so long. Their mouth tasted like gasoline, now. Gone were nervous, stuttering platitudes.

Heat warped the edges of their vision, now. It was not hard to imagine the stadium, torn apart by overwhelming, living heat, charred at its very core. It was harder, in fact, to see it in its current state. Unburnt and horrid.

Fixing it would be so simple.

The steam from the edges of their lips turned with such speed to licking flame.

You are afraid of destruction.

But were they? How long had they lived for destruction? How long had their name appeared in headlines next to addresses that now stood as rubble?

The pyrokinetic. The arsonist.

Villain lifted their head, heat-scarred vision gazing to the world around them.

The people.

They wanted nothing more than to tear this stadium to rubble. To leave it nothing more than a patch of scorched Earth. Nothing but bones.

But...

If warmth is not evil, then why are you? 

These people, they depended on warmth. They spent their lives in their heated homes, until the warmth of streetlights and phone lamps. In the all-consuming heat of ignorance.

They did not know. They were under Hero’s sway, just as everyone was. Caught in the thrall of pleasant lies.

The lie of a reformed villain, smiling for the camera.

But could a villain ever truly be reformed? Through therapy? Through torture?

Villain did not know. These people did not know either-- and they did not deserve to die. They did not deserve pain.

No. This villain had a much better target to pursue. For a moment, just one, the heat of their own flame made it almost feel as though their neck was devoid of collar. A split second of freedom.

It was all the taste they needed.

I thought that you deserved to understand that. Do you understand?

Yes. They understood.

The chill of Hero’s voice was no longer marred by the sun. Amplified by their microphone, it rung out:

“We all know what Villain had done. I know it better than anyone. But bloodshed is never the answer. Harming Villain would make us no better than them.”

Villain did not realize that they had seized the microphone, not until they felt the plastic begin to warp beneath the contours of their fingers. The steam they called a voice threatened to melt the device’s metal head, too, as they spoke to it:

“Then I’m sorry to see you’ve sunken to my level.”

The crowd was silenced. Hero’s smile twitched.

“What?” Villain sniped. “You say my name so much, yet you get upset when I actually speak?”

Hero’s smile fell. There had been fury below it, all that time, but now it finally lot its spotlight.

“So, do it.” The pyrokinetic, the arsonist backed up a step from the podium, turning to face the audience. “You’re so proud of having tamed me. Why not give everyone a live demonstration? Show them exactly how you did it? Go ahead! It’ll be a special treat.”

The corner of the podium, where a certain Hero’s hand had been grasping, shattered into wood splinters. A moment later, podium turned to projectile, polished oak flying towards Villain with a furious force.

It only managed to sail a few inches, before it turned once again from podium to ash.

Finally, finally, Villain’s flame escaped.

They had not so much as noticed the security personnel, rushing towards the stage, but they quickly stopped being a concern. The ring of flame, several feet in height, that sprung up around the stage’s base provided more than enough protection.

“You aren’t going to do anything? Not going to protect your precious city? Not going to show everyone just how heroic you are?”

That did it.

At last, the microphone gave in, turning to melted plastic beneath Villain’s hand. But no mic was needed to project Hero’s furious scream to the world.

Said scream was followed almost immediately by a strangled gasp. It must have taken all of Hero’s will, to grip their hand around Villain’s neck without snapping it.

The latter struggled to gargle out a few more words, but their voice had been already stolen. The solid ground below them, too, was taken, as the hand about their neck lifted them nearly a foot from it.

“You ungrateful piece of shit!”

The two met eyes, brutal flaming gazes, for only a second, before the stage’s facade was shattered by Villain’s body, flung like a ragdoll through it. They filled their lungs with panic croaks, attempting to clamber to their hands and knees, but there was no time.

All around, news cameras zoomed in as a single kick from Hero flipped the broken Villain onto their back. The boot did not wait to make its next attack. To the panicked crowd, the snapping of ribs sounded horribly like a gunshot.

A shot that sounded, again and again, until the flame spilling from Villain’s mouth was thoroughly replaced by coughed-up blood. Any feeble attempt at a counter-attack was quickly and utterly destroyed by yet another stomp.

Every snap, every break, filled Hero’s victim with utter, frigid cold. Heat spilled onto the stage’s floorboards in the form of scarlet, seeping through the cracks and dripping to the grass below.

The audience was screaming. At first, Villain thought it to be cheering. They expected it to be cheering. But it was not.

All those people, thousands of voices, all mixed together in terrified choir, all sounded off:

“Stop!”

Villain was afforded no time to think about this development. The second kick in their side was worse than the first, shifting already shattered bones and sending them flying to the lip of the stage’s front. Far too close to their own flame that still raged, yet had begun to flicker.

Sidekick had wanted a show, after all.

The absence of the next attack was almost as painful as if it had struck.

Had Villain’s eyes not been sealed closed by agony, they would have seen two of Hero’s teammates, grasping them by the arms, holding them back with all the might they could muster.

Sidekick had wanted a show, and Villain had given it to them.

There, on the floorboards, skin feeling to be ice, they gasped. Their lungs screamed for air, air that they could not provide. Instead, any particles of oxygen that could be brought in were accompanied by a rush of crimson.

Pain wasn’t enough to describe the feeling.

When they at last managed to open their leaded eyelids, they found their ring of flame, protecting them from the world around, to have shrunk to half its height, revealing those who tried to breach it.

They were not soldiers. Not guards.

No. They were civilians. Citizens. The city. Teenagers and teachers and office workers and mechanics. Some beat at the flame with spare articles of clothing, while at least one had managed to acquire a hose.

Villain could not let them in. They would ruin the show...

But their eyelids were so heavy. Every blink carried with it the effort of pushing a boulder uphill.

A coughing fit was what finally sapped that last shred of their energy, leaving the ring of flame as only a memory and a ring of burnt grass.

They closed their eyes.

The hands that laid upon them, now, were not those of newspeople or torturers. They were so kind. So unimaginably gentle. Truly kind, more than the facade of a plush duvet. Moving them to their side, opening their airways. Hastily removed sweatshirts, pressed against their bleeding wounds, all accompanied by quiet voices:

“I’m a doctor. It’s okay, they’re breathing.”

“Can we get an ambulance?”

“We already called one. I sent my wife out front, she’s going to bring the medics back here.”

“Am I pressing hard enough?”

“A little harder. We need to stop the bleeding...”

“Are they going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

All indistinguishable, but all so terribly kind.

By the time Villain heard a voice they recognized, they finally felt as though they could once again breathe. Constant pressure on their wounds had turned to quickly moving hands, deftly wrapping their injuries with torn shreds of clothes.

The voice they heard... they did not know if they were glad to hear it or not.

“Villain.” Sidekick muttered, nearly whispering to their ear. “You did good. You did so, so good. Are you ready to go with us? Are you ready to be free, again?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon. The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Yes, you are ready. Go with Sidekick - Even if going with Sidekick, should they be trusted? B) No. Going with Sidekick is not freedom. Go to the ambulance - Where should Villain go afterwards?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

[squiggledrop]

I’m Sorry - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reid gets shot on a case and is in the hospital. But him and Reader have so much left they want to do. So, living on borrowed time, Reader does all they can do.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Allusions to death, hospitals, references to major injuries, mentions of a god

Note: Could be read as a part 2 to Your Other Half, but doesn’t have to be. But you should go read that if you haven’t👀👀. Also, the italics are “Spencer”, but are kind of up for interpretation. Also, I’m like ✨struggling✨ so I just kind of wrote this and figured I’d share, but I promise I’ll have some actual fics soon. Also, just saying this so it’s said, but, this is literally just me ranting and believe whatever you want to believe because it is 100% valid and should always be respected. Last thing, title should be read in John Mulaney’s voice because every time I read it that’s all I can hear in my head, so I think you should too. “I’m SoOOoRy”

“Hey Spence.” Your hushed voice broke through the unbearable silence in the room, only mediated by the monotonous beeping of the countless machines hooked up to Spencer.

“We’re in the hospital right now. You had surgery and they were able to fix the bullet wound. But, the doctor said that your injury caused swelling in your brain, and if it doesn’t stop soon, there won’t be much they can do.” Your breathing stuttered as you blinked back tears. “So, I’m going to need you to try and stop it okay?”

You gripped his hand in yours, resting it against your forehead as tears poured down your cheek. 

“We always knew you had a big, genius brain. I guess we just never thought about what would happen when it got a little too big.” You let out a slight laugh through your nose, blinking away the tears in your eyes. “I always knew you were too amazing to be bound by something so nominal as a human body. Normally, every room you occupy is consumed by your warmth and filled with your laughter.” You forced a weak smile as his comforting laugh replayed in your mind. With a sigh, you looked around the sterile room. The fluorescent lights were too bright. They would give Spencer a headache.

“But not this one,” you choked out, turning back towards his unconscious form. “I miss your beautiful smile and gentle eyes because, right now, you feel so small. Your hand is in mine, but it just doesn’t feel right.” You cautiously stroked the back of his hand, examining the foreign feeling. “It’s too bony and fragile. Your hands are normally soft and warm, but right now they’re just so cold.” You placed a kiss on the middle of his palm before resting your cheek in it. The chilling of his hand burned your inflamed cheeks.

“I asked the nurse to get you another blanket because I know how much you hate the cold. She gave me that look we give victims' families when we have to tell them their loved one is dead,” you scoffed. “Sometimes it really sucks to always know what people are thinking.” You tried to calm yourself down, rolling your lips between your teeth, but it was no use.

“I really need you to hang on okay, baby? I hope you aren't in any pain, but I need you to hang on.” Despite your best efforts, desperation bled through every word you spoke. “I-I know it’s selfish, but I can't do this without you Spence.” With every second that past your throat constricted even more. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you. God, Spence, please come back to me,” you cried.

I always found that to be such an interesting term: “praying to a god you don’t believe in”. You closed your eyes, relishing in the sound of his voice. You knew it wasn’t real, but for now, it was good enough. It is used in literature and in modern music so often, and rightly so, but is never given the weight it truly possesses. Despite everything you know, all of the scientific explanations you have that can explain the world around you, when you are that desperate, you throw it all out the window in a split second. You don’t believe in a god. Yet, when faced with a difficult situation, and you have nothing else to hold onto, you immediately pray to something that you know holds no validity.

“Because it’s all I can do.” 

You are so desperate and helpless to the extent that you are praying to something that you know logically is not real, yet with every fiber of your being you are praying for its help. 

“Isn’t it just human nature?”

Well, some may say it’s humanizing. I would disagree. I think it is the least human thing you can do. It’s human nature to be curious and want explanations for the phenomena around you. That’s why, out of all species on earth, humans are the most advanced. They are the only species to change their environment to fit their needs. They have no natural predators, despite having absolutely no defense mechanisms. They have survived and evolved based on their thirst for knowledge and answers. But, when faced with some of the toughest situations in life, yet some of the most natural, they disregard everything they know to be true, and blindly beg for the help of some mythological deity. 

Death is a natural progression of life. We know how and why it happens, and we have formulas and data to predict when it will come. 

“But when it’s someone you know, someone you love, despite knowing everyone’s time will one day come, you can’t help but to beg for it not to be the case,” you pointed out. 

You ask something you don’t believe in, something you know to not be true, to change the inevitable. You ask something you don’t believe in to change precedent. You ask for some miracle, that you already know the minuscule probability of. 

“Is it avoidance?”, you genuinely asked out loud, missing the way Spencer was always there with an answer for everything.

Well, you know the science and statistics behind it. You know the odds are not in your favor. So, rather than acknowledge that and live with the truth, you abandon everything you hold to be true, and instead conjure some faith in a god you know isn’t there. I mean, is it better to have blind hope or just accept the facts? 

“Isn’t there something to be said for being optimistic?” you countered.

Of course. One of the amazing laws of our natural world is that nothing is impossible. Sure, if you keep shoving your hand at the wall enough times, statistically speaking, eventually your hand will have the exact orientation to go between all the atoms perfectly, and your hand will go through the wall. But, if I were to ask you to believe that I could do it, would you? 

“No,” you replied.

Of course not. Because it’s illogical. So then, why is your immediate reaction to devastating information to refuse it and do something illogical? 

“Is it to feel useful?”

You know the statistics. Realistically, you know there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. But, it is human nature to try and come up with solutions to our problems. After having exhausted all other possibilities and coming up empty, you persist. You don’t give up. Even if you know it’s nonsensical, you still need to feel as though you are trying. But that’s the operative part: feel as though. Is it human inclination to want to try and solve the problem and contribute positively to the situation? Or is it a selfish need to not feel powerless? 

“There is nothing worse than feeling as though you have no control. When everything you love has been taken from you, and you are desperate for any solution to your problem, it makes sense that one would try all their options, no matter how unlikely, because you still have to at least try.”

But, it’s important to remember that no matter how many times you shove your hand at the wall, you will always end up hurt before it goes through. You let out a small smile, pondering his words.

“Is it a reminder, that despite how much we claim to know and understand about the universe, that we know practically nothing?”

Ah, therein lies the beauty of science. Every time a question is answered, it introduces a plethora of others to be figured out. Despite knowing the facts, you are reminded about how much you do not know. There is so much uncertainty in everyday life, and no matter how much you may try, life does not take place in a laboratory. You cannot control for all the confounding variables life has to offer. You don’t get to test your hypothesis over and over, tweaking your experiment as you go. You are granted one life. You must use it to its fullest extent. 

“Did you?” you abruptly asked.

I wouldn’t have changed anything, because it brought me to you. And you are my greatest accomplishment. You nodded your head, wiping away the tears that pooled in your eyes.

“Look, I may not believe in this supposed god I’m praying to. But, if she actually is out there, what’s the harm in praying she lets my hand make it through the wall? The worst that could happen is she doesn’t listen and I end up with a few bruises and a broken bone. Because, in the grand scheme, what’s a broken bone compared to your life?” There was silence, and you didn’t feel like waiting for a response.

“You are the kindest, gentlest, most generous person I know. Everyone has been through so much. I-it’s too soon. That's how I know there isn’t a god, because she wouldn’t be this cruel. She wouldn’t take you from us too.” In your mind, all of the losses you two had suffered over the years replayed. All of the lost lives, lost friends. “I always tried so hard to be strong for you. I tried to be there, and for the most part I was. I held you in my arms. I kissed the top of your head. I let you know you are so loved, that I was there and I would never let go, because that’s what you do for the ones you love- 

I know

“-but for every ounce of strength I gave, I lost a part of me. I still remember the day it happened. I remember the day we said goodbye, and I remember the endless months of hurt. But, what are you supposed to do when someone loses someone like that?”

Well, you hold them in your arms and let them know they are loved. 

“But I can’t do it again,” you practically shouted. “I can’t,” you gasped.

I know

“I can’t go through that again-”

I know

“-my arms are too tired and weak-”

I know

“-my eyes have lost enough tears-”

I know

“I-I can’t be strong for anyone anymore.” 

I know baby, I’m sorry

You let your head collapse in front of you, hugging Spencer’s limp arm into your chest.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur between broken sobs. “I need someone to hold me-”

I know

“-and I need someone to tell me it’s okay, because I know it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

I know

“God, would you just shut up? Just for once Spencer!” Your breathing heaved as you lifted your head, looking down at the lifeless body in front of you. “I know you know, okay? I know you know everything.” Your own voice bounced around the room, ringing in your ears. “You can claim that you have a formula for any problem, and sure, you can rattle off any statistic. But, for the love of god Spencer, don’t forget, mathematics was invented,” you spat. “It is a made up world that people use to quantify the incomprehensible. It’s a tool that was made to try and make sense of the chaotic world that surrounds us.” The volume of your voice shattered, and you broke down again, cursing yourself for screaming at your unconscious husband.

But, you heard his soft, knowing voice that you missed so much, try as we might, the law of entropy prevails, and with every negative delta g we descended further and further into disorder. One variable that does not have a differential equation to solve is emotions. That’s what makes us different. We care for one another. That is human nature. We try to help those in need and even if we can never fully understand the working of the universe, at least we can make a slightly more positive place. Yes, you can calculate the probability of every known outcome, but you are not a robot. We have survived because of our inclination to help others. We work together for a common goal. We love. We hate. We get scared. We get excited. We are shy and outgoing. We are happy and we are sad. But, no matter what we are, we do it with passion. We love so intensely that it physically hurts. We can feel such joy that it feels as though it is bursting out of us. We are empathetic. We can feel others’ emotions as if they were our own. 

“But, we can also hurt,” you chided. “We can hurt so bad that it feels debilitating. We can hurt so bad that it's easier to just shut off and not think.” You looked over his stoic face, desperately trying to picture his golden eyes through his ashen eyelids. “Yes, that means losing your humanity, but when it’s at the cost of feeling your world crumble before you, suffocating you with it, being a robot begins to have its appeals.”

I guess. You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. It depends on your point of view. You can have a reductionist mind set, and see the world for what it is: a bunch of chemicals interacting. Or, you can take a more philosophical approach and contemplate the meaning of life. But one cannot exist without the other. There is a nuanced duality that must be maintained, or there is no point to either.

You cupped his jaw in your hand, running your thumb over cheek. 

“Every time I see your face I smile. When you tell me you love me my heart feels so full.” You swallowed thickly, picturing all of the morning you woke up next to Spencer, never really knowing which one would be your last. “When I hug you, I feel safe. Yeah, we may just be a sack of chemicals, but I was lucky enough that our atoms came together in this specific combination at the same point in time.” Your voice squeezed as you tried to continue speaking, “And I know the probability of that happening is minuscule, so why can’t  this be too?” you pleaded. “I know it’s unlikely, but if I was so lucky to have you in my life, why can’t I be just as lucky and get my hand through the wall on the first try?”

Because you are human, whatever that means. He spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world. No matter how hard we may try, we are controlled by our emotions. I love you, and you love me, and it’s as simple and complicated as that. 

“I know that every moment you are alive is a second of gifted time, but it’s still never enough. I don’t want to say goodbye. We have so much more to do. We have plans, and promises that still need to be fulfilled”

I don’t want to say goodbye either 

“This isn’t fair, we are supposed to have more time.”

I know, but I need you to be strong, for me.

“But I don’t know what to do.”

I need you to try.

“No, Spence, I-I’m letting you know now that I won’t be able to do it. I can't be strong again. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” You cried into his chest, savoring the sound of his faint heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.”

You waited for a response, desperate to hear his voice for as long as you could. But, it never came. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” You gasped, lifting your head and looking around the room. Your eyes fell on Derek in the doorway. “I thought I heard you talking, are you okay?” Concern laced his brow as he looked at you.

“Y-yeah, I’m as fine as I can be,” you reassured, wiping your eyes. He nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. You watched as he turned to leave, going back to the others in the waiting room. You let out a helpless breath, your eyes falling back onto the man that lay beside you. 

Yes, you are human. And as tears roll down your face, and helplessness courses through your veins, you will continue to pray to a god you don’t believe in, because what else are you supposed to do?

[crossdressingdeath]

Well, you may not care about Durge but I care about them a whole heck of a lot, so I have some issues with your claims. First off: Durge isn't a "him". Durge is a custom origin character with no set gender. Default Durge is male, but there's not much to say about default Durge beyond what little we see of pre-amnesia Durge in-game specifically, meaning everything that can be said about him applies just as much to every single Durge that has ever been made including yours. So! Focusing specifically on canon information, because I don't generally include headcanons in discussion of canon fact! There is... one letter where Durge is being unkind towards Orin. There's another letter of Orin being equally unkind towards Durge. Durge also at least compliments her skills, which she never does in response. If we're going based on their writings to each other Orin's not coming out as the bigger victim, sorry. If that letter (as the only canon evidence of their treatment of her) makes Durge a bully towards Orin then Orin was no better towards them. There's also no canon evidence that Durge ever physically harmed Orin in any way, which is significantly more than we can say about Orin, who set the plot in motion by physically harming Durge very severely with the aim of turning them into a mindless tadpole-controlled slave, a fate that it's theorized (though admittedly only by Balthazar from what I remember) Durge would find significantly worse than death. You can claim they did harm her, but that is purely headcanon and has nothing to do with Durge as a character in-game. Your Durge caring about Orin is no more or less canon than other Durges abusing her. And the way Orin talks to Durge during the game is hardly kind. You can headcanon that she's responding in kind to how they used to treat her, but again: that's headcanon. It's no more or less canon than your Durge caring about her. And... we know exactly why Orin canonically attacked Durge. She didn't like that they were prepared to collaborate with the Chosen of the other Dead Three, she hated how close they were to Gortash specifically, and she wanted to lead the temple instead. Anything else is, again, no more or less canon than your Durge caring about her. Hey, my Durge cared for Orin too. He would've spoken kindly to her if the option was there. The fact that the option isn't there doesn't say jack shit about Durge unless you decide it does say something about your Durge specifically. You can do whatever you like with your Durge, but you don't get to claim that Durge canonically abused Orin just to say that your Durge was better because they didn't when there's no more evidence that Durge abused Orin than there is that they only responded to her in kind.

Orin: Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation. Kyvir: Like the salvation your mother offered? Attacked by your mother on Sarevok's orders. That must have hurt. Orin: No no NO NO NO! He didn't. He didn't... Filthy, pig-mouthed little LIAR! You think I hurt from such meaningless vapours? Do you forget what I did to you? A little hole, big enough for the worm, your body a blood sack to feed it. The favourite of Bhaal turned meat puppet, strung up by the sinews and plucked by my hands. Narrator: *A straggling memory rises: The day your tyranny should have engulfed this world, it was you who were the first to be enslaved.* Orin: Husk. Maggot. A Bhaalspawn, slip-sliding in filth with these pigs. You don't deserve the Murder Lord's blessing. Kyvir: I deserve it more than you. Sarevok ordered your mother to kill you. You weren't even meant to survive. Orin: Grandfather loves me. He worships me. How dare you smear his name. It will not save you. Kyvir: You're pathetic. No wonder he tricked you so easily. Orin: LIAR! Do you plan to duel me with such weakling words? I promise, mine are sharper. Come close, my Death's Heads, but keep your blades unblooded. Bhaal demands a duel. He wants to taste my domination. An altar flowing with his own unwilling flesh. Draining, dying, drip, drip, drip. Sceleritas Fel: You should have trained harder, Master.

The confrontation with Orin is awful. The way there's no real opportunity to show her kindness hurts me. Like, you can only use Sarevok ordering her mother to kill her (or Sarevok being her father, but I didn't get that option this time) as a weapon to throw her off-guard; I feel like Durge at least should get more of a chance to be kind. This is their sister! ...Well, niece, but it seems like they treated each other as siblings. Why can't they at least try to get through to her? Just in general the game kind of treats Orin super shittily by treating her like just a crazy serial killer with zero empathy; we know being Bhaalspawn fucks you up, and while I can see a lot of the origins showing very little empathy (they don't show a lot of empathy even to their good friend/lover Durge) I think Durge at least should be able to try to be kind to her...

[glorytoukraine2022]

Hey everyone! I’m back with another analysis! This time I’m going to do a comparison of reformed villains from Elena of Avalor and Tangled the Series. The main reformed villains I will be comparing is Cassandra, to four reformed villains from the two aforementioned shows. If you’re a fan of both shows, you probably might know who they are.

First up, will be Cassandra vs Varian. I know this is an obvious choice I’m starting off with, but given that these two are from the same show, they’re the easiest to analyze. TTS does everything it can to push comparisons between Varian and Cassandra and make them seem like parallels. However, these two couldn’t be more different.

Varian didn’t want to turn to crime. He only became a criminal because he was pushed to it. When Varian lost his dad, he asked for help not only from Rapunzel, but the entire kingdom as a whole. But because of a false rumor going around the kingdom claiming that Varian had attacked Rapunzel. Rapunzel never cleared the rumor, nor did she follow up on Varian’s request for help. The King sent guards to chase Varian out of his home in order to cover up the destruction of the rocks, isolating Varian from society and any possible aid. Varian was still wron, but he literally had no other options left.

Cassandra, however? She was faced with no such situation. Her life was pretty stable when she stole the moonstone. Was it perfect? No, but if she was so unhappy, than she could have left anytime. She was even offered an opportunity to become a warrior of the kingdom of Ingvarr, but chose to stay because of her friendship with Rapunzel.

Like Varian, Cassandra too was mistreated by Rapunzel. I don’t blame either of them for wanting to leave her. Yet the show didn’t use any of these valid reasons as her motive for Cassandra stealing the moonstone. Instead, they decided to have Cassandra victim-blame Rapunzel for her own kidnaping.

The entirety of season 3, we see Cassandra gaslighting an abuse victim. Gothel didn’t kidnap Rapunze because she loved her more than Cassandra. She only cared about her magic hair.

Varian realized his actions were wrong long before the events of season 3, but nobody in Corona gave him a chance, leading to him turning to a Terrorist Leader. But when the Saporians revealed that they were going to destroy Completely using Varian’s chemicals, Varian turned against the Saporians to save Corona and it’s citizens, despite how the kingdom mistreated him, because it was the right thing to do. Cassandr, on the other hand, was about to rip the Sundrop straight from Rapunzel, despite her clearly being in pain.

For my next comparison, it will be Cassandra vs. Victor and Carla Delgado. One could argue that Cassandra saw the power of the moonstone as a power conduit and a means of respect, similarly to how Victor and Carla saw being Malvagos. However, given that TTS does seem to give a clear or specific reason for Cassandra’s theft of the stone, it’s honestly hard to say if power, respect or anything, for that matter, is Cassandra’s motive. “Destiny“, is also given as a motivation, but it’s hard to tell. Whereas Victor and Carla’s motivations for becoming Malvagos is clearly stated that they saw it as a means to gain power, in order to gain respect, which, quite frankly, makes more sense than anything that came out of Cassandra’s mouth throughout her entire villain arc.

Yes, Cassandra and Carla were both abandoned by their naristsstic, power-hungry mothers, but the way each of them reacted to it couldn’t have been more different. When Ash betrayed Victor and Carla by turning Victor to stone, Carla was devastated, and who wouldn’t be? Yet in that moment she saw her mother for who she truly was and turned against her, standing by her father when he needed her.

Now Cassandra? Let’s see, she went on a rampage to hurt her friends and others innocent people and ATTACKED her father. See the difference? One could argue that Cassandra was four when Gothel abandoned her whereas Carla was 19, but Cassandr’s memory of Gothel’s abandonment was repressed until Zhan Tiri showed it to her in The House of Yesterday’s Tomorow. Even though it happened when Cassandra was at a young age, when she remembered it, she was a 24 year old woma, and should have handled it with the maturity of a young adult.

Nobody is saying that Cassandra isn’t allowed to feel hurt. Nobody is saying she isn’t allowed to react badly. That she isn’t allowed to confront her father on the truth if she feels that he kept it from her. But you’d think she’d react in a mature manner. That she’d be willing to hear her father out and talk to him about it rather than straight out attack him!

Carla clearly wanted her mother in her life. She wanted a relationship with her. Cassandra also clearly wanted to be raised by her birth mother, but their mothers made their own choices. Ash and Gothel chose to abandon their daughters for selfish purposes. They can’t change who their mothers are, as much as they might want to. The difference is, only Carla has the maturity to realize that. She also realizes that she has her father, who loves and cares about her more than anything in the whole wide world. Cassandra disregards all of this.

From what we know about Victor and Carla’s childhoods’ Victor had fun days at the palace racing Esteban down the halls, playing hide and seek and cooking with him and Elena. Carla had fun cooking with her father as a child. But some of their lines from “Don’t Look Now”, tell us that their childhoods weren’t exactly peachy. According to Victor, if you had seen him as a child, he would have “always had a frown” because he was put down by others and was “treated like a clown” whenever he tried to stand up. And let’s not forget that him and his family were banished by Shuriki while Victor was still in his teens.

According to Carla, she and Victor were “always on the move“ and that the only thing that never changed was that she would “always feel alone.” The reasons she and Victor could never settle down was probably because they survived as theives and con-artists. If they were alwlays on the move, than Carla probably nevertheless had the chance to make friends growing up. And we’re suppoesd to feel sorry for CASSANDRA?!

While it’s possible she might have felt looked down upon like Victor, Cassandra had a pretty stable life growing up. Growing up inside a CASTLE! She was even allowed to train for the Royal Guard at age six! Victor and Carla had to resort to becoming con artists for a living, and Cassandra is pouting just because she didn’t get the job she wanted?!

When Carla nearly fell to her death after she was knocked over a ledge, Victor was terrified that he was going to lose Carla right then and there, causing him to realize that power wasn’t worth the price of losing his daughter. This gave him the incentive and courage to stand up to Ash for Carla’s safety, and end dark pursuits right then and there. Ash responded to this by turning him into stone. Heartbroken and angered by Ash’s betrayal, and realizing her mother’s true nature, Carla stands against Ash and reforms as well.

Victor and Carla may have once believed that power would gain them the respect they’ve always wanted, but in the end, realized that they never needed power. All they ever truly needed to be happy was love and family. Each other. That’s what I call a true, remarkable redemption. Cassandra didn’t seem to learn or realize anything based on her experience. To this day, I still don’t understand just what new insights and changes resulted from Cassandra’s “redemption.” All Zhan Tiri did was take the moonstone from her. There should have been more than that to her redemption.

Now, last, but not least, Cassandra vs Esteban. Now, I saved this one for last, because Esteban is the one I’ve heard people compare Cassandra to, and while I understand where they are coming from, I still have my objections. I’ve heard people compare Esteban to Cassandra based on the fact that they both had a desire to be noticed. While I understand this comparison, I still feel like Esteban is the more sympathetic of the two.

As much as Esteban wanted to be listened to, he always loved his family deeply. But he always made the mistake of trusting the wrong people, first Shuriki, then Ash, and then the Four Shades. He trusted them, only for them to go after the people he loved and wanted to listen to him in the first place. Cassandra wanted to be listen to, but she didn’t care if it cost her everyone that had ever cared about her. We see this early on in season 1, during “Challenge of the Brave”, when she tries to sabotage Rapunzel’s chances in “Challenge of the Brave” by stealing her weapon of choice, and in “Great Expotations“, when she breaks her promise to Varian that she would be his assistant at the Science Expo if he completed her Handmaiden duties for her, just so she could be on guard duty.

Both Cassandra and Esteban are ambitius and have sought to undermine their family/friends if given the oppourtunity, but I felt that Esteban was always more misunderstood whereas Cassandra was just willing to screw over anybody in her way. Think about it, even after Esteban joined up with Ash, he NEVER EVER wanted to hurt his family, and was always going out of his way to protect them and migiate harm. Cassandra, on the other hand? Went on a killing spree to murder her friends and cause as much destruction as possible.

I have also heard people comparing their redemptions and complaining about how they were both “last minute.” While I would agree in regards to Cassandra, I would NOT say the same about Esteban. As I pointed out in previous paragraph, Cassandra was still hell bent on hurting Rapunzel before Zhan Tiri grabbed the moonstone. Just before that scene, Esteban had just sung a duet with Elsa about how remorseful he feels for everything he’s done and all the people he’s hurt.

Iv’e also heard people comparing their “deaths”, claiming that Cassandra dying was a self sacrifice. NO. I REPEAT. Cassandra’s death in the TTS finale was NOT a self sacrifice! A self sacrifice is when you knowingly put yourself in harm’s way for someone or something else, knowing that you’ll be killed, or seriously injured in the process. Esteban teleporting in front of Elena to take Cahu’s time grain, was a self sacrific. Anna choosing to save Elsa from Hans in Frozen was a self sacrifice. Cassandr’s death was NOT self sacrifice. Cassandra and Rapunzel didn’t believe they were going to die or suffer any consequences by uniting the stones. The only person who they bellived would die was the person who United the stones, that person being Zhan Tiri. Cassandra’s actions were not self sacrificial, in any way, shape or form. What Esteban did for Elena in that moment was more powerful than anything Cassandra did in the finale.

All of these people I talked about above were better villains than Cassandr, with much better motivations, and are More worthy of redemption as have becom better people than she ever will be. If Cassandra ever grows in the futur, sh’ll be lucky if she ever gets at least half to where all these wonderful people are today.

I’m sorry if this analysis isn’t as good as my others so far. I stayed up until 3:40 AM writing this, so I apologize for any sloppiness or spelling mistakes you might see. I still hope you enjoyed my thoughts!

[incorrect-pokespe-quotes]

Let’s Talk About Norman

I’m going to start off by telling you all something you probably already know: Norman is abusive. I try not to use super strong language on this blog because calling someone abusive / toxic is a pretty big deal, but Norman is an abuser, full stop. Aside from the obvious physical violence though, there’s a lot of emotional trauma he causes Ruby through his actions— this post is mostly going to be talking about Norman’s emotional abuse and how it affects Ruby’s psyche and actions throughout the arc instead of just “oh he punched his son down some stairs” because I think it goes way deeper than that. With that out of the way, the rest of the post is below the cut!

PHYSICAL VIOLENCE

I can’t talk about Ruby and Norman without mentioning this— it’s the most clear cut evidence of his abuse on-panel. He punches his son down the stairs, engages in a high stakes fight with him, and puts him in mortal danger (which Ruby has to save himself from). What I’m concerned with isn’t the actual incidence of violence itself, but rather the emotional baggage that comes with it.

The interesting thing about the Big Fight scene to me is that Norman instigates the conflict. Norman lures Ruby into a “dark and scary building” in the rain and away from others, appears behind him, threatens him, and throws him against a wall. The only thing Ruby had done in that moment is ask his dad how / why he had found him— Norman was the instigator of violence. It is Ruby’s reaction to this immediately violent start that segues into the next Big Thing about their relationship.

ENVIRONMENT OF FEAR

It is obvious from the minute Norman appears on panel that he is intimidating. Multiple characters throughout the arc mention that they are scared of / intimidated by him, but none are more obvious than Ruby. In fact until we reach the scene at the Weather Institute, Norman hasn’t been shown in a positive light at all from Ruby’s perspective. Ruby continuously mentions fear about his father: he imagines his father grabbing him, looking angrily at him, and generally seems to be afraid of him. Ruby expresses worry and concern about the consequences of his father’s anger— and that’s ALL he thinks about. Ruby mentions explicitly that he has seen “Norman’s Dark Side” and tries to hide as soon as he appears. He even shivers at the mere mention of Norman. Ruby’s entire motivation is his fear of his dad, which is bad, obviously. 

Every thought about Norman that Ruby has up until the Weather Institute about Norman express fear and stress Norman’s emotional distance. Whether or not Ruby and Norman love each other is not of importance here, what is important is that Ruby has constant worry and anxiety about how Norman will react. His entire motivation at the beginning of the arc is centered around doing things behind Norman’s back and giving him definitive proof of Ruby’s accomplishments— Ruby is so nervous around Norman that he considers communicating to be a risk. This is typical abuse victim behavior and it continues through the arcs. Living under the constant threat of (often violent) punishment has taught Ruby that disagreements and communication in general are dangerous and can spiral into violence very, very quickly— he displays this same fear time and time again.

Quick Aside: As everyone here probably knows, the main conflict in the oras arc is centered around Ruby’s unwillingness to tell Sapphire what is going on for fear of how she will react. Ruby’s hiding of his memory of their confession in the Emerald arc is the same— Ruby refuses to communicate because he is afraid of how Sapphire will react. His main emotional flaw is the fact that he is driven by fear; Norman has shown him there are consequences to communication and Ruby carries this lesson throughout his entire life. He is a victim of abuse and this hampers his ability to communicate and be emotionally vulnerable. He is so caught up in the idea of consequences that he is more than willing to lie or omit the truth to avoid the consequences of talking to people about stressful topics. This is not to say that Ruby’s actions are excusable— he’s still a dick with communication issues, but whether or not Kusaka intended it, Norman’s abuse and its consequences define Ruby’s emotional arc.

ANGER ISSUES

I can’t really talk about the environment of fear that Norman created without talking about his anger issues. He crushes a phone, shoves people out of the way, knocks multiple Pokemon out at once, and otherwise acts aggressively in various situations throughout the arc without any real Reason. As if these hints weren’t enough, we actually get confirmation through Ruby’s mother that Norman “does this often”— and judging by Birch’s reaction, these displays of destructive anger aren’t normal in in-universe. Whether or not there is a violent / strict parenting style within the universe doesn’t matter, because Norman is shown to be uncharacteristically aggressive in comparison to other adults in the series. Judging by Ruby’s reaction at the Weather Institute, he implies that his type of violence towards him isn’t uncommon; he seems almost resigned to it.

To wrap up this section: Norman’s aggressiveness is atypical even in-universe, he is shown to be unable and unwilling to curb his violent anger, and this creates an environment of fear among his family that permanently impacts Ruby’s ability to communicate effectively with others.

PART 2

DISCLAIMER: This is where things get… dicey. Everything I’ve mentioned previously is rooted in the actual drawings and actions of the characters or overarching themes / problems. This next part however focuses on dialogue. It is almost impossible to truly understand the tone of each line without being a fluent Japanese speaker (which I am not) so instead I’m going to use Viz and CY to the best of my ability for this section. I’m not going to extrapolate this to Kusaka’s intentions, since without the original work that’s nearly impossible, but I can at least talk about the way these come off in English.

EMOTIONAL ABUSE

Admittedly, Viz is the worst about this. They constantly hype Norman up and excuse his behavior, outright censoring some of the physical and emotional abuse. Viz absolutely mangling the tone of RS, however, is a post for another time.

Because Norman actually speaks to Ruby at length a grand total of twice times in the RS arc, we can break down his actions into these two instances: the first is at the weather institute and the second is as he’s dying.

Rather than go based on overall theme, this scene is best done line by line (this is using the CY version due to limited censorship compared to Viz). 

Scene 1: Volume 17, Chapters 208-210

(Norman is dangling Ruby off the roof of a building by his collar. There are sharp rocks at the bottom)

Ruby: Re… release me…! Norman: Insolent brat!! Is that how you talk to your father?!

To start, Norman uses tone policing and deflection. He focuses on the fact that Ruby is “talking back” to him and making demands of his father, which doesn’t acknowledge Ruby’s request or the fact that Ruby is being dangling over the roof of a building. Also note that this is the first time the words are bolded and that they stay this way throughout the fight— Norman verbally escalates the fight. Norman is abusing his position of power over Ruby in order to excuse his actions and pass the blame back to his son.

Ruby: I don’t care how furious you are with me… I’m ready for it!

(Norman decks Ruby down a flight of stairs)

Norman: Why did you run away from home?!

Note once again that Norman is implied to start raising his voice first even when Ruby isn’t. There’s another deflection here: Norman changes the subject rather than actively respond to anything Ruby says.

Norman: Well? Say something! You’d better voice your complaints right now!!

(Ruby has a conversation with the Swimmer, who advises him to apologize to avoid his father’s rage and “just go home” which… fuck you Swimmer Jack. I’m skipping that part of the dialogue bc it isn’t that important).

(While Ruby is debating what to do, Norman’s Slaking lifts the stairs that Ruby is on and tries to fling him into next Tuesday).

Ruby is physically prevented from escaping by being dangled above Norman. I shouldn’t have to tell why physically preventing someone from leaving an argument is a bad thing.

(Ruby decides to fight Norman)

Note that Norman is physically and emotionally forcing Ruby into two possible options: Fight or be obedient. He is preventing Ruby from running and deflecting Ruby’s attempts to explain himself. He then shifts the blame to Ruby *again*, attacking Ruby and his pokemon with full force and implying it was Ruby who instigated the conflict in the first place.

Norman: … so you wish to fight me? … Iron Tail and Hyper Beam… I was the one who taught you those attacks. There’s nothing about your attacks and strategies I don’t know about. You’re just wasting your time! Give up!

Here, Norman does two things: he stresses Ruby’s dependence on him and his power over Ruby. It’s a typical “your success is dependent on me” and a “there is no option except obedience” rhetoric, and is likewise typical of abusers. Norman is stressing the things Norman has gifted to Ruby (battling knowledge) and using whatever he can to force Ruby to do what he wants— he’s exerting his control.

(Ruby turns the tide of the battle, so Norman likewise switches tactics by attacking Ruby himself and attempting to hit him with a staircase. Ruby falls down the stairs and is dangling over a pit of spikes when Norman stands on the edge, blocking Ruby’s only escape route).

Norman: Now will you come quietly? Stop being so stubborn

Not only is Norman forcing his son to choose between obedience and Literal Death, he also shifts the blame again. He excuses his own actions by claiming it is Ruby’s stubbornness that forced him into this position. He deflects the whole “putting my 11 year old in harm’s way” by claiming Ruby’s own resistance to Norman’s violence is the trigger for the violence itself. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s victim-blaming nonetheless and sadly, it works

(Flashback time: Norman admits he was going to give Ruby permission to participate in contests and gets emo about it. They fall, but Norman catches Ruby. This doesn’t matter though, because they both end up falling and Ruby uses his running shoes to save them both).

Ruby: (thinking) Ru- running shoes… my birthday present from dad… saved both… our lives

Ruby displays pretty typical abuse victim behavior here, focusing not on Norman’s 3 threats to literally kill him but instead on the One Good Thing Norman did. He doesn’t mention that it was Ruby himself who saved them both or that Norman was the one who put them in danger in the first place— he’s in total denial about the severity of everything that happened.

(At this point, Norman looms above Ruby with an angry expression and a raised pokeball. Bystanders panic because it appears that Norman is going to attack Ruby who, by the way, is unconscious on the ground, but Norman gets a surprise call from Winona and turns away after realizing that Winona can see him).

“I only stopped attacking my son when I realized people were watching”… alright fuck off then Norman

Norman: HEY!! Idiot son! You disobeyed your parents, then you ran away from home. I’ve had enough! Just do what you want! In return, you’d better accomplish your goals!! A man should complete what he has set out to do… … before he can return home!!

Hoo boy. Norman never apologizes, deflects all the blame onto Ruby, insults him twice, and then tries to save face with Winona and the people around him by giving Ruby permission to do contests— which he was apparently planning to do all along. He emphasizes the things Ruby did in response to Norman’s actions (Ruby ran away from home because he knew his dad would be unsupportive and gets violent during disagreements, so in essence Norman is to blame for backing him into a corner). Norman twists the narrative in order to make Ruby the instigator in every case, justifying Norman’s responses as reactions to Ruby’s problematic behavior

Swimmer Jack: Isn’t that a wonderful father? Ruby: Thank you… father.

Ok first of all Jack is a dumbass, so jot that down. Second of all, while it’s unintentional, Ruby is being gaslit to hell and back. It is only after Norman’s omission of all the abusive behavior and bystanders’ affirmation of Norman’s love that Ruby starts to think positively towards his father. The threat Ruby used to think was so large has been downplayed and outright denied by the people around him, so Ruby’s prior fear of Norman diminishes. Ruby’s fear of Norman and the violence Norman took against him is denied, downplayed, and ignored, so Ruby begins to doubt his own animosity towards his father. Thanks Swimmer Jack you unintentionally gaslit an 11 year old.

SCENE 2: (this one is much shorter, thank god)

(Norman, while he is dying, explains the whole deal with how he was ordered to search for Rayquaza yada yada. Throughout the exchange, Ruby gets increasingly upset).

Ruby: (thinking) barred from the test and forced to search for Rayquaza… It must be some kind of punishment! What could Dad have done to warrant such… why was he made responsible… ?!

Ruby: … … but… come to think of it, dad is not someone who makes mistakes easily… something’s not right!

Slight aside, Ruby has been so convinced of his father’s power by others that he is unwilling to even CONSIDER that his dad fucked up, which… wow!

Ruby: That day… Dad must have taken the rap for someone else… and… (flashbacks to Salamence Incident) that person… was….

Ruby: (out loud) … me?! That person who set Rayquaza free… was it me…?!

Norman: Yes.

And then he dies!

(Technically he says “oh I did all that out of love” (paraphrased) and then dies but it’s just a continuation of the previous thing).

Norman, before dying, does not say “I’m proud of you” or “I’m sorry for everything” or anything remotely comforting, instead he says “hey Ruby, you’re responsible for my death and all your childhood trauma alongside your friend’s. Peace.” (this is paraphrased).

Even on his actual deathbed, Norman places the blame on Ruby for Norman’s own actions. He makes Ruby feel guilty for Norman leaving, Norman hiding information from him, and Ruby’s tumultuous childhood.

CONCLUSION

None of this is to say that Norman doesn’t love Ruby or that Ruby doesn’t love him back— I’m fairly positive the two of them love each other dearly and want the best for each other. However, Norman is a child abuser who reacts violently, instigates violence, and then turns around and denies said violence. He creates a culture of fear among his family, gives Ruby some serious communication issues, and the narrative takes his side. Norman is a child abuser in canon and has a very VERY profound effect on Ruby which has emotional ramifications throughout Ruby’s entire character arc all the way until oras.

TLDR: Normans sucks man

[sinsbymanka]

Hey. I'm sorry. So. Your post about sunseekerknight is really long and it seems out of date. I thought everything had been resolved and she promised to make amends but this all started back around again and it sounds like your issue isn't solved. Can you update me real quick? Sorry.

Thanks for being polite and coming to me. I’ll try to summarize things to the best of ability while also noting this is kinda a clusterfuck. It got long, so it’s under a cut.

In March 2020, I commissioned @sunseekerknight (I’m blocked so I can’t actually @ her) to do a Tarot Card commission of my Inquisitor for $80. I sent the money via PayPal friends and family as she requested which is something I no longer do for artists, even though I’d done it before with no problems. 

The main post goes over my initial experience really well - the repeated attempts at contact and missed deadlines. This post was made on June 18, 2020 and blew up. I informed Ada that day I was making the post and she told me she’d be doing so as well. 

I’d already filed the PayPal claim which was ultimately denied because I’d sent the money via friends and family, despite SSK’s assurances she’d help me resolve it in my favor. 

I didn’t hear from SSK after this and I didn’t contact her. My father passed away on June 20th and I was busy dealing with the personal fallout of that (he’d been in the hospital the whole month of June as it was) so my priorities swung towards processing my own grief and planning what happens next. 

On July 10th, my PayPal claim was denied. I forwarded the claim to SSK with the following message:

I want to inform you that PayPal has indicated, due to the way you asked me to send the funds (friends and family), they are unable to provide any sort of refund based on their policies. It is your responsibility to make the refund.

Because of the history of fraud I've uncovered, I will be pursuing this further. I am, in particular, asking PayPal to mark this account as one used for fraudulent transactions and scamming money before closing it. My hope is that this account is in your real name and that getting this account marked for fraud has real consequences you have to live with.

I honestly didn’t expect to hear from SSK again, but I did on July 12th: 

Oh, I see. Now the difficult situation has become even more difficult. I'm sorry to say this, but, as I said earlier, I had only two offers for people affected by my actions - a PayPal dispute or finished art. And since PayPal is useless in this situation, all I can offer you - is art. I’m still ready to finish your commission because I don't want you to be left with nothing. I would like to return the money, really, but it will take time and I don't know how much, considering the current situation on Tumblr. I still want to resolve this issue peacefully, despite what is happening now. I know that you don't trust me, and I understand this, as well as the fact that you are disappointed, angry, etc., but still I want to do at least something so as not to leave the situation as it is now. But if this is your final decision, then okay, I understand and accept it.

This message struck me as victim blaming. I am, after all, responsible for the situation on Tumblr which means she can’t get commissions. I reacted with some venom and my tone is not great here, but I do ask you to understand the frame of mind I was in here on July 13th: 

I don't think it's fair to claim that PayPal is being unhelpful in this situation when it is you who are refusing to refund money for a service that was purchased and not completed. I think it would make me feel better if you started phrasing the "situation" in a way that took responsibility for it. Such as: "I cannot refund the money to you myself, because I spent it before delivering what you paid for, and I cannot get your dispute resolved through PayPal because I asked you to send the payment a specific way that precludes disputes." 

I also feel hurt that immediately after I sent my email on Friday, you blocked me from Tumblr and turned all your social media accounts private. I can't think of why you would do this when you claim to still want to resolve this and when I have been more than kind. I find it difficult to believe that you didn't know what my review would cause - it sounds to me like this is something that has been brewing for awhile. Frankly, I'm amazed it took three years. I would also appreciate if, instead of blaming the "situation" on Tumblr for your inability to receive new commissions, you began taking responsibility for that as well. May I suggest: "My actions in the past three years have harmed many people and they are angry about it with good cause. Because I have damaged my reputation to a great extent, I will probably not receive many, if any, people willing to pay me money for commissions." 

I fully expect to receive nothing from you: art or my money returned. When speaking with PayPal on Friday, they advised the only way to shut your PayPal account down is if I file a criminal complaint with the IC3, which is the US's Internet Crimes division of the FBI. I did so and sent them the screenshots I have of all our conversations, your posts on Tumblr, and links to the posts of other people who publicly came out regarding the same behavior they experienced. I'm uncertain I can withdraw my complaints from both PayPal and the IC3, and if I could I don't think I would. I'm sure this isn't something that is high priority for them, but I assume eventually they will contact you to discuss your actions. The way I see it, you have three options at this point in time:

Find some way to issue a refund to me, and any other customers you've wronged. If I am contacted by investigators, I will say a refund was eventually issued in my case. 

Deliver the art you promised to me, and any other customers. If I am contacted by investigators, I will say a product was eventually delivered in my case. 

Continue to ignore what you've done and hope that no real consequences come of it. 

As to the art, I don't want it anymore. It has been tainted by this awful experience and I will not enjoy it. I will, however, accept it if you choose to do it to lessen whatever consequences you may end up facing because, truly, I'd rather you learn from this than end up with financial or legal consequences that are even more burdensome. 

Honestly. I never expected to hear from SSK again. But I did because this is the drama that never ends. On July 20th: 

I must apologize for the long silence. Sorry, I just got home from an unexpected vacation with my family, and I followed the advice of my parents and friends - spend these days away from work and the Internet to feel better. As I said, I understand you. You sound reasonable and you are totally right - it is my responsibility for that. And I'm trying to work it out, even if these are rather strange ways. And it wasn't about you personally. This was part of another problem with a friend I was trying to protect, and I followed the advice to keep the accounts private during the "war" and block some people on the tumblr during this time to avoid any collisions. But still, I was available for correspondence via email, and now all my accounts are again freely available. I know how it looks like, especially for you, when you have really been more than kind to me, and I cannot apologize enough to somehow change and improve this situation. I just fucked up on all fronts and I admit it. And I see, yes. I don't mind returning your art or money, it's just a matter of time. These are not days, these are weeks or months, and it is solely a matter of your patience. If you do not mind waiting, then I will try to return the money to you, since you no longer want art for obvious reasons. I understand and accept it, and it's okay. If you're willing to wait, I'll keep you informed of the refund situation and will do it as soon as I can.

You’ll note earlier I told you I can’t tag SSK cause I’m blocked. I’ve never been unblocked since July despite her saying she would. This is also the last email I got from SSK. I’ve had no communication since to my knowledge.

At this point in time I was tired. Really tired. It was bad news I got this email exactly a month after my father passed because I just didn’t want to do it anymore. This is my second to last email to SSK in response also on July 20th: 

Please feel free to do what you need to do to manage the situation. For my part, I have said and done all I can. I have asked for a refund for a service you have been unable to provide in a reasonable time frame, and thus you are legally obligated to return my money in the same reasonable time frame. That time frame has passed already.

When I am contacted by authorities about this matter in response to my complaints, I will tell them you have promised refunds but have not delivered. The only thing you could do to change this answer is to issue a refund before I am contacted.

This exchange is draining and unhelpful for me. I ask that you please do not contact me again until you are ready to issue a refund. 

On September 25th, I was informed SSK had successfully opened commissions on Twitter and Instagram. This spurred me to send one final email: 

I've been informed you recently reopened commissions to buy yourself something and met your goal, even though you only advertised on Twitter and Instagram. 

I would like to remind you that I'm still owed a refund AND you shouldn't spend that commission money until you deliver on that art. Please do not rip and entire new group of people off. 

There are other people, in the notes of the original post, who can attest to terrible experiences similar to mine. In particular, @starsandskies, @vorchagirl, and @charlatron have all come forward to talk about what she’s done and their experiences. Her pattern seems to be to open commissions, deliver a few, have the rest dragged out of her, and then to not do other ones. I drew the short straw this time. 

I don’t know if she’s reading this - if she is, at this point all I really want is an apology, a list of people who are waiting for art/refunds from her, and a plan as to how she’s going to make it right. If she doesn’t do those things, I suspect I’m going to keep getting dragged back into this cluster for awhile to talk about my experiences. 

If you’re waiting for artwork Non, open PayPal disputes and file complaints if you need to. The sooner the better. 

[niksixx]

America’s Most Wanted

Requested: Kind of :D 

Pairing: Duff McKagan x Fem!Reader 

Description: While you and Duff are lovers, you’re also killers. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde love story. 

Warning: Mentions of murder, blood, stabbing, guns, etc. I tried not to make this fic graphic, but please read at your own risk if you believe this piece will trigger you. 

A/N: I am blessing you all with a Duff fic because I know how much you lovely humans wanted me to write something for him!! It’s a different type of fic, I consider this ‘horror’ but again, I tried not to make it super graphic that way you can still enjoy it! 

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.* 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Los Angeles are uncharacteristically quiet at four thirty in the morning. Normally buzzing with crowds of inebriated young adults who spill out to the sidewalk after a night at the Roxy, they have become calm and eerily so. Illumination from the lamp posts provides the only source of light throughout the city in the late hours of the night. Stores and clubs remain closed for the second week in a row. Workers and customers alike are suffering, but the safety of the LA citizens is at stake.

The police and the FBI are frazzled. Patrolling the streets is too dangerous. One by one the death toll increases, with each murder more gruesome than the next, always unprovoked. Media outlets across the country keep the American citizens informed. The mugshots of the murderers are on every news channel, and posters are hung on every telephone pole. The two killers are wanted dead or alive, and they are Bonnie and Clyde resurrected.

Sitting at the base of a tree is one of the killers, the more experienced of the two. He goes by Duff. Long leather clad legs are splayed out in front of him as he cleans the fresh blood from his knife with a towel that has seen better days. Beside him hidden in the grass is the lifeless body of a twenty-nine year old man who had made the mistake of stepping outside his home. The scent of blood is strong, but Duff’s used to it. After brutally ending the lives of thirty innocent civilians up and down the west coast, the pungent odor is rarely a bother. In fact, Duff finds it comforting.

At first glance, Duff appears just like any other man in Los Angeles. That alone makes him deadly. Tall, blonde, and adorned in leather assets from head to toe, he’s intimidating. But it’s not the kind of intimidating that urges people away. He possesses an allure that pulls them toward him, draws them in. And then, when they least expect it, he strikes. One and done. Swift and clean. No remorse.

With his back against the base of the tree, Duff scans the empty streets, looking for any sign of life that is foolish enough to leave the safety of the indoors. He knows the police are doing everything they can to locate him without putting themselves at risk. He is aware that cities all across the country are terrified that they’ll fall victim to his murder spree. And yet there are still people who choose to enter the outdoor world, exposing themselves to potential harm. There is always the option of breaking the glass windows and terrorizing the people who choose to stay inside, but that isn’t the name of the game. Duff waits for his victims. He never goes looking for them.

Heels clicking against the cement pavement grabs his attention. Turning his head toward the sound, a petite woman in a red peacoat has a bit of hustle in her step as she pulls the jacket tighter to her body. The naive little thing is alone, checking over her shoulder once, twice, before exhaling a breath into the air.

From his pocket, Duff digs out a cigarette. Holding it between two gloved fingers, he lights it and casually blows a ring of smoke into the night. “You know darling, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”

The clicking comes to a halt. Caught in the midst of her venture home, the lady stops and turns, worry lines etched in her forehead. Duff sighs. Poor thing doesn’t know what’s coming for her. “I know. I’m coming from a friend’s house. My apartment is just down the street.”

Duff heaves himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt and grass from his body. Shockingly, the lady doesn’t budge, but her eyes watch his every move. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he lets the cigarette dangle from his lips. A few steps forward and he’s standing in front of the young woman who squares her body defensively. She doesn’t recognize him, another shock, as his face has been plastered all over the 11 o’clock news, but her guard is high.

“At four in the morning?” Duff asks incredulously, playing the part of an intrigued stranger. He uses his charm for an advantage. The woman smiles a little, relaxing her shoulders. Duff notices. “What were you doing?”

He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to pretend to care, to warm up his victims before the hunt. But killing is a game, and games are meant to be fun. “I was planning on staying over, but I have trouble falling asleep in homes that aren’t my own,” Her eyes travel the length of Duff’s body before settling back on his face. She has trouble reading him. “What’s your excuse for being out so late?”

A few feet away, a shadow emerges from behind the cars parked along the street. Straining his neck to get a closer look, Duff recognizes the shadow and snickers to himself. Curiously, the lady turns her gaze just as the shadow disappears behind a different car. “I have trouble sleeping. Past trauma,” Duff lies casually, eyes downcast at the cigarette in his mouth. “Fresh air and a smoke usually calms me down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…”

“Duff,” He answers back with a slow smile. “And you are?”

“Linda.” A wary smile surfaces on her lips. The rise and fall of her chest is normal, not as panicked as it was before.

The shadow in the background slithers around the cars, inching its way closer. It’s on the hunt for its next prey, but Duff shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He looks to Linda again, who stares back quizzically. “Well, Linda, it was very nice to meet you. It’s late, though, and you should head on home.”

With a curt nod, Linda tugs her purse higher onto her shoulder. “It was nice to meet you too, Duff.” Linda attempts to step around him, but Duff sidesteps and blocks her path. Linda straightens, the muscles in her face tightening.

“One more thing,” In the shallow pocket of his leather jacket, Duff runs a thumb over the tip of his blade, leaning toward her with a smirk. Linda recoils, and he deadpans. “Don’t scream.”

For a split second, Linda’s fight or flight response is activated, only to be cut off by the sharp pain of a blade wedged in the side of her ribcage. A gloved hand covers her mouth, suppressing the soft whimpers of agony. Cocking his head, Duff stares into her eyes as tears spill over the apples of her cheeks. With a quick, slick motion, Duff pulls the knife from her side before penetrating the skin just above her collarbone. Lightning quick, the shadow emerges from the darkness and hurls itself at Duff, knocking him against the brick wall of a building just a foot behind him. If only the shadow had been quicker, not as hesitant, then it may have claimed Linda as its victim.

Now under the light of a lamppost, the shadow appears in its true form. The second killer. Dressed head to toe in black garments, the boxcutter held tight in its grasp, it takes one step forward, lips curled back in contempt.

“Fuck you, Duff. I had that.”

The anger in your voice turns him on, the opposite effect that it should have on his body. You were right. Linda was your kill, but she’d been alive for far too long. Things didn’t always have to be planned. Excessive planning, while it worked in most cases, could end up being a weakness. Sometimes, you just needed to go for the quick kill.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” Feigning innocence, Duff gestures to Linda’s lifeless body as he blows a cloud of smoke into the air. While he’s positive Linda is as good as gone, there was always the chance she was grasping at life by the skin of her teeth. And if she was indeed just another lifeless body bleeding out on the concrete, Duff would enjoy the sight of you exploding in anger right in front of him. You were always more beautiful that way. “But her apartment was down the street. You were just a bit too slow, darling. She would have made it home alive.” Your eyes fall downcast. Duff sighs. “Tell you what. Check her pulse. If she’s still breathing, I’ll let you finish her off.”

Crouching down to the pavement, you slip your hand into the collar of Linda’s peacoat, two fingers positioned on the side of her neck. Blood trickles onto your hand, the pungent liquid dripping down the side of her neck to her ear. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding a slow beating, but the only pulse you feel is the one flowing through your fingertips.

Eyes narrowed to slits, you watch as Duff chuckles from his place at the wall, taking drag after drag of the cigarette. He knew she was dead. He was toying with you. Teeth clenched together, you find yourself pressing his back further into the bricks, snatching the white cancer stick from his lips, and crushing it under the heel of your boot. You hold the blade against his neck, applying just a bit of pressure to make him slightly squirm under your touch. Neither you nor Duff are strangers to rough play.

He blinks in pure astonishment before curling his lips into a sly grin. Your fingers twitch, itching to wipe the smile off his face, but he’s caught your wrist far too many times in the past when you’ve tried. “Someone’s a little angry, aren’t we?”

Linda’s blood smears over Duff’s lips as your fingers graze over his face. With your lips by his ear, you reply breathily, “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Pulling away, you let your hands drop by your side, curling and uncurling your fists as a way to release the tension in your body. It was your kill. How were you supposed to get better if Duff claimed the victims for himself?

“Maybe you need more training.”

Your blood boils, eyes shifting back to Duff’s smug face. If you needed more training, it was his fault. “Maybe I need a better teacher.” It was easy to get under each other’s skin, although most of the time it was playful banter that morphed into sexual tension. From the bulge in his jeans and the hazy look in his eyes, you knew Duff was dangerously close to claiming you on the sidewalk.

“Temper, temper,” Duff taunts, pushing off the wall with the sole of his boot. The way he eyes you is how he gazes at his victims, like prey, but there’s a side of Duff only you’ve seen. Despite his primal instincts and the nagging urge to have his way with you whenever and wherever, you meant more to him than that. “You have a sharp tongue, sweetheart,” You tilt your head confidently upward, not breaking eye contact as he towers over you. Trailing a gloved hand over your exposed collarbone and up the side of your throat, his fingers slide around to grip the nape of your neck. With untamed hair, crazed eyes, and lips smeared with the blood of the fallen, he’s a madman, a killer. And while the feelings between you aren’t rational, you can’t deny your love for the wild criminal. “Show me what else it can do.”

His lips draw you in like a magnet. Many kisses have been shared between you and Duff, but your heart still beats wildly like it did the very first time. With his hands on either side of your face he keeps you still against him, lips moving in a frenzy before biting down on your lip. He’s rarely gentle, and it drives you mad.

The taste of blood floods your tongue as his tangles with yours, hot, heavy breaths fanning over your face. Your body tingles with fervent need, stomach twisting in passionate knots. As much as you want to enjoy the kiss, the taste of him, you pull back reluctantly, the thoughts in your head overwhelming the rest of your senses.

Duff’s hands cradle your face with a gentle touch. He eyes you with a hard look, a look that warns not to lie. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

The words spin around in your brain. Did you really need more training? In only six short months, Duff taught you everything he knew. You followed his lessons, mimicked his every movement, practiced until your muscles ached from the pain. “Am I disappointing you?”

Duff’s eyebrows furrow. His hands fall to your waist, tugging your hips firmly against him. “Disappointing me? Hardly. Sweetheart, you amaze me.”

“But you said I need more training.”

He chuckles softly. “And you do. That’s not a bad thing. But you’ve already come so far. Just a few months ago you were a dainty little thing who loved watching romance movies and baking cookies on Friday nights. Now you can shoot a gun with your eyes closed.”

“And you were just getting out of prison,” Snaking your arms around the back of Duff’s neck, you pull him closer to you, noses brushing tenderly. If it weren’t for Duff’s inmate taking the blame for the murder, he still would have been staring at the prison walls. How they were able to fool the system into letting Duff go was unfathomable, but he was here with you now. They had let a man guilty of first degree murder walk free, and that man turned into one obsessed with death. Along the way he found you, recruited you as his companion, and now couldn’t picture a world where you weren’t by his side. “I was smitten with you from the moment we met. And I knew you were trouble. I just didn’t care.”

“And look at us now,” Duff grins, stealing a quick kiss. Tendrils of wavy blond hair tickle your cheeks when he dips down to your lips. You never understood why he felt the need to steal them. Anything he wanted, you gave willingly. The rest of the world saw his demented and damned soul. You were fortunate to know every complex piece of him, but not all of them were rooted in evil. His love for you was genuine, unwavering, quite possibly his only redeeming quality. “America’s Most Wanted.”

Your head snaps over to the sound of an apartment door closing. Jogging down the steps and onto the pavement, a man untangles a green leash before hooking it onto his dog. The word screams in your head. Target.

Duff is already smirking when you look back at him. He gives you an encouraging nod; You dig into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the boxcutter with a sly smile. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.”

[draven-imani]

Journal 11

There was a traitor in our midst.

Not a demon in disguise or even a cultist. Just an angry woman who decided to help Stauton Vhagn because she wanted some petty revenge. And she killed and ruined many lives to do so.

And we’ve decided to let her live and give her a second chance when her victims didn’t get that choice.

I…don’t know that this sits well with me. But Melody wants so badly to believe in her. And I am trying very hard to have faith in Melody as her friend. So I am giving this woman one more chance, for Melody’s sake.

From the top. As we do.

Not long after I finished my last entry, Luna came to get me to let me know that she’d seen something happen in camp. She took me, Melody, and Hiskaria to Aron’s tent, and showed us a thick viscous liquid. I recognized the drug immediately as Shadowblood—vile stuff made of shadow demon blood that makes those addicted to it weaker to demonic possession. Possessing the stuff is grounds for immediate expulsion from the crusades’ ranks.

Luna explained that she had spotted Nurah sneaking out of camp, and had followed her. At one point she’d used some sort of bardic ability to sing and turned invisible, but Luna had followed her tracks to Aron’s tent. There she saw the Shadowblood get planted, and she followed Nurah’s tracks back to camp in time to see her rejoin the camp and start acting like everything was totally normal, laughing and joking about like she’d been there all along. That’s when Luna had come to get us.

We decided it was one of two possibilities. Either Nurah was planting the drugs on Aron to get him kicked out for some reason—be it a grudge or something more sinister. Or Aron was an addict and she was enabling him. We decided to split up, have Melody question Aron and Sosil first while Luna and I kept an eye on Nurah to make sure she didn’t catch wind of things being fishy and try to run. Then Melody and Luna could question Nurah afterwards. Hiskaria would remain in the tent and keep an eye on the Shadowblood, to make sure no one stumbled on it and possibly ended up accusing Aron of being an addict before we’d sorted this out, or that no one would come in and try to destroy the evidence.

Luna and I kept an eye on Nurah, and she kept acting completely normal for the duration, telling her stories and keeping everyone entertained as she does, offering her sangrias to anyone who wanted a drink. On a whim I tried using Detect Demon on her while we waited to see if she had any association with the Abyss, but the spell didn’t pick up anything at all. If I didn’t know and trust Luna implicitly, I’d question that she could be the one who did what Luna claimed. But I trusted Luna, I knew what she was capable of, and if she had spotted and tracked someone I didn’t doubt for a moment what she had seen.

Eventually Melody came to us, with Aron not far off. She explained that Aron and Sosil were clean, she’d checked with her abilities and neither were lying. They genuinely didn’t know about the Shadowblood. Then she’d been forced to explain herself and admit about it being planted in Aron’s tent by Nurah, and let Aron know that we were going to question her next. So he had decided to come along. We didn’t want personal feelings getting in the way, and if Nurah saw Aron coming she’d definitely be on the defensive from the get-go, so we convinced Aron to stay with Sosil until we finished. We did warn them not to go back to their tent for the time being, as Hiskaria was still guarding the Shadowblood, and we didn’t want any further misunderstandings.

Before anything else, after I told Melody about attempting Detect Demon on her, she tried both Detect Evil and Detect Chaos. Nothing, on either. We surmised that she was using magic to mask where her loyalties lay, as she had done similar to hide the evil aura of the Shadowblood, which has an evil aura about it due to its origins being made from Shadow Demon blood.

With that knowledge, Melody went to draw Nurah away from the crowd to a more private location near her tent, using her charm and seeming naivety to her advantage. Once there, she and Luna confronted Nurah while I kept watch. As I’ve said before, I’m not much of the talker. Luna and Melody would be the ones for this job. I just wanted to make sure no one stumbled on the interrogation before we had concrete proof of what Nurah had done.

From what I overheard, here’s more of less how it went down. Nurah tried to claim we were trying to pin it on her to look tough, because she was the little guy, an easy mark. Someone for a new commander to bully, essentially. Luna told her that she wasn’t as sneaky as she thought she was, and step by step told Nurah how she’d followed her. Nurah mocked her at the point when she said Nurah turned invisible, saying she hadn’t seen her do anything then. She’d followed some ghost and was claiming it was her now. Luna argued that she’d followed her footprints, but Nurah stuck to her arguments that Luna had no proof.

Melody tried to discern lies on her, but her will was too strong and even things Melody knew Nurah was lying about didn’t cause the spell to activate. So, Melody offered a solution. If Nurah was telling the truth, the spell Confess would do her no harm if she spoke the truth. If she was lying, it would. Nurah mocked her for using ‘the old if you have nothing to hide line’, and said she wouldn’t answer even if it hurt her because this whole thing was beneath her.

Luna and Nurah went in circles for a bit longer, until in a moment of desperation Melody did indeed cast Confess on Nurah, and asked “Did you plant the Shadowblood in Aron’s tent?”

Nurah did not answer, and injuries like glaive slashes appeared across her.

Luna said she admired her tenacity, but she’d still all but admitted to her crime by refusing to answer. Nurah said she’d only done what she’d said she was going to do. Luna and Melody decided to try to apprehend Nurah.

Nurah tried to make an escape, but the duo were quicker, and Melody managed to manacle her.

During my time outside I had managed to think of an idea of my own for figuring out if she was hiding anything. When they brought her to me, I took out one of our scrolls of Dispel Magic. Nurah tried to struggle free, but it was no use, as the magic masking her aura of chaos and evil was dispelled for anyone with the ability to sense such things to see.

I asked Luna to take her to the prison of the fortress—and to please not execute her, despite her frustration with the halfling woman—while I went to inform Irabeth of what had happened in the last hour. We decided that for now we should only inform the officers of Nurah’s betrayal. I didn’t want rumors of traitors in the ranks to cause suspicion amongst the other soldiers and a possible witch hunt to begin throwing suspicion at others who may be innocent.

Once the officers were informed, I made my way to the jail cells along with Hiskaria, Irabeth, and Aravashnial. Aron and Sosil sat this one out. Aron seemed particularly shaken by the entire affair, a bit more so than I would have expected. Sosil was comforting him, and I decided to leave them be. Whatever it was…I honestly don’t feel like it’s any of my business, and Melody already confirmed the truth from Aron so that’s enough for me. Anything that’s happened before that this might have dredged up, he deserves his privacy on as far as I’m concerned, unless he decides he wants to talk to anyone about it. Which, considering he seems like the sort to keep things close to the chest, I doubt it’ll happen. He has Sosil at least.

Melody and Luna had put Nurah in the cell as requested, and Luna was even nice enough to not hang her upside down—if only because Melody had pointed out that doing so was torture and not something I’d have given the okay for. To which she is correct, and I appreciate Luna listening to Melody’s discretion on the matter despite how much she was seething over Nurah pulling the wool over our eyes.

We discussed what to do with Nurah. Since Camillo’s remaining forces had already departed for Kenabres, we couldn’t send her back with them. We couldn’t leave her here, she would starve before anyone got back to man the fortress, and that would be cruel. Which meant we had two options. Drag a prisoner along with us into the Worldwound and have a liability who would dredge up sore feelings with two of our trusted officers. Or execute her.

Neither option was ideal by any means. But we couldn’t just let her go, either. She had made herself a dangerous liability.

Melody asked to be allowed to speak with her, despite the dangers of ungagging the bard who had already tried using Suggestion on Luna once after we’d captured her. Given our options, however, I weighed that the risk would have to be worth it. I would put some faith in Melody, and see what she could find out, and if it would bring anything new to light.

Melody went into the jail cell by herself, and removed Nurah’s gag. She spoke to Nurah, talking about the fact that she’d only been given two options forward, and that Melody wanted to believe that there was good in Nurah, because she didn’t want there to be an execution. She asked Nurah to please give her something to work with. Nurah spat back about how despite all of Melody’s pretty words, she had still been willing to resort to torture when things hadn’t gone her way. Melody told Nurah that she wouldn’t deny that she had done it, even though she hadn’t wanted to, even though she hated doing it, she had done so. Because she believed she was on an important path, and she had to believe Shelyn had set her on this path for a reason, so she had to be willing to use the tools Shelyn had put at her disposal to help make things better in the long run. And on that path she had to believe there was a little bit of beauty and good in everyone—so that meant she needed to reach out to Nurah, and hope that she would open and, and show that little bit of light inside of her. Nurah laughed, almost manically. She said that maybe Melody was the real deal, someone who actually believed their own bullshit unlike all the others.

Nurah told Melody her story.

Like many halflings, she had been a slave to a cruel noble from Isger. At some point, the noble had gotten it into his head that he could make it across the Worldwound—that his money could buy him protection. He hired crusaders like bodyguards, who answered to his whims, and despite any beliefs they might claim to have held they did nothing to help Nurah.

Then in Drezen, a Shadow Demon killed them all, and she survived. And from then on, she started taking revenge on crusaders, getting close to them and sabotaging them. Their swords going missing at a vital moment or their movements mysteriously known by the demons…

She was bitter and angry and many people died or had their lives ruined as a result…

Her story is—bad. There were no good people in it, not the crusaders who failed to help her, or her when she went on a revenge quest that hurt people who did nothing to her as a proxy for those who were already dead. I cannot put a word to how I feel about it. Bad.

Melody wants to give her a chance. She sees something in Nurah, the same thing she sees in Hiskaria. Darkness that light could break through. Or something like that. I’m no paladin, I do not have the same gift for detecting good and evil. For now I’m going to continue to put my faith in Melody, as her friend, on the condition that one of us keeps an eye on Nurah at all times.

Hiakaria took some items off her person to make sure she couldn’t make a break for it in the meantime. A wand of modify memory, a scroll of dimension door, and a scroll of sending. Hiskaria is keeping ahold of the first two, and I the last. That first item in particular seems like it could have been a nasty one in Nurah’s hands…we’re fortunate Luna caught her as quickly as she did.

Tomorrow we’ll discuss who will be keeping tabs on her. For now, it’s been a long night. I am actually going to bed now.

[marie-dufresne]

@exsiliumductoris

Stepping out of the train station and into the city, Marie felt oddly out of place. It could have been because she was in the same outfit she’d been wearing for the past five or so months (when she was even wearing clothes. At some point it had become more practical to wrap up in a fur and leave it at that), worn down to practically threads by her standards, yet ballet flats that were practically brand new.

She had no makeup on to speak of (in public of all places) and was, despite her now tighter fitting clothing since being fed properly on a regular basis, also without a bra, the damned thing having split right into two halves and rendering itself useless.

At least she wouldn’t be recognized.

In the pocket of her jacket she had some money that Veld had given her and a piece of paper with a name and the number of someone who would get her a new identity and the proper paperwork to travel freely out of the country and into almost any of her choosing.

He owed Veld.

Make a good life for yourself, he’d told her before they parted.

Amidst the bustling of Prague she sighed, stepping out of the way and making herself small by a lamp post. She didn’t know what that meant.

What she did know was that she needed clothes and a hotel. Locating the shopping mall was simple. She practically had radar for the finer things in life and though she was eyed by the sales woman for her incredibly average appearance, Marie paid no mind, flipping over the tag of the dress she’d set out to purchase.

Her heart sank.

The dress alone cost almost half of what Veld had given her. There was no way she could provide herself with a new wardrobe here. With tears in her eyes, Marie dropped the tag and turned away, realizing how little she really knew about surviving on her own.

“You might try MY,” drawled the sales clerk, examining the diamonds on her fingers, “perhaps better suited for your….budget.”

Thanking her, Marie left the boutique, and, locating a directory, was pleased to find this ‘My’ was an anchor store and she wasn’t likely to get lost finding it.

The clothing selection, she found, was severely lacking in…well anything she cared for, really. But then again, she’d been living practically primitive for nearly half a year and had found herself quite happy in doing so, so purchasing a few bits of clothing she might have to share the style of the masses was not the most horrible thing she’d ever endured.

And to her surprise, they had everything. Undergarments, pajamas, hair accessories, makeup (bargain brand, but still), purses, shoes, and even a not-quite-awful and sort-of-formal-depending-on-her-hairstyle dress she might be able to wear should she choose to treat herself to a drink at a place more her scale.

She even found a new suitcase.

Leaving the mall she encountered a small tourist cart where she was able to pick up a few brochures and pamphlets in English and sought out a budget-friendly hotel. Family-friendly, it said. That was likely to be affordable enough without being questionable. She was right.

Feeling successful, she checked into the hotel and rolled her new suitcase containing her entire new life, into the little room and when she laid eyes on the shower, she let out a squeal and practically jumped from her clothes and underneath the running, hot water. Oh how such a simple pleasure was a luxury.

The towels and robe provided by the hotel may have been of moderate quality but to Marie, it was like entering the world again and when she flopped down on the bed, she smiled. Life could be good, if lived on her own terms.

She sat up, digging in her jacket pocket for the piece of paper Veld had given her, and scooted closer to the telephone, reading the name and numbers over and over again until she wasn’t reading them anymore, but simply…staring through the paper.

Mmm….maybe not tonight. She put the paper back in her pocket. Maybe she’d wait just…another day.

She didn’t sleep that night, the sounds of the city ringing through her ears and thundering in her head. They were loud, obnoxious, unnatural noises she’d forgotten about. Here there was no crackling of a dying evening fire, and no steady heartbeat of another person. It was screeching and yelling and music and she was overly aware of all of it.

The next morning, though she’d had little sleep, she was determined to have a good day. It was the last day she’d spend in Prague, she decided, and while she was there, she might as well do some touristing.

She had breakfast at a cafe, walked some fashionable streets, and when she found the library, she decided to see what they might offer by means of nearby attractions. There was a sign in the lobby she couldn’t quite read, but she recognized the wifi logo and the currency, and the image of a clock.

Maybe…just for a few moments she could rent some time on a computer. There was something she was curious about. Into the search engine went her name.

Gossip blogs had plenty to say about her death. None of it good, of course, but she brushed those aside, looking for an actual news article and found exactly one.

One.

“…where Californian heiress fell victim to the brutality of Czech mountain terrain. Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Dufresne have refused to speak about the loss and wish to mourn in peace. No services will be held.”

She hadn’t even been named.

Angrily she clicked away, returning to the search and typing out Harold Davenport. Pages of articles of the great tragedy that befell the ‘philanthropist’ and ‘business guru’ assaulted her eyes and had she been one to make more a scene, she might have thrown the monitor from the table. Instead, she clicked out of everything and with angry tears in her eyes, stormed silently from the library.

Even in death she meant nothing to anyone.

On the steps of the library she sat off to the side, tucking her face into her knees and sobbed. The benefit of city folk was that they were city folk and had better things to do than bother with someone who may or may not be crying and she was left alone.

When she was calm enough to stand, she walked aimlessly, not knowing what exactly to do anymore. She’d lost interest in being a tourist. She needed to decide where to go from here. London and Paris were too obvious. She had too many connections in both places. Anywhere in the United States put her too close to Arthur.

Australia? New Zealand?

No, too many creepy crawlies that were beyond the appropriate size. Tahiti was a nice idea. It was her favourite place in the world, after all, but it was expensive and she wasn’t exactly equipped with the capital to set up residence there. It would be a great place to establish herself as a photographer though.

She sighed. But she didn’t have her camera. It was at the bottom of Veld’s boar pit. She wondered if it had survived. It was in its protective bag, inside of the suitcase. Well, it didn’t matter now. Still, she wondered if he’d look through her things. If he’d look at her photos. There were some of herself on that card, she remembered.

She wondered if he’d miss her. She grunted. “Probably not,” she whispered to herself as she walked, “useless burden.”

There was a pang in her heart as she thought about not being cared for by yet another person, but this pang was small and dull, as if she’d made it up to torment herself.  The greater pain came with remembering he wasn’t next to her in the bed when she’d tried to sleep.

Get over it, get over it.

Of course they’d grown close. Of course they’d grown intimate. Two people cooped up in a cabin for five months were bound to have sex eventually. That’s just how the world worked. It didn’t mean it meant anything.

Well, it had meant something to her. She wouldn’t deny it. She’d hold those memories close to her heart. She’d allowed him in. She’d chosen him, even if, admittedly, the options were limited, she had genuinely wanted him and he hadn’t paid a single penny for her.

She stopped at a deli for something in between lunch and dinner, a hot sandwich loaded with more meat than she’d ever been allowed outside the cabin before, having acquired the taste for it and finding herself craving it now.

Back in her hotel, she took to the complimentary pad of paper and pen, trying to decide where she might decide to live. Singapore was an enticing option, but like Paris and London, she knew far too many people who frequented the area and the circles of the rich and powerful were small. Crossing someone’s path was inevitable.

Both Ireland and Scotland were possibilities. There wasn’t anyone in either of those countries large enough for Arthur to deal with and they were English speaking lands. That was a plus. She thought some more, tapping the pen against the little desk in the room. Both of those options were a little…chilly for her tastes.

“Scotland, Ireland…Germa…no….Greeeeece?”

She put a question mark next to that one, then promptly scribbled it out. Lamb was too high on their list of favourite meats.

“Oh! Spain!”

She’d been to Spain several times and enjoyed the climate, the food, the people, and they were lovers of the arts. Almost too cultured for her family, truthfully, and it had only ever been a place clients had taken her to on their holidays. She favored Barcelona.

The Spanish were a passionate bunch too. Not that she wanted to take advantage of men exactly, but she didn’t see the harm in securing a temporary boyfriend for temporary lodgings while she got on her feet. She would even be honest about her reason for being in the city. A photographer making a name for herself—

She frowned. It would be hard to claim to be a photographer without equipment. She didn’t have money for all the equipment she needed. She didn’t even have money for the sort of camera she preferred and that was…one thing she simply wouldn’t budge on.

Sighing, her hand found her hair and she rested her elbow on the desk. Stupid money. If only there were some way to…

Her eyes fell on the little black dress hanging up on the back of the hotel door. She knew where the swankiest hotels were, and the lofty bars that sat below the rooms the visitors kept.

That evening found her at the bar, dressed and made up to entice, nursing a glass of white wine, her cheap lipstick leaving a kiss on the rim of her glass.  A man sat down beside her but she paid him no mind. They would come to her. They always had. Whether they left putting koruny in her purse or not was entirely up to them.

“You’re new.”

With no one else at the bar top, Marie turned, knowing she’d been addressed.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re new,” the man repeated, all knowing eyes and thick accent, “to this bar.”

“It’s a hotel,” she pointed out, “everyone is new.”

“Maybe this is true, yes, but you are working.”

Irritation rose up in her chest then. Was she so obvious? “I am waiting for someone,” she clarified instead.

The man chuckled. “Ah. Yes. I’m sure you are waiting for many someones. But here now, is only me.”

With slightly narrowed eyes, she studied him. Early ffities by the looks of it, well groomed, sporting a rolex and tailored suit; he had money. Then again, so did almost everyone else coming through the doors of this hotel. Everyone except her.

“You seem to think you know a lot about me,” she replied, taking a sip of her wine and fully intending to ignore him.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “maybe I assume but only a working girl who is new here would sit at this bar in costume jewelry and a hmmmm….” he waved his hand in the air a bit, calculating the currency in his head, “…sixty dollar dress.”

Well.

He had here there.

Now the question was: did he believe her cheap attire was a reflection of her skills? Did he think her out of her element and would be be unwilling to pay?

“Well,” she cooed, leaning over to him, “I don’t see the point in spending all my money on a dress that is going to spend the night on the floor.”

Her glass was at her lips again. “Besides, men usually don’t notice these sorts of things.”

“Ah.” He motioned for the bartender to bring her another glass. “Maybe not the boys you played with in…America, is it? Boston maybe. They will not know any better. But here in Prague…men, we know.”

She didn’t know what in her face changed, but he picked up on it, quirking a brow and giving her a smirk.

“You do know men,” he noted softly, “and yet here you are.”

Accepting the new glass, she straightened her back, looking over the rim through her lashes. She wasn’t accustomed to being read so easily by strangers and she was willing to admit her pride was hurt. She had been good at what she did, as involuntary as it had been.

“I took some time off,” she replied, lips turning up softly, “not by choice.”

The man beside her tended to his own drink for a moment, before his hand found her thigh and he leaned over.

“You will come with me and if I am satisfied, I will give you ten thousand dollars.”

Marie’s eyes flicked to the side, then down to his hand. His drink hit the bar top, thumb and forefinger snapping up to take hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“And you will return tomorrow looking like a woman who can afford to sit at my brother’s bar.”

These words were colder now, almost threatening and he squeezed, though not hard enough to bruise. “The fee to do business here is thirty percent.”

Marie nodded and for a month, she returned to what she knew. There was money to be made in the escort business, particularly when the fee was paid directly to her and not her father.

After a month, she met a trust fund baby on vacation with a bunch of his buddies. She didn’t care for orgies, but they were her age and not nearly smart enough to keep their money in their pockets. Easy targets. The whole weekend ended in one of them setting her up in a penthouse flat as he cancelled his return trip home, opting instead to stay in Prague with her, living the high life.

While she’d taken the name ‘Poppy’ for work, this boy toy of hers had opted instead to call her ‘Puppy’, a pouty little pet name he held for her when he wanted to get his way.

Marie had not touched the money Veld had given her. It didn’t seem right to spend it. This was not the ‘good life’ he’d meant for her to make for herself, and guilt ate at her whenever she thought about him. She had more money than she’d ever need. Both in cash and jewelry. Her boyfriend had bought her a luxury car she couldn’t drive. That alone could buy her a pleasant country cottage if she sold it.

She wasn’t pleased with herself. She wasn’t even particularly enjoying her life. As she nursed her sore cheek outside on the balcony, even that was a generous assessment.

She hated herself.

She’d found what she knew, what she was comfortable with, and like a coward had crawled back into its toxic embrace—a life of distraction, of pretending.

Her boyfriend didn’t love her. She didn’t even think he liked her all that much. He liked her body and he liked what she could do with it. He liked how powerful he felt when jealous stares of his peers followed him when she was on his arm, and he liked the power he had over her when he was putting her in her place. But her? No, she didn’t think he liked her. She’d asked him once if he would hold her hair back if she was sick. She didn’t know why she asked. The mood had soured immediately and he reminded her the rug was new and if she vomited on it, he’d rub her face in it so she’d know what she’d done.

Just like a puppy.

Rubbing at her cheek gingerly, she stood, palms flat on the marble railing as she overlooked the city. She’d asked to meet his family and he hit her.

She wasn’t his girlfriend, he’d sneered, she was his whore. Up until tonight, she hadn’t known he had a fiancee in London. Up until tonight, she had thought he was a reckless party boy with a bit of a temper.

He’d never called her a whore before. Not just ‘a’ whore, but his whore. He wasn’t name calling; he was stating the facts of their arrangement.

He was passed out in the bedroom now. The sun was flirting with the horizon and Marie looked directly to the street below, lifting one foot onto one of the little bistro chairs set up there. No one would have to see her. Someone would find her, but…there was no one about right now. If she jumped, no one would witness her death. No one would be traumatized. It was the least selfish thing she could do.

With her second leg up on the chair, she brought her knees up onto the stone and took a deep breath. With a sharp inhale, she looked up, taking in the view, pausing for a moment and savoring one last look. The bridges and beyond them, the shadow of the mountains. Was one of those mountains Veld’s mountain? Probably not. They were too close.

Her chin wobbled and she ducked her chin into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, teetering where she knelt. He would have been disappointed in her. She didn’t imagine he’d look too favorably on rich girl suicide. He hadn’t been impressed with her drug addiction.

He’d held her hair back for her when she vomited. He’d cared for her as she detoxed. He nursed her back to health, a perfect stranger who had barrelled into his peaceful life.

She wobbled a bit at the memory, yelping and throwing herself back, back onto the balcony, back to safety. The chair clanged against the table as she fell and when she realized just what she’d almost done, she choked on her own guilt, sobbing onto the slate beneath her.

By the time the sun rose above the horizon, she was just picking herself up, throat raw and eyes swollen. Her arms and legs shook and she found that she couldn’t look down onto the street without the feeling of falling assaulting her.

As she stepped back into the penthouse, a new sense of clarity overcame her.

She wasn’t stuck. She wasn’t as trapped in this lifestyle as she pretended to be.

After a shower, she cleaned the apartment of all liquid assets she could fit in her purse and, cutting her credit card and fake identification card in half, she tossed them onto the bedside table beside the unconscious leech on society, and left.

She spent the earlier hours of the morning in a cafe, fueling herself and making a list of necessities. She bought a train ticket, and when the shops opened, she bought what she would need. She was on a mission. Whether it was clarity or mania was still yet to be seen and on the train, ‘out of sight, out of mind’, came into play. Her guilt and self loathing began to melt into excitement.

At the train station, a taxi took her to the small mountain village and for a little (lot) more than his fee, continued up the narrow mountain road until it became almost impossible to drive any further. This was fine.

She was sure the taxi driver thought she was insane as she hauled her much heavier duty suitcase, military grade duffle, and all season backpack out from his trunk but returned down the mountain without her after her insistence.

Traveling wasn’t much easier than it had been the first time almost a year ago, but knowing where she was going this time kept her motivated.

Her far more practical footwear helped immensely.

When finally Veld’s cabin came into view, she found muscles and speed she hadn’t previously been able to access, and several yards from the dwelling, abandoned her luggage, hastily throwing the backpack from her back as she sprinted forward, calling out his name.

Would he be happy to see her? God she hoped so. She felt that he might. Her months with him up here in this cabin had felt so real, so genuine.

Her new leather boots thudded up the few steps to the door and she froze before she could even knock, his name dying on her lips.

It was entirely boarded up. The door, the windows. In fact, it was so oddly still, there was no mistaking the lack of life in the tiny house that had held so much of it this past winter.

“…no….” She shook her head, backing away, eyes darting all over, “No!”

With her tiny fists, she pounded on the door, screaming for him. It couldn’t go like this. He couldn’t just be gone. It…it wasn’t fair.

Dropping to the porch, she cried into the wood of the door. She shouldn’t have left. She’d made the wrong choice, continued to make poor choices, and now she was paying the price for it.  

If she had just…stayed.

[bloodraven55]

Gaslighting as a Form of Abuse in RWBY

With another comic focussing on an abuse victim having just been released today in the form of Weiss’ issue of the DC comic series, I want to tackle another analysis post in the hopes of bringing some more understanding surrounding emotional abuse to this fandom because in some parts it seems to be sorely needed.

There are a couple of points I’d like to address in this post, the first being the identity of the person speaking to Weiss during the sections set post-V3 in the comic. Most people assume it to be Jacques, but some also think it might be Willow. I can understand both arguments, and I’m not totally decided myself yet on which I think it is.

On the one hand, the type of abuse seems more subtle and manipulative compared to Jacques’ usual direct and aggressive approach, and we’re never actually shown who’s talking, which could suggest Weiss’ mother. But on the other hand the only thing we know about Willow is that she drinks to excess and fights with Jacques a lot so there isn’t really any basis to assume she would be manipulative towards Weiss, and the tone of the dialogue does fit Jacques’ sleazy and condescendingly pleasant demeanour that he assumes when he’s pretending to be nice to Weiss like in V4, so it would also make a lot of sense for it to be him.

For the purposes of this article I’m simply going to refer to them as Weiss’ parent to avoid any confusion and prevent me having to change it later if we get more information or I form a concrete stance on who it is. Their identity doesn’t impact the content of the post at all so it seemed the most logical solution.

With that covered, let’s move on to the main thing I want to talk about, which is the parallels between the way that Weiss’ parent gaslights her in the comic and the way that Adam gaslights Blake multiple times throughout the show but primarily in his Character Short.

“You are not the first Schnee in history to suffer disappointment, and this behaviour is really rather excessive…”

“Blake, I'm sorry. I told you it was an accident.”

This first part is representative of the main principle of gaslighting, which is to undermine the other person’s judgement and make them doubt their own ability to think rationally so that they’ll act the way you want them to.

Weiss’ parent diminishes her suffering by claiming it’s no worse than what other people have been through before—an interesting reference to the quote in the White Trailer which directly contradicts it by stating that “everyone is entitled to their own sorrow, for the heart has no metrics or forms of measure”—to invalidate Weiss’ pain.

Adam downplays the importance of innocents being killed on his missions by framing them as mere “accidents” to make Blake seem paranoid and foolish for being concerned by them and prefaces it with an insincere apology so that she’ll immediately feel bad because she thinks she’s hurt his feelings.

These both show the abuser using the way they talk to make it seem like the victim is totally detached from reality and as though their point of view on the situation must be false, leaving the abuser’s way of seeing things as the only correct option.

“Weiss, I just… don’t understand why you’re behaving this way. You act as though you’ve been kidnapped or imprisoned, and that is simply not what happened.”

“I don't know. I'm out there fighting for us, and when you fight, people get hurt.”

This is a continuation of the first part, further cementing the supposed “irrational” nature of the victim’s behaviour and showcasing the abuser moulding the scenario so that they’re never the one in the wrong.

Weiss’ parent feigns confusion and disbelief at the fact that Weiss is upset at being dragged away from her school and friends against her will, insisting that she isn’t being forced to stay and outright denying the validity of Weiss’ perception of what happened.

Adam dismisses Blake’s concerns at the deaths he’s caused by shifting the blame away from himself, falsely presenting the loss of life as an inevitability of fighting, and placing himself as the victim who’s having his heroism questioned.

In both cases the abuser warps reality to make themself seem as though they’re in the right so that the victim will stop trusting their own perception of events and come to believe that their abuser is right.

“It is natural to be unhappy to leave Beacon Academy, but friends come and go, and go more often as they get older… but family is forever.” / “And if you did have to leave those radicals, those ‘friends’ behind, well… all the better.”

“What, do you want me to just abandon our cause? Like your parents?”

This part ties into another major aspect of emotional abuse which is isolating the victim from their support network of friends and/or family so that they have nowhere else to go and no one else to rely on. However, it is also another example of gaslighting as it involves making those close to the victim appear like the bad guys in order to push the victim away from the people who might try to help them and further into the abuser’s control.

Weiss’ parent describes Weiss’ friends as “radicals” and mocks her bond with them, saying that it was good for Weiss to leave them and reminding her that she’s alone now without them, even spinning it to sound like they never cared about Weiss at all in the first place and as though her family—a.k.a. them—are the only people she can trust.

Adam deliberately brings up Blake’s parents, which he knows is a vulnerable topic for her, to remind her that they’re “traitors” and brand her a traitor too by association, reinforcing the idea that he is the only one she has left.

I suspect that this is the aspect of gaslighting that most people have the least trouble identifying since it basically amounts to guilt-tripping and even the majority of people without much knowledge of emotional abuse are aware of how that works.

“Weiss, sweetheart, please, don’t sulk!” / “Weiss, I love you, but you are really quite overreacting to the whole thing.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought them up. I just get scared when it feels like you don't believe in me anymore.”

This part I think is what blinds a lot of people to the fact that emotional abuse and manipulation is happening. And that’s because the abuser offers what might appear to be a sincere expression of affection or a genuine apology, when in reality it’s simply a way of convincing the victim that everything that they’re going through is for their own good and that their abuser has their best interests at heart.

Weiss’ parent calls her “sweetheart” and tells Weiss they love her, while in the same breath solidifying the idea that her behaviour is unwarranted and undermining her grievances.

Adam apologises for mentioning Blake’s parents after the damage is already done, while in the same breath making Blake feel guilty for being worried that he’s killing people and making it her job to reassure him instead of the other way around. He deliberately blows what she says out of proportion so that he can pretend to feel hurt in order to illicit sympathy from her.

The veneer of niceness that the abuser uses to hide the way they double down on their manipulation is what makes this facet of abuse hard to spot and can lead other people as well as the victim into thinking that the abuser is right because they seem to be being honest, when in reality it’s all part of how they manage to deceive their victim as well as sometimes serving the added purpose of further isolating the victim from their support network as the people close to them will often side with the abuser here.

“At a certain point, you have to take responsibility for your role in all of this. If you choose to continue in this way, Weiss, then we will have no choice but to keep you here. And you’ll have only yourself to answer to.”

“Why did you have to come into my life and ruin everything?!” / “… but not before you’ve suffered for your betrayal, my love.” / “I wouldn’t have to be doing this if you’d just behave.”

And this final part is a clear example of the end goal of emotional abuse, which is to make the victim think that everything bad that happens is their fault. This is achieved by distorting their perception of reality via gaslighting, as we’ve already covered, so that they trust their abuser’s judgement before their own and will believe it when they’re told that they’re the one to blame for the harm that the abuser causes.

Weiss’ parent makes it Weiss’ fault that she’s not okay with being confined within her own house in a relentlessly unpleasant environment and puts the blame for it on Weiss while claiming to have “no choice” but to inflict pain on her.

Adam places responsibility for the results of his own actions—a.k.a. Blake leaving him, his losing power in the White Fang, etc.—on Blake instead of himself and insists that if she doesn’t “behave” then he has no option but to punish her.

When people in this fandom blame Weiss and Blake to any extent whatsoever for the actions of their abusers, they’re doing the same thing as Weiss’ parent and Adam do here. It’s victim blaming pure and simple, and y’all who are still saying that Weiss deserved to be “disciplined” by Jacques and denying Adam’s abuse of Blake need to just stop.

If you’re interested in reading some of my sources, then here’s a list:

How to Recognize Gaslighting and Get Help

11 Warning Signs of Gaslighting

What is gaslighting? And how do you know if it's happening to you?

You’re Not Going Crazy: 15 Signs You’re a Victim of Gaslighting

[alexeiadrae]

Thoughts on Evil

I finished watching Evil. For reference, I am an atheist and was raised in a secular household and I am a skeptic who loves folklore and scary stories and who also loves debunking paranormal claims. My husband is Catholic and believes in demonic possession and the end of days stuff, and somehow we work, just like Kristen and David somehow work. I am also a counselor so I am familiar with the mental health aspects that Kristen deals with, and since she was the skeptic and the atheist related to her on those levels, as well as balancing motherhood with a professional career even though I have a private practice and do not testify in court, and my husband is not an adventurer in any sense of the word and has been in the trenches with me for years.

That said, I wasn’t sure if I would finish it. One thing I have noticed about atheists who were raised in secular homes is that we tend to not find the demonic possession end of day stuff scary, and if anything we find it overacted to the point of ludicrousness if it isn’t boring as hell (can’t speak for all of us, but the overwhelming majority that I have talked to about it feel that way). My parents were both raised Methodist and found The Exorcist scary even though they had been atheists for years, so I think if you are raised Christian it is still scary even if you leave the faith, but if you are never raised to believe in it then it’s silly. Both my sister and I found it silly, even though other people our age who were Christian thought it was terrifying. And it extends to other movies and shows that feature demon possession and end of day stuff. While I love horror, it’s not a subset of horror that works for me.

So I don’t know if people raised in other belief systems like Islam or Buddhism find it scary (but would be interested in finding out!), but lifelong atheists tend not to. So for those reasons I wasn’t sure if I would finish it, and for the first few episodes I still wasn’t sure because, bluntly, the demon possession stuff just has me rolling my eyes with how over the top it is if I wasn’t laughing at how preposterous it was. So those elements definitely dragged it down for me. Yet there were elements that I really appreciated, and it did have one episode that terrified and disturbed me. So I finished it. Do I want to watch the second season? Not sure. Spoilery thoughts below.

-I did appreciate how at the beginning it illustrated how someone like Kristen would have a massive amounts of student loan debt and would be working her ass off to pay it. They sort of drifted from this. But at the beginning there was the sense of how it is hard juggling career and kids and paying the bills.

-While I did like some of the psychological aspects, there was some stuff that fell victim to me knowing the ins and outs of Kristen’s profession. Most counselors and psychologists, or the good ones at least, do see a therapist of their own to work on their own issues, get what they need to off their chest and ensure that they are in a good emotional state to practice, so I am glad that they showed Kristen going to therapy and working on her issues. That said, if someone stole a therapist’s client files, that would be a BFD, for both the practitioner and the thief. A practitioner could lose their license if they were shown to be negligent in handling the files. They could have also filed a lawsuit against Leland for stealing the files. And if I was a practitioner, I would want to know how the files were stolen. 

-Which is one of the weak points of the show. Why did Kristen feel like she had to take on Leland and LeRoux on her own? She hardly exhausted her options. She didn’t even tell her mother that Leland had threatened to kill her daughters, much less document the threat and work to get a restraining order against him (yes, I know, those don’t always work well but they give her a legal recourse). Ditto with LeRoux. One of my specialties is domestic violence and harassment so I am very familiar with the steps you would take to document all of that and get help before abandoning the idea, but Kristen didn’t try any of those. And while domestic violence and the like doesn’t appear to be her specialty it pops up frequently enough that it would be alarming if she didn’t know that. It took away a bit from me. Also, if someone had threatened my children, I would tell my children. Yes, I get you wouldn’t want your kids to be anxious, but in a case like that they would need to know. I would tell my husband. I would tell the police. In fact, as a mandatory reporter, Kristen would be legally obligated to call the police if someone made threats on someone else’s life, especially a child’s life. It blew my mind that she just kept it to herself. Especially as Leland did it in a public courthouse surrounded by people. I would find someone to corroborate.

Now a problem in these cases is someone making threats to harm or kill someone, being reported, and then denying it to the police and leaving them unable to do much. They could have written that in, but they didn’t, and it did not reflect well on Kristen IMO.

-Another counselor nitpick, a good counselor/psychologist would not start out by challenging a client’s beliefs but take time exploring them and mapping out how they think. This is two fold, helping the client to trust the counselor and feel validated by them while it helps the psychologist understand how they see the world and build a map of their thoughts process and belief system and give them clues to how to utilize it to help them get better. Basically if someone came into my office and said they were possessed by a demon I would go with it even though I don’t believe them because understanding how they think is more important than challenging everything right off the bat. 

-There were a few episodes that were very effective. The Halloween episode with the masked girl was chilling. The episode that really did it for me was when David was in the hospital and subjected to the whims of a sadistic, racist nurse. And what is interesting is what made is so chilling is that none of it was supernatural. But that thought of being held captive, drugged to the point of being unable to advocate for yourself and ask for help and at the mercy of someone who wants to hurt you was terrifying (and not to mention hard to watch). I also have a history of sleep paralysis, and the thing that would terrify me most when I was paralyzed was the thought that someone was in the room or outside my home wanting to hurt me and I couldn’t defend myself or even call 911. So David being medically paralyzed captured that feeling. I also hate IVs, absolutely hate them and have this fear that they will tear my veins out, so there were several scenes I could not watch. Finally, this happens. There have been nurses who have tormented and killed patients and they got away with it for years because they were able to cover it up. And my husband, who is mixed Pacific Islander, Asian and European but appears a racially ambiguous brown, is nervous about hospitals for that same reasons and because of mistreatment his father received when he was treated for lung cancer (they broke a mercury thermometer in his lungs) that likely contributed to his death. So that episode chilled me to the core for a number of reasons.

-That said, Kristen’s sleep paralysis stuff was not an accurate depiction of how it works at all. You can’t even talk when you have sleep paralysis. I was usually laughing at the scenes with George. George. I mean, how the fuck can you take a demon named George seriously? I laughed my head off when he said his name was George and wondered if I was suddenly watching a comedy. If I had sleep paralysis and a demon came in and said his name was George I would laugh myself out of it. 

-The episode with the boy who tried to drown his baby sister in the pool brought back memories of working in a children’s mental hospital. I saw something similar with a kid who was even younger. And that kid suffered abuse so horrific that it gave me and one of the other therapists working with them nightmares, and with the knowledge that we don’t have good treatment options for someone who exhibits the symptoms that kid did it was a horrible case. If I wake up one morning and see on the news that they were arrested for a string of murders or killing their kids I will not be surprised. You don’t need possession to explain this stuff. The truth, that someone would be so sadistically abusive to their own child, and that despite all of the red flags that this child’s parents were allowed to raise and abuse them for as long as they did and to the extent that they did, is far more terrifying. I guess that’s another reason I don’t like the demonic possession stuff. It gives abusers a way out. 

-So there were things I liked about it, and there were things I hated about it. I think I’ll see what the plot synopsis and reviews of the second season are like before committing.

[jeanjauthor]

“Does this look like an appropriate father/son interaction to you?” 

Context is everything, writers.

It looks like the fellow in black is trying to help the fellow in grey, maybe even to prevent him from jumping.  It’s just a flat, static picture, though, and it most definitely does not tell the whole story.

It’s not some kind soul trying to help someone stuck on a ledge. It’s a victim trying to get away from his abuser. It’s a father trying to corrupt his son.

But in this one flat, static, unmoving snapshot...how would we know the truth, if we had not seen the moments just before?

You can go one of three ways in telling this story:  The reliable narrator, who gives you the moments before this snapshot as well as the moments after, putting it into its proper perspective.  This story follows Luke’s perspective, so we should receive what Luke has seen, with all the contexts he understands.

Or you can give your readers a completely different Point Of View, by giving things from Vader’s perspective...because he honestly thinks he’s trying to save his son, and honestly thinks his son will join him and the Sith in the Dark Side of the Force...which is either an unreliable narrator (twisting what is actually happening to suit their own perspective) by claiming to the reader that they’re not harming or corrupting their target...or a semi-unreliable narrator if they admit they know they’re harming & trying to corrupt their target.  (It could go either way, really.)

Or you can go with a complete stranger coming upon this moment, with zero context before, and the stranger thinks the guy in black is trying to save the guy in grey, who is rather distraught and quite possibly not in a good frame of mind to be making rational decisions about his own personal safety.  (Remember the stranger coming into this scene at this point does not know about the lightsaber battle the two had just fought moments ago.)  This would be a different sort of “unreliable narrator” or “unwitting narrator” because they have zero context for how the two got into this predicament.

In a way, this third option would be very much a case of How You Talk About (Present) A Subject Affects How People Will Think About It.  Here we’ve got guy in black seemingly trying to help guy in grey not fall to his doom.  Guy in black seems to be a good guy, right?  And if the scene continues from this point, guy in grey gets seemingly hysterical all out of proportion (to the third person’s perspective) to what the guy in black is seemingly trying to do.

So.

As writers, we have to decide one thing at the start of the story.

Who gets to tell this story?

Just one person & persective?  Then you need to decide, are they a reliable or an unreliable narrator?

Two-plus people?  Are they equally un/reliable, or is one more / less reliable than the other(s)?

The principle characters and an outsider’s perspective?

Once you’ve figured out that, then you have to figure out how much they will tell of what is going on.

When I was writing my #milSF series, Theirs Not To Reason Why, I had to balance POV character reliability with just enough mystery to not spoiler-ize everything that was going to happen.  Part of that was displayed as the fact that the main character Ia (EE-yah) knew the various possibilities of the future as rough percentile chances.  Sometimes the dice just roll really low percentile numbers.

The other part was her ignoring things that were not in-that-moment-important.  She limited herself so that she could focus on the needs of the immediate moments, because knowing too much--or at least thinking too much--about the future would be too much of a distraction, which could lead to her failing her tasks.  This in turn gave me the chance to not have her constantly thinking about success or failure, aka spoilering future actions with too much knowledge.

Unlike the % thing above, I carefully did not telegraph openly to the reader that I was doing this, because that would make it obvious, and that would’ve spoiled the tension & mystery of what she intended to do & whether or not she could & would pull it off.

This, by the way, was not easy to write.  Still, it ended up being the perfect balance between near-omniscient knowledge and the reality that life is messy, that no matter how careful we are, bad things still happen along with inexplicably good things, and in the end, Ia ended up being a rather reliable narrator, even if she limited her own perspective at times, and thus the reader’s perspective & accompanying knowledge.

...Though if Ia was the stranger coming up on this one static screen, you can bet she’d dip her toes into the timestreams, see what the actual context was...and nope nope nope herself all the way off Cloud City as fast as she could.  Not her circus, not her monkeys!

[cavehags]

Live blog the book here, I'm so morbidly curious but I'd rather die than read if

okay so it’s… not a liveblog since i already read it but yes here are the highlights of THE GRACE YEAR BY KIM LIGGETT

warning for brief descriptions of many kinds of violence and sexual violence under the cut because kim liggett despises women and wants you to know it!

also sorry for my awful photos of my kindle screen

tierney james lives in a society where women have no rights

every year, all the 16-year-old girls are temporarily banished to the wilderness for a year. if they survive, a few lucky chosen ones among them get to get married off to men in town who choose them (the women have no say)

all women have awful lives. they aren’t allowed to congregate with other women. they aren’t allowed to dream or hum or enjoy sex. their husbands can have them banished or executed for any reason. all the girls and women have to watch other women get executed or whipped or punished in some way at least once a month on the full moons

men claim that women require constant supervision and discipline to keep them in line because they could be harboring secret magic. in theory, the point of the “grace year” is to give the girls a chance to burn out their magic before they come back to civilization

but the magic isn’t actually real, and at least the men who run the town are well aware of that

anyway. tierney sets out for her grace year

she discovers she’s unusually prepared to live in the wilderness because her dad prepared her – her dad is super nice and the narrative never considers for a second that he might be complicit in the harms done to these young girls :) so she does stuff like building rain barrels to catch fresh rainwater because the well water they’re supposed to drink has gross algae in it

but the other girls, led by mean ringleader kiersten, start becoming violent and bringing over the misogynistic rituals from their village into the grace year camp - like cutting off fingertips and cute stuff like that :)

tierney stands up to oppression so they kick her out of the encampment lol. bitches amiright? 

the fear with being kicked out of the encampment is not about having to find food and shelter from wild animals. the main fear is Poachers. so on the outskirts of the main society, exiled women are forced into sex work serving the husbands of the village (yup! really!). those women and their children make up the outskirts community. and the adult sons of that community become poachers – and their prey is grace year girls. poachers lurk around the grace year encampment for girls who have run off, and they try to murder and dismember the girls and sell their body parts back to the city. their body parts are then EATEN as fertility potions and aphrodisiacs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so tierney’s like real scared of poachers lol

except weird thing, this one poacher keeps saving her life. this happens twice

then it happens a third time but she winds up knocked unconscious. and she wakes up naked and strapped to a table with some dude using a knife on her

she’s real scared and assumes she’s being skinned alive, because that is what the poachers do! 

she’s too drugged to resist but over a period of weeks she regains consciousness enough to learn that he was just preventing her from freezing to death!!!! and the knife? well he was cleaning her wounds. with a knife. somehow that’s supposed to make sense. i’m not sure either.

they build up a rapport and i bet you know where this is going

she falls in love with the fucking poacher :) 

basically she develops sympathy for him when she learns that this PROFESSIONAL GIRL-HUNTER unfortunately LIVES IN POVERTY and therefore DESERVES HER COMPASSION

also poacher is a slur lol

it’s weird that she’s so forgiving towards him because she hears him talking to his friend and they both call women “it” lmao

but who am i to say what is and is not romance

here’s a little snippet of tierney falling in love with him :) 

and this is a weird aside that the book definitely did NOT need, but for your own edification, turns out that in the outskirts community, the men do have sex, but only anal

so anyway this nightmarish misogyny of the main character falling in love with a man who literally hunts teenage girls lasts for maybe a hundred pages

they have sex. even though tierney is likely to get burned at the stake if she returns to the village and her new husband discovers she’s not a virgin. so that’s pretty cool

but eventually tho, another poacher discovers that tierney’s lover is harboring prey and he threatens tierney by telling her he’ll kill her lover if she doesn’t return to the grace year camp right away

she does, because his safety is soooo important to her

again. this man hunts teenage girls

but back at the camp, the girls are super crazy still

oh but one thing tierney learned is that the well water they drink is poisoned and so she thinks if she can get them to stop drinking poison, and to drink from the stream instead, they might get better

see her poacher lover was soooo helpful

back at the camp, the girls are all freaking out that a poacher appears to be creeping around and stealing stuff. tierney assumes it’s the friend of her lover’s who threatened her. the girls at the camp want to just kill her as a sacrifice or something, but tierney convinces them to let her go into the woods to deal with him instead

she does find who was responsible. it turns out it actually wasn’t a poacher at all! it was a guard who she knows who used to work on her family’s estate. he’s a stalker and thinks all girls are whores. it’s not very clear what’s going on with him, but anyway, he dies

but then tierney gets back to the camp and omg the girls have killed a poacher while she was gone!!! tierney freaks out because what if it’s her boyfriend!!!!

it wasn’t, but she still flips out that they very wrongly murdered a woman-hunter

literally cannot believe it. i literally just cannot believe it

HE WAS GOING TO KILL THEM AND SELL THEIR BODY PARTS FOR PEOPLE TO EAT AS APHRODISIACS

BUT YEAH. THEY’RE WRONG FOR KILLING HIM IN SELF-DEFENSE

tierney has this whole awakening that the poachers are victims of the patriarchy too sdhgiasodghaisdg

her one friend at the camp convinces her to go back and find her poacher lover and live with him in the woods forever

oh yeah her sisters are going to get banished to the outskirts and be forced into sex work as soon as they get their first period. but it’s worth it so she can be with her poacher lover

anyway she goes back into the woods, but not before her main bully, kiersten, has a confrontation with ANOTHER poacher

yeah poachers are people too guys

speaking off poachers being human. her lover dies. he dies a hero, protecting tierney

so she goes back to the camp and makes up with the girls

put yourself first girl worry bout yourself

ANYWAY! their grace year is over and finally they get to return to the town! but there’s a roadblock before tierney can move into her husband’s house: SHE’S PREGNANT, AND SHOWING

yep! she’s been pregnant for at least four months. the book saved this news as a big reveal

no wonder her friend told her to go live in the woods with her lover forever

she is sure to be burned at the stake

and actually tierney is down to get burned at the stake because then she’ll be able to speak her piece about how she feels that the grace year is bullshit with a whole audience listening. (she notes that bodies take a long time to burn, OMG TIERNEY FIND A BETTER WAY). 

but when the village realizes she’s pregnant and everyone is like “BURN HER!!!”, her new fiance heroically intervenes and fakes this whole thing about how actually the baby is his and he wants to marry her anyway

tierney’s like, um, well i really wanted to get burned at the stake, but…….

that’s right. she decides to live and marry this guy all so the poacher’s family line can live on

anyway tierney’s sort of excited to be friends with her new husband but as soon as she tells him the pregnancy wasn’t from rape, he throws a temper tantrum and goes to chop down some trees to cool off

bummer

but all is not lost! she makes up with him and she realizes she can love both him AND the poacher lover

and the baby too, one presumes

tierney really has quite a good life for a society where women aren’t people, i have to say

anyway, soon enough she gives birth. in excruciating detail i might add

as soon as the baby is born, tierney realizes that all this time, when she’s been having dreams about this girl with a red birthmark helping her save her people, those dreams were about HER FUTURE DAUGHTER

tierney names the baby grace

she’s literally seventeen years old

and that is the end of the fucking book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so to recap: men who buy women as sex slave wives? are actually kind and loving souls. men who hunt women and dismember them and sell their organs? also kind and loving souls. but teenage girls being fed poison water? those girls are bitches. tierney doesn’t care about them lol

also

in the acknowledgments

the author thanks elizabeth banks and universal pictures for optioning the book

please let this die in development hell i truly can’t take it

worst fucking book i’ve ever read

thank you goodnight