#and 2. i realized that my masking is actually causing me physical pain

[sherlock-is-ace]

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[vmprsm]

Arthur Lester is dealing with complicated grief.

Let's break that down.

(Long text post ahead!)

Your first reaction may be: well, duh! But hear me out, 'cause this is fascinating (and also my current study). It's a real term, used by grief therapists, defined, arguably, as "An abnormal grief response that is more intense than normal grief, yet different from clinical depression." It's basically when the normal process of mourning goes way too long, goes sideways, doesn't resolve appropriately. Arthur is a poster child for this grief and I find that to be really amazing writing.

Complicated grief is highly stigmatized, especially in more emotionally strict cultures (a factor of this grief, actually, and oh my gods he's a male in the 1930's, he's repressed by design), and is separated into different sections. For Arthur, I argue he is primarily dealing with 'chronic' (lasting longer than average), 'delayed' (normal grief reactions suppressed consciously), and also 'exaggerated' (heightened, potentially self-destructive reactions) grief, with a little 'masked' (unaware of abnormal behavior being due to loss) grief mixed in, for fun.

I'm going to say right out that grief is a complex beast and does not fit neatly into categories, but we try.

The thing is, grief takes a course. It's not exactly linear, but it has a known pattern. Researchers argue about how to name the steps, tasks, phases, whatever, but the general gist is: accept the loss, deal with it, move on.

So....Arthur got stuck right near the beginning. You can tell by how reluctant he is, how painful it is to even mention Faroe even years later, that he has not accepted the loss. It's not full-blown denial, he doesn't believe that his little girl is alive somewhere, but it's close. Every mention brings fresh grief because he's avoided it, this is one hallmark of chronic grief. But it's taken years to to get to this point, so it's also delayed. In delayed grief, you put it off until you can't, and when the dam finally breaks the grief feels fresh, or, in Arthur's case, even more intense (exaggerated) than it would if it were normal grief. A lot of complicated grief doesn't fit in nice little boxes, and Arthur is a terribly complex case.

Arthur masked his grief during the time he was desperately delaying it in the course of the story: with unusual behavior, physical and mental reactions that he didn't realize was grief (his dogged determination to save the baby, his mood swings at John, etc). The take-away: knowing is not the same as accepting, and you cannot continue with mourning if you don't accept that loss has occurred. You simply cannot.

He helps mercy kill an animal and calls her Faroe. He kills a man and flips out (displacement, anyone?). He has self-destructive impulses via a stunning lack of self-preservation. This man is heavily grieving and doesn't know how to do again, so it's coming out in any outlet it can.

His guilt is out of control, which can deeply stall the grief process, and that's partially because 1) it's mixed with shame, or guilt from outward sources, and 2) he's not reality-testing it. Reality testing is critical to managing guilt in loss. Is Arthur right in feeling some guilt? Yes, but also, the reality is more complicated than that, and he isn't allowing himself to see the multi-faceted truth of it. He has massive survivor's guilt as well, compounded from multiple prior deaths that he probably also did not mourn sufficiently for. The poem about the death of his parents was a very good and healthy step towards mourning that loss, but did he ever complete the process? Did he find a way to relocate his feelings about the deceased and make new, meaningful relationships? Given how easily he destroyed his friendship with James (part 31), I seriously doubt it. Peter was his lifeline, but one man does not a support system make. Arthur purposefully stayed alone to avoid processing his grief because of his guilt.

And compounding factors for the potential for complicated grief? He's got those in spades, let me make a quick list here: multiple prior losses, complex relations with the deceased, early parental loss, negative self-concept, socially negated loss, absence of support, nd that's all I can think of just off the bat. He's fucked.

Frankly, I don't know Harlan Guthrie's relationship with grief, but he's smacked into our hands a classic example of a person who DEEPLY needs grief therapy, who I argue will not resolve his grief on his own without more damage. By the nature of the story he is forced to confront the delayed aspects of his grief, and, expectedly, his reactions are more exaggerated. John has been helping, albeit ineptly and accidentally, with putting Arthur through the process. His nightmare shows that he does, on some level, want to grieve ('you can't help but watch the horror' dream-Larsen says), but his self-loathing makes it difficult to see his grief clearly, and there's really no one else to do it for him. I'm fascinated to see how he evolves as the story progresses, and how he continues in his journey of mourning, no matter how many turns and backtracks it takes.

[ha-e-l]

Eclipse- Chapter 2 [Cod MW2 x OC]

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Chapter 2!! This one’s a little longer, but things are starting to actually happen now. I know it’s not the most well written thing you’ll ever read, but if I rewrite this section I’ll have to do the rest, and I just don’t have the energy for that. Anyways, enjoy

Roughly 4.4k Words

CW: Mention of suicide, mild blood, joint dislocation, Ghost’s terrible jokes

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My eyes snap open, mouth snapping closed to trap my scream as I throw myself off the side of my bed and roll under it, gripping my knife tightly to my chest. My breathing is rapid, phantom pain ricocheting through my veins, and scars burning more than they usually do. It’s completely dark in the room, and even darker under the bed. The only light that manages to make it through is that of the moon shining through the window on the back wall between my and Ghost's beds. I keep my eyes on that light, using it to ground myself in the present and push away the memories of my past. 

But then my light is blocked. A large figure fills the space before crouching down beside my bed and tilting their head so they can look at me. 

The white paint depicting his lower jaw practically glows in the light, and I release some of my grip on the knife across my chest. The dark paint around his eyes is missing now, and the pale skin seems out of place behind the mask. 

He crouches there for a moment holding eye contact as I catch my breath, then nods his head behind him, and stands. I can hear his footfalls move away from my bed, and slowly roll out, following behind him. 

I grab my boots from the foot of my bed and pause momentarily, watching as Ghost halts at the door. Once my boots are securely on my feet, Ghost moves, pushes the door open and slips out. I follow quietly, allowing my other teammates the rest they deserve, as I too slink my way out the door, and down the hallway, where I watch Ghost disappear behind another door. One that Soap hadn’t mentioned on his makeshift tour. 

I contemplate turning around, crawling back under my bed, and dealing with the aftermath of my nightmare alone, but push forward anyways. The door that Ghost had disappeared behind leads straight to a set of stairs, ones that only go up. 

I keep my steps silent as I move up the stairs, wiping the sweat that had collected thanks to my dream, away from my eyes. At the top of the stairs, there is another door, and I push it open carefully, cringing at the squeak it releases as I do so. 

The moonlight is much brighter up here, and it illuminates the roof space where Ghost stands. He’s standing on the slight lift on the edge of the roof, looking out over the grounds, like a watchdog. The cold air hits me as the door swings closed and I move toward Ghost. 

I can feel the rapidly cooling sweat dripping down my back, causing an uncomfortable chill to race up my spine. The twitching of my muscles reminds me of the involuntary spasming that occurred when I was electrocuted, and the phantom pain roars inside my veins again, causing me to stiffen. I stop in my tracks, a few feet away from where Ghost turns to face me. His eyes bore into mine, and in that moment it feels like he knows every thought that’s flowing through my head. Like he knows exactly the pain that I’m feeling, even though it’s all mental, and not physical. 

And I realize, as I push myself to step closer to the man, that he might understand exactly what I’m going through. I come to a stop next to him, about an arm's length from his side as I too stare off into the darkness of the base. 

            I can see people moving around below us, small points moving through the darkness, occasionally illuminated by the bright lights on the ground. 

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and try to ground myself, pushing the memory far away. It occurs to me how vulnerable I am at this moment. Eyes closed and poised at the edge of the building. Ghost could easily push me off and claim that I had jumped. And maybe people would believe him. I had seen a lot in my years, and people couldn’t fault me too much for letting it get to my head. But that isn’t my intention. 

           My eyes snap open, and I turn to the man next to me, feeling my heart pick up again at the idea. Ghost turns slowly to look at me as well, his calm eyes meeting my fiery ones. I feel stiff, the remnants of the memory keeping me on high alert. And when Ghost moves, I take a small step away from him, realizing, with no comfort, that I don’t have a weapon on me except for the small knife tucked in my boot. 

But Ghost doesn't move toward me, instead, he sits on the edge of the building, hands coming together in his lap as he looks away from me completely. My breathing is fast again, and I can feel the dredges of panic pulling at my brain. The edges of my vision are beginning to blur slightly, and my head feels faint. I can feel the burning of the jumper cables through my sides and bring my hand up to rub at the scars that lay under my shirt. 

“Two goldfish are in a tank.” Ghost’s voice is startling in the silence of the night. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness, and figure out where this is going. 

“Okay?” I ask, not quite sure if there was more to the statement, or if that was the extent of what he was going to say. 

“One turns to the other and says, ‘You know how to drive this thing?’” He turns his face slightly toward me, gauging a reaction. I stay still for a moment, working through the absurdity of his joke before a large smile overtakes my face and I let out a low chuckle before quieting myself down.

“Quite the jokester, aren’t you?” I say, finally sitting down with him, hands resting behind me to hold onto the ledge, just in case. 

“I could do this all night.” He says, eyes still tracing over my form. 

“I’m sure you could, Lieutenant.” I close my eyes again, looking up toward the sky as a smaller smile covers my expression. The moon is bright, even behind my eyelids, and I take comfort in the fact that it is there. 

Somehow, this man, who I’d only known for a few hours, had known exactly what to do to help me calm down. 

I had always been drawn to the moon. Something about it calming me, while also giving me the strength to do whatever it is I had to do. It’s how I got my nickname; since I prefer night missions, and therefore all people see of me is my silhouette against the moon. Hence, Eclipse. Everyone had a story for their name, mine wasn’t all that fun, but I was willing to bet that Soap’s had some sort of fun meaning behind it. I knew he was a demolitions specialist, perhaps it was because he could create a clean slate after demoing. Of course, Ghost would have to have a story as well, but with how he acted, I figure that he isn’t exactly the ‘share my personal history with someone I just met’ type. And I’m not one to push boundaries. If I like my boundaries respected then the least I can do is respect his. 

We sit in silence for a while, each scanning around the compound, occasionally glancing past each other, but otherwise keep to ourselves. 

Light is beginning to fill the sky when I finally decide to check my watch. It reads 0400, and I know I’m not going to get back to sleep. Ghost is still next to me, back hunched over in a similar fashion to my own as we sit atop the concrete roof. I look at the man, really look at him for the first time since we came up here. 

He wears a dark balaklava, similar to the one with the skull plate stitched to it, but this one’s forehead is clear, only having the lower half painted instead of the full get up. He also wears a dark t-shirt, which exposes the tattoos covering his left arm, and dark jogging pants. He has his boots unlaced, but they are tightened enough not to fall over the edge of the building as he gently sways his feet. His clothing makes him seem more approachable than he had been earlier but it does nothing to change his imposing size. It seems he doesn't need his protective layers to be intimidating. 

“Would you spar with me?” I ask, cringing slightly at the roughness of my voice after going unused for so long. I clear my throat carefully as Ghost turns to observe me. I watch as his eyes trail up and down my form, coming to a rest on my face. The mask makes it difficult to tell what he was thinking, but after years of practice with König, I feel like I can gauge his thoughts through his eyes alone.

“You don’t have to. When König wakes up I can ask him.” Ghost blinks slowly, eyes squinting at me ever so slightly, before he gives a small nod, and straightens his back. I smile, glad to have a new sparring partner, and stand, dusting my pants off as I step away from the edge. Ghost does the same, and I follow him through the door and back down the stairs. 

We exit the stairs, turn right, and enter the gym. Ghost flicks the lights on, illuminating the space. One wall is lined with mirrors, and against the other are three treadmills, and a weight rack, along with other workout equipment spread out across the room. And in the middle of the room, there is padding on the floor, which Ghost and I are steadily approaching. Ghost stops at the edge of the mat, and loosens his boots before slipping them off, and stepping fully onto the mat. I follow his lead, slipping my boots off and setting them next to his before stepping onto the mat. 

I mess with my hair until it isn’t in my line of sight, watching Ghost the whole time to make sure he doesn't move while I’m distracted. Once my hair is out of the way, I get into stance, and watch as Ghost does the same. 

“Ready?” He asks, eyes boring into mine. 

“Ready,” I confirm, and as soon as the word leaves my mouth, we’re moving. 

My left foot moves in a large step, bringing me closer to Ghost, but before I make contact I spin to my right, tucking myself into him as I bring an elbow back to his chest. There is a dull thud as my elbow makes contact, and I can almost feel the breath he lets out. But he reacts fast. 

He uses my proximity to kick the back of my knee, forcing me to the ground. His own knee presses into my back as he kneels over me. I turn my head to the side, looking into his eyes. There is a hint of a smirk behind them as I continue struggling, but it disappears when I get a knee up under myself and practically buck him off of me.  I spin, jumping up as I do, before he dives for my legs. We are falling to the floor before I can take in a complete breath, my partial one being forced out of me as Ghost’s weight crushes me to the mat. I quickly bring a knee up to his back, aiming for his kidneys, but he moves to the side ever so slightly, avoiding the worst of it and sending a spark up my leg instead. He grabs my wrists in one hand, holding them above me as he straddles my legs, keeping them from kicking up at him anymore. The smirk is back in his eyes, and I’m determined to get rid of it. I bend my knees, planting my feet on the outside of his as I use his grip on my wrists to secure us together, then bring my hips up, and push him to the side, ending with me above him. But he still has a grip on my wrists, which he uses to throw me over his head. I land, sprawled on my back, the wind knocked out of me, at the edge of the mat. But I can’t give up, not yet. So I jump up, coming face to face with Ghost as he walks toward me. I only have a few inches of the mat behind me, and I know he’s trying to back me off. I can’t let that happen.

So, as he gets within a few steps of me, I dive to his left, holding my hands out in front of me to start my roll. I feel a twinge go through my wrist but ignore it as I stand again, turning to face him. We are kitty-corner to each other now, and I can see the determination building behind his eyes as he steps toward me again. 

An hour later and we’re both covered in a layer of sweat, causing our hands to slip off of each other as we made grasps. I had slipped off my shirt a little while ago, and I’m now fighting in my tank top and sleep shorts. Ghost is still wearing all his clothes, and I commend him for working through the heat I know has to be building behind his mask. 

We’re circling each other, hands up and ready to strike. Ghost makes the first move, swiping my legs out from under me, and causing me to drop unceremoniously to the mat. He jumps on top of me as I roll over, practically sitting on my lower back as his legs press against my own, keeping me still as he grabs my left arm, and brings it behind me. 

He had abandoned any sense of holding back that he held earlier in our fighting, and pulls roughly at my shoulder just as I was about to tap out. But it’s too late. I feel the joint slip, and click as the pain bursts down my arm and up my neck. My right hand immediately flies back to tap at his thigh as I bite my lip to stifle the noises I want to let out. 

He releases me immediately, moving to stand and look down at me. I bring my hips up slightly as I pull myself together enough to roll over, eyes squeezed shut, and teeth digging into my lip to the point where I can faintly taste blood. I finally flip over, and the intense wave of pain it brings causes me to throw my eyes open, breathing as deeply as I can manage. Ghost is looking down at me, eyes squinted, and unfocused. Like he’s trying to think something through but is struggling. 

My right hand slots into place against my left shoulder, and I gently push at it, making sure it had just slipped out of place. And, as I thought, it had, meaning all I have to do is pop it back in. I groan again as my poking flares the pain, and try to sit up slightly, but fail when the joint moves. I drop onto the mat, deep breaths leaving my lips. 

Ghost looks mortified. That’s the closest emotion I can find in his eyes. His chest is barely moving, as if he’s stopped breathing, and his eyes are still cloudy and distant. I recognize the glazed eyes from when König falls into his panic attacks, but there isn’t much I can do for Ghost until I get my shoulder back in place. 

As I groan through the pain again, I hear the door to the gym open, and two sets of footsteps enter through it. My eyes close again to ward off the pain that zings through my arm when I try to look at who they are. 

“Finsternis?”(Eclipse) Good, it’s König. He knows how shit my shoulder is, and has helped me put it back in place more times than I can count. 

“Ghost?” Looks like Price is the second person present.

 My eyes open again as I feel König drop to kneel next to me, and see Ghost still staring at me. 

“Schulter,” (Shoulder)The word croaks out of my throat as I swallow down the pain. Normally we are able to slip it back into place almost immediately, but it has been at least 3 minutes, and it’s getting angrier and angrier with me. 

König’s eyes slip from my face to look at where my right hand is pressed into my left shoulder. 

“Wir müssen es wieder an Ort.” (We have to put it back in place) I say, looking into König’s dark eyes as they bore into mine. He gives a small nod and moves so he is to my left, pulling my arm out with him. I grit my teeth together against the pain and drop my right hand to my side as he finally gets into place. He places one foot so it’s pushing against my ribcage, and plants the other one firmly on the ground near my head. 

“Auf Drei,” (On three) He says, looking me in the eyes. I turn away, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth again as I prepare for the pain.  “Eins.”(One) But he doesn't wait for three, he barely waits at all, before pulling on my arm, pushing against my ribcage as I feel the ball slip back into its socket. 

“Scheiße!”(Shit) I say through my gritted teeth, hearing the pop externally and internally. The world sways momentarily, but König keeps a firm grip on my hand as he scoots closer to me again. He uses his hand to turn my face toward him, and I open my eyes again to make eye contact with him. 

“Ich hasse es, wenn du das machst." (I hate when you do that) I say, and he shakes with a silent laugh at my expense. 

“Nachstes mal lasse ich es dann.” (Next time I’ll leave it then) He says, and I can see the smile in his eyes. Using my good arm I punch his shoulder. Behind him, Ghost is still standing still, though now he’s scanning the gym like he was cataloging it. Price is somewhere over my head, though he’s quiet, probably waiting for the best time to speak. As I sit up, with the help of König, Ghost grabs his boots from the side of the mat, and slinks out the door, ignoring the captain calling to him. 

I watch as he leaves, not looking back once. 

“What the hell was that?” Price asks, arms crossing over his chest, and mustache twitching against his lip. 

“Shoulder injury that never healed right, it slips out sometimes without much pressure applied. Nothing that affects my performance in the field Captain, I assure you.” Price’s eyes burn into me, and for a moment I’m worried that he’s going to pull me from the mission, but his hands fall to his sides as he finally speaks, and I relax marginally. 

“It better not.” Is all he says before turning and following the same path that Ghost had.

“Was ist passiert?” (What happened?) König asks as he helps me stand. 

“Kampftraining.Ich war nicht schnell genug, um etwas zu sagen.”( Sparring. I wasn’t fast enough to say something.) I shrug my shoulders, then regret it immediately as I feel the dull pain shoot through my arm. “Aber jetzt muss ich duschen.” (But now, I have to shower) I say, and König laughs, pushing me away slightly. 

“Ja, das muss du, du riechst.” (Yeah, you do, you smell.)  I laugh with him as we walk back into the barracks room. Gaz and Soap are gathering their clothes, and Price and Ghost are nowhere to be found. 

I collect some clothes from my bag and turn to make my way back to the gym, where the single-stall showers supposedly are. I have never been a fan of the group showers.

König is sitting on his bed with his weapons, both his knives, and guns, and is laying them out in the exact order he does every time he checks them over. It’s one of his many ticks when he’s uncomfortable in a space, as it gives him control over something, as well as allowing him the peace of mind of something familiar. I push his head lightly as I pass him, but he doesn't  react more than pushing my hand away, eyes still trained on his weapons. 

The walk to the gym is short, and the lights are still on. I see the door on the far side of the room and move toward it. Behind the door, there are cubbies lining one wall, with benches in the middle, and six shower stalls on the opposite wall. The lights have a sickly blue hue to them, and they flicker slightly as I turn them on. It certainly won’t be the worst shower I’ve taken, at least this one will be warm. 

After my shower, I make my way back into the barracks room. None of the boys are in here, so I assume they had all found better things to do with their time. I sit on the edge of my bed and run a hand down my face.  I can’t get Ghost’s eyes out of my head. The look in them when he heard the pop of my shoulder slipping out of place, the blurriness that consumed them in the aftermath. I know that he’s a trained soldier. One who has taken out more targets than I will ever be cleared to know. But that small look of fear that flickered in the back of his eyes, makes me want to apologize to him. To make it clear that it isn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

He could be anywhere on base, or off base for that matter. I know nothing about him, his life, or his patterns. I only know one place where he had shown me he hung out, and that’s going to be my starting point. 

I stand from my bed, open the door to our barracks room, and follow the hallway to the door that Ghost had shown me last night. I climb the stairs quietly, a hard habit to break, then take a breath as I exit onto the roof. I’m actually surprised to see the hulking frame of the man, dark against the pale concrete. 

He’s laying on his stomach, tac gear on as he looks through the scope of his rifle. He’s scanning the base, or at least he was until the door closed behind me. 

His eyes flick to me, grip tightening on his weapon. The paint is back around his eyes, making them look colder and less human than they had been earlier. I take a step toward him and watch as he flips the cover over his scope, pulling himself up into a crouching position as he begins packing his gun away. He doesn’t look back over at me, and within 30 seconds, he’s pushing past me toward the door.

“Ghost,” I start, reaching out to try and grip his arm before he’s all the way past me. He spins around, arm pulling away from my grip. I have no time to duck, no time to block the elbow as it comes toward my face. My head whips to the side, hand slipping from his arm and pulling up to cradle my smarting face. My eyes well up with reflexive tears that I won’t allow to fall, and I can feel the trickle of blood beginning to flow down through my nose. I look up at Ghost through my tears. He stares down at me for a moment, hand hanging in the air, the jaw painted on his mask moving but no sound coming out of his mouth. His hand moves towards my face, and I take a small step back before I think of what I’m doing. The hand stops, the jaw returns to its resting place and I watch his eyes harden ever so slightly  before he turns and reaches for the door. 

And then he’s gone. 

The blood pours freely out of my nose, and I just let it, knowing that it was covering the bottom half of my face. My whole face feels simultaneously numb and burns at the same time. I stand there for a moment longer, until the first drop of my blood hits the concrete below me, and then I finally move. The door squeaks open as I pull it, then slams shut behind me as I make my way down the stairs. I don’t go back to the barracks, instead, I go back through the gym, leaving the main lights off, and open the door to the shower room. In the far corner, there’s a sink, with a crappy mirror hanging haphazardly above it. 

The loose washcloth I find makes a good compress as I press it against my nose, leaning over the sink to keep my head pointed down. Lord knows I had seen what choking on your own blood looked like. 

My mind is blank, going through the motions of cleaning up after a fight, nothing I haven’t done before. I replay the interaction in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. 

Grabbing him may not have been my smartest decision, and while I’m a little put out that he elbowed me in the face for it, he didn’t seem to do it on purpose. It was a reflex as much as me stepping backwards had been. 

My nose finally stops bleeding, and I clear the remaining blood from around my lips and chin. My cheek is slightly swollen where his elbow made contact, and my nose is turning slightly purple, but I’m not too worried about it. Nothing is broken, and I can live with a little bruise during our mission. 

I throw the bloodied washcloth in a hamper bin that’s next to one of the cubbies, and turn the lights off behind me as I walk out. The gym is still dark, and I walk straight through it, ignoring the slight twinge that goes up my back as I do. 

I need to do something to clear my mind. I can’t exactly change what had happened with Ghost, but I could make myself stop thinking about it. Shooting seemed like just the answer I needed.

[bunchofstraydogs]

Dazai Osamu in a relationship

Just a lil warning before you proceed: dis a chonky one, kay?

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Depending on why Dazai is in a relationship affects how he will act with his partner.

If Dazai is curious about them, enough to enter the relationship,

it will last at best a handful of months, at worst about 2 weeks. Enough to get to know them, test them out in terms of reaction, values, honesty and morality, and get bored of them. Thus leading to him braking up with the person or, if he predicts that the person would react badly and cause a scene, get them to break up with him. But even that is dubious because i doubt Dazai would make the relationship official. He would probably just act as if they're dating, leading the partner to believe they actually are without having to verbally confirm anything, and then as soon as he loses interest, pulls a now-you-see-me-now-you-don't and disappears with little to no notice. Hey, he never said they were dating, he calls everyone Belladona, the fault is that person's for being delusional. Yes, he is an asshole, what did you expect of Dazai?

But if Dazai is in love?? Unrecognizable.

I will make a separate headcanon(? whatever these are I'm writing) on what i think a person should be like to sweep Dazai of his feet, but now i want to concentrate on what he would be like in such a relationship.

Is it possible for Dazai to fall in love? Absolutely. He loved Odasaku and Ango, perhaps not romantically, but he's definitely capable of love. People like him- aware of the world's cruelty, dealing with demons and guilt, roaming the world for the sole reason that they haven't died yet, hoping to find something worthwhile they can feel the need to be selfish about and call theirs; don't fall in love, they crash desperately. It takes a lot for them to feel those emotions, but when they do, they can never really let them go.

He would try to act as he usually does in public and try approaching the subject of his trepidation and disarray in many different ways. Distancing himself and going as far to actively avoid them would just come back and bite him in his boney ass. To effectively avoid someone, you need to know their schedule, hobbies, interests, habits, etc. And having learned that would just constantly remind him of them, they'd never leave his mind. He'd look on the clock, see the time and know that they'll be in that specific class because he knows their whole curriculum and class schedule/ at the grocery because they're surly out of their favourite snack/ doing black laundry and yes, he knows unnecessary details about them as well. After that disastrous failure, he comes back running and commences new ways to handle that person. These beta testings are for him as much as they are for them. Just how much and what exactly does he feel for that person, what buttons can he push and which ones he doesn't want to.

When i say Dazai in love would be unrecognizable, i mean it. Not superficially, where everyone can see it, but where it matters.

After doing his best to rail in the unfamiliar feelings under control, going as far as using some of Mori's techniques, the realization of the situation he's found himself in hits him hard.

He comes back as if nothing happened.

The deadpan that person gives him and a "Are you done with your bullshit or do you need some more time to brood about issues you made with yourself?" He doesn't even blink, "Oh, my Belladona! Does that mean you've missed me? Were you worried about me as well??"

All of this was said in your typical, Dazai maniac style, the only difference is that he actually wants an answer. He wants to hear the confirmation, in whatever form it may come- he can read between the lines and body language, just give him something to work with. He's desperate.

While the public Dazai persona won't change, his inner musings and his approach to the love interest will.

Osamu will, sometimes sneakily, usually not so subtly, immerse himself into their daily life. Get them accustomed and used to his presence. What this will do is cause a sense of familiar coexistence, that of people living together; make the person unconsciously continue to include him in their activities; learn to depend on him (not in a unhealthy, yandere way, but if their car brakes down or they're feelinh unsafe, Dazai will be the first person they feel the urge to call) because Dazai can be reliable and he will be reliable for that special person. He will also be the first person they share good news with as well, because if someone is always there for and with you, it's only natural.

Make no mistakes, Dazai is transparent only when he wants to be.

The reasons he does this is because 1) he wants to gauge their reaction to his great interest in them, 2) mask his subtle advances which are the most important part of integrating himself into their life, 3) to get that person in the position where he needs them to be for him to move on to the next phase of his plan.

Now, i may have said plan, but that's a somewhat loose term since what he'll do next depends on their reaction. He definitely has a rough outline of the whole thing in his head, but he's also adaptable and ready to react accordingly to whatever they may throw his way.

[I will be using l/i or LI for "love interest" bc I'm tired of writing that person or whatever, okay? Good.]

Once his l/i made effort to go out of their way for him or commit any type of love language, basically:

act of service- pay for his bills, massage his shoulders, buy crab based food or alchohol he really likes for their own fridge so that he can have it when he's over (often) even if they don't like those things especially then

words of affirmation- thank you Dazai, how was your sleep?, please take better care of yourself i can't help you if you're not making an effort

physical touch- ruffle his hair, lean on him when tired, hold his hand or wrist because it's crowded and it would be a pain to search for you Dazai

gift giving- "I noticed you were running out of bandages", "I bought you food, figured your lost case would forget to eat", "saw this mackerel, reminded me of you^^" "BELLADONA, NO >:("

quality time- spending nights with him because he has insomnia, playing games at the arcade, drive around town run from the cops

He would be overwhelmed. In the best way possible. He'd feel overwhelmingly good and pleasant and warm and worried.

He didn't feel like this, ever.

Not even with Odasaku and Ango. They were probably his first friends, but that's the thing. They didn't make his heart race, they didn't throw him into panic attacks, they didn't overwhelm him, they didn't keep him up at night because he couldn't get them out of his head or completely monopolise his mind during the day.

He gets panic attacks.

A lot of them, actually. Usually he can fake being fine, but sometimes he hyperventilates and can't breathe and all that he can smell is the blood on his hands and his chest is as hollow as l/i's eyes. He knows what can happen. They can and will be used against him. Hell, it could even be an accident. He is vulnerable just because they exist and he can't do shit about it.

He could do his thing: pull some strings, have them move to another country and never speak to each other ever again. He has the power, but he lacks the strength. He could do it, but he doesn't want to. His thumb won't press the numbers, his voice died out, his mind went blank.

The wind blows and it carries their scent with it. The bells ring and it's their laughter that resonates within. His bandages ruffle and it's the warmth of their touch he feels. He's dying, but he's not just ready yet to leave. Hopefully, Odasaku will patiently keep a seat for him.

That was what gave him away, actually.

That's when Ranpo realised, with zero doubt, that Dazai Osamu is in love.

Dazai could be going on and on about suicide.

Enter l/i.

"I found an amazing tree yesterday with really sturdy branches. I wanted to test them out today, but i promised l/i I'd go to the new bakery with them today and who would they go with if i die?? Unacceptable!"

Ranpo: "A new bakery? I'll happily take your place."

"UNACCEPTABLE!!"

With every panic attack he feels stranded on an island in the sea of death.

He's exhausted. For the first time he finally wants to escape alive. Then they walk in and the storm in the sea moves to his heart. And into his stomach and his hands and his knees.

"I'm here for you, Osamu. Everything is going to be fine."

His insomnia goes by a different name now.

It still keeps him up at night and makes him restless.

But this time, when he fills his nth glass of whiskey for the night, when the TV is muted and the trafic quiet, when he can hear their breathing beside him in their shared bed, he raises the glass to hope for the halcyon days.

●

Fucking finally. You think you're exhausted, you waste of bandages?? I have a final today I'm going to fail and actually wrote about your musky ass. You try doing that with my brain.

Hope you guys like it and if you made it this far, here's a cup of ☕ or 🍵, whichever you prefer. I wrote him as i see and envision him. Hope it all makes sense. He's a complicated character, but he is still human and he is not immune to emotions.

Have a good one~☆

I will probably come up with more things for him, because i doubt i covered everything, but for now this shall do.

[tearblossom]

Orbital Station Scene Analysis: Part 3

Lmao here we go again. Ready to fall even deeper down the rabbit hole that is this scene with me!? This one scene functions simultaneously as my source of joy and depression and I watch it more than I would care to admit. So, naturally, I have even more to say about it! It’s going to be long. Sorry.

Part 1- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645095661644251136/scene-analysis-this-is-just-what-i-personally-feel

Part 2- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645776311115186176/i-was-thinking-some-more-about-the-final-scene

In this one, I’ll be going into more detail explaining the emotional mask that I believe Takemura is trying so desperately to keep on during this scene (and undeniably fails at several times, with it coming off entirely upon the scene reaching a certain pivotal moment) and also pointing out the instances that I feel the mask slips occur. Honestly, it’s pretty easy to tell for reasons that I will explain. I’m going to reiterate the fact that I am not a facial expression/body language expert. This is just one human being looking at another human being and trying to figure them out. This is just my personal interpretation of this scene. Prepare yourself for many, many screenshots and gifs. Also, I will be using the same video sources as the other two posts because I don’t have my own footage. 

https://youtu.be/ra-Ij1KU8r4

https://youtu.be/PUmQqVOq5oY

I failed to mention before the reason that Takemura even had to put up the cruel facade in the first place because I didn’t want to state the obvious and insult everyone’s intelligence. We all know the reason but I’ll just say it here anyway: Arasaka. 

Arasaka is listening to Takemura’s every word so he literally cannot say shit to V that would hint at any sort of affection for him/her and absolutely nothing that would indicate any growing uncertainty in said corporation. Words mean nothing here. He has to speak through his eyes and expressions because that is all he has to offer, the only cards he has to play. That is why the meaning of this scene can be so easily missed and flies over so many people’s heads. I do not fault anyone that may have missed this on a first playthrough or even those that are still unaware of it whatsoever because Takemura is very, very convincing at first (his face becomes an open book once the contract gets brought out but we’ll get into that later) and besides, to truly understand something that involves emotions as complex as these caused by equally as complex reasons or anything involving subtext really, takes multiple viewings to truly appreciate.

In summary, what I believe is happening here is that during the entire scene up until the contract gets brought out, his mental state is constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff so to speak. He is trying so hard to fight his sentimentality and control his emotional responses not only to V’s misery and pain but also his own wavering faith in Arasaka because they are watching, listening, and monitoring. And he succeeds extremely well at first but it gets harder and harder for him to maintain the mask. The closer he physically gets to V, the harder it is to pretend, to hide. His eyes alone betray him on several occasions but eventually the whole facade just crumbles and he falls. And when the contract comes into play is when he truly, honestly looks at V and the communication through his eyes really begins.

Here is the key thing- it is the most important visual clue to understanding when things happen: When Takemura is feeling any doubt or his emotions begin to overwhelm him or he fears that they might, he promptly averts his eyes to get himself under control and readjusts the mask that has slipped. 

He looks away from V during these moments!

(Just to clarify, I don’t think that every single moment in the scene that he looks away from V has this deeper meaning behind it. When people talk it’s completely natural for them to turn their heads, avert their eyes to look at other things, etc. These are just some moments that particularly stood out to me as signs pointing to my little theory.) 

Okay...let’s start deciphering this conflicted, broken mess of a man.

Scene starts. Takemura is fiddling with the Rubik’s Cube. He puts it down. Expression cold as ice.

mask on full display in all of it’s glory

They talk about Saburo being back in the body of his son and have this exchange of words:

V: “Saw Saburo Arasaka’s back. In Yorinobu’s body.”

Goro: “Yes. Justice has been done.”

And then it happens for the first time...

(Could this be...doubt perhaps? Has justice really been done?)

Moving on- he walks over to stand behind the chair across from V, telling them of their imminent death.

Goro: “I will be blunt - the surgery did not help. You will be dead before winter.”

And then he proceeds to make this face immediately after...

(Lovely, isn’t it? Just full of sympathy. His mask game is strong. But don’t worry though because V wins in the end BIG TIME.)

Understandably, V gets very upset upon hearing this news.

V: “How... how’s that possible? Arasaka’s got the best and the brightest.”

And then something happens again. Whatever could it be, I wonder!

But wait, there’s more!

(He couldn’t even wait until he finished talking before looking away! It’s getting more difficult for him to look at V with a straight face every second! Also, his expression here is the most broken looking yet.) :(

He must not reveal what is hidden behind this emotional wall that he’s worked so hard to build up specifically for this meeting because the room they are speaking in may just as well be made of glass with Arasaka’s unrelenting gaze, an ever-present entity, on the other side of it. He will do so soon though, when he offers V salvation. The contract raises the stakes. The rules change. He feels the wall breaking and there isn’t anything he can do about it and he knows it.

IT’S CHAIR TIME, CHOOMS!

He looks away another 6 TIMES! Leaning more and more over that edge. Feast your eyes...

IT’S CONTRACT TIME, BABY!

Oh, shit!

It’s happening!!

He does look away here but there’s no mask on when he looks back...only despair.

It’s gone.

TO SIGN OR NOT TO SIGN

The disguise is off now. From this point onward, Takemura looks at V with his true feelings on display. This is where the ability to read the emotion portrayed solely through one’s eyes really comes into play because even though he’s not trying to hide anything anymore, he still can’t say what he really wants to say. We have to feel it through his expressions. His thoughts are so loud during these final moments of the scene that we don’t even need words to know what he’s saying.  

REFUSE TO SIGN

SIGN

HOLY GRAIL MOMENT!

(I’m literally going to copy and paste what I have in my part 2 analysis about this section because I explained my thoughts on it about as well as I am able to there and have nothing else to add. My apologies for repeating myself but I feel the exact same way about it so it still applies here.) 

These reactions make perfect sense because we’ve always known that he cares deeply for V and never stopped. He just couldn’t hide it! But even with this treasure trove of emotional mask slips and unintentional displays of affection, I still wasn’t sure exactly how deeply he cared for V. In other words- if he was actually in love with V or not.

Is he already in love or is he still in the process of falling in love? Is it just a friendly love? (hell no! I knew that was definitely not the case but I still had to ask just so I could cross it off the list!)

And then the two of them walked to the door and said their parting words.

V: “Gonna see each other again?”

Goro: “I believe we will.”

V: “So… see you.”

Goro: “Visit me in Kagawa - I will show you what is real food.”

And then…

he proceeded to make these faces…

HOLY

SHIT!

(The mask isn’t just gone now- it’s burned, splintered, shattered, exploded in a million pieces, disintegrated!)

This man just had the biggest revelation of his entire life: the realization that he is in love with V. These are looks of love and I will not be convinced otherwise. I’m not a facial expression expert or anything, only stating my humble opinions here, but are you seeing this!?

He realizes the truth and it catches him so off guard that he has to look away. He contemplates these newfound feelings and tries to sort them out in the few seconds that he has left with V. And he does. He accepts them. He welcomes them. The gentle, knowing look he gives V when he looks back at them is saying just this.

He also knows that he is now fucked because his love for V is going to complicate things so much more than they already were. Now that he is fully aware that he is in love, these feelings are going to directly conflict with his duties to Arasaka later if a situation arises that places V and Arasaka on opposing sides and I think we all know that is most definitely going to happen at some point.

And now he has to see the love of his life die and just leave this place and go on with his day. Damn. This is turning into one of the saddest love stories I’ve ever seen. Something major is going to happen in the dlc that is going to force his hand one way or another: V or Arasaka? I hope that Arasaka somehow fucks up so bad that it makes his choice easier but my heart breaks imagining the amount of conflict and torment that await him.

The Beginning and The End

[kareofbears]

finished my task early and realized that as a byproduct of our capitalist society, im unfortunately happier when i do tasks. here are my rankings of persona 5 awakenings spanning from vanilla to strikers. and i watched all of them again just so i wasn’t biased. i will also be attaching the splash pages they have of the group during awakening scenes because theyre fucking awesome 

excluded: 

morgana - no awakening, very sad

akechi - just a reveal, but an awesome reveal 

10. okumura haru  

it feels like a lie to even say she got an awakening, because they didnt even let her rip off her mask. they gave her a half awakening like it was on clearance. sad stuff, couldve been amazing, instead felt underwhelming since there was no lethargic high point where you feel her anger. i liked the gun reveal though 

9. sakura futaba 

same deal as haru, no mask ripping part :( that part of awakenings are very important to me, since its like, the whole deal with awakening your persona. its supposed to hurt, cause it hurts to throw away your facade and be who you really are!! also it just felt long and drawn out, making the tension feel...untensed. pliable, if you will. ranks higher than haru cause it still made me cry--futaba truly has one of the toughest and heart-wrenching motivations to persona awakenings, truly. 

8. niijima Makoto 

no splash page for her which makes me sad. love how gritty her mask + scream were afterwards, you can really feel the impact of it. also, editing was great during this scene. ranks low (high?) on the list though because it was pretty unremarkable overall--thats because makoto’s awakening/arc is pretty detached from who she is. its not very personal, since the conflict isn’t specifically about her you know? 

7. Kitagawa Yusuke 

a fan favorite and im sorry i couldnt rank it in a better spot. loved the camera work, loved the dialogue and his speech afterwards. it really is poetry infused with pissed-off and ready for revenge. if only the mask removal scene was grittier!! i like seeing them in pain!! it shouldnt be easy to take off the mask!!

6. takamaki ann

beautiful spectacular awakening that always makes me cry, but docked many points off because of how sexual it is. why are they focusing on her torso when shes crying. enough with the jiggle physics. stop that!!

her rage and swearing is so on point, and i am in love with how she mows down her shadow self in one go. so cool. love ann.

5. Hasegawa Zenkichi 

another fan favorite and its also one of mine as well. yall im just so emotional that an adult actually got a persona awakening. like, an adult who wants change just as desperately as the young people do? that means so much to me. dialogue is great, shadows are great. his mask ripping scene was so fucking intense that he snapped his mask in half like thats so rad 

4. yoshizawa sumire 

yeah yeah whatever i love her awakening ok. its big cheating that she got two on camera awakenings, but the first one sucked so its fine. the second one is just so great and i love how quiet the music is . where some awakenings feel very disjointed and impersonal, hers was arguably the most personal out of all of them. like she saw her sister?? and that was what made her awaken for real this time?? fantastic. also her mask removal scene was so intense and i loved that nothing happened at first because it makes you think that something is still wrong. hated the first awakening though--why the magical girl sequence?? what the fuck 

3. Sophia 

hehe her awakening is so fucking good. from the line read to the dialogue. this was the only awakening (besides jokers but ill get to that) that truly caught me off guard. i didnt expect that, even though it was the only logical conclusion to her character arc. brillaint. and i cant stress this enough--the line reads. the line reads. are so good.  thank you VA from puyo puyo tetris lmfao 

2. Kurusu Akira 

no splash page for him either but i will forgive it since hes the first. this one fucked me over because one: the animation was amazing, two, he awakened for ryuji, and three, his mask removal scene is the best of them all. you can feel every centimeter of his mask forcibly peeling away from his skin and i love it. also, this one scared the fuck out of me because when i bought p5, i didnt know what a fucking persona was. i thought this was like, a high school adventure. so yeah, this had a big impact on me

1. sakamoto Ryuji 

look man. this boy is just so angry. so fucking angry, and so intense about his feelings, and so desperate to help, and all of that accumulates to being the best awakening. where akira has the best mask ripping scene, he has the best scream after he rips his mask--you could feel that shit in your throat, in your lungs, the vibrations in your head. not to mention, he was the only one who was allowed to look fucking insane--rolling on the carpet and shit, sweating his heart out. i love how gritty it is. 

Those are my opnions thanks for coming to my ted talk 

[tochasingwaterfalls]

toni and shelby scenes i practiced writing because i officially have no life anymore

(2nd pov shelby and not always entirely accurate)

1. what the fuck are you wearing

The first time Toni talks to you, like really interacts with you, is when you pull Martha out of that riptide and bandage her ankle with the material of your top. She comes flying towards the two of you, worried about Martha, and so relieved, that she doesn’t even notice you at first. But when Martha shifts her attention towards you, compliments you, thanks you for the help, Toni looks at you. And she doesn’t just look at you, she scans you up and down and your skin starts to feel hot under the intensity of her gaze and you’re about to say something when -

“What the fuck are you wearing.”

You decide to brush over that, you tell yourself that she‘s on edge like all of you, that she didn’t mean for it to sound this patronizing, and when you walk back to the others, you try not to think about the way she looked at you. You try not to think about the way it made your skin crawl and burn at the same time, something you‘ve never felt before and something so entirely wrong.

2. god’s such a joke

“I‘m so sick of looking at your fucking ponytail. I feel like it thinks it’s better than me,“ she bites and when you turn around, she’s right there, up in your personal space, looking at you and challenging you to bite back with her eyes so intense that you forget how to breathe for a moment. 

“Why don’t you go in front, then?” You offer and she scoffs, brushes right past you with all her anger and when your hands just barely touch, it sets your body on fire all over again. You’re proud that you didn't let her get under your skin with all her punching remarks, toned arms and that insufferable smirk of hers - and yet what you fail to realize is, that she already runs so much deeper.

Toni stomps in front of you, each step loaded with a tension that stems from a place much further away than anything on this island but at least she’s not talking and you can finally concentrate on finding water. The Lord helps those who help themselves. You mumble a few prayers under your breath and it’s like she’s waited for just that, because she whirls around, snaps “God‘s such a joke,” and scoffs when you stay quiet. It’s something she seems to be doing a lot; scoffing, picking fights where there are none, fighting battles only she knows the cause of. “Do you know He is just a brainwashing tool designed to enslave the masses?“ She’s smirking again, thinks she’s cornered you, and you don’t know why you feel the need to say something back, maybe because you don’t want her to think you have no backbone, or maybe just because you want to see how she reacts. 

“Even if He were just a brainwashing tool, you ever think maybe your brain could use a good,” you draw out your bottom lip with your teeth. “scrub?“ 

“Fuck off.“ 

It’s the start of a game you two continue to play; she’s scoffing, dismissing, disagreeing with everything you say and you’re brushing it off, practicing your patience, all while trying not to let her see how much she actually does rile you up.

3. don’t bullshit me, shelby

It all starts with Rachel commenting the way Toni’s eating the mussels and you wish she would’ve just kept her mouth shut. “Just trying to stay on brand, you know.” Toni smirks, looks proud, and when she brings up the mussel to her mouth, your breath falls short in the back of your throat, because she’s not going to- Oh, she definitely is and there’s a knot settling low in your stomach. You don’t want to watch but it’s physically impossible for you to look away. “You gotta admit, the shape of these things... it’s kinda like a-“ 

“Like a pussy!“ That’s Nora, loud and so surprising, that there’s a shocked moment of silence before they’re back to laughing again and cheering Toni on, all like;

“Lick the clit.” and-

“This is the most action any of us have gotten.” and- 

“Go off, girl!” and-

- you don’t know how can they be so okay with all this but you can’t take it anymore. “Would you stop?!” And okay, maybe it’s a little hysterical with a little too much panic seething through your voice and you can’t meet Toni’s eyes when she wipes off her mouth. 

“Okay, that was hilarious and Shelby has no chill,“ Dot says into the silence that has started to settle in.

 “I have chill, I guess I just don’t - I don‘t see the humour in that sort of thing.“ You still can’t bring yourself to look at her.

“What do you mean that sort of thing?“ You can feel her running hot again, eyes not leaving your face, eyebrows furrowed, hand balled around the mussel so tightly, her knuckles turn white. She has you cornered.

“You know, pornographic gestures. I‘m a Christian, all right? I‘m from a Christian home, I‘m allowed to be a little skeeved out.“ You try your hardest to dodge the question, with the words practically spilling from your lips; and when your eyes finally lock with hers, you think she has to notice how they’re almost begging her not to push any further. This time, she really has you cornered and you can’t let go of the cross hanging off your neck. 

Wether or not she notices the plea in your eyes, Toni pushes, because all she ever does is pick battles. “I mean that‘s not all that’s going on here. Don‘t bullshit me, Shelby, cause the vibe that’s coming of you right now, I‘ve felt it a few too many times not to know what it is.“ 

All she ever does is pick battles but this is one, she has every right to fight. You know that and you look away; you’re practically drowning in your shame and the way Toni continues to push makes your throat close up.

“What are you saying, Toni?“ 

“I’m saying that she can’t stand that I’m gay, Marty, that’s what fucking skeeves her out.” Her anger fails to mask the way she’s hurt, the way her voice breaks a little in the end and you want to cry, knowing you’re the cause of all that.

“Look, I’ll be as honest as possible, because y’all deserve that.” It’s out on the table and you have to take a deep breath before the words rush out of your mouth, as if that would make it any better. You don’t know how the others react to what you say, you’re completely zoned in on Toni; she’s the one that matters and you’re begging her to understand that when you say, “I do believe that way of life is a sin,” you really mean “I’ve started hating myself such a long time ago that I can’t remember how not to.”

But she pushes herself up to her feet and spits “I can’t fucking believe it-“ 

Your tongue presses against your dentures when you cut her off. “I’m sorry, but everything I’ve ever known has taught me that.” Your lips on Becca’s and how right it feels, your father looking at you and then stopping to look at you all together, your pleas that it will never happen again, please, it was all Becca. Everything comes rushing in, balled up into a wave of shame and guilt that hits you square in your chest and almost knocks you over. It cuts up your throat from the inside when you say “Look, there’s no hate in my heart, I just feel sorry-“

“Fuck you.” She has you cornered, but there are no smirks, no snarky comments; there’s just the try to mask pain with anger and self hate with believe and you think that maybe this was the game you played all along.

4. i’m not gonna take shit from you

You don’t have time to figure out what it means when you grab the pill and turn around to face her. “Toni, I’m gonna need you to take this, alright?” 

“Stay away from me.” Still, close to passing out and maybe losing her life, she’s angry and proud and snapping but you brush it aside. You don’t have time for this. 

“If I put this in your mouth, can you take it?”

“I’m not gonna take shit from you.” It sounds weak, her voice hoarse and her lips chapped and you don’t have time to figure out why there’s this hot knot building up in you stomach with every word she says.

“It will save your life, Toni, you’re taking the damn pill.” You’re desperate and worried, knot in your stomach, heat in your veins, and when some of the others try to take the pill from you, something inside of you snaps. “Jesus fucking Christ, am I not allowed to help her!?”

You push her over and you don’t have time to figure what it means when your breathing becomes ragged and your whole body feels like it’s being set on fire when you force her to open her damn mouth.

“Swallow the fucking pill.” You're on top of her, one hand covering her mouth to make sure that she doesn’t spit out the pill, the other tangled in her hair, skin on skin and never this close before. It makes your head spin. When you hear her swallow and a flood of relief washes over your body, you’re not sure you want to figure out what that means. It will never happen again.

Toni runs deeper than your skin, she’s in your bones and in your veins and you’re scared shitless. So you do what you do best, and you walk away.

5. you’re free here

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to be pitch perfect every second? To be watched like a hawk for the slightest bit of weight gain or the tiniest wobble in my heal or if my hem is just a centimeter off regulation or if I say the wrong thing about international politics? God, help me.” 

“So you’re complaining about being judged when you literally signed up for that?”

“I know, I - “ You know she’s right. She’s cornered you again. “But I‘m not just talking about pageant stuff. It feels like everywhere I go, somebody is asking me to meet some kind of expectation. It’s a lot is all. The pressure.“ You don’t know how to say it to make her understand - without saying too much, that is. You’re playing the game again and she’s winning.

“Yeah, well, my dad‘s been a no show since day one and my mom is in and out of rehab like it’s a fucking white castle, so nobody expects shit from me. Doesn‘t feel great either.” You hear her voice get rough, close to breaking and she blinks a little harsher than just a minute ago. “Do you know how many field trips I had to bail on, cause no one’s been there to sign my permission slip? You know, I don’t give a fuck about going to the planetarium, you know? It just would’ve been nice to have someone there to say that I could.“ She’s rushing out things you’re not sure anyone else knows, maybe not even Martha, and you’re desperately trying to comprehend all of it.

“Yeah, but-“ 

“Shelby, if you’re trying to out-sad me, it‘s a losing fucking battle.“ She says it with a finality that's so much like her and it breaks your heart. Here you have her, talking to you like she means every word she says and you’re still thinking you’re playing a stupid game.

“But you’re free, don’t you see that? You don’t have to answer to anybody,” you argue and hits closer to home than anything you’ve ever told anyone before-

And then Toni says something that changes everything.

 “And neither do you, not right now anyway.” Your eyes bore into hers and you realize that she’s right. That she knows what she’s talking about. That you’ve been hiding and that you’re tired of it. She keeps talking and you’re too busy staring at her lips and the way her eyebrows are furrowed together in a way to underline the point she’s making, to hear what she’s saying. “I mean, you’re on a deserted island a million miles away from whatever bullshit expectations you left behind. You’re free here, Shelby, and if you’re not taking advantage of that, then I don’t know what the fuck to tell you.“

You’re free here. You’re free. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush in, thumbs on her cheeks and fingers curling around the back of her neck and you finally, finally, finally press your lips against hers. It’s desperate and it’s everything you’ve wanted to do for God knows how long. The way she kisses you back makes you feel closer to God than any prayer ever could and it feels so right until-

My, God.

You pull away and you're staring at her, breath falling short in the back of your throat, lips hot and so caught up in the moment. 

And then it comes crashing in. It will never happen again, please, Dad. It’s not what you think it is. This is not who I am.

You’re free. You’re free and you do what you do best, you run away from it. The difference is, that this time, there’s someone to chase after you.

[quickspinner]

Guard My Heart - Ch 2 Bright as Ever

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

“It looks so great, Marinette!” Tikki squealed and Marinette sat back on her heels and looked up, smiling as she rubbed a forearm across her forehead. 

“It really does,” Marinette agreed, her voice slightly muffled by the mask she was wearing to filter out some of the paint fumes. She laid her paintbrush carefully aside and looked up. “How’s it going up there?” she asked, and dodged a glob of black paint just in time. “Careful,” she scolded, scrubbing at the spot with a rag even though she had a drop cloth on the floor for just this reason.

“My apologies,” Wayzz said above her, moving so that his paintbrush was hovering over the paint can and not Marinette’s head. “You startled me. I am almost done.” 

“Good,” Marinette smiled, and resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. Wayzz was careful, which was why she had selected him to help her with this final stage, filling in the last of the narrow curlicues and flowers she had roughed in days ago. His care came at the price of speed, though, and sometimes his slowness made Marinette want to scream.

It was still more efficient to have Wayzz filling in the upper portion than for Marinette to get up on a ladder to do it, and the kwami was so happy to be helping that she didn’t have the heart to rush him, so she throttled down her impatience and walked out to the middle of the room to spin a slow circle and take it all in. She’d had most of the kwamis in here helping at one time or another, because this would be their home as well and she wanted them to feel some ownership and investment in it. The walls that surrounded her were now a soft pink, with her signature flowers in darker pink and black at all the corners and coordinating scrollwork anywhere that seemed too empty. Framed photographs from her portfolio were stacked in a corner and covered with a cloth. She’d hang those tomorrow, once the paint was dry. The back wall that they were finishing up now had her flower design on a much larger scale, framing the little sales counter. Fixtures and clothing racks were all shoved to the center of the room at the moment, but now that the painting was done, she could start getting that arranged. She wasn’t ahead of her plan by any means, but she was on track.

She noticed a shadow against the paper covering the shop’s front door just before there was a rap on the glass. Marinette waited for Wayzz and Tikki to zip out of sight, and then went to answer it. She was pretty sure she recognized the silhouette, and sure enough, Luka’s friendly grin greeted her as she opened the door. 

“Hi,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I’m trying to move a table and I could use a hand. Would you mind coming over when you have a second?” 

Marinette smiled. “I have a second now,” she said, stepping out and checking her pocket for her key before she let the door close behind her.

Luka chuckled and tapped the mask Marinette was still wearing, and she blushed beneath it. “Oh. Right.” She took it off, embarrassed as she rubbed at the lines she was sure it had left on her face. She opened the door again and dropped the mask back inside, knowing that one of the kwamis would retrieve it for her.

“You could just prop the doors open,” Luka suggested as they walked over to his space. 

Marinette huffed. “I don’t like being watched while I work,” she replied, which was only half a lie. It was true she didn’t especially want people looking in on her while she was contorted around, potentially with her ass in the air, trying to find a good position to do what she needed without leaning into wet paint. Mostly, though, she didn’t want the kwamis on display for any passers-by. 

She smiled a little as Luka held the door of his own shop open and motioned her inside. It had a more industrial warehouse feel, with exposed beams in the walls and ceiling, and low voltage lighting strung over the crowded space. Marinette wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find out the multicolor slat wood flooring had come from the Liberty (it hadn’t, Luka had laughingly assured her when she asked, but he had picked it because it reminded him of home). Really, the whole place felt like the Liberty, and Marinette loved it, right down to the friendly, grinning cement turtle statue sitting by the door. The thing was knee high to Luka and while one couldn’t exactly call him pretty, his shell twinkled with embedded pieces of mosaic tile in many colors, and there was an air of mischievousness in his grinning face that made Marinette smile back every time she saw him. He looked exactly like the kind of thing Anarka would go wild for, regardless of the fact that he was incredibly, impractically heavy. She couldn’t imagine what shipping him had originally cost, and Luka’s story of actually getting it to its place by the door had left Marinette giggling uncontrollably. She was positive from the look on Luka’s face while he told the tale that it was never moving from that spot unless someone both bought it, and was willing to carry it away. 

The whole shop was full of fun, eclectic things like that, as well as some more valuable antiques. Marinette loved it, and could picture in her mind the type of customer Luka was likely to bring in. She hadn’t told him that she’d already started a few sketches for his branding, based around a stylized boat. It had taken her a few days to get over the fact that he’d named his shop Second Chance Antiques and Curiosities . She had nearly laughed in his face when he told her, and that would have been really hard to explain. She’d managed to hold it in until she was alone, and then she and Sass had had a good laugh over it. 

“Sorry I have to keep asking for your help,” Luka grunted, as they both took an end of the table he needed moved and shifted it. “I thought I had a plan, but there’s just so much stuff, I keep having to rearrange.”

“It’ll be easier when you get some customers in here and get some of this stuff—oof—out of your hair.” Marinette sighed as they set the table down in the area Luka had cleared out for it. “Maybe if you used the bigger pieces as sort of...display cases for some of the smaller stuff?” she suggested, stretching her back slightly as she looked around. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Luka sighed, giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.” 

Marinette put her hand on his arm and rubbed it gently. “You will. We’ve both got a lot of lessons to learn, but we’re both adaptable. We’ll make it happen.” 

Luka made an affirmative noise, but sighed again.  

“Luka,” Marinette said gently, and he looked at her with that same not-quite-there smile. 

“I’m okay. Freaking out a little, but I’ll manage. I’ll be fine once the shop opens and things start happening, it’s just...the waiting is getting to me, I guess. It’s not like I don’t have a thousand things left to do to get ready, but...I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself well.” He looked away from her, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was hanging loose today, and the blue looked bright and fresh. He must have done a touch up for opening week, she thought absently, reaching up to tuck a lock behind his ear. His eyes darted to her with something like surprise and she drew her hand back quickly, self-conscious.

“You won’t know what the right choices are until you can get people in and see their reactions,” Marinette suggested, and the smile he gave her was real this time, real and grateful, and she smiled back. “You’re better at reading people in the moment rather than predicting people you don’t know—o-or at least you used to be—so I can see how you’d be frustrated trying to do this without any way to get feedback.”

“You’re not like that,” he muttered, smile falling as he looked back at the shop and sighed. “You’ve probably had a vision and a plan since before you signed the contract.”

Marinette bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re not me, though. It’s okay to do things your way, and not mine. Opening week is important, but it isn’t everything.” 

Luka grinned at her, and Marinette felt her shoulders curl under his knowing look. “It caused you physical pain to say that, didn’t it,” he chuckled.

Marinette scoffed and folded her arms, and then muttered, “Maybe.” 

Luka laughed and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze before letting his arm drop. “Thanks for the pep talk, Marinette.” 

He was smiling now for real, and it didn’t fade, and Marinette felt unreasonably proud about it. She opened her mouth to say something, though she had no idea what, when Luka’s phone beeped a familiar tone. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket, checking the akuma alert. Marinette leaned over without thinking to look as well, dread curling in her gut even as her heart pumped faster.

“It’s not nearby,” Luka assured her, and Marinette sighed, and then her eyes widened and she jerked back a bit as she suddenly realized how she was crowding him. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, quickly, backing up. “I should—”

“Watch out!” Luka was lunging forward before she even registered her calf hitting something hard, and he grabbed her arms just as she pitched backwards with a yelp. “I got you,” he said breathlessly, as he braced his feet and pulled her upright. “Sorry, that scared me,” he said, letting go of her quickly, his hands moving to tug the tail of his shirt nervously and nodding at the glass-top coffee table she had almost fallen into. “You could have really gotten hurt. Please be careful.” He grinned sheepishly. “At least until I get this place a little more organized.” 

“Luka.” Marinette stepped forward and hugged him, and though his arms wrapped immediately back around her, she felt herself blushing, the feel of a man’s body against her instead of a half-grown boy’s suddenly forcibly reminding her that they weren’t teenagers anymore. “Couffaines don’t do organized,” she teased, keeping her head down so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “Stop trying to make it look like you think it’s supposed to, and do it your way. It’ll be fine, and you can adjust from there.” She let go quickly and straightened without looking at him. 

“I have to, um, go finish my painting before it all dries out or...something,” she said quickly, making sure she watched where she was going this time as she walked away from him, face burning. Stupid, why had she done that? Sure, they were friendly, and yeah, they’d fallen fairly easily into something like their old friendship. Luka had clearly meant what he said, about the way friendships come and go, and he seemed perfectly ready to let her take back her place in his life, and it was so easy to just go with it... 

Not exactly her old place, she reminded herself firmly. That was hardly to be expected. He’d always been touch-oriented though, and had been touching her shoulder or her arm or her back just as casually as he ever had, so maybe the hug wasn’t a big deal to him. He probably hugged his friends all the time, and it’s not like he knew that she didn’t. Besides, she used to, and she probably would, if she still had friends—real friends. And Luka was a real friend, so there was nothing wrong with hugging him, especially when he was clearly so worried about whether he could pull off this new business venture. She was freaking out over nothing, surely. She could comfort him; he’d do the same for her—he had done the same for her, so it was her turn , after all, especially being the more experienced when it came to business and marketing, so... 

Marinette rushed through the door of her shop and locked it quickly, and then put her hands over her face and shrieked into them. 

“Marinette,” Tikki said sympathetically, flying up from her purse to pat her shoulder. 

“I know,” Marinette mumbled. “Okay, um...I don’t think I can leave in spots just now without being seen so...let’s go out the back and try that alley a couple blocks over.” 

Transformed and with her mind focused on the goal, she followed the general direction of the alert, and then the screaming, to a fancy restaurant on the roof of a high-rise. Chat was already there, crouched in the remains of the outdoor dining, clearly regrouping. 

“What’s up?” she asked, landing next to him.

“This restaurant’s nearly impossible to get a table at,” Chat said grimly, with none of the joking humor he would have used once. “Big snob energy. Guess they snubbed the wrong person today. Best guess is the akuma’s target is the maitre’d or the manager, unless there was some random civilian that was especially rude. Looks like your standard entitled rich lady to me, though, so I’m betting on a beef with the restaurant.” He glanced at her. “You got here pretty quick today.” 

“I’ve made some changes in my personal life,” she said carefully. “I’m hoping it’ll give me a little more freedom and you won’t have to wait for me so often.”

“Not like I have anything better to do, but I’m not complaining,” Chat grunted. “Give me the plan and let’s go.” 

Ladybug sighed to herself. She had always wished he would take this job more seriously, but something had changed in Chat when they took Hawkmoth down, and while he had improved somewhat since then, clearly he’d been having one of the bad days before the akuma struck. Grim and cynical wasn’t an especially good look on him, and it worried her. 

No time to worry about that now though. “Distract and evacuate,” she said. “We need to get the civilians out of there. Hopefully in the process we can figure out which one it’s specifically targeting.” 

“Works for me.” Chat launched himself forward, ready to go as always, and Ladybug moved only an instant later. 

The akuma was obnoxious and destructive, with heeled shoes that could shatter concrete and a banshee-like scream that left Ladybug’s ears ringing even after the cure. Ladybug winced as she looked back at the trail of destruction. Chat just flopped on his back on the  rooftop. 

“Could’ve used some backup for that one,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, there was no opening,” Ladybug panted, putting her hands on her knees. “I was afraid to leave.” 

“Not blaming you,” he said, with a hint of his old humor in the half smile he managed as he turned his head to look at her. “Just saying. We could really use a hand more often.” 

Ladybug made a neutral noise. She didn’t disagree with him, but…

But, but, but. There was always a but. But the rules . But identities . But it was her responsibility.

“Ladybug,” Chat said, the smile falling away as he watched her expression. “I really didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” she said, her voice coming out a tad too high. “It’s fine.” She held out her fist to him and he rolled over on his side to bump his against it. “I gotta get back.”

“I’m just gonna lay here for a while,” he muttered, and Ladybug sighed, reaching down to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“Don’t stay out too long, Kitty.”

“Yeah, yeah, beep beep. I got it.” He waved his ringed hand at her and then flopped back down to the roof. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on getting stuck on top of this building.”

Ladybug huffed a laugh, and tossed her yoyo.

She transformed a couple of streets away, and glancing at the time, she went up to the apartment instead of back into the shop. Several pairs of large eyes in small faces peeped out as soon as they were sure it was her, and came to circle around her.

“I finished the pieces you asked me to,” Wayzz told her

“We cleaned up the paint and sealed the cans that were left,” Pollen piped up. 

“That’s great,” Marinette said with a tired smile, giving them each a cuddle. “Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“It is the leassst we can do,” Sass observed mildly, bringing a damp cloth to her. Marinette took it gratefully. 

“Where?” she asked, and wiped at the spot Sass patted. The cloth came away smeared with flecks of half-dry pink paint. Ugh, did she have that on her face the whole time she was talking to Luka? How embarrassing. She handed the cloth back when Sass nodded that she was clean. 

“I should go finish,” Marinette sighed, but instead she sat down on the couch. 

“You should eat first, Guardian,” Pollen told her, hovering. “And rest. There isn’t much left to be done. You can finish it tomorrow.”

“She’s right, Marinette,” Tikki piped up, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “You can finish the paint in the morning, and it’s on the other side from the dressing area, so it won’t keep you from getting the curtains up over there or any of the other things you had planned.” 

“It’ll just delay everything by a couple of hours,” Marinette sighed, slumping on the arm of the couch. “I’ll see how I feel after dinner. I’d rather finish it tonight if I can.” 

“Then you’d better go make dinner before you fall asleep on the couch,” Tikki giggled, and Pollen agreed, tugging at Marinette’s fingers. 

“It won’t do for you to be skipping meals!” Pollen scolded. 

“All right, all right,” Marinette giggled, getting up. “I’ll make dinner.” 

The kitchen in her apartment was separated from the living room by a small but usable breakfast bar, so Marinette hadn’t bothered to get a separate table. Instead, she lined up the kwami’s plates on the inside edge and pulled up a stool on the other side of the counter to sit at her own plate. 

She was just finishing up, her thoughts already running on the next things she had to do, when she was distracted by the muffled sound of...a guitar. The kwamis paused in their chatter, and Marinette sat with her fork halfway to her mouth, listening. After a moment she smiled. “It’s Luka,” she murmured. “His apartment probably mirrors ours, so his kitchen and living room must be on the other side of this wall.” Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. “If we can hear him, he can probably hear us if we get too loud. I can pass some noise off as the tv or the radio, but we’ll have to be careful.” The kwamis nodded, but Marinette shot pointed looks at Xuppu, Orikki, and Ziggy in particular. They all made faces at her, but nodded along with the others. 

Everyone was quiet as she finished her meal, smiling as she listened to the wandering guitar. “It’s nice,” she observed to no one in particular. “It’s been a long time since I heard Luka play.” 

It was funny, the effect it had on her. She could feel her shoulders sliding down, and a pleasant calm seeping into her. Had he really made such an impression all those years ago, that she responded so easily to the sound of his guitar even now? She took her dishes to the sink and stood a moment, laying a hand over her heart, and for a moment she heard a different song, 

When she took a breath, though, instead of the scent of metal and river wind, the scent of lemon dish soap filled her nose and brought her back to the present. She smiled at the kwamis, who had busily stacked their little plates next to the sink and were filling it with water and soapsuds. 

Right . All of that was a long time ago, and they were different people now. Still, maybe sometime soon she could come to one of his gigs and hear him play for real, and not through a wall. Though...it was kind of nice, knowing she was the only one who was hearing him right now. She wondered if he knew she could hear him. 

The tune changed, took on a little more purpose, and Marinette smothered a giggle. No, she doubted he realized she could hear, because he probably wouldn’t be caught dead playing Love Me Like You Do with an audience, even if he did give it a bit of a metal makeover. 

She’d have to let him know. Eventually. When she could think of a way to tell him that wouldn’t make him think he had to stop. 

She hummed quietly along as she and the kwami finished washing the dishes.

“Are you going to go back downstairs?” Tikki asked, tilting her head. 

“Mmm...no,” Marinette decided. “There’s still plenty to unpack and put away up here, and you’re right. I can finish the shop in the morning.” 

The next few days were a blur of hard work as opening day got closer and closer. The shop was coming together, and Marinette took comfort in, for once, being able to get everything just right, without anybody telling her it should be different, or complaining that she was too fussy. 

It was exhausting, though, and led to some pretty silly late night giggling with the kwamis as they tried to get her to rest before she made herself totally delirious. 

The day before opening, she walked into Second Chance with a box in her hands, trying not to giggle openly.  

“Hey, Marinette," Luka greeted, looking up from where he was loading up some display shelves near the counter.

“Wow, Luka, it looks great in here,” Marinette said, looking around.

“You were right. When I stopped trying to be strategic and just put things in where they felt like home, it all came together. I’m still not sure it’s the best arrangement, at least it feels comfortable. ” He looked much more relaxed, and his smile was easy and true. 

“I think that will work the best for you in the end,” Marinette smiled. “The right customers will like it, and the ones who don’t, well.” She patted the big cement turtle on the head. “Probably aren’t looking for the kinds of things you’re selling anyway.”

Luka chuckled. “Fair enough. What can I do for you, Marinette?” He slid the case closed and stood, turning to face her. 

Marinette bit her lip, and then held up the small box in her hands. “Well, I...maybe stayed up a little late last night, and I got kind of loopy, and then instead of going to bed like a smart person, I...did something silly. And if you hate it you can say so and I’ll walk right back out and we don’t ever have to speak of this again.”

Luka raised his eyebrows. “That sounds a little dramatic. What, did you make me a lace nightie with matching slippers?”

Marinette burst out laughing. “Okay, you’re right, that would be sillier,” she giggled, setting the box down carefully on a nearby table. “No, it’s not for you actually.” 

“Not for me?” Luka put his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.” 

Marinette giggled again, pulling some things out of the box and turning away from him. “You might not be when you see it.” Impulsively she added, “Turn around.” Luka did, and Marinette hurriedly went to work.

“Okay, you can look now.” She was barely holding back laughter, and when Luka turned around his mouth dropped open.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, covering his mouth with one hand as he approached, trying to smother his laughter. “Marinette. Oh my God.” 

The cement turtle now sported a pair of Eiffel tower sunglasses the exact match to the ones Marinette had made for Jagged years ago. He had a choker of studded leather around his long neck and another cuff around one ankle, and Marinette had hung a guitar made of cardboard and purple glitter on him as well. 

“Tada!” she said, throwing out her hands. “He’s a rock turtle, Luka. Because he’s, you know, rock, I mean I know he’s concrete but it still counts. So now he’s a rock turtle for real.” 

“I think those paint fumes are getting to you,” Luka laughed, and then threw one arm around her neck and kissed her forehead before letting her go. “I love it, thank you. It’s amazing.” 

“He can be your mascot,” Marinette giggled, unreasonably pleased and trying to resist the urge to touch her forehead. He’d done that the way he used to do it to Juleka, after all, and how touch-starved was she, that she kept dwelling on every little gesture of affection he made? It was Luka, after all, and he was just like that. 

But he was smiling, wider than he had in days, and it gave Marinette a sense of accomplishment that more than made up for her tiredness. 

“Ready for the big day?” Luka asked as he crouched to examine the turtle’s new guitar. 

“I think so. Yeah, I am.” Marinette brought her hands up and rubbed her arms. “It feels like I’m going to jinx it, saying that. Like one of those dreams I’m always having where I walk into a class or a client meeting and realize suddenly that I forgot to cover half of what they asked for in my presentation, and I forgot my bra on top of it.” 

Luka laughed, rocking back on his heels to look up at her. “Seriously?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “All the time. Even my subconscious won’t cut me any slack.” 

Luka shook his head. “Marinette, if that ever happened to you in real life, by the end of it you’d have them convinced that they didn’t need all that stuff anyway and wearing bras would immediately go out of style.” 

“What,” said a dry voice, “the hell did I just walk in to?”

Marinette’s head whipped around to look at the door, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the tall, slender woman standing there with her arms loosely crossed and an amused smirk on her face. 

“Hey, Jules,” Luka said, getting up and turning towards her with his arms out. “You made it.” 

“Of course I did, idiot,” Juleka mumbled, but Marinette saw her hide her smile in Luka’s shoulder as she hugged him back. Then, to her mild surprise, Juleka peeked over his shoulder. “Hi, Marinette.” 

“It’s really good to see you, Juleka,” Marinette said warmly. “You look fantastic,” she added, as Juleka came to take her hands and exchange a bise.  

“I have good stylists,” Juleka shrugged. Her hair was still long, but the purple was gone and it was pulled back into a shining French braid, leaving both her amber eyes bare to stare at Marinette. Her makeup was perfect and Marinette remembered that Juleka was a cosmetics model now. Of course she always had to look her best in public. “Luka told me you were opening your own place. I can’t make the opening, but maybe...maybe I could make an appointment to come take a look?” There was something in the old Juleka in the way she asked that question, a slight curl of her shoulders and drop of her head, and the way she pinched one thumb and forefinger tightly together at her side. 

Impulsively Marinette said, “Why don’t you just come over now? Everything’s set up and you can get first pick if there’s anything you like. Not that you should feel like you need to buy anything,” Marinette added hurriedly. “Just, if anything catches your eye or—okay I’m shutting up now, you probably don’t even have time, it doesn’t have to be now—just, whenever is good! If you want.” She closed her mouth abruptly before she could trip into another line of babble.

Juleka smiled, her head tilting slightly as if she were still peeking through that curtain of bangs. “I’d love to come over now, if that’s okay.” 

“Really?” Marinette brightened, embarrassment forgotten. “Awesome! I’d love to have your opinion on—well, everything, to be honest.” 

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

“Oh sure,” Luka mocked, and Marinette jumped a little, looking at him. “You said you were coming to see me, but really you just wanted a sneak peek at Marinette’s clothes. I see where I rate.”

“As long as we’re clear,” Juleka huffed, and walked out of the door. Marinette stood gaping like a fish for a moment, and then followed her, shooting Luka an apologetic look over her shoulder.

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” she said, but Luka, smiling, just rolled his eyes and waved her on. 

Juleka didn’t exactly gush; she was too collected for that, but her quiet smile and nod of approval as she looked around was more encouraging than a flood of compliments. “It has good energy,” she murmured. “Very you. Gives a sense of your brand from the beginning. I like it.” 

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled, sincerely grateful.

“It looks like a lot of work.” 

“It was,” Marinette sighed, “But it’s so worth it to see it come together. It’s scary to be doing this all my own, but at least I can make things exactly the way I want them.” She pointed out the curtained dressing rooms, and the pedestal in front of the (very expensive, even second hand) full-length three-way mirror. “I’m planning to do alterations and fittings as well,” Marinette explained, “On anything, not just my clothes. In a limited capacity, of course, so that I still have time to keep the shop stocked. I’m actually hoping to bring in lines from a couple of other independent designers—people I met in school that have an aesthetic that will fit in with mine, just to broaden the range of what I can offer, but...well, I kind of wanted to open with my own things first.” She smiled ruefully and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to drag anybody down with me if I go under in the first month.” 

Juleka laughed, and Marinette smiled at the sound of it. “I’m sure that won’t happen,” Juleka assured her, still smiling. “These pieces are gorgeous,” she added, motioning to the photographs on the wall. 

“It’s nice to see you happy,” Marinette said without thinking, and then bit her lip. 

Juleka seemed to freeze for a long moment, and then she took a long breath that reminded Marinette of Luka. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it,” Juleka said quietly, that slight curl in her shoulders again. “I—I’m...sorry, that we gave you such a hard time back when we were kids. I...understand better now. This is a tough industry and you have to be dedicated and motivated to succeed. I’m sorry that we...well, I don’t think any of us meant to be holding you back, but I understand how it might have felt that way to you.” 

“Oh…” Marinette said lamely, looking away and moving to fiddle with the nearest garment rack. “I didn’t—I mean, I felt bad that I had to bail on you guys so much, but I didn’t feel that way. I just thought, you know, you guys were right and if I wasn’t being the kind of friend you needed...it was okay. You’d have every right to be just as mad at me for choosing my career over you even at such a young age. I was ditching you a lot, and...I could have done things differently. Handled it better.”

“You had a life beyond school and beyond us,” Juleka insisted, folding her arms uncomfortably. “It was wrong of us to try and take that from you. I don’t know, maybe we felt guilty that we weren’t working as hard, or something, but...we could have made it work. We always made exceptions for Adrien because he was working a career outside of school. We should have at least extended the same courtesy to you. Especially when it was obvious even then how talented and driven you were. You’ve got what it takes to really make it, and it was wrong of us to get in the way of that when we should have been cheering you on.”

Marinette’s hands stilled for a moment, and it was her turn to take a slow breath. She felt a twinge of guilt, because Juleka of course didn’t know the whole story. It hadn’t been wholly for the sake of her future career that she’d bailed on her friends so often, and it hadn’t been determination to drive forward at all costs that had caused her to stop trying so hard to meet her friends halfway. Her reasons had neither been selfish nor noble. She just hadn’t had the energy to keep up the front any longer.

But she couldn’t explain it now any more than she could then, so all she could say was a quiet, “Thank you, Juleka.” She took another breath and lifted her head, trying to smile. “You really don’t need to apologize, though. I never held anything against you guys. Besides, we were kids.” Juleka relaxed a little, though she still held herself a bit stiffly. 

Time to change the mood. Marinette rallied her spirits and put the most genuine grin on her face that she could muster as she faced Juleka. “Come on,” she said brightly, moving over to one of the other racks and gesturing enthusiastically for Juleka to follow her. “I have some things that I bet will look great on you.” 

They already had several outfits laid aside for Juleka to purchase when Luka knocked and came in the door, the little bell Marinette had hung over it chiming cheerfully. 

“Hi Luka,” Marinette smiled, looking up from where she was laying another dress across the sales counter. “Sorry, I guess we took up more time than I realized. Did you get bored?”

“Just wondering if my sister is still going to buy me dinner,” Luka grinned. “I’m starving here.” 

“Then hurry up and die so we don’t have to listen to you,” Juleka called from the dressing room. 

“I’m wasting away slowly ,” he called back. “I’ll continue to exist on spite until you feed me.” 

“Do you need any help, Juleka?” Marinette asked, trying to keep her giggles out of her voice.

“No, I think I’ve—there. Oh, I like this one, Marinette!” Juleka pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. 

“Hm, needs a little tailoring, but only a little,” Marinette said, eyes fastened on the garment, as Juleka made a slow turn. “Let me just—” She stepped over with a couple of clips in her hand and took the slack out of the dress in a couple of key places, clipping it in place. “There. And of course I can adjust the hem if you need it, but I think this length is pretty good on you actually. What do you think, Luka?” She turned and blinked at the look on his face as he stared at his sister. He looked...happy, but his face was crinkling up in a weird way that she didn’t understand. 

“You look beautiful, Juleka,” Luka said, and had to clear his throat. 

“Don’t you dare,” Juleka warned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare get mushy on me again.”

“Better,” Luka continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re poised and confident and...I’m just so proud of you. Five years ago that dress would have overpowered you and now look at you.” 

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Juleka asked, rolling her eyes.

“I might,” Luka said, and his voice did sound a little thick. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“I swear he’s cried at every single one of the photo shoots I was dumb enough to bring him to,” Juleka grumbled, giving Marinette a look of longsuffering. 

Marinette giggled as she stepped close again and adjusted a clip. “He loves you.” 

“He’s a sap,” Juleka groaned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Luka and Marinette said in unison, and Juleka snorted. 

“You two are made for each other,” she muttered, and then looked back with concern when Marinette somehow got the web of her thumb pinched in the clip and yelped.

“Fine, I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, fixing the clip. “There. Take a look.”

She helped Juleka up onto the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror, and Juleka sighed. “I love it,” she said, glancing at the two dresses and the suit that were already on the counter. “I better not try on anything else though. It’d be a pain dragging Luka’s corpse out of the shop, and I’m going to go broke if you pull out any more perfect outfits. Can you check me out for these, and we can make an appointment for the tailoring later?” 

“Sure! Give me just a second.” Marinette gave her a sheepish smile. “The POS system is new and it might take me a minute to figure it out. Actually you’re doing me an extra favor by letting me try this thing out before I put it through its paces tomorrow.”

“Hey, can I take a look?” Luka asked, moving around the counter at her gesture. “I still haven’t settled on one yet. I’ve got some ancient thing a buddy loaned me, but I’m hoping I can upgrade in a few months.” He leaned on the counter next to her and grinned. “I’m not above profiting from the months of research I’m sure you did before settling on one.”

Marinette giggled, shoving him with her elbow. “Off the counter,” she ordered. “You have no idea how many practice runs I had to do with the resin to get good enough to do a project this size.”

“I can tell,” Luka said, straightening. ”It looks really cool.” 

“You’ve really made the shop yours in such a short time,” Juleka said, looking at the countertop. “Everything about it just screams Marinette.” 

Marinette blushed, and picked up the tablet, tried to focus on walking Luka through the steps of the POS system, explaining the features that had made her go with this system as he leaned close to watch. He smelled different than he used to, she thought absently. Not so much sunscreen and fresh air and teenage boy. He wore cologne now, pleasantly subtle, and only noticeable when he was close like this. It was a more mature scent but it suited him. 

“And then Juleka can put her card in here,” Marinette said, pointing to the slot in a stand on the counter. Juleka did so, and after a moment the machine beeped. “And...there we go.” She showed Luka the screen. 

“Huh. Do you use it for inventory management much?” Luka asked, leaning one hand on the counter next to her as he watched her navigate the menus. She jumped a little when her shoulder brushed his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

Marinette cleared her throat. “W-well like you, I don’t really have standard inventory, everything is unique, so it’s a bit more work to keep the system updated, but—uh—” He was looking at her and not the screen, attentive, and Marinette’s thoughts began to scatter.   

“Shameless,” Juleka sighed, shaking her head, and they both looked up at her. She smirked at Luka, and Marinette felt her face redden though she couldn’t have said why. 

“Me?” Luka said innocently, straightening away from Marinette and putting his hand on his chest. Marinette was surprised to see his ears were red, and it only made her feel more flustered.

Juleka snorted. “I can’t believe you’re taking advantage of Marinette like this, you lazy jerk. I bet you cheated on your tests at school too.”

“I sat next to Dingo ,” Luka reminded her, rolling his eyes. “Believe me, I wasn’t the one cheating.” 

“Whatever,” Juleka rolled her eyes. “So can we go now? I thought you were so—” Her lips curled in a smirk. “Hungry. Or was it thirsty?”

“I’m ready when you are,” Luka said quickly, coming back around the counter. “Thanks, Marinette.” 

Marinette moved quickly to get a garment bag and package up Juleka’s purchases. It was Luka, though who took them from her with a warm smile. “Congrats on your first sale,” he told her with a wink, and Marinette felt that blush again. 

“It’s hardly her first sale,” Juleka pointed out, picking up a small stack of Marinette’s business cards from the holder on the counter and slipping them into her pocket. “She’s been selling since collége.” 

Luka rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “First sale from your first shop—first brick and mortar shop,” he hastily corrected, when Juleka opened her mouth again. “Juleka, you’re such a pain.” 

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to compliment a girl, you need to be accurate,” Juleka smirked, as Luka began shoving her toward the door. “Good luck with your grand opening, Marinette,” she called back. “I’ll pass your info around the next time I’m in the studio!”

“That would be great. Thanks for coming by, Juleka!” Marinette called, waving. 

“Why do you have to make everything weird?” she heard Luka mutter as he pushed the door open for his sister and nearly shoved her out of it.

“It’s not my fault you just are weird,” Juleka retorted, and gave Marinette one more wave before the door closed behind them. “Especially around—” The door cut her off, and Marinette turned and buried her face in her hands, not at all relaxed by the giggling that began in several hidden corners of the shop.

“Traitors,” she mumbled, and took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Pollen said kindly, coming to light on her arm. “You should be proud!”

“Yes!” Tikki agreed, popping out of Marinette’s purse and coming to sit next to Pollen.  “That was your first client consult for your brand new shop! And it went amazing! Four outfits!”

“And you impressed Luka,” Mullo pointed out, emerging from one of the garment racks. “He seemed to think you were very knowledgeable. ” The kwami giggled and poked Marinette’s blushing cheek. Marinette swatted at him, pouting, but he just phased through her hand with a toothy grin.

“Luka just needed some information,” Marinette countered, ignoring the snorting giggles that came from all three kwamis. “And Juleka was just being nice. “Though...I suppose she could have been nice without spending quite so much money,” she conceded. “It’ll be great for business if she wears the clothes, too...she works in exactly the kind of circles where word of mouth will be really valuable.” Marinette picked up her tablet and smiled as she punched up her sales history, and looked at the transaction there. “Well...I guess this does make us official, doesn’t it.” She held out her fist and Tikki, Pollen, and Mullo bumped it all in turn. “Come on, let’s get back to work and see how much we can finish up. I want to try and take it easy tonight. I can’t show up at the big opening looking like death.”

Fiction Master Post | LBSC 2021 Exchange Collection

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump day 3

Prompt: imprisonment

Warnings: medical trauma

read on AO3!

A Long Way Down

Bright lights pass in quick variables, and it takes Obi-Wan a moment longer than it should to realize he's lying on a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face and wires and cuffs on every available piece of skin. He groans, catching the attention of Commander Cody who is running beside the stretcher.

"Not to worry, General, we are almost at the med bay."

That is exactly why I am worried.

He reaches up slowly to pull the mask off his face as the stretcher slows, looking up at his Marshall Commander. "Cody... what happened?"

"An explosion, sir. Tunnel collapsed," he pauses. Cody already knows his follow up question. "The men are okay. You... Force-pushed them out of the way."

Well, that explains why my body feels like it has been crushed under a ton of rocks... supposedly it has. 

Obi-Wan has no memory of this, but from the grim looks on the faces of all the troopers surrounding him he suspects he 1. doesn't look good and 2. is as bad as he looks.

"How bad?" he asks as they guide the stretcher into the med bay and stop it next to a bed.

Cody looks at Helix, the medical clone who seems to be trying hard not to make eye contact with him. With the penetrating stare of both his Commander and General, Helix finally looks up from the datapad.

"We're gonna have to dunk you, General."

He blinks, letting the words slowly settle into his discombobulated brain. Usually, he would protest. Make a fuss about being fine, because usually, he is, and medical can put their resources elsewhere. Usually, they would lock the doors as soon as he enters-- he glances over and yes, they did. What am I going to do, run? Obi-Wan is fairly sure both of his legs are crushed judging from the odd angles they are at, so he isn't sure how they expect him to make a break for it.

But today, Obi-Wan just lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling. He cannot protest because the tightness in his throat won't let him. He's afraid to open his mouth again because if he does his words will turn into sobs and his men do not deserve to see their General cry.

He can feel Cody and Helix's surprise. He doesn't have to look at them to know they are now even more concerned for him now that he hasn't tried to raise hell about being taken to medical. But they also seem to be relieved, so at least he can give them that respite.

He stares at the ceiling as movement begins to happen around him. Medical troopers pulling at the needles and sensors, inserting new ones. It all fades into a blur of hands touching him gently but firmly, frequent pinches and jolts of sharp pain, and the cool stickiness of applicators against his skin. Obi-Wan just stares at the ceiling.

He is fairly convinced that every medical facility has the same designer. Even the Jedi Halls of Healing have walls that are stark white. Sterile white. So bright they rival the glow of the iridescent lights, which is a design flaw in his opinion. Obi-Wan has spent a lot of time seeing these ceilings-- but not because he has spent a lot of time in medical. There is a reason he doesn't like to end up in the med bay, and the reason haunts him every time there is even a prospect of him having to go to see a healer.

Seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had feet too big for his body. It's like he began to hit a spurt, but only his feet realized that growth was the plan and the rest of his body was still figuring out how to stretch his small stature a few inches taller. It gave him the unfortunate nickname of Oafy-Wan, coined by his age-mates who he didn't exactly consider his friends. His clumsiness wasn't horrible, but it was distinctive enough to cause him a bit of trouble when practicing lightsaber katas and doing his physical activity tests.

On this particular day, seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had already had a very bad day. He fell in the middle of a practice spar in front of everyone. He wasn't even doing an acrobatic move or anything, he just fell over his own feet. The roar of “Oafy-Wan” was the only thing he could hear as he stared at the floor in shock of how quickly everything had transpired. Despite Bant's sympathetic reassurance and his other friends trying to overpower the chant, he spent the rest of the lesson trying to make himself as small as possible.

His pouting continued through the day, even to their long-awaited field trip to the Senate Rotunda. He walked with his creche mates, tuning out of their excited conversation of seeing the massive Galactic Senate chambers and instead focusing on the speeders rushing past just meters away from them. He wished to just jump into one and speed away from it all. Despite his prior excitement for this journey out of the Temple, he now wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and curl up in his bed.

"Don't trip, Oafy-Wan," a familiar snide voice rings in his ear. He turns to see Bruck Chun, one of his age-mates that often leads the cause against him, sneering at him. "It's a long way down."

They're walking along a more narrow section of the street. Just a few meters to the left there is a deep chasm that goes into the lower depths of Coruscant. So deep he cannot see the bottom.

Obi-Wan brushes him away, in no mood to deal with him. "Get lost, Bruck." His arm presses into Bruck's side, pushing him away, which is not to the pleasure of his age-mate. Bruck's eyes narrow, and he jabs his elbow into Obi-Wan's back.

"Don't push me."

Anger surges in Obi-Wan's chest as he staggers forward. He whirls around and uses both hands to push Bruck into the wall of the building they are passing. A few initiates have stopped now to watch them, but as they stand at the back of the group the mass have not noticed their tussle.

"Funny, it seems I'm doing just that."

Bruck runs at him this time, his anger potent in the Force, and Obi-Wan suddenly has the clarity that maybe this isn't a good idea. He jumps out of the way of Bruck's charge, vaguely aware he is standing at the edge of the street now. Bruck skids to a stop.

"Coward," he spits, just as the Master leading their field trip calls for them to stop lagging.

Obi-Wan avoids Bruck's gaze as he passes by him, pointedly smacking his shoulder into his. Obi-Wan sighs, and turns to join the group.

As he turns, he finds himself suddenly caught in the air stream of a speeder that is too close to the sidewalk. He feels his small body lifted off the ground, and he flails in fear at the lack of anything for him to grab onto. A chorus of yelling erupts, most of them either calling his name or Master Vant. Obi-Wan can see the ground, and he tries to position his feet to land there, but another passing speeder sends him into a tailspin.

And Obi-Wan falls.

Even years later as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan remembers falling down that speeder shaft. When he thinks about it he can hear the screams of his friends as they watched him fall. He can see them peering over the side. Master Vant running up and raising her hand to reach for him in the Force.

Had she reached him a moment earlier she probably could have saved him. But his downward momentum was suddenly ceased as he crashed against a speeder before she had the chance to cushion his descent. And he was met with horrendous pain and the taste of blood. Much like how he feels laying in the med bay now. Everything afterward was a blur.

"Are you ready, General?" Helix asks. Obi-Wan looks past him to see the bacta tank is all set up. Obi-Wan swallows hard, and he says nothing, but Helix takes that as a yes. His stretcher starts to float toward the tank, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the horrible memories come rushing back.

Choking. Obi-Wan expected to wake up in a reality beyond life-- he truly believed he would be returned to the Force, but instead, he woke up choking. He started to panic before he opened his eyes, and when he finally tried to find the reason for his restrictive breathing the initiate realized he can't see either.

He tries to thrash around, but his movements seem to be restricted somehow. Like he is tied up, but he can't feel bounds. His body just isn’t listening to him, which is even more terrifying. He tries to blink through the thick goo that seems to be covering his eyes, but it won't clear. It burns instead. He's trapped in a senseless prison, and he lets his panic radiate outward into the Force. He needs someone to hear him. Find him. Anything.

The Force responds with a collective feeling of shock. He repeats his plea for freedom, and finally, he hears something. Distant talking. Yelling, actually. Frantic. There is the deafening sound of suction, and then Obi-Wan is falling again. Slower than before but in his mind's eye he sees his friends staring down at him. Laughing at him. Oafy-Wan! They cackle. It's a long way down.

He hits the floor. The gel material that once encased him sloshes everywhere. His body curls into a ball and he feels many pairs of hands grabbing him and positioning him onto his back despite his protests. The touches are not comforting. Their goal seems to be to push him right back into the place he just escaped, and he begins to sob in terror. The voices are blending together as his vision begins to tunnel again.

"...sedative wasn't enough."

"How did he wake..."

"Get him back under!"

It was explained to him by one healer that his IV fell out of his arm. Another told him that the dosage was too light. A third said the adrenaline caused his metabolism to spike, making the correct dosage go quicker. Obi-Wan isn't sure why he woke up while in the bacta tank that day, but he suspects knowing the reason wouldn't have changed the panic he feels every time he has to take a dunk.

Obi-Wan grabs Helix's arm as he is about to inject his IV. The medic freezes and looks down at him.

"You have my correct doses from the Temple, correct? For the general anesthetic?"

Helix blinks before nodding. "Of course, General."

"And you know Jedi tend to metabolize quicker as well? You will have someone monitoring my consciousness?"

"Yes sir, we have detailed training from your healers on Jedi care. We will ensure you receive the right dose and don't get too much anesthetic."

He nods with wide eyes. His medic is slightly off in the reason for his inquiries, but it is comforting enough.

Even so, as the drugs begin to take him under he can't help but feel like he is seven again. Faded conversations of the medical troopers become the hushed words between Jedi Healers. The same fear of waking up within the tank again grips him with an iron fist around his already-intubated throat.

Never again could he look at a bacta tank and see it as an innovative medical advance. To Obi-Wan, it is a torturous prison that causes his fear to shamefully make an appearance.

He is positioned into the tank. The transperisteel doors close around him, and already he can feel his heart rate elevating. Why am I not asleep yet? Why am I still awake for this? Am I to do this conscious?

The bacta starts to fill at his feet slowly. He feels the urge to lift his legs and climb away from the rising gel, but his body has already separated from his mind. He cannot slam his fists against the doors and beg to be let free. Cannot scream with the tube down his throat.

As the bacta reaches his knees, he finally feels the heaviness reach his eyes, and Obi-Wan says a last plea to the Force to let him stay asleep for the entirety of his imprisonment.

[tros-for-dinner]

Like, okay, I need to talk about trauma a second

I’m reading The Body Keeps the Score right now - it’s a pretty comprehensive book about PTSD and trauma, and treatment of trauma-related mental illnesses and, like, I just keep thinking about Kylo (Ben)

In one sentence: Kylo is a deeply traumatized man and I can’t stop thinking about it.

As a general rule I don’t care about the ancillary materials, but “absentee parents” and “being left with droid caretakers that tried to kill him” is trauma - he didn’t have someone to comfort him and his usual caretakers weren’t safe. He probably started acting out, as what happens to kids that go through that. He was also deeply empathetic (metaphorically represented by being strong in the Force) so every lie that was told to him, every time someone feared him because of his ancestors, every time someone tried to use him because of his family - those are all wounds, too. Then, maybe because he was acting out, maybe because he was a deeply religious kid, he goes to live the ascetic life with his beloved Uncle Luke.

And I know this is my own headcanon, but knowing what I now know about trauma: he was still suffering the emotional effects of trauma. The fear, the mistrust, the anxiety, the anger - his fellow Force-sensitive students (and Luke) could feel those emotions. In the Jedi tradition, you either shut that shit down or you’re assumed to be on the road to the Dark Side.

Here’s the problem: the fear, the anxiety, the anger triggered by the pain of trauma can’t just be meditated away. It’s fight/flight instinct; it’s literally the oldest, most sub-conscious part of the brain reacting to the memory of pain and trying to prevent future pain. You can’t control it. You can’t reason with it. You either heal it or it controls you.

Luke can feel that his methods aren’t working but he hasn’t been trained in psychology so he has no idea how to fix this problem. Luke is deeply afraid of the Dark Side, and he was taught that emotions - a deeply-rooted function of the brain - are inherently ‘evil’ and cause self-destruction for the Jedi. Luke has a “all or nothing” “either I do it all or I’m a failure” mindset so he starts feeling despair at the bitter taste of failure. One night, out of pure fear, he takes an uninhibited look into his nephew’s mind (notably, without his consent) and sees how bad things could be in the future. For an instant, he honestly considers killing Ben to prevent that future from happening.

Here’s a question: what would you do if you woke up to a trusted, beloved family member pointing a loaded, safety-off shotgun at you, and you could feel without a doubt that they were definitely ready to kill you?

You would feel abject terror. Wounds from trusted loved ones can be the most painful, and this was a wound that eclipsed every other in Ben’s life. He escapes, and then falls into the hands of Snoke.

(I hate how the ancillary materials totally erased Ben’s agency by making Snoke influence his mind even before he was born. Grooming from a young age? That would have been fine. But as it is, it’s a supernatural element that oversimplifies and makes unbelievable a story that could have been more powerful.)

In my mind, Snoke doesn’t even have to be Force-sensitive: his gift is that he can tell what people wants, and he controls those people by promising what they want (and getting his victims just close enough to what they want so they keep coming back for more).

So he sees Ben and sees the perfect mark: someone who believes they’re inherently a bad person (drowning in shame, an instinct that is extremely self-isolating), enraged with pain, who has been indoctrinated into black-and-white thinking by the culture/religion he grew up in.

Snoke promises Ben 1. respect (i.e. a form of connection in which you don’t have to be vulnerable) and 2. power (which appeals to Ben’s helplessness).

All of us wear different “hats” depending on the situation we’re in: at work, we wear Customer Service or Manager hats. At home, we wear Caregiver or Partner or Roommate hats. Walking out to our cars in the dark, or taking the bus in a bad neighborhood, we might swagger with a Don’t Fuck With Me attitude. We hide or reveal parts of our personality depending on the tools we need in the situation.

Ben creates a persona to hide his shame, protect himself from vulnerability, and deaden the part of his conscience that objects to being part of an organization that is hurting people like his family was hurt. This persona is named Kylo Ren, and it uses the mask and robes like a magic spell to summon the gravitas and influence of his ancestor. But most importantly, the mask and robes shield him from the outside world as protection, but also to hide his shame and any emotions that aren’t ‘acceptable’ (’acceptable’ being anger, mostly).

The thing about shame is that it separates us from the people around us, preventing us from making meaningful connections. This is devastating to the human mind, because humans survive in groups (and our brain evolved to seek groups out). Bringing shame out into the light in the presence of someone you trust is usually enough to exorcise it.

Kylo doesn’t have anyone he can trust, and he is drowning in shame. He is totally isolated and knows he’s nothing but a weapon in Snoke’s hand. Snoke cultivates his shame and isolation because it makes Kylo easy to control. But then, totally by happenstance, Kylo meets Rey.

I hear people talk about ‘the power of love’ and I used to think it was total bullshit. I realize now that’s because visual media usually simplifies ‘love’ into ‘physical attraction’. In reality, love contains a spectrum of elements that are essential to a healthy, functioning mind. Specifically: a place you feel safe (a place where you feel trust, where you feel genuine connection, where you feel wanted, where you feel heard and seen and understood). The entire spectrum of intimacy (emotional, physical, and sexual) spans this need for a place to feel safe and known.

So Kylo meets this girl and a couple of things happen. 1. he realizes he isn’t actually alone. There is someone in the whole of the galaxy who might be his equal. 2. Totally inadvertently, Rey exposes his deepest shame (that he can’t live up to the legacy, that he is hurting himself for nothing) and brings it out into the light.

And, like, all of that would be disrupting enough, but then something even more important happens. See, Snoke built the expectation in Kylo’s mind that if Kylo cut away everyone who loved him, Kylo would be stronger, would be more powerful. Kylo gets the opportunity to cut away his father in the most final way - to kill him - and he takes the opportunity.

As soon as he kills Han - the very second after he ignites his saber - he realizes that Snoke was lying. It didn’t make him more powerful, it just makes things worse.

So while he’s reeling from that realization, his mind instinctively reaches out for connection, for people who might understand. I once read a meta that the Force Skype scenes in TLJ are initiated when Rey feels lonely, which I totally 100% buy into, but I’d suggest the connection happens when both of them are feeling lonely or hurt.

As far as I’m concerned, they bridged their own minds - Snoke took credit because he knew that would be devastating to Ben. Ben and Rey experience emotional intimacy and through their connection, they both start to heal a little from their individual traumas.

I went on a bit of a tangent there but here’s what I’m trying to get to: trauma doesn’t just go away. You don’t just flip a switch, forget about the past, and move on with your life. If you don’t heal, then that trauma and the damage to your brain persists. It takes time and an enduring safe place to heal. So I’m sitting here, trying to imagine what that healing could look like in-universe. And I’m just thinking about the fact that Episode 9 could have been about healing. They gave Rey the gift of healing. The moviemakers had a love story all wrapped up in a bow that could have been a metaphor for the healing power of love. They had all these traumatized characters that could have experienced healing. We, the audience, could have experienced the healing power of catharsis.

And in conclusion, I’m just thinking about Adam Driver performing this incredibly relatable character and TLJ’s Reylo and Luke&Rey plotlines being what they are - and just feeling deep gratitude. 

[cozykozume]

Growing Pains

Slow Burn Tendou x f!reader

Chapter 2 - Lunch Date

WC: 1734

OC’s below:

Daiki, Ho-sook, Jules, Sofia - Readers high-school friends

Jazmin - Daichi’s girlfriend

Lysette - Ushijima’s girlfriend

Ayanna - Kuroo's girlfriend

I have tried to keep any identifying information out (body type, skin tone, hair color, etc.) but there may be some instances where it alludes to a curvier y/n.

Thank you so so much to all my beta readers so far, especially @hispipsqueak, @lemonadencran and @anime-nymph​

Once again, you found yourself closely following Tendou as he walked through campus. And once again, your mind was telling you that it was a bad idea but your body did not care to listen. Following around an upperclassman on your first day of orientation? You were pretty sure you had heard horror stories like this on the internet before. You slowed down, looking around to see less people and more nature. Tendou looked back at you as you stopped in your tracks, looking around at the trees and flowers that surrounded you.

“Are we even on campus anymore?” You asked, taking in the beauty around you but still trying to remain vigilant.

“Well technically, no. But also kind of. This is a park that the school owns, but it’s not considered part of the campus. It’s right here though so a lot of people come here to study, eat lunch, and sometimes they even come here on dates…” He said, wiggling his eyebrows in a cheesy way. That brought a smile to your face. You guessed that he could sense the tension that was radiating off you because he added, “Hey you know, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or like, do anything weird. I just noticed that you were stuck to yourself for most of the day and thought you might need someone to help bring you out of your shell.” He said, his voice no longer holding the sarcasm or teasing tone from earlier.

“Sooo, you started talking to me because you felt sorry for me?” You asked, your eyes narrowing slightly as you looked at him.

“Well no. I mean yeah, but no. I didn’t feel sorry for you! I just thought you might like someone to talk to, that’s all. Friends are hard. Ah-. No, what I meant is making friends can be hard and mayb-”

You cut him off as you erupted with laughter. It was now his turn for him to narrow his eyes at you. “Sorry, I had to,” you said in between giggles. “You’ve been teasing me since you started talking to me and I had to get back at you somehow.”

It was now Tendou’s turn to blush, the tips of his ears almost blending in with his hair. “Yeah yeah yeah. Do you want to come eat with me or not?”

You nodded your head, quickly walking to catch up to him. You smiled up at him, reaching around to grab your lunch from your backpack as well. The two of you continued to walk in silence, Tendou peeking at you every now and then. As if he could read your mind, he turned down a side path that led to a small concrete table with stumps for chairs. He smiled as he ushered you to the table, pretending to dust away the dirt and leaves as he sat down and looked at you, expecting you to follow suit. You smiled, sitting down across from him and unpacking your lunch. Tendou smirked as you pulled out a pb and j sandwich along with a small bag of blueberries. “A simple meal for a simple girl I’m guessing?” He said, his cheeks morphing into a soft pink as you smiled at him.

“Simple meal, yes. Simple girl? Probably not.”

He laughed, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before pulling out his lunch.

For some reason, you expected his lunch to be over the top, much like his personality seemed to be. But of course, going against what you thought you knew about him, he pulled out a container with white rice and steamed veggies. Tendou watched your face as you eyed his lunch, trying to gauge your reaction. “Not what you were expecting?” he said, the tone of his voice teetering between sarcasm and teasing.

“As a matter of fact, no.” You said, smiling and unwrapping your sandwich. “I just assumed that you would have something much more complicated, much like your personality.” You glanced at him through your eyelashes, trying to read his face while he stared off into the trees deep in thought.

“I guess it’s a simple meal for a complex guy…” He said, his voice almost a whisper. You looked up at him, no longer hiding the fact you were trying to read him. He was there physically, but the look in his eyes said that he was anywhere but.

Like a snap of the fingers, his eyes were focused back on you and his guard back up. Even if just for a moment, you could see what you thought was the real Tendou. Not the mask he put on for other people to see, but the real, raw emotions that were Tendou Satori. He smiled, waving his hand in front of your face. “Hellooo. Earth to y/n...Anyone in there?” He said, laughing softly as you shook your head and brought yourself back to reality.

“Sorry...I get lost in my head sometimes…” You said, trailing off as you took a bite of your sandwich.

“Nope nope...I get it.” he mumbled as he pulled the top off his lunch.

You two ate peacefully, conversation flowing naturally between the comfortable moments of silence. You and Tendou both jumped slightly when his phone rang, Tendou fumbling with his bag to get it out. He got up to take the call, walking past you towards the main pathway. You looked back at him, popping a blueberry into your mouth. Before you can turn back around he locked eyes with you, a silly smile spreading across his face. In return, of course, you couldn’t help but smile back, dramatically rolling your eyes before turning back around.

The butterflies in your stomach felt like they were going to lift you into the air. You had known this man for a few hours and yet he was creating emotions that you were unfamiliar with. It wasn’t that you never had a crush before now, more so that you had never felt so comfortable being yourself around another person. In theory you could be open with your friends, but it wasn’t necessarily the most authentic you. Most of the time, you had to put on a mask of some kind whenever you interacted with anyone. You felt as though you always had to be “on” around them, always ready for any joke or jab they threw your way..

But around Tendou, for some reason, you felt relaxed. You could enjoy the silence around you, observing your surroundings as a temporary part of the scenery. It was almost like he could sense when you wanted to joke around and when you wanted to just exist; but nothing more. And this was after only a few hours of being acquainted with each other.

You were once again lost in thought as Tendou walked back toward the table, his hand lightly squeezing your shoulder before sitting down across from you. “Kuroo just called and let me know that the groups are going to be meeting back up in about twenty minutes so we should head back in ten.”

Tendou smiled softly before looking down at his lunch, the look of disappointment that swept across your face for a brief second caused his stomach to flutter.

“Not going to lie...I am actually enjoying it out here. The orientation is just a bit much for me, especially since I don’t really have that much in common with my group.” You said, taking the last bite of your sandwich before balling up the trash and shoving it into your bag. Tendou nodded his head, slowly chewing the veggies as he thought over your statement.

“Yeah I could see that. This group seems to have a lot of people who already know each other. I’m guessing from high school since a lot of them are commuters. It’ll be easier to get to know people in your dorm and the café.”

“Well maybe if someone didn’t steal me away to each lunch by ourselves on my first day I would have met plenty of people…” You mumbled, finishing off your blueberries with a smirk.

Tendou closed his container, slipping it back into his bag. “Or maybe I just needed to make sure I got to leave a good impression on you before you met anyone else on campus…” He murmured before quickly standing up and tossing his bag over his shoulder. “Alrighty then. Ready to head back?” He said, almost a little too loud for the setting you were in.

You smiled, standing and dusting off your butt before slipping your bag on. “Yes yes. Let’s hurry back before we miss any of the ‘super fun-tastic activities’ they have planned for us.”

Tendou reached his hand out, looking back at you as he waited. Grabbing his hand without much thought behind it, you began walking back to the main path. You both stayed quiet for a moment, walking slowly towards campus. “You know...Suga would be so hurt to hear you say that...He and Kuroo planned all this out just so you all could have a ‘super fun-tastic time’.” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder.

The comfortable silence once again fell over you two, your mind wandering while Tendou led you both back to the group. Before you knew it, the two of you were surrounded by freshmen in bright orange tee shirts that matched your own. It wasn’t until you heard hushed whispers and giggles that you realized you and Tendou’s hands were still locked together. You slowly let go of his hand, intertwining your fingers together in front of you as you looked up at him. He smiled, dropping his guard slightly as you two locked eyes. It was just for a brief moment, but you saw it.

Daichi blew his whistle, signaling for everyone to quiet down. Kuroo texted Tendou, telling him to get his ass up to the front with the rest of the leaders. Before jogging away, he patted your head, causing a few people around you to laugh and your cheeks to instantly turn to fire. You pushed at him as he turned around. “Eww go away.” You laughed, already missing the feeling of him standing beside you. He turned back around and winked, causing even more people around you to whisper and chuckle.

[kittybellestark]

Straightening Things Out Part 2

Part 1

This is it guys, part 2, and then this fic is doneeeeeee, I can’t believe I actually finished this today, hope you enjoy it also why ya’ll gotta go and call it CPS, every time i go to write it i’m like uhhh american CAS 

-

When Peter finally woke up he was in a bed. There was the familiar sound of his heart rate beeping out, the lights dimmed and a hand on his own. An oxygen mask was on his face, and he was hooked up to an IV.

Peter freaked out. This wasn’t where he was meant to be. He tried pushing himself up and off the bed, which caused horrible pains in his abdomen, stopping him from moving. Groaning Peter fell back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey, hey, Pete, it’s just me, Mr. Stark. You’re safe. We’re in the Med Bay. You’re okay. Put the Bambi eyes away, I’ll back up, whatever you need.”

Tony held both his hands up, keeping them in clear view of Peter. He took a few steps back watching Peter relax with each step he took backwards.

“Sorry. I just- sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” Peter’s voice was rough and quiet, and it hurt him to use.

“No apologies, you did the right thing, kid. I’m glad you called, even if it was to have a panic attack in my car while spitting up blood and passing out. You felt safe around me. You did the right thing.”

Peter went to speak again and Tony held his hand up.

“You shouldn’t really be talking. You’re esophagus was torn pretty bad. Do you want to full run down?”

Peter hesitated before nodding.

“Torn trachea, bruised neck, broken ribs, bleeding stomach, bruised liver and kidneys, tear in the gastrointestinal track, as well as significant damage to the anus, what seems to be whip marks down your back and what appears to be self harm on your arms, legs, chest and stomach. And a concussion, with a broken nose, and a fractured cheekbone.”

Tony sat down on the chair across the room from Peter, trying to respect Peter boundaries. Peter’s eyes welled up with tears and Tony wanted nothing more than to go and hold Peter and make everything better.

“We, uh, had to call the police. They want to ask you some yes and no questions right now, and then when you can speak again they’ll want actually talk to you. I have to ask though, because of the severity and where a lot of the injuries occurred, did Skip rape you?”

Peter bit his lip, before making the active decision to ignore the question outright. Sure, he knew he should confirm the allegations, he knew he should. Peter knew it was wrong. Horribly aware that what Skip did was illegal and horrible, but he couldn’t help that one part of him that saw it as help. Because that is what Skip called it. It was only ever supposed to be to be help Peter. Skip only ever did this for Peter.

So Peter turned away and closed his eyes, hoping that his mentor would believe that this didn’t happen to him, that he wasn’t a sin, or shameful. Peter wanted to believe that Tony wouldn’t just abandon him. He had brought it on himself.

The pain. The torment. This was his responsibility. He knew better. Peter was supposed to be Spider-Man. He was supposed to be a hero and know right from wrong. And yet, it’s different when it happens to him.

It’s not abuse, it’s just a thing that happens. It’s not self harm, it’s just a way to have some relief. It isn’t rape, it’s just learning a way to only like women.

Peter has rationalized it all. Made up answers for everything. Fallen deep into a pool of lies. Drowning under the weight of his soon-to-be uncle and the rest of the world. Spider-Man isn’t there to help him. Spider-Man said “fuck you, buddy,” and took a nice little wander away from Peter’s life. There’s no want to help himself, or others, and there’s no guilt for not putting on the suit. Spider-Man was just a phase.

“Okay buddy, I get it you’re tired. You’ve been through it. I’ll tell them to come back in a little bit. But I’m not going to judge you, no matter what, okay? I’m not going to toss you out or throw you to the side. You’re important and whatever you’re going through I want to help.”

-

The next time Peter woke up his friends were there in the place of Tony. Ned, MJ and Harley all managed to fit themselves on the one small chair in the room, talking in hushed voices.

Peter watched them as they giggled to themselves, something about two pretty best friends or whatever. The trio all seemed tired, apprehensive even, but they were doing their best to remain positive.

“Oh my god, Peter you’re awake!” Ned shouted out, the first to notice.

Peter flinched back at the loud voice and the sudden movements of the three as they scrambled to try and get up, too entwined to be able to do it with any ease. They made it to Peter’s bedside flushed and with minimal injuries.

“Dude we were so worried. MJ and I were heading to your place because you weren’t answering and then we saw May and Skip get arrested and be put in the back of a police car.”

MJ elbowed Ned in the stomach, urging him to shut up, as clearly this wasn’t the best time to talk about Peter’s family getting arrested. Ned mumbled out some apologies, yet Peter didn’t seem to react. His eyes were blank and the expression on his face hadn’t changed since the group noticed he was awake.

“Peter?” Harley whispered.

Peter’s eyes flicked over to focus on Harley, and it was clear to everyone just how terrified Peter actually was. His jaw was tight and eyes just a little too wide. Peter was as stiff as a board, focused on whoever caught his attention and tracking their movements to make sure they aren’t a threat. The three moved backwards as slowly as they could so that Peter wouldn’t feel as threatened by their presence.

“Tony wouldn’t tell us the extent of your injuries because of HIPPA or whatever but he did say you’re not allowed to talk, so I guess it was really serious.” MJ started to say. “But don’t think I didn’t notice your arms and leg, I’m really angry that you lied to me, but I get it, okay? Whenever you want to tell us what happened we’ll listen and we won’t judge you or your actions.”

There was a moment where Peter considered telling them. He could write things out. Peter had already told the police using a written statement. If he just wrote it down, then they’d know. But then Peter thought of what Skip did to him. He remembered how Skip told him that he needed to be cured, that no one would love him or accept him as he is now.

Skip wasn’t a kind man, but Peter also knew that he had his moments. Like the time he held Peter as he sobbed, rubbing his back and carrying him to bed. Skip was doing it for the right reasons. He cared. It hurt. It hurt a lot when Peter got to know how nice Skip could be to then be face down on his bed, begging to be let go and free of Skip’s torment. 

Instead of saying anything and letting his friends know what’s been happening Peter shook his head and turned himself to face away from them. The trio couldn’t see Peter like this. Not broken in a hospital bed over something he could have stopped.

He would have stopped it, right? If he truly didn’t want what was happening, he’d stop it. Instead he allowed it to happen for the results. For May. To be loved for who he is, even if he has to fake it. Peter knows he should have stopped what Skip was doing. He had the power to the entire time, and yet, he didn’t.

It was his own fault. MJ said that they won’t judge him, but Peter knows they would. They’d think he’s disgusting and want nothing to do with him. Peter created this situation and now he was going to lose everyone.

Peter was tired. He was going back to sleep.

-

He was finally released from the Med Bay. Dr Cho had finally deemed him strong enough to not be hooked up to an IV 24/7 and with no need of oxygen. Peter was still on bed rest, and he wasn’t allowed to be alone for long periods of time either. He had to drink protein shakes to regain his weight and he has sessions with a therapist set up for the next forever.

He was lucky that Tony has taken temporary custody of him. So instead of being in the Med Bay, Peter would be in his own bedroom. Tony and Pepper had both been incredible, extending their home to him and being by his side through everything. They hadn’t kicked him out yet, nor have they hit him or told him they don’t love him. Instead they continued reject what Skip had done. Tony and Pepper knew what Skip did to him, they were aware that he could have stopped it, and they still let him stay.

“Hey Roo, so I just got news that the police released May. Your statement pretty much cleared her because she wasn’t ever home. Obviously CPS won’t release you back into her care yet, but she had been asking to see you. I wanted to tell her no, but it should be your decision.”

Phineas and Ferb automatically paused when Tony started talking, thanks to FRIDAY. Tony kept his voice soft and held a reassuring smile on his face. Peter pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling himself start to scratched at the exposed skin on his ankles.

“Hey, hey, Pete it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want too.”

Tony was quick to move to Peter, looking for permission before pulling Peter’s hands away, stopping him from hurting himself any further.

“Sorry, sorry- I didn’t- sorry. Didn’t realize what I was doing.”

“It’s okay kiddo, recovery isn’t always linear. You don’t need to talk to May, I’m more than happy to tell her no. It’s at your rate, no one is going to judge you for it.”

Peter nodded, leaning into Tony for the first time in a months for comfort. Tony stayed still for a moment allowing Peter to acquaint himself to kind human contact.

“Can I put my hand on your back, Peter?”

Peter nodded again and Tony beamed with pride, proud of his kid to be able to accept physical contact. Tony kept his one hand on Peter’s upper back, rubbing small circles in an attempt to bring comfort.

“I want to see her. If she didn’t know we shouldn’t punish her. It isn’t her fault he used May against me. I should have known, I should have.”

Tony felt Peter shake his head as his whole body seemed to fight itself between discomfort and trying to relax. Peter moved himself closer into Tony, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder instead.

“Pete, it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that yet, but I promise, this isn’t on you. If you aren’t ready to see May yet everyone will understand.”

The teen pulled away from Tony and considered the words spoken, face twisting in thought. After a moment Peter huffed and nodded. Tony smiled trying to be reassuring.

“I’ll be okay, can you just be in the room? It’ll just, make me feel better if someone else is there, I think.”

“Of course, I’ll be there if you need me.”

-

May sat in a chair, hoping to have chosen the right spot to not make Peter feel trapped. She hated what she had done to her kid. How could she had been unaware of what was happening in her home? To her family?

She deserved to have custody revoked, the fact that CPS wasn’t doing that boggled her. This situation only happened because May allowed a bad man into their home. Peter had said that he wasn’t getting along with Skip, that there was something off, and May should have believed him. But she was blind, and now Peter has paid the price.

Why did May allow herself to believe Skip’s word? She saw Peter slipping, she saw him struggle but then Skip would talk about how Peter confided in him and that he was giving Peter advice. Skip had made it seem like he was helping Peter. May had taken the extra shifts at work and was out more, unable to help, and was made to be a fool.

She should have never started dating again.

Peter and Tony finally enter the room and May’s heartbreaks at the sight of her nephew. Peter looked decades older with the guarded look on his face, holding himself. The clothing Peter wore was much too big, barely hanging onto him. There was an elastic band on each wrist, a clear sign to May that Peter had relapsed.

This was all her fault.

Tony sat on the couch sitting closer to May, leaving room for Peter farther away. Peter glared at the couch like it was a personal offense before sitting on the ground, leaning onto one of Tony’s legs.

“I’m sorry Peter, I didn’t know.”

May wanted to hug him, to make him feel better. Yet that was probably the last thing that Peter needed or wanted from here right now. Instead she dug her nails into the upholstery, trying to quell the urges to hold Peter and never let go.

“He said that you never accepted me. That you thought I needed to be cured. Was any of that true?” Peter’s voice was cold and hard, it didn’t hold any of the kindness it used to, no longer soft and light.

“No, baby, no of course not. I’m so sorry he used me against you. Skip manipulated the both of us and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I love you and accept you no matter what. What he said wasn’t true.”

The room fell silent. Peter started to rock back and forth as he processed May’s words. It didn’t take much longer for his eyes to look empty or for him to sob, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, Roo, you’re gonna be okay, you aren’t there anymore. We’re in the tower and you’re safe.” Tony whispered trying to get Peter to not fall into a full blown panic attack again.

“No, no it has to be true. I let him, he said- he told me that- no he was telling the truth. You don’t love me, not while knowing I also like men. You can’t. I let him- I did it for you, I didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore. He was in my head, he told me to hurt myself. I let him May, because I thought you didn’t love me. You said you were proud of me, because you talked to him, I told him it was working, that I was straight and he- and he raped me. Then you said you were proud of me because I was getting help from him. I- Ben would hate me. He would. He always said ‘With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility,’ and I had the power to stop it. I’m supposed to be Spider-Man I stopped this sort of thing from happening to others. I had the power to stop him, the responsibility to stop him and I didn’t because I wanted you to love me and not be disappointed in me. It has to be true. I didn’t go through all of that for you to say it wasn’t. No. I disagree with you.”

Peter pressed his nails into his face and started to drag them down, scratching at himself. Tony was quick to move down onto the ground, making sure not to touch Peter, only speaking in a soft whisper to help calm the teen.

May couldn’t help the tears that sprung to her eyes, or the way her heart crumbled at being the cause of Peter’s pain. She should have kept her eyes open, or listened to Peter when he said he didn’t like Skip. Why would she let herself believe that Peter’s problem was Skip was the fact that he was in Ben’s place? May caused all this pain and now she can’t even help him. 

“I’m sorry, I should go. I’m so sorry Peter, I never wanted any of this to happen.” May spoke out as she got up and exited the room, needing to walk away, needing space, needing to give Peter his own space. She caused this, she can’t punish Peter for it either.

-

Peter didn’t like therapy very much. He didn’t like talking through his ‘traumas’ or his emotions either. She made Peter talk about his sexuality and his confusion over it now. Peter discussed how he used to identify as bisexual but how Skip wanted him to be straight and his he thought he was except for the fact that Harley existed.

Apparently he was making great progress. Though she might just say it to all her clients, Peter wasn’t sure. He just knew it didn’t feel like he was making any progress.

Peter still couldn’t be alone in a room with older men, except for Tony, he could hardly be alone with those his own age. He couldn’t help the anxiety that anyone was judging him and wanting to fix him. And his therapist said he still wasn’t ready to go back to school, or big crowds.

Really, it was a fancy way of saying Peter wasn’t ready for anything. Couch’s were still a no go, and beds depended on the day. Peter knew he could never go back to that apartment, but he also knew that May was looking at new places for them.

Progress was hard and slow and sometimes it didn’t feel like progress at all. But Peter was doing it. He’s getting there.

-

“Hey,” Peter said just slightly too loud.

He bounced on his heels, standing in the doorframe, ready to leave at any moment. Harley jumped in his seat, dropping his book onto his desk. Harley was quick to regain his composure resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on his desk.

“Hey, hey Peter? Uhm, do you want to come in, I can give you this chair if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

Peter considered for a moment, before deciding to stay where he was, not quiet comfortable with entering Harley’s room yet. So he shook his head, trying to get comfortable leaning against the doorframe, keeping his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s okay, Peter. We can both sit on the ground? That way you can lean against the wall behind you, and then I can stay over here against the desk.”

Peter nodded, appreciating Harley for letting him stay outside of the room. He sat down on the ground before sliding back the few feet to lean against the wall. Harley sat down too, leaning on the side of his desk.

It took Peter a moment to find his words. Looking at Harley and his stupid lop-sided smile. Just existing near Harley made it hard to breathe, let alone hard to talk. And it just wasn’t fair. But he needed to do this. It was important.

“You terrify me, Harley Keener.” Peter’s voice was soft and his smile sad. “Not because I think you’re going to hurt me. Skip, uh, he never did anything, not until he found out I was bi. I didn’t like him very much before everything, but I feel he did the right thing, and I know my therapist says he did the wrong thing, but I disagree.”

Peter took a breath, and Harley just wanted to give Peter a hug and to comfort him. But that isn’t what was needed here. It was obvious Peter needed to talk to someone who won’t judge him. Harley was someone Peter could relate to because of what he went through in Rose Hill. Of course the homophobia never hurt Harley in the ways it hurt Peter, Harley was never raped, but he was beat up over and over and the church goers were never nice either.

“It started when I was talking to May. She was asking about school, and I had started talking about you. Please don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault and I didn’t get hurt because of you. But I was talking about you and May asked if I liked you, and I said I did. That’s when he started doing things. I brought up the new dreamy transfer from Tennessee and that was it.”

Pausing for a moment, Peter felt his throat burn and how hard it was to talk. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and took a shaky breath in. Harley held a hand over his mouth, feeling responsible for the pain that was inflicted on Peter. This was harder than Harley thought it was going to be.

“It’s not you’re fault Harley. Okay? It’s my own. At first he just wanted me to cut myself, anytime I had a sinful thought, I used to do that when I was younger, so once the razor was in my hands it was just so easy. But it wasn’t making me straight like he wanted, so he started beating me, but that still didn’t work. Then he came in my room drunk once, claimed I was rubbing off on him. That was the first time he ever touched me. And I started to look at you, and all men really with fear. I didn’t feel attraction, only fear. I thought it worked. I was finally straight y’know. I was so excited to tell Skip, because it was working and May was going to love me again and I was going to be normal. I told him. But that’s when things started. He said I gave him my disease and he had to cure himself. I was straight Harley, I was finally normal, but it kept happening and I was going to die. I knew it. He was going to kill me, Harley, and I ran, which I shouldn’t have. Skip was just trying to help. He wanted to make me better. It was all my fault and I shouldn’t have left. I’m supposed to be Spider-Man, I should have been able to handle it. I should have stayed longer.”

Harley couldn’t help the tears, letting them silently fall. He hated that Peter blamed himself for this. All Peter did was admit his attraction to his family and it nearly killed him. While Harley knew he wasn’t the reason for Peter’s pain, it surely felt like it.

“Peter-“

“No, wait, I’m not done. I said you terrify me. But it’s not because you’re scary or I think you’re going to hurt me. You terrify me Harls, because no matter what Skip did, I still liked you, and I shouldn’t have anymore because he was fixing me. Skip was fixing me but he couldn’t stop me from liking you, Harley, and that terrifies me.”

Peter’s shoulders shook as he tried not to cry, to not dwell on his trauma. He still believed that Skip did the right thing, no one was able to convince him otherwise. It broke everyone’s heart how Peter knew that the things were done to him were wrong, but believed that they were done for the right reasons. Harley hated that Peter hated himself over something he used to be so proud of. It was torture to watch Peter go from this bubbly ball of joy, to someone who retreated so far into themselves and couldn’t trust anyone around him. Harley watched Peter’s spirit die and he tracked his food intake. He should have known.

“Did I ever tell you why I moved to New York?” Harley then chose to say.

He knew that Peter probably didn’t want apologies or reassurance that things weren’t his fault. Peter wouldn’t have come to Harley for that, that was Tony’s area now.

“To go to a better school and work with Mr. Stark?”

“I was forced out of the closet back home. Some kids found out and then spread it around town. Now it spread like wildfire as we all knew each other. My mama was scarred for me. I couldn’t go to church without someone spittin’ at me and I couldn’t go to school without getting beat up. People were tryna’ hit me with their cars. All because I was ‘against the word of god.’ Then one day I was pulled into the fields behind the school and these kids held a gun to my head. The local police blamed me for having a gun to my head and my mama and sister thought I’d leave the house and never come home. So I got sent here when Tony found out about it. I didn’t choose to come out here, but they were going to kill me one day and it was the only way my family could make sure I’m safe.”

Peter was silent to Harley’s confession and Harley couldn’t stop the self-deprecating smile that made its way to his face. It wasn’t something Harley liked to talk about, but this is what Peter needed. Harley blamed himself in the beginning the same way Peter blames himself now. Peter needed to relate and to see that someone else gets it. Nothing was going to change for Peter if he didn’t see that others knew what it was like. Peter was just too stubborn like that.

“Harls…” Peter finally whispered, moving into the boys room.

Peter was cautious with his movements, his eyes holding no trust and he moved closer to Harley. Holding his breath to not scare Peter, Harley did his best to not move, to not do anything that could harm Peter. Finally, Peter stopped, still in the ground and kicking out his one leg to lean against Harley’s. It was a stretch for Peter to reach Harley and he was closer than he originally thought he’d be. Harley’s eyes were wide, blue eyes filled with tears, as the look on his face seemed to ask permission for this to be okay.

“You didn’t deserve that Harley. That was your home and it isn’t fair that you didn’t feel safe there because of who you are.”

Harley smiled and nodded. This, this is what Peter needed. Harley told Peter something personal and hard and something he never wanted to talk about, and Peter got it. He understands the problem.

“I know that now. But I didn’t when I first got here. It was my home, just like it was yours. We should have been able to feel safe.”

And then Peter really got it.

-

Tony, Pepper, Harley and Peter were all having breakfast together. It was Friday, and Harley didn’t have school. Peter was in a new spot around the table was between Tony and Pepper, and across from Harley. The new spot was a safe enough spot where Peter could actually eat some of his food. So they had pancakes and some fruit, hoping to get Peter engaged and acclimated to a scheduled like again.

Everyone was dressed in regular clothes, ready for their day, except for Peter who wore his pajamas and oversized hoodie. Peter hadn’t had a haircut since the beginning of things with Skip many months ago so his curls were long and unruly, covering his face well enough when his head was tilted forward as it so regularly was now.

“Peter, honey, do you have any plans today?” Pepper asked, keeping her tone light.

“I’m supposed to FaceTime May later, she wants to show me the new place and get my opinion on couches. And Dr. Mitchell says I need to leave the tower and go on a walk or something, I guess.” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

Pepper hummed, adjusting one of Peter’s curls to fall more naturally.

“Would you like one of us to come with you? Tony has made these great nano-tech masks so we wouldn’t be recognized.”

Peter seemed to consider this, eyes flitting back and forth between Tony and Pepper, before they moved to the elevator. It took another moment for everyone who wasn’t advanced to hear the movement of the mechanisms. The doors opened and Happy came out a smile painted onto his face.

“Guys, the jury made their final decision. Skip’s going to jail, they’re putting him on the predator registry. He’s going to be there the rest of his life.” Happy announced, dropping donuts onto the table.

Everyone cheered except for Peter, happy to see such a horrible person go to jail. Yet through everyone’s happiness, Peter couldn’t help but feel it was wrong.

“Kid, you okay?” Tony asked when the boy stayed silent for too long.

Peter looked up at him, wide eyed and ready to cry. He did feel relief about the idea of never seeing Skip again, but he couldn’t help but feeling like this wasn’t the right move either. Of course Peter couldn’t help but reflect to the conversation with Harley, about how he would have died if he stayed in Rose Hill, the same as if Peter stayed with Skip. It was finally starting to make sense that Skip was wrong, even though it didn’t feel like he was and Peter was confused.

“I need- I need- I can’t.” Peter sobbed. “Where’s May- I need- I can’t- May- I just. Please.”

He tried pushing himself away from the table, to get himself away from the people from his thoughts. Peter shoved at the table, moving the whole thing and felt his legs crumble when he tried to stand up. Breathe, he needs to breathe, and he needs air and he needs to get away.

Someone touches him.

Peter fly’s farther back, crawling away from Skip, from his touch. This was not where Peter wanted to be. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing his nails into his skin, didn’t realize as he dragged them and ripped his skin open. Peter was scared and he just needed to go away.

“Don’t- don’t touch me, please, no.” 

He needed to get away. Away, away, away. Not here. Not with Skip he couldn’t let Skip come near him. Skip was a threat, an enemy, except he helped. He did it to help, he was always nice after. Skip would hold Peter as he sobbed and give him a bath and take him to bed. He wasn’t all bad, he was nice sometimes. Bad things just happened because of the man.

“Hi baby, it’s me. You want to tell what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” May spoke.

Peter couldn’t remember May arriving. But here she is, crouching down in front of him wearing her scrubs. Mays hair was falling into her face, and she made sure to stay just a few feet away, in his full view.

“He’s gone. May, he can’t- he wasn’t bad be he deserves it. He deserves it, May. Oh my god. Skip is gone.”

Relief flooded Peter. He was free, finally free. No one in his home was going to tell him that he is a disgrace or a sin. Peter is safe, for the first time in forever, he is safe again. No Skip, no unsafe home. Peter has his family, and that’s really all he needs. 

Peter feels safe. His family isn’t going to hurt him.

He’ll be okay.

~

Taglist DM or send an ask if you’d like to be added or moved to the permanent list:

@peterbeanie @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee @parkersjiggle @7peternotparker7 @thatonecrackheadshipper @kevinthewoman @sashastark @lynxshinon @narutoyaoifan @pastelwheeler

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@spideykink @excuuuuseubitch @ironspidey103

[mcytrabbithole]

The Crash (Chapter 1)

Part 3 of my Hermitcraft and Dream SMP fanfic about what would happen if they found themselves in a new mixed up situation together!

You can find part 1 and part 2 by searching up The Crash on my page! 

Tags: @shineisalive , @harley-the-pancake 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2654

Waking up in a field wasn’t exactly ideal, especially for those who were actually in the field. Those in the field being Xisuma, Dream, Keralis, Tubbo, and Joe, as Dream would observe once he actually got a solid look around at the group. They were all scattered about the field, all of them slowly seating up and getting up as they got their bearings. One thing they noticed was that none of them had their Elytras and that their armor was gone, which just added to the list of oddities that they were currently dealing with.

Xisuma had sat up, but he wasn’t going to try to stand,” Who all is here?” He could tell that others were there, but he couldn’t figure out who all was there since no one had spoken and he still couldn’t see anything. Keralis had gotten up and was slowly making his way over to Xisuma, he figured that Xisuma was asking since he still couldn’t see, which meant Xisuma might need some help getting around,” Well, there is me, you, Joe, and two people that I do not know the names of...” Then Keralis looks at Dream again,” But I believe, unless my gorgeous eyes are fooling me, that you are Dream, yes?” Dream nods, focused on making sure his mask was all good and far too aware of the fact that he couldn’t talk.

“He’s Dream and my name is Tubbo.” Tubbo gives a small smile as he makes his way over to Dream, wanting to stick by the person that he knew in all of this. “And he’s been having trouble talking so I guess I’ll be speaking for the both of us?” Tubbo looks at Dream and Dream nods again, at least Tubbo was someone that Dream knew he could trust with speaking well for the both of them. Some people may think that Tubbo would not be the best choice to speak for them, but Dream had paid attention to Tubbo when he spoke. Tubbo could speak far better than a lot of people would like to think that he can, he just needs to be talking about the right thing.

Xisuma frowned upon hearing Tubbo’s words, Dream wasn’t supposed to be here and neither was Tubbo. If Dream was here then this meant a problem that was out of the realm of himself by a long shot. Dream was currently thinking something similar, knowing that if a problem like this had occurred then it meant that some was wrong. Both of their minds went to the same place after these thoughts, to their friends. Were they okay? Was anyone hurt? Had anybody been blinded or muted like Dream and Xisuma had been?

Luckily enough, none of their friends had been harmed, at least not physically. Though they wouldn’t find that out until later. While Xisuma, Dream, and their group tried to really figure things out, groups all over the place were beginning to wake up and realizing that things were wrong. That they were not in their respective SMPs anymore.

As people began to wake up and realize that things were wrong, one very lucky group got a much better wake up than the rest of them did.

This group beginning the group of TFC, Jev, xB, Purpled, Punz, Ponk, Alyssa, Callahan and Hypno. They woke up in the Shopping District, specifically right outside of the Town Hall. As they each woke up, beginning to look around to see where they were, they noticed the people that they were around. Purpled popped up from behind some of the bushes near the diamond trees and Ponk and Punz followed suit, looking like the Three Stooges for a moment.

Jev, xB, and Alyssa had woken up near the bottom of the stairs that led up to the entrance of the Town Hall and were trying to get up without falling down the stairs because they were all a little dizzy, though they couldn’t quite figure out why. Callahan and Hypno had woken up the furthest from Town Hall of the group, waking up in the middle area between the two boards in the middle of the main road. Which wouldn’t of been too bad, but when Callahan went to get up, he fell over and they jingling sound that the bells from his outfit made was pretty funny to hear.  

TFC had woken up in front of the Nether Portal that led to and from the Shopping District, which was currently a broken portal, and was trying to get himself up off the ground since he didn’t have his tools to help him get up. Luckily for TFC, the wonderful trio of the Three P’s had made their way over to help him since they could tell that he was struggling. TFC did accept the help, because he knew that he was most likely going to need it. Purpled helped him up since he got there first, while Ponk and Punz sort of stood back a little incase their help wasn’t needed.

“Does anybody know where we are right now?” Callahan signs this as he steadies himself, having finally gotten up without tripping again. Jev had made it to the end of the stairs, so he spoke up,” Yeah. We’re in front of the Town Hall in the Shopping District…but I get the feeling that you guys don’t know that because you’re not from this neck of the woods.” The others from the Dream SMP shared a look, they were all a bit confused, but they nodded.

“Yeah…you guys are from Hermitcraft though, right?” Ponk speaks up, he had seen some of them before from when they would go to MCC, since they’d be there to cheer on the members of the Dream SMP while the others would be there to cheer on those from Hermitcraft. “Yeah, that’s where we are now…which makes me wonder how you guys got here.” xB was wondering if something had gone wrong within the two worlds, maybe an accidental glitch that had caused a temporary collision?

“Do you think the others are okay?” Alyssa asks this from where she had sat down on the steps,” Dream looked like he was in pretty rough shape, but then again I think we all kind of did once we hit the ground.” Those from Hermitcraft looked at Alyssa, surprised by her words. “If I had to make a guess, you all blacked out after being hit with a wave of pain?” TFC had been led to one of the little benches outside Town Hall and was sitting down as he spoke. The members of the Dream SMP could only nod, all of them beginning to get a bit worried as to what was going on.

“Hey…” Callahan signs this, he looked like he had been thinking about something for a minute,” If we got separated like this, do you think the others are in groups like this? Or do you guys think we’re the unlucky ones that just got separated from the rest of them?” The group could only wonder this as they tried to think of ways to contact the group, which was made all the more difficult by the realization that the communicators weren’t working.

As the group within the Shopping District tried to figure things out, another group was waking up just near the valley of Tatooren, in the part of the mesa that was right by the jungle where the Jungle Crew’s respective bases were. This group consisted of Wels, False, Niki, Techno, and Tango, who had a pretty solid awaken compared to some of the groups. They woke up in a clearer spot of the mesa, though the sun was beating down on them like all hell, which was not idle, especially for Techno since he wears about four layers on his top half alone…aesthetic doesn’t save you when the sun beats down like that.

As they woke, the first thing they noticed was the heat, then they noticed one another. Getting into a sitting position was pretty difficult, but Wels was actually the first one who managed to sit up, which was impressive given the usual knights armor that he wore. As he looked around at the people laying around him, his eyes widened a little when he saw Niki and Techno. “Um…hi?” He was confused and also very aware of how hot he was thanks to the armor. 

“Hi.” Niki managed to sit up before Techno, which wasn’t too hard to do cause he currently looked like a turtle who was trying to get off of their shell. Which would’ve been pretty fun if it weren’t for the slight fear that Wels felt towards Techno cause he has heard plenty about him and he’s seen him in MCC. If there’s anyone that could genuinely go toe-to-toe with False, the best fighter they had, it was Techno, and that was a terrifying thought.

Tango had sat up and was helping False sit up, though once he saw Techno, his eyes got real wide, which was a bit insane given how big his already were naturally. “False, punch me.” Tango says this in the most serious tone he could possibly speak with. False raises an eyebrow at Tango, concerned,” Why?” She glances at Techno, it was just Techno, he wasn’t even that scary to her. “Because I’m seeing Technoblade in front of me so I’m probably hallucinating and even if I’m not then I don’t wanna be awake cause he is terrifying.”

“Glad to know that just by laying down and existing I bring some level of fear.” Techno finally sits up, with some help from Niki. “Ignore Tango, he’s being a fool.” False looks at Techno, she and him got along pretty well whenever they would run into one another at MCC, plus they both had acknowledged how strong the other person could be. “It’s fine, happens all the time…but uh…do you know where we are?” Techno tries to stand, helping Niki up as he does so.

“I’m pretty sure we’re still in Hermitcraft, if that helps.” Wels says this as he gets up, heading over to False and Tango so he can help them both up. “Hermitcraft?” Niki frowns, this was not good at all, they couldn’t afford something like this in the middle of a war,” But me and Techno were on the Dream SMP only a moment ago…how’d we end up here?” False frowns at Niki’s words, so something must’ve gone wrong on the SMP end and on the Hermitcraft end. “By chance, did you guys hit with waves of pain? Like ridiculous pain that made you double over where you were standing pain?” False asks this as she and Tango get up with Wels help.

“Yep. I’m guessing the same happened to you guys?” Techno sighs, taking off his cloak as he does so and folding it over his arm. He always hated mesas, got too hot and meant he had to drag his clothes along instead of wearing them. “Yes.” Tango tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was talking to Techno, cause he’d seen him at MCC’s, but he had been way too scared to actually ever speak to him. Techno was a legend for quite a few reasons, but the one that stuck out the most to Tango was the fact that he was a PvP god.

“Alright. So safe to assume that something has happened, maybe something happened to the code or there was a crash somewhere that couldn’t be handled because our dear friends who could handle it were too busy being doubled over in pain.” Techno suggests this as he looks around, trying to figure out where they could go form here. “So maybe our best course of action would be to head somewhere that we could all meet up at? Be able to figure out what happened?” Wels figured that if they could all meet up, they’d be able to at least figure out how everyone else faired.

“Sounds like a solid plan to me, Niki, you in?” Techno looked over at Niki, who had this strange look on her face. She was looking around, like she was looking for something. “Niki?” Techno would’ve raised an eyebrow, if he had had any that were visible. “Do you not hear that?” Niki looks at Techno and the others. What could she be hearing that would’ve gotten that reaction from her? Techno was gonna tell her no, that he couldn’t hear whatever it was that she was hearing, but then he did hear it. It sounded like crying, like a high-pitched sort of crying that made him wonder how Niki had heard it given that he knew he had better hearing than she did.

The other three was looking at Niki and Techno were absolutely mad…and then the sound got louder. It was coming from the jungle nearby. “We need to check that out.” Niki sounded worried, something about that sound was hitting her heart in a very particular way that she could not quite describe. She starts heading over to where they heard the sound coming from and the others followed suit because part of them were curious, but some were worried about what the sound could lead them too.

As they got closer, the sound became clearer. It wasn’t as high pitched as it had originally sounded, but it was definitely crying. It sounded almost like a…baby? But why would a baby be out here? Neither SMP had any babies in it, so what could be making that noise? As they tried to think of what it was, they came upon one of those jungle trees that was real low to the ground, the leaves were about a block above the ground, leaving a block tall gap between the leaves and the ground…and in that gap was whatever was making the noise.

Niki takes a step forward, now being the one closest to the tree as she bends down and takes a look to see what’s under the tree…and what she sees make her eyes widen, though the tone she uses when she speaks is soft,” Hello little one, what on earth are you doing down there?” The crying had stopped once Niki had appeared, now they could hear what almost sounded like a cooing noise. It sounded like a baby, but what could it be? “Techno, can you hand me your cloak, please?” Niki glances over her shoulder at Techno, who nods and hands her the jacket.

Niki was careful, gently moving as she took the cloak and made sure it was placed well in her hands before she reached into the little gap,” It’s okay little one, no one is going to hurt you…I just want to get you out from under there, okay?” In response, the thing in the gap makes another small cooing noise. She manages to take the cloak and wrap it around the thing in the gap, making sure it was wrapped up nice and tight before she gently pulls it out from under the tree. The others couldn’t quite see what was wrapped up in it, but whatever it was clearly wasn’t dangerous since Niki didn’t seem too scared of it.

“Hello little one.” Niki speaks softly, moving the bundle in her arms so she was holding it like a baby. Tango was the first one to take a step forward,” What is it?” The others were glad he had asked since they were wondering what it could possibly be. “I’m not quite sure…maybe you can tell me?” Niki moves the bundle a bit and offers it to Tango, who carefully accepts it from her, being careful as he holds the bundle like Niki had. He moves the cloak around until he can see the things face and his eyes widen at what he sees.

“Jrumbot?”

[jewishconvertthings]

Something I’ve noticed come up again and again in conversion-focused/prospective convert spaces is a fascination with orthodoxy. I think a lot of what drives this is the desire for universal recognition and to do things the “right” way. And, since Jews both inside and outside of orthodoxy tend to hold up orthodoxy as the gold standard for halacha and for conversion in particular, people who would never otherwise consider converting orthodox still end up seriously investigating the possibility and/or even attempting it. This becomes especially painful to watch when, for one reason or another (or several) the individual in question simply cannot convert orthodox without making life changes that are, frankly, not worth it or even impossible.

I say this as someone who absolutely, 100% went on this ride.

(This is a Very Long Post, so I’ve put it under a cut)

I am a queer non-binary person in a relationship with another queer non-binary person who is not Jewish and has no plans on converting. Now, at this point in my life, I present in a traditionally feminine way 98% of the time (and was assigned female at birth), the aspects of physical transition that I have accessed are not visible or are easily able to be masked, and for a number of extremely personal reasons I won’t get into here, I have also reached a point in my life where my ability to be attracted to cis men is not something that I automatically reject.

So on a pragmatic level, if I wanted to be orthodox I had two choices: (1) Stay with my partner who I love and have built a life and a home with, who supports my Jewish journey and observance 100%, who loves me no matter how I present myself gender-wise, and whose life experiences as a fellow queer non-binary person allow us to have a profound understanding of each other; or, (2) Leave my partner, and also most likely also make an effort to stamp out or at least conceal the queer and non-binary facets of myself.  

I think it’s pretty clear that I opted to not take path #2, which left me with the decision to either pursue a Conservative conversion or accept being a Noachide. Fortunately, I happened to already have a Conservative community that I really loved and three Conservative rabbis for my beit din, each of whom I tremendously respect. Therefore moving forward with a Conservative conversion did not cause me all that much cognitive dissonance. To be perfectly honest, all told, I think my theological framework fits better within Conservative halacha anyway and there is plenty of space for me to exist and be respected as a queer non-binary person with a non-Jewish spouse.

But despite what I feel is an overall very good outcome to this problem, I still went through a whole grieving process for letting go of the idea of ever converting orthodox, and looking back I felt it was really important to interrogate why. I could of course take the easy way out and say that it was because I was sad to lose this particular shul as my primary community, but that’s not completely true. I still go there sometimes and enjoy it when I do, and also by the time it became clear to me that this was not a community I could convert through, it was no longer my primary shul. I’d already switched.

I could also say that it was because I deeply desired living and sharing community with a congregation where the majority of members took halacha very seriously and lived by those convictions. While I have deep love and appreciation for my Conservative community, the reality is that I am in the minority as someone who keeps a strictly kosher kitchen and one of a handful of people who make much of an effort to be shomer Shabbos. At the same time, I have found and built friendships with those who do take a more traditional approach to observance who also share other values of mine as well. So I have ultimately ended up in the exact kind of community I desired, even if it isn’t the numeric majority of the congregation as a whole.

There was also a very real period where I needed to sort out my understanding of what I believed about what Torah even is, and how I wanted to build my Jewish observance from that understanding. (Namely, that even though I can never say that I believed with perfect faith that the Torah was given directly to Moshe by G-d on Mt. Sinai in its entirety and in fact believe that most of the evidence points away from that understanding, I also felt it was important to essentially accept it as an underlying assumption for interpretive and halachic purposes. I have . . . evolved a bit since then, but honestly haven’t moved too far from that position.)

The point is that there were actual, real reasons other than just for the validity.

But if I’m being extremely honest with myself, while it was far from being the only reason or the “real” reason, it was nevertheless a not-insignificant reason for why I was disappointed and felt a loss. I understand the other pieces pretty well at this point, and so with the benefit of time and some emotional distance, I decided to examine this a bit more deeply.

I think the problem is two-fold. First, I think that the same intense beliefs and emotions that drive someone to do something as drastic as converting to Judaism to begin with also create a desire to do so in the most intensive way possible. Amongst myself and the many other conversion students and converts I’ve met, irrespective of our many differences, our passion for Judaism and our enthusiasm in Jewish engagement are near-universals. For better or worse, that tends to manifest as a desire for a high level of observance and for a community that shares that commitment.

Second, I think that converts of whatever background, but especially those of us who are marginalized in other ways, tend to be under a great deal of scrutiny from the rest of the Jewish community as to our motives and our processes for becoming Jewish. While I don’t doubt that this is painful for anyone, this can hit especially hard if you have experienced some other kind of serious invalidation, erasure, and/or rejection in other areas of your life.

So I think, after having sat with this a bit, part of that feeling of hurt and loss comes as a sort of echo trauma from having been erased and rejected as a queer non-binary person. The invalidation I’ve received both outside and inside the queer/trans community has been significant enough that the idea of stomaching more rejection, more invalidation, and more treatment as an interloper was a tough pill to swallow. Combine that with my genuine passion for Judaism and desire for an observant Jewish life and community, and you had a perfect storm of me reaching for a community that was, all told, not a good fit.

I eventually moved past that stage, and ended up quite happy in my Conservative community. So what’s the problem? Why am I bringing up such a painful topic if it turned out fine?

Here’s the thing: I’d seen other people ride this emotional rodeo before and so while I anticipated these feelings of rejection, I was afraid of experiencing them and tried to avoid doing so by being hyper-aware of the possibility. It didn’t work. Unfortunately, this was just something I had to figure out on my own. However, there was another effect I’d seen as well, namely that once people had processed the immediate sadness, there was usually a bit of backlash afterwards. I saw this especially with a particular friend who regularly expressed not just legitimate criticisms of orthodoxy, but lashed out angrily towards anyone who expressed an interest in orthodoxy or who happened to be orthodox and talk positively about their experiences. This was serious enough that it almost ruined our friendship.

I did manage to mostly avoid this latter effect because I actively built relationships within my orthodox community and maintained them even afterwards, and because I refused to make that rejection a personal thing. I also gave myself ample space from that community and have only engaged to the extent that I can do so in a healthy, comfortable way. But it’s worth noting that despite controlling my outer reaction, I definitely had to process and work my way through that same anger internally.

I raise all of this for the following reason:

I haven’t seen anyone talking about this much, and what I have seen has not been constructive or compassionate. While I don’t think reading about my seemingly typical (even cliché) experiences as someone who was not a good fit for orthodoxy trying to shoehorn myself into it for understandable (but ultimately futile) reasons will spare anyone the emotional ride of having that experience, nor do I think it will likely help anyone avoid having to experience it themselves to be sure, I do think that it may help with a couple issues. First, I think it may help outsiders who have observed this trope have a bit more compassion for those going through it and be able to offer some better responses than derision or telling folks to just get over it. Basically, realize that these are growing pains, and try to be kind and mature about it.

Second, I think it may help people who are on the verge of going through that experience and/or who are in the middle of it to understand that it is A Thing, that it is not an inherently bad thing, that they are not bad people for having to go on this emotional journey, that it is reasonable for them to have hard feelings about it, and that the only thing they really do need to be careful of is how they treat the people in their communities and not take this out on them. Ultimately, if you are unable to convert orthodox for reasons outside your control (or even just realize that you inherently don’t have the right worldview for orthodoxy/have an actual desire to live an orthodox lifestyle) there are usually other ways of meeting your community and observance-related needs and it is best to start exploring them sooner rather than later.

Collectively, I think I would challenge conversion students and liberal converts who are considering an orthodox conversion to seriously consider if there are other ways to meet your spiritual and community needs. If so, why pursue orthodoxy? You really do need an honest answer to that question, even if it takes a bit of soul-searching to get there. If it’s about universal recognition, you need to stop immediately and reconsider. (Understand that there basically is no such thing. Then understand that this means that you will have to build an internal Jewish identity that is unrelated to how random people without community decision-making power view you.) Finally, I’d ask that you try really hard to separate the larger trends and systems within orthodoxy from individual Orthodox Jews you happen to encounter.

And of course, I would challenge folks to leave passing judgment on any given conversion student’s process and motivations up to their sponsoring rabbi.

[garbotuesday]

This Was Almost a Good Day

By @garbotuesday for @lbigreyhound13 for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: None

Relationships: Irondad

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker

Summary: Internal bleeding, blunt force trauma to the head, bones in shards, a heart rate that is rapidly dropping - but wasn’t Peter just on his way to the compound? What the hell could he get caught up in that would cause all that?

Super excited to have this done! I was strangely uninspired until the eleventh hour. 

Here’s how to ruin a Saturday morning.

Let’s break it down into steps:

Step 1 - start by finding a kid with spider powers and an unshakable moral foundation and give him a multimillion dollar super suit. People will tell you later this was not the greatest move. After the kid gets home and tries to go too hard too fast, you try to take it back, but it becomes pretty obvious that this kid needs the suit or he’s going to die in a fireball. Besides, he helped you out, and you like him a little bit. So you give it back, and this time you decide you’re going to be keeping a much closer eye on him. You offer him a spot on the team, and after he shocks the hell out of you by turning you down, start drafting preliminary ideas on how you can keep closer tabs on this kid.

Step 2 - that same day, field an angry phone call from the kid’s aunt who walked in on said kid in said super suit. You don’t really manage to get a word in edgewise as this woman goes through all five stages of grief on the phone with you. By the end of the phone call the only thing you’ve managed to do is meekly say that you’d like to teach him to be safe, and after a moment’s pause you get a “you had better,” hissed in your ear before the call is disconnected. You’re a little scared, so you text the kid and tell him that he needs to come over this weekend so they can start training him.

Step 3 - neglect to send Happy to pick the kid up to bring him to the compound. Now this one isn’t really your fault - you did offer, the day before in a text thread, but the kid turned you down and said he’d ride the subway. You mentioned to him that the subway line ended well before the compound, but after a minute more of texting you understand that he just wants to swing over. You should have put your foot down, you know you should have, but you were amused. Surely if the kid had managed to bring down a plane full of weapons without hurting anyone, he can manage a 30 minute swing to the compound.

And finally step 4 - forget exactly how deep that self-sacrificing thing goes with this kid.

Tony follows these steps and finds that he really should have seen some of this coming.

—

FRIDAY lets him know before Peter’s aunt does. FRIDAY’s overhead speakers let out a soft but urgent beep, grabbing Tony’s attention from his coffee. With no further prompting, a set of holographic statistics appear in his 3D work field. He recognizes that they’re coming from Peter’s suit, but he can’t make sense of what they’re saying to him. Internal bleeding, blunt force trauma to the head, bones in shards, a heart rate that is rapidly dropping - but wasn’t Peter just on his way to the compound? What the hell could he get caught up in that would cause all that?

“You have a call coming in on your phone,” FRIDAY says. “From Peter’s aunt.”

Tony hasn’t the faintest idea where his phone is, and FRIDAY seems to know that, because without his prompting the phone is answered and May’s voice comes from above him.

“Tony,” she says, and Tony can hear the raw red of panic in her voice.

“I see it,” he tells her. “It just popped up on my screen. Where are you?”

“I’m at the scene. I’m filling in as part of the first response team.”

Tony swallows, finds he can’t. Tries again. “How bad is it?”

“He isn’t here,” she whispers.

Tony blinks and checks the holograms again. They’re steadily getting worse in a way that has Tony standing now. “He already got taken to the hospital?”

“No, he’s just not here. He wasn’t here when we showed up.”

Tony pauses. “How can you tell that he should be there?”

“Two cars, head-on collision. They each have a large dent in the hood in the same spot that looks like …like hands..and-and like-” She can’t finish. She doesn’t have to. Tony can imagine the Peter-shaped divot in both cars where Peter put himself between them so the cars would hit him instead of each other.

“How is he not there if he - if he was -” Well shit. Tony can’t bring himself to say it either.

“I don’t know,” May whispers. “But can you - I mean I can’t - but I should -”

“I’ll find him,” Tony says. “You stay there. I’ll find him and I’ll take care of him.”

She goes quiet. “I still don’t trust you,” she finally says.

Tony swallows. “I know.”

They listen to each other breathe on the line for a moment longer before she gruffly says “prove me wrong, Stark,” and hangs up.

Tony takes a breath and puts his phone down. “Find him, FRIDAY.”

“Locating now,” she intones, dimming the lights on Tony’s work station and powering up the Iron Man suit in the corner. Tony lets the suit wrap around him and looks over the information on his HUD, searching for the tracking information from the secret trackers he installed after learning Peter couldn’t be trusted. The screen pings with the location and Tony takes off, arcing out through the window that opens whenever he gets into the suit. There is no inconspicuous way to shoot through the air as Iron Man, so he settles for being too fast to garner much more than passing attention. He hopes May sees the trail he leaves behind and feels somewhat comforted.

Tony finds him at his apartment, but on the roof instead of indoors. Tony lands on the roof and steps out of the suit in a frantic heap to find Peter laying flat against the rooftop. His mask is in his hands, palms over his eyes, and he’s making a small hiccuping grunt that sounds so pitiful Tony rushes straight for him.

“Peter,” he says, dropping down to his knees beside the kid. “Peter, I’m here.”

Peter pulls his hands away from his eyes and blinks at Tony. His face is red and tear tracks have cut through the grime on his cheeks, but he’s long since stopped crying. “Mr. Stark? H’w ‘re you here?”

“I came to find you,” Tony says, eyes roving over Peter’s body. “How bad is it?”

“’S fine,” Peter slurs, wiping his hands over his face. “Jus’ need a minute.”

Tony doesn’t love the idea of rolling his eyes at this kid who may or may not have a crushed midsection, but he definitely grits his teeth. “Yeah, that tracks. Two cars plow into you and I get the scariest vital report I’ve ever seen in my life, but sure, you just ‘need a minute’.”

Peter parts his fingers and eyes Tony curiously. “How’d you know? Suit rat me out?”

Now Tony glares. “Your aunt. She’s on the first response team today and got a little suspicious when she caught sight of two cars with the very distinct impression of her nephews handprints embedded in the goddamn hood.” He didn’t know he was yelling until Peter winced away from him with a look of pain on his face.

“Sorry,” Tony says immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. Not until we get you checked out.”

“I can’t move anymore,” Peter says flatly.

“I’ll pick you up in the suit, it’ll be-”

“No, I mean I cannot be physically moved from this spot,” Peter says, voice edge with desperation screaming please don’t touch me. “How I managed to swing all the way over here is a mystery to me, but I promise you, I will not be conscious if you try to move me.”

Tony looks him over, tries not to be panicked over the definite depression in Peter’s middle, and takes a breath. “Kid, moving you is non-negotiable. You need a hospital.” He opens his mouth to ask if Peter thinks his aunt could possibly borrow the ambulance when he stumbles over his words because fuck, something just clicked. “Is that why you bailed on the scene of the accident? So they wouldn’t take you to the hospital?”

There’s a half second of silence between the two of them. Peter blinks up at him, face pain-pinched and guilty, and Tony actually has to take a deep breath. Peter whimpers.

“I’m part spider,” Peter stutters. “My identity, you know, I mean, they’d be able to figure it out.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Let’s pretend that any of that was a valid reason not to go to the hospital. What exactly was the plan once you hit the rooftop?”

Stop it, Tony snaps to himself. Peter is injured and you’re screaming at him.

Peter wipes his hands over his face. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You call me.” Tony’s voice is deep and furious, and it makes them both flinch. Tony continues. “When you’re on the roof of your building and you’re too injured to move, you call me, dammit!”

Peter blinks up at him with wide eyes. “Wh…why?”

Tony’s blood freezes. His heartbeat, which he could taste on his tongue, beats once and goes still. “What?”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “Why would I call you?”

It’s like being hit, the force of Tony’s shock. Why? Why?? “Why would you…kid, you -” Tony can’t even think. All he can sense is the taste of failure hot on the end of his tongue, the sharp startling realization that this kid was going to internally bleed to death on the hot roof of his apartment building instead of reaching out for help because he didn’t think he could call Tony.

There’s something there, something Tony isn’t ready to address that involves his own father’s irritation and the deep understanding that he would never be able to ask for help. Whatever it was it paid dividends - Peter isn’t even his kid and he already knows better than to trust Tony.

“I heal fast,” Peter mutters. His breath is starting to sound more difficult. “Didn’t want to..to bother you.”

And what reason would Peter have to think it was anything other than a bother? He and Happy haven’t exactly been subtle about how annoyed they’d been with Peter’s repeated calls and antics. And it can’t be denied that the phone calls began to become a bit much after the 80th one, but this is like…fuck, Tony doesn’t even know what to say about this. It’s only now that Tony realizes, despite what he told Peter when he gave him the suit, that Peter genuinely doesn’t know what the grey area looks like - either Peter tells them about every cat he sees during patrol or he dies on a roof in silence.

Tony hits a button on his watch and starts the process of requesting the fastest med-evac known to man to his location. He handpicks the nurses that will help them out for their discretion, not that it matters. He’s not going to let anyone see Peter’s face.

That done, he turns back to Peter, who he can tell is starting to fade into unconsciousness. “Try to stay with me,” Tony tells him. “Cavalry’s on the way, maybe three minutes out.”

“No hospital,” Peter bubbles.

“You’ll have whatever they think is necessary,” Tony says firmly, laying a hand on Peter’s arm. “I’ll deal with the rest of it.”

They sit in silence for a second before Tony gruffly says, “Just promise me you’ll call me next time.”

“Didn’t wann’ bo..botherooo.” Peter is almost completely down for the count.

Tony is quiet for a minute. He’s never been good at saying the heavy stuff, especially when he knows he should. But dammit, this is important. Tony unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says, “you’re not a bother, Peter. If it has to be all or nothing, I’d rather have it all. Go back to telling me about your homework, and your friends, and the dogs you help rescue. I’ll only be bothered by the silence.”

“Oh. ‘Kay,” Peter says. His eyes have shut.

“I’m serious, Peter. If I go two days without hearing about your grades, there’ll be trouble.”

Tony is surprised by the sound of Peter’s rolling laugh, strained and breathless but entirely genuine. “’Sound like sucsh a dad,” he slurs.

A bit of wind whips around them and Tony looks up to see the med-evac, right on schedule. “Perhaps,” he says, looking dad at Peter’s relaxed form. “But no one will ever believe you.”

[marshmallowprotection]

Inspired by the character Margarita Blankenheim from Evillious Chronicles (Link to Margarita’s Evillious Chronicles wiki page: https://theevilliouschronicles.fandom.com/wiki/Margarita_Blankenheim ) and the song “Gift From the Princess Who Brought Sleep” (Link to the fanmade PV & cover by Mariogagabriel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mo8IHawkHpI ), all by Mothy.

Trigger warnings for self-harm mentions, suicide mentions, and a bat shit crazy psychopathic girl who is the topic of this character description. 

Well, I’ve made way more disgusting & hateable characters for my world...I mean, I made a character whose disgusting fetish list is long and as said, disgusting and disturbing. Ah, the smell of my world and its blurry border between NSFW and SFW…

(I think the only reason it's not NSFW is cus there are no explicit scenes of you know what ._.)

“If you truly love me, you wouldn’t have hurt me back then. I’m just returning the favor, you know! Every Black Rose has thorns...but mine are simply sharper, Mama, Papa. Now, 

TO HELL WITH YOU SCUM!”

-Laila, 1691 T.C. At Age 15

Name: Laila Kerrin Rouziame (Pronounced Lie-la Care-in Ro-zee-ah-meh in case anyone has trouble pronouncing it)

Name Meaning: Laila is an Arabic name meaning “Night Beauty”. Kerrin is an Irish name meaning “Black”. I derived her last name from “Rouzia”, an English name which is a variation of the name “Rose”. All together her name literally means “Night Beauty Black Rose”. 

Aliases (If Any): Black Rose (Code Name/Serial Killer Name)

Age: 19 (On Death)

Date of Birth/Birthday: Day 14 of Xomura’s Star, 1676 T.C. (Equivalent of February 14th)

Zodiac: Aquarius

Status: Deceased (Died 1695 T.C.)

Species: Elf

Magic: Unknown (Used A Variety of Different Spells, The Magic She Inherited/Specialized In Is Unknown)

Height: 5’4 Feet (162 Centimeters)

Ethnicity: Vesperian

Relatives: Duke Rouziame (Father)✝

Duchess Rouziame (Mother)✝

Rowen von Hallow (Husband)✝

Veila Miranda Rouziame (Daughter)✝

Various Descendants

Birth Place: Merdanburg, Rouziame Territory, Vesper Empire

Nationality/Current Residence: Merdanburg, Rouziame Territory, Vesper Empire

Religion (Which Goddess Do They Worship?): Kaya (Claims)

None

Occupation: Duchess of House Rouziame

The Infamous Serial Killer “Black Rose”

Founder of The Criminal Organization “Midnight Rosaria”

Affiliations: Midnight Rosaria

House Rouziame

Vesper Empire

  Personality: Self-Destructive, Just Plain Old Crazy, Psychopathic, Masochistic, Sadistic, Comes Off As “Sweet” And “Kind”, But Eerily “Sweet” and “Kind”, Like You Can Just Feel Something Is Off, But She’s A Master Manipulator, So You Wouldn’t Realize Till She Stabs You Senseless

Marital Status: Married (Formerly)

Widow [By Choice]

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Likes: Roses, Pain (No Seriously, I Put Her As Masochist In Her Personality Thing For A Reason), Flowers

Dislikes: People Pitying Her, People Treating Her As if She Were A Sweet Innocent Thing To Be Protected From The Cruel World, The Abuse Her Parents Did To Her, The Scent of Smoke, Smoke In General

Role: Background Character

Potential Post-Ever Changing Fate 1 Side Story Main Character (Undecided Though)

  Debut: Undecided

Random Facts:

Laila is a genuine actual psychopath. She’s not meant to be a character you can justify at all or chalk up her trauma to be the source of her evil or that she could have been good in an alternate timeline if she did not go through her trauma. She was, really, seriously, born with a lack of empathy for people and violent tendencies. However, her parents’ abuse towards her is what pushed her over the edge. But she would likely have still gone down the route she goes down in her canon, becoming a murderer, as she is likely a character who displays the worst symptoms and tendencies of someone who is a psychopath. 

Also before anyone claims she’s a sociopath- she is not, because she was like this from birth. Sociopaths are made- psychopaths are born. Big difference.

She was not born a masochist, however, she slowly morphed into one as the years went on and she searched for relief from the pain her parents caused her, and in a sick way the pain she caused to herself seemed to feel euphoric, and she’s not sure why. It may be due to her suicidal tendencies and contemplation of suicide, or maybe something else.

Laila is not meant to be an accurate representation of most mentally ill people- she’s one of the most extreme cases. And she’s also an actual psychopath, who are unable to be helped at all because their lack of empathy is not like depression or something where they can recover- it’s something physically wrong with her brain; for lack of a better word, she’s broken. And there’s nothing anyone could do to help her. Unfortunately, before anyone realized she was a severe, genuine danger to everyone around her and herself, she had already killed many people and eventually herself.

Laila also has severe depression (which is the main cause of her suicidal tendencies later on and masochistic tendencies) and severe PTSD towards the scent of smoke due to her father’s smoking habits. That’s also why she didn’t just burn all of Merdanburg like many people in Midnight Rosaria wanted her to- her fear of the smoke scent and just smoke, in general, made her unable.

Her exact kill count is 400. 399 if you disinclude herself.

Her masochistic tendencies are not sexual in nature before anyone asks.

Backstory: Laila Kerrin Rouziame was born the only child of Duke and Duchess Rouziame in the capital of Rouziame Territory (A Territory In My World Is A Province, Sort Of), Merdanburg on Day 14 of Xomura’s Star, 1676 T.C. Since birth, Laila had been harshly disciplined by her parents and taught what she should and should not do, in order to morph her into the perfect heiress, it didn’t help that the Vesper Empire was collapsing at the seams and that House Vesper, the ruling house of the empire, had disintegrated due to its main branch ending up at a dead-end when the last empress, Elisabet, died without an heir back in 1566 (110 years ago), and the nobility were all scrambling to become the new ruling house, and as one of the most powerful noble houses, Laila’s parents wanted to be the ones to become the new emperor and empress. And so, Laila was trained in how to be the best leader she could be, and harsh punishment in the form of physical and verbal abuse was executed to her if she did not comply, which she did a lot. Laila had...many violent tendencies, she often for example stabbed her stuffed animals with pencils or pens, or tearing them apart by hand, and sometimes even harming herself. All of this caused her only to be punished more, and many people started to refer to her as a demon child due to her tendencies of violence, and she even once attempted to stab the third son of the current Marquis Mariah at the time. Her lack of conscience and sense of right and wrong made everyone fear that maybe Laila was “possessed” or “cursed”. As Laila grew her tendencies only heightened, but, she learned an important skill from her older cousin, Lettisa (she was also a fellow psychopath), when she was 10- deception.

Laila learned how to pretend to be normal.

And so the random bursts of violence stopped. She put on a mask of perfectness- making herself out to be kind and benevolent when in reality she felt nothing but sick happiness at the thought of the pain she could cause. In private she harmed herself yet again but did so in places where she could easily hide the scars and wounds. 

When Laila was 13 the abuse from her parents continued to worsen, and her cousin Lettisa started talking to her about the idea of killing them, confessing that she herself killed her parents because they abused her too. Laila for the next 2 years would seriously consider it because she was tired of the abuse, in her words "They don't accept me for who I am, wanting me to pretend to be someone I am not. If they were gone...maybe...I could be free."

Laila would go through with her meticulously planned for two whole years murder plot against her parents when she was 15, murdering them in an excruciating, painful way which shall not be said because it's way too gory and disturbing.

After that Laila inherited everything from her parents, the estate, the title, the money, everything. Her cousin, Lettisa, chose to move out of her aunt's house to come live with Laila. And there began their creation of an organization, a criminal one, which they planned to name: "Midnight Rosaria".

Laila would be the face of the organization, and Lettisa handled many nitty-gritty details.

Laila's mental health continued to decline in terms of her sanity, and she began desiring to feel the euphoria which bringing pain to others had always brought her. And so, she became a serial killer, not targeting anyone in particular besides people who were friends of her parents, who were rewarded for their bystanding status of just watching Laila get abused by her parents with a painful death.

With the creation of Midnight Rosaria, killings across all of Merdanburg heightened along with the crime rate, Lettisa going around and recruiting people to the organization. Everyone was there for different reasons and different goals, but they all benefited from one thing: the fact that they would help each other. Everyone in the organization usually behind only one member's murder plot or crime. It was very meticulously planned, everything was perfected to the highest degree of perfection. And let me tell you, Laila was not dumb- in fact, she was a genius of her time, likely one of the most brilliant criminals ever. She was just... absolutely insane. 

Before Laila even turned 18, she was approached by a suitor named Rowen von Hallow, who claimed to have fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her. She originally rejected him, but Lettisa said that marrying him would greatly increase her power due to him being descended from Alia Hallow, who was a famous hero. So, Laila agreed to marry him. She gave birth to a daughter a year later.

For the next 4 years of her life (counting from when she was 15), Laila murdered over 300 people, using various magic spells and masking her true nature to enact her plots. With all of Midnight Rosaria helping her, at that point, there was nothing anyone could do to stop her, not when she had so much power and influence as Duchess Rouziame and the leader of Midnight Rosaria.

Merdanburg became a ghost town.

Laila's mental health had become extremely unstable. She even murdered her husband during a violent fit and didn't even care afterward.

And so Laila believed the last thing to do was to kill herself.

Everyone urged her not to, including Lettisa, but Laila stated that it was for the best, considering that was what she had wanted her entire life- the ultimate pain- the sweet release of death.

And so she did.

Laila has gone down in history as one of the most brilliant minds to have ever lived, as she did excel in school, but used her brilliance for the wrong reasons. She became known as the "Black Rose" due to her leaving a black rose wherever she made the worst wound on her victims. She's become infamous in history and due to being the creator of Midnight Rosaria along with Lettisa, she influenced the future of crime for centuries.

Lettisa ended up being the new guardian of Laila's daughter Veila, and unfortunately, Veila inherited her mother's psychopathy, becoming an infamous murderer as well. 

This is my first time writing a character who was born just purely crazy, did I mess up anything? Idk myself if I did a good job or what. ;-;

She's likely going to be improved in the future as I find out more about psychopathy, but this is her for now. :/ 

— Submision

Well, I do think it’s important not to call people “crazy”. Doing things of that nature can harm anyone with mental illness. Mental illness are not excuses for your actions. There’s definitely people in this world that are cruel but they are simply cruel for their own reasons, they weren’t being forced into doing anything, they choose to do what they do. Framing certain illness in a bad light makes for a bad stigma for people who experience pyschosis, hallucinations, and more. It isn’t “scary” to be “different.” 

But, it is a shame that people hurt others for things out of their control, like what they struggle with mentally or physically. Genetics can put you at risk for certain things, like anxiety, but that doesn’t mean that would make you your parent, or what they struggled with. Now, you could be disillusioned with reality and she could possibly have been taught things as a child that helped shape her view of others, and that’s how the daughter lashes out at others, but I wouldn’t say that she “got it from her mother” as in, mental illness. 

It’s just important to be careful about how you write characters like that because there is so much bad media out there that does more harm then good. Even if she’s one of the extreme cases that is an outlier, it’s important to be wary of what it can do to other people. 

I do find the concept rather interesting, though. It has potential if you continue to work on it and remedy things that may hurt others.