#and just. him thinking ‘this one (dissociation) doesn’t feel like it’s his fault. actually it never really does’ implying that it hurts him

[flowercrowngods]

on topic of my emotions regarding Idiot Steve…

He should be terrified, but he isn't, not in that moment. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything as he stares at himself in the mirror of his en suite bathroom. He doesn’t know where the panic went, seeing as nothing has been resolved, nothing has changed. Except, well, he has a plan now. A plan that got derailed the very second he saw himself and another piece of reality has settled. Or unsettled. He’s not sure yet.

He gets stuck like this sometimes. Is fully aware of it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stop, doesn’t make the comments any easier that get flung his way, sniding words from the genius kids or his genius soulmate — Platonic with a capital P. Just one more thing in the Idiot Steve Harrington collection, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s his fault. Actually, it never really does.

this one doesn’t feel like it’s his fault. it never really does

Now, though, it’s staring him in the face. It’s almost comical. We expect you to be great, Mother said where other parents would have written words of love and kindness. 'We expect you to be great. The next few years will leave you traumatised to all hells and back, you will almost die several times and find friends who let you care for them but maybe don’t entirely reciprocate that. We will never hear about any of that and we don’t really care. The last hug you got from me was April 1979, and that was only because I was grieving and you were there. Be great, Steven. And have a pizza for your troubles.'

and find friends who let you care for them but maybe don’t entirely reciprocate that

me writing the time travel au, or just about anything steve-centric:

[howlsofbloodhounds]

What if Nightmare trys to convince Killer they are equally toxic as a way to manipulate him?

After Killer did something, Nightmare would say something like "this is why no one else would ever except you" or something more specific depending on what would happen

He'd use this to isolate Killer even further than just trafficking him

And this could lead to Killer developing Stockholm Syndrome because Nightmare is making it seem like they're equally toxic, implying they're equals and making Killer think that if he really REALLY deep down wanted to, he could leave, when he actually can't

Sometimes i think my moots are more evil than me.

It wouldn’t be hard to make him believe this at all. He’s so easy to guilt trip when he’s in Stage 1–easy to emotionally manipulate. Break him down and convince him of this, which wouldn’t be hard to do at all, then he’d passively accept it. In Stage 2 he might act in ways that only reaffirm to keep him in cycle of guilt and self sabotage due to outside manipulation.

Killer doesn’t have a stable, coherent sense of self. It’s hard to think objectively about himself when the type of abuse he goes through breaks down critical thinking and the ability to think independently and objectively. The lack of ability to access much emotion in Stage 2 greatly impacts Killer.

He will probably accept that he is equally as toxic as Nightmare passively, in a resigned way. “Yeah, makes sense” way. He’d probably internalize the idea, people’s opinions of him as fact in Stage 1 and may externalize and act and behave the way that aligns with what others say is true in Stage 2. Creating a self fulfilling prophecy.

(Such as that one ask where someone said, “after all the monsters you killed, you can’t bring them back, you can’t be good.” Something like that. And Killer’s (st2’s) response was “It’s not my fault they are weak.” It aligns into his worldview that there’s no point in trying to be better or to change.)

It’s not like he can really trust his judgment on these things. His self perception is eroded and sense of reality is fragmented, as is his sense of self—and so, of course, he has been conditioned to rely on others (such as abusers) for a sense of self worth or reality. It doesn’t help that he has to mold himself to meet expectations for perceived survival or avoidance of suffering/inconvenience/or in Color’s case, abandonment—“I’m whatever you want me to be.”

And yeah, this does mean he accepts things like degradation as fact when it comes from those ‘above’ him —even if it’s intended to be playful.

Even if he knew it was playful, he’d doubt it because he can’t tell if it’s real or not, that it was actually supposed to be a joke. He’d need reassurance, he’d never ask for it—mostly because he’s unlikely to feel any hurt by it, it just is what it is.

He wouldn’t be able to access any hurt or guilt or shame about this idea like he could if he were in Stage 1–if he did feel any (especially if the insult came from someone like color), he’d probably try to repress or dissociate from it.

Stage 1’s fear, guilt, and shame would keep them trapped—may even cause him to try and push away people like Color or the cats out of fear of doing to them what Nightmare does to him. What he “does” to Nightmare when in Stage 2. Of being abusive towards the two most important people in his life.

{ @largefound }

[mageknight14]

I think what’s interesting about Neku as a protag is that while I’ve seen some people talk about how he’s one of the deeper/most complex characters in the franchise, I’d argue that he’s actually one of the most straightforward characters in the TWEWY duology-and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. That’s not to suggest that he doesn’t have depth, far from it. His trauma and the way that he goes about in trying to dissociate from others while still genuinely loving them deep down, even if he says otherwise, is genuinely interesting to see in action, especially in how he approaches his relationships. But compared to the others, I don’t find him as fascinating to explore in comparison to, say, Shoka, Joshua, Sho, Kanon, Motoi, Shiba, Mr. H, or even Rindo as a protag, even if his reappearance in NEO as well as how he tries to keep his trauma/emotions under wraps is still interesting to see in action.

That said, he’s still one of my faves for how much he embodies TWEWY’s themes in general, his development just being great to see in action, and the impact he has on the people around him in various ways. In a series where a lot of the characters like to hide parts about themselves and how those affect the relationships around them, Neku in the first game is blunt to a tee, almost to a fault, and confrontational, which makes him the perfect receptacle for the themes/lessons the game imparts on him. We're privy to almost every single one of his thoughts, feelings, and emotions throughout the game, to the point that it almost becomes a first-person narration at times. He hates lying and it shows because when the characters have doubts about themselves, he’s the perfect guy for the job of setting them straight instead of trying to dart around the issue, getting them to look at themselves and try to press forward anyway.

This is also part of what makes Rindo such an effective foil to him as a protagonist. Like I said in another post, while Rindo SEEMS more socially well-adjusted compared to Neku on a surface-level, once you look into his actions and mindset, you can see that he's also quite the dysfunctional mess. Whereas Neku is blunt, brutally honest, and incredibly confrontational, Rindo is much more passive, self-contradictory, and incredibly insecure about himself and the people around him, which feeds into how he puts people at arm's length, including his supposed best friend. The kid can't even tackle a simple-ass puzzle without needing to consult his online friend first or ask them about their identity because he's afraid of rocking the boat. Whereas Neku is alone AWAY from the crowd, Rindo is alone IN the crowd.

This also extends to their inner thoughts, where Neku will let us, the player, view into his mind and have him lay out exactly what he's feeling, the conclusions he comes to, and be confident enough in what he's feeling to then express himself in exactly that manner (with some exceptions such as some of his interactions with Joshua, which is justified because he doesn't want to risk anything happening to Shiki if their partnership goes south so he tries to keep what he says in check, even if it internally kills him inside, and even then he still spills out how PISSED he is with Joshua towards the end.)

Meanwhile, in NEO, while we do play as Rindo and get the majority of the story through his perspective, we don’t get to see his inner thoughts/turmoil as much as Neku’s…because he DOESN’T want to recognize his issues, instead trying to rely on everyone else to solve his problems for him so that they can take the fallout in case something goes wrong and a lot of it shows through his actions/outspoken dialogue instead. Nagi’s Dive and Haz’s conversation with him are some of the only times someone directly calls him out on his flaws within the main story but when you pay attention to how he acts, his flaws pop up quite a bit. For example, how he claims that An0ther's quote of "never miss your chance to make a friend" is one of his favorite quotes yet he balks at the idea of recruiting other potential team members as well as grimace at the concept of the first game's Reaper's Game.

So we have a guy who’s constantly internally struggling with himself while putting on a cold/blunt persona because he doesn’t want to get hurt and recognizing that maybe he’s wrong on a point and letting us in on how he's feeling a vast majority of the time in his head versus a guy who constantly bitches and moans internally while passively going along with everything in spite of himself, constantly self-contradicting/being hypocritical without recognizing himself as such until he gets a much needed wake-up call later and I think that’s really interesting.

[love-kurdt]

wip (what is poppin') wednesday

from chapter 2 of ntwdt >:) this fucking document is 37 pages long rn. to put that into perspective, the entirety of TIMT adds up to 37 pages. and i'm only on part 2 of 4. i think i've gone mad

“We’ve been here for, what,” I checked my watch, just to verify how long we’d been seated in the diner booth, “four and a half hours? And I still barely know anything about you!”

Matt chuckled. “Well, we’ve gotta finish the ten things about you, first!”

“Not my fault you keep distracting me.”

I could hear the grin spreading across his face as he teased, “I’m distracting, now, am I?”

“You are,” I admitted.

Matt narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin in feigned suspicion. “Interesting.”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath, pushing the conversation forward before I got too flustered and lost my train of thought once again. “So… Hawkins, Jonathan, D&D, books, my major, singing, alcohol, my father, Dustin–”

“Dustin doesn’t count,” Matt said.

“He does, too!” I insisted, letting a little bit of my inner child seep through the cracks.

“Fine,” Matt relented with a slight eye roll, “But only because I like you.”

Well, that was very forward of him. It wasn’t too out of pocket, given the fact that I’d literally made out with him not even ten minutes into knowing his name, but listening to a guy openly admitting his romantic feelings for me without any form of hesitation was something I had yet to get used to. I spent years hiding my own feelings, and Mike… fuck Mike. “I like you, too,” I heard myself say.

“… And that’s ten.”

“Wait really?” I shook my head in confusion. “What was ten?”

“That you’re into me.”

“Oh,” I said with a slight eye roll at my own stupidity, “Yeah. I guess that was ten things.”

“And that’s my number one. I like you,” he nudged my foot with his under the table with a smirk, “I have severe ADHD, I have a dog back home named Swayze— he’s a pomeranian. I’m a sophomore material studies major because I can’t make decisions to save my life. I have a passion for writing and have this dream of writing and illustrating my own stories someday–”

“Woah, wait, me too!” I interrupted, and Matt’s eyes lit up in surprise.

“Wait, you write as well?”

How to Explain The Status of Your Co-Writing Relationship with Your Ex-Best Friend Who You Were in Unrequited but Not Actually Unrequited Love With Without Mentioning His Name for Dummies would’ve been pretty useful right about now. “Well… no. I used to work on silly comic books with some of my old friends, but I only illustrated. Someone else did the writing.”

“Cool,” Matt nodded in approval.

“I have no idea what's gonna happen next. But, whatever it is, I... I think we should work together. I think it'll be easier if we're... we're a team. Friends. Best friends.”

“Cool.” 

“Cool.”

“So, uh—” Fuck, I hadn’t even realized I’d spaced out. “That was five, right?” Matt asked me, and I nodded, taking a sip of my Diet Coke. How long did I dissociate for? This hadn’t happened to me in months.

[blue-slxt]

Two Can Play - Chapter 5

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: We have finally reached the finale! I legit cannot thank you guys enough for all the love and support on this series. Especially since this is my first Lo'ak fic. Writing this really made me fall in love with him. Of course, like I say in every part, I have to give a HUGE thanks to @pandorxxx for inspiring me to write this fic. Her fic Search & Rescue was a big inspiration for the premise of this story. Two Can Play would not exist without her. So, I hope you guys enjoy the end of this fantastic journey. All characters are aged up.

Previous Part

Pairing: Lo'ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: This chapter contains potentially triggering content for suicidal ideation so please proceed with caution. Mentions of death, Angst, Dissociation, Depression, Smut, P in V, Creampie, Oral (M receiving), Mentions of scenting, I think that's it

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: The aftermath of the incident plays out.

Staring up at the opening in your tent, the night stars bounce in your vision with each thrust given by Tenye above you. He holds on to your hips while he ruts into you. Clearly, he’s feeling good from all the sounds he’s making. You can’t really feel much right now. Your head is too far lost in the sky to be present enough to enjoy yourself. Your mind is back in that space where you’re not really in your body anymore. It’s as if you can actually see your own face peering up at the sky dead-eyed while you force moans from your own mouth to help him finish quickly.

“Ah…Gonna cum!” he says

‘About damn time’ you think to yourself.  You use your hand to push him out of you before he finishes and just pump him with your fist until he cums.

He lets out a dramatic groan when he finishes and doesn’t move an inch while he comes down from his high. Meanwhile, you immediately use a spare cloth to wipe your hand off with.

“Eywa, that was so good” he says between pants trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah…” you pick up his loincloth and toss it to him, “See you around.”

He stares stunned at you for a moment, “That’s it?”

“Yup, pretty much. Bye.”

Tenye scoffs at you and he mutters ‘bitch’ under his breath as he gets dressed and leaves.

It doesn’t even phase you at this point. Nothing phases you anymore. You don’t feel anything anymore. It’s been like this for 2 whole weeks now. You hid out in your tent and retreated into yourself. For the first few days, it felt like you never moved from the spot on the floor where you initially collapsed. You nearly dehydrated yourself from your tears. Ako came looking for you after you disappeared from the festival and the sight of you broke her heart.

And just when it felt like your mind was going to snap from all the overwhelming distress…it suddenly went dead quiet. Your mind and body ceased to process stimuli properly anymore. And before you knew it, you fell back into your old habits. Desperate to feel something—anything, you regressed into seeking comfort in sex. But that did nothing for you either. Not anymore. No matter what, the only person your body responded to was Lo’ak.

You found fault with just about every other male now. This one kissed too rough, that one came too quick, he used too many teeth when he ate you out, and he was too small. One after another, the disappointment seemed never-ending. Lo’ak had utterly ruined you for anyone else. None of them could hold a candle to him and how he knew your body.

And even worse, you still had his bracelet. The one that he made for you. You were too blinded by your rage to have the sense to throw it out that night with the rest of his things. But once you calmed down and registered that it was still on your wrist, it was like your fingers physically couldn’t take it off. As much as it pained you to look at it and remember, you couldn’t deny the comfort it also brought you. Fidgeting with the small beads day in and day out mindlessly.

You curl up on your hammock and fight to keep the tears at bay. But you fail today again just like every day since the incident. It doesn’t take anything to bring the sadness on at this point. It just sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Even with a totally blank mind, your subconscious still remembers every ounce of the pain that still lives there.

Another cold night of crying yourself to sleep.

…

Ako grew concerned about you over the passing weeks. She couldn’t believe the story you had told her about what you witnessed. It didn’t make sense. The way Lo’ak was with you, there was no way it was just an act. Lo’ak may have been a lot of things, but cruel wasn’t one of them. It didn’t add up in her mind. She struggled with whether or not she should go confront Lo’ak. On one hand, she felt like it wasn’t her place to get involved. She doesn’t insert herself into your relations. But on the other hand, watching your body and mind slowly wither away with each passing day was sinking her heart. She needed to find answers.

That’s why she’s currently dragging Lo’ak by his arm through the forest right now. She needs to get to the bottom of this so that she can know how to help you.

“Okay, you need to start talking and I mean right now” she says finally releasing his arm once they’re far enough out of the way.

“What are you talking about?”

“What the hell happened the night of the festival?” she nearly screams at him

“Nothing happened! I was set up!” he says doing his best to defend himself.

“That’s not how she described it” Ako retorts crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, I know that it looked really bad from her perspective, but I swear I am telling the truth! Fea said her friend hurt herself in the forest and I went to help, but then she cornered me. But I pushed her off immediately. You’ve got to believe me.  I would never do something like that.” His voice is pleading and his eyes are sincere.

Ako takes a deep breath sitting on his explanation. That story does make more sense in her mind, but she knows it won’t be any simple task trying to convince you of its authenticity.

“Did you explain that to her?” she asks still somewhat skeptical.

“She threw me out before I could. She didn’t want to hear it.” The defeated tone in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I…I love her. I could never do that to her. But it’s over…she hates me now.” He slumps back against a tree letting his head fall forward.

“You need to go see her.”

Lo’ak looks up at Ako with doubt, “How? She doesn’t want me anywhere near her.”

“Don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. You haven’t seen her, Lo’ak. She’s a mess these days. She won’t eat or drink or leave her tent. She’s a shell. Even I’ve never seen her this bad before. She needs something more than I can give her. She needs you. Now, move your ass!” her arm stretches to point in the direction of your tent signaling him to get moving.

Lo’ak lets Ako’s words sink in. He wants nothing more than to come running to your side. Thinking about how much you were suffering was torturous to his mind. But how would he get through to you? How would he get you to listen?

“Now Lo’ak!” Ako pipes up breaking him out of his swirling thoughts.

He decided he was just going to have to figure it out on the way. If he wanted this—truly wanted to be with you, shouldn’t he fight for it? He rises from his slumped position against the tree and let his feet carry him to your tent.

He still has no idea what he’ll say or how you’ll receive it, but he just knows he has to try. He owes you that much.

Your tent comes into view in the distance and his pace slows as he feels his resolve starting to fade. Your last night together replays in his mind standing outside of your tent. The anger and suffering in your eyes and the way you shouted at him to get out. It was like he was reliving it again at this very moment. Standing in the same place he stood while he collected his discarded belongings that you had thrown out of your home. A home that he had started to feel like he belonged in too.

His family was wonderful and they loved him and he loved them too, but with you, the two of you had filled the space together. It was both of yours. Losing it was crushing. He wanted to come home. With one big breath, he finally builds the courage he needs to walk inside.

He closes his eyes while he waits for your angry tirade to hit his ears…but it doesn’t. He hears nothing. Cautiously, he opens his eyes to look around and for whatever reason, you’re not home. That’s odd. Ako said you hadn’t left since that night. So where would you go?

He gingerly walks around letting himself reminisce about all the blissful mornings and heated nights he would spend here with you. He makes his way over to your hammock and something catches his eye. It’s the bracelet he made for you.

You never took off this bracelet. Not for one second. Not when you slept, not when you bathed, not even when you kicked him out. He didn’t see it among his things and it brought him a small comfort to know that you held on to it. But now, his heart sinks to his feet. Lo’ak couldn’t quite place why, but he had this awful feeling deep in his gut. Something was wrong. He needed to find you immediately.

He storms out of your tent looking frantically around everyone in the area trying to find your face. But he doesn’t see you.

Ako is walking towards him, “So, what happened?”

He runs to her, “She’s not home.”

“What? Where did she go?” “I don’t know! She was gone when I got here! And she left her bracelet. She never takes this thing off. We need to find her. Now!” panic seeps in and takes over his mind.

“Okay okay, I’ll search through the west side of the forest, you hop on your ikran and look through the east.” Ako tries to stay calm so that Lo’ak doesn’t completely lose himself right now. What they needed right now was not to panic, but to make a plan.

He nods his head and takes off to call and mount his ikran. He’s so frayed, it effects how his ikran flies. Its movements are rough and choppy in the sky, but they take off, nonetheless.

…

What is the point? Why bother keeping this up anymore? Everything is just so heavy. The weight of the grief sitting on your chest is nothing short of devastating. First, your parents, then losing Lo’ak, and now you can’t even find solace in your one simple pleasure. You can only take so much.

You’re completely dissociated from reality while you walk through the forest. You let your body just wander aimlessly through the foliage, around trees, through bushes, and over creeks. The soft moss is a welcome feeling under your feet as you let yourself sink deeper and deeper into the unfamiliar path you’re on. You let the colors of the various flora surrounding you guide you through an untrekked trail.

You didn’t know where you were headed. You secretly wished that your body would take you back to the pond. The same place where you would visit so many nights with Lo’ak just floating until all the world’s problems seemed like nothing more than ripples in the water around you two. Where nothing else mattered but being with each other. If only you could go back in time and warn yourself. ‘Don’t fall for it’. ‘Stick to your gut’. ‘He’ll only break you’. ‘Do NOT fall in love with him’. But that was only a wish and real life is not so forgiving.

Reality is cruel and merciless and does not care for your pathetic wishes of things to be different.

You continue your aimless stroll through the dense forest watching your feet place themselves one in front of the other. Until…the green of the forest starts to slowly fade. The green under your feet gradually shifts into a hard, stony gray. And there is no more soft moss and grass, but now there is harsh, sharp edges of rocks poking and prodding the soles of your feet. Where were you?

You finally find the motivation to lift your head and find out where you had travelled. It was a mountain? No, it was a cliff. Why had your body been called here of all places? Fear gripped your chest suddenly realizing how high up you were. Frozen. Even though you were far from the edge of the cliff, your body stood completely still as if taking even one more movement would result in your tumbling over the edge. And instead of misery, you feel gratitude. You are thankful for the fear because it is better than the all-consuming nothingness you’ve been feeling for weeks now. You’re so desperate to feel absolutely anything that you push the envelope even more and, with shaky legs, you take several steps forward.

One step and then another. You slowly, but surely, bring yourself closer and closer until you can see over the edge of the cliff. Below is a body of water, no doubt with some sharp rocks just under the surface or a shallow bottom. If you fell, that would surely be the end of you.

But would that be so bad? Putting an end to all the misery? No more tears, no more emptiness, no more loneliness, no more suffering, just…peace. You could finally be with your family again and you wanted so badly to be with your parents again. But what would they think of you? If they knew who you had become since their passing, how disappointed would they be? How could you possibly face them again as you are?

But the urge to just put one foot over the edge is…enticing to say the least. Your hand reaches for your wrist only to be met with nothing. That’s right, you took off your bracelet finally and left it at home. You had grown so accustomed to playing with the small beads that not having it now left you feeling more exposed and lonely.

You turn your face up to the sky hoping to find some kind of sign or message from Eywa on what to do. When you drop your head again, a shadow passes over you. When you look up, you discover Lo’ak flying overhead on his ikran. Of course he would show up here right now. He lands blocking your path back into the forest. You’re trapped between him and the edge that you were dangerously close to.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! What are you doing up here? You shouldn’t be here!” Lo’ak calls out before he can even fully dismount his ikran. He starts walking towards you, but you take a step back. “Be careful! You’re too close! Just come over here, please!”

You shake your head casting your gaze down to the ground. This was the worst-case scenario right now. Lo’ak pauses and stays where he is so as to not push you any further back. “Listen to me. Please. I know you probably hate me and I can’t blame you. From what you saw, I know it looked bad, but—”

“Bad? Bad doesn’t even begin to cut it, Lo’ak! You had another girl all over you! And—”

“I know how it looked, but listen to me for fucks sake!” he cuts you off and you hold your tongue shocked. Lo’ak has never taken this tone with you, but it worked in getting you to be quiet long enough for him to explain his side.

“I know how it looked, but you have to believe me, I would never do that to you. It was a set up. She cornered me because she was jealous of you. She wanted what we have, but there’s no way I could give myself to her like I have with you.”

He cautiously takes a step forward and you don’t step back. You let his words flood your head and process. Of course, you want to believe him, but could you really trust that? It would make sense. Fea was always giving you death glares after you and Lo’ak had got together. But you can’t bear it if this was just a ploy to get you back.

“I could never feel the same way about anybody else. Love only feels like love with you.” He takes another stride your way.

Your knees start to tremble under your weight and tears fall directly from your eyes to the stone beneath you. Your heart called for him, it ached for him to hold you. But your mind was still doubtful. But were those doubts heavy enough to outweigh the love you still held for him?

“Sevin…” he’s careful with his tone while he continues to approach you in the same way one would approach an unpredictable, wild animal. “I love you. There’s nobody else I could ever want.”

With that, your body finally gives out and falls to the ground. Lo’ak runs towards you and catches you before you fully hit the stone. He quickly drags you back further from the edge. A swell of emotions rushes from your body as you quake in his grasp. He smooths his hand over your hair and shushes you quietly in your ear. “It’s okay now. I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” Every word he utters brings a fresh wave of emotions in their wake. It’s too much. It shatters what little composure you were clinging to. You let yourself completely fall apart in his arms and bawl into the empty sky.

…

You finally come to late into the night. You’re back in your tent, tucked into your hammock. There was no memory of you coming home. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t remember anything after Lo’ak confronting you on the cliff. How did you make it home? You finally sit up and look around your home and on the floor next to you is a sleeping Lo’ak. His knees are tucked into his chest and his head is resting on his arms.

After you had crumpled in his arms earlier, Lo’ak had carried you to his ikran and held you while he flew you back home. He tenderly layed you back in your hammock and cleaned your face with a cloth and some cool water. He sat and waited with you while you rested. He had silently vowed to himself that he wouldn’t leave your side.

Your body relaxes in his presence the same way it always did. What are you to make of this situation? Just as soon as you had started to try and think of an answer, Lo’ak had started to stir awake.

He instantly looks to check on you and notices that you’re awake. “You’re up. Are you hungry?” He stands and walks across the room to pick up a bowl of fruit. “Ako dropped this off for you a while ago. We figured that you would need something to eat.” He brings the bowl over to you and hands you a piece of fruit.

You mutter a small ‘thank you’ and take the food. It was true that you were hungry, but you also didn’t have very much of an appetite.

Lo’ak watches you while you eat and sits in front of you cross-legged. “Can we actually talk now?”

You rake through your endless piles of thoughts trying to find a starting point. “Did you mean it?” He looks at you asking you to elaborate with his eyes. “When you said that you…l-love me.”

His ears drop at your doubt, but he couldn’t blame you for that. “Of course. And I’ll say it as many times as I have to until you believe me.” His hand rests on top of yours. You force yourself to not pull away.

“I…I love you too, Lo’ak. But I’m so scared.” Just when you think you couldn’t possibly have any more tears, new ones appear glossing over your eyes. “I can’t take another heartbreak. I don’t have it in me.”

Lo’ak’s hands hold either side of your face while he rises up to his knees. He presses warm, firm kisses to your forehead, “You won’t, tíyawn. I swear it. Never.”

Fresh tears hit your lap, but they aren’t yours. You angle your head up to look at him and now he had tears streaming down his own face. It’s truly a heart wrenching sight. You wipe his face with your thumbs and he leans his face into your touch. “I want to come home.”

A small smile breaks through on your face. ‘Home’. You try to swallow the lump in your throat so that you can actually speak words. But all you’re able to give him is the smallest nod of your head. His smile from your answer is blinding.

“Oh, before I forget.” He looks around on the floor in the spot where he was sleeping earlier and grabs your bracelet. “You left this behind.”

He grabs your wrist and ties the bracelet back on. Feeling the tiny weight on your arm again filled you with a sense of content.

“Can we go to sleep? I’m really tired.”

“Of course, sevin.” You missed hearing that.

You lie back down facing the wall and Lo’ak shifts behind you to settle into the hammock with you. His arm hesitantly rests over your waist. He still radiates that same warmth and safety that you missed, but your messy thoughts prevented you from ever fully falling asleep. Lo’ak noticed too. Every time you would stir in his arms or shift around, he would snap back to attention even if he was dozing off. He didn’t want you to be by yourself through the night. So, if you didn’t sleep, then he wouldn’t sleep.

…

A week had passed and you were slowly starting to come back into yourself. Lo’ak never left your side. He stayed with you through your whole recovery period and he loved you the whole way through. He never let a day go by without reminding you multiple times that he loved you. Some days were better than others. Some days, you looked and sounded like your normal self again. Other days, you could hardly get out of your hammock. Either way, he supported you in any and every way you needed.

You were cautious about opening back up to him. It didn’t come easy. It took a lot of heavy conversations and long sleepless nights. You still loved him and you believe that he loves you. What more could you really ask for? But your mind still torments you with the memory of what happened. You need to forget it. You want it ripped from your mind.

‘Fuck it’, you think. You’ve finally had just about as much as you can take of this.

You sit up from your hammock with a huff and look at Lo’ak who’s carving up more fruit for you on the floor.

“Lo’ak, I need you.”

He stops what he’s doing and sets down the fruit and knife. “What do you need ma txe’lan?” He comes over to you ready to attend to whatever you ask of him.

“Lie down.”

Confusion flashes across his face, but he complies anyways. You stand from your spot and kneel down between his legs. You quickly untie his loincloth and tear it off.

“W-what are you—”

“Shhhh…please don’t talk right now. I just need this, okay? Just let me do this.” You say already starting to stroke him. He gets hard almost immediately at your touch.

Lo’ak decides to not challenge you on this and let you have your way with him. You use your tongue to follow the vein on the underside of his shaft up to his tip and swirl your tongue around it.

He sucks in a sharp breath when you wrap your lips around his tip. You slide him all the way into your mouth and bob your head up and down while hollowing out your cheeks. All he can do is watch in amazement you while you go to work on him like your life depends on it. “Oh shit…” He can’t hold back the groans that escape his lips. It had felt like a lifetime since he last felt you and being in this moment right now was like heaven.

Every flash that comes across your mind just motivates you even more. You’ll keep going all night if that’s what it’ll take to finally wipe the memory from your mind.

The sounds that fill your tent are obscene, moans, curses, and slurping.

Lo’ak is slowly losing himself in the pleasure and the smell of your arousal thick in the air makes him that much more dizzy. Your body begged to be filled. You needed that pleasure that you had been deprived of for so long. More, more, more.

You use one of your hands to untie your own loincloth and pop Lo’ak out of your mouth. He barely has a chance to fully take a breath before you’re already on top of him and sinking him into your needy pussy.

“Fuck…” you breathe out as he reaches all the way into you. Your walls spasm around him getting reacquainted with the full feeling.

“Shit, wait wait” he tries to say, but it’s too late. His seed spills out into you and the heat spreads in your core. You stare down at Lo’ak with raised eyebrows and the embarrassment is clear on his face. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. It’s just been so long and between your mouth and the squeezing and—ughh” his hands cover his face trying to hide his shame. But you feel no shame or judgement towards him right now.

“Lo’ak…” you move his hands so that you can see his face, “It’s okay. We’ve got all night.” You smirk down at him and his blushing face. It’s almost comical how fast he gets hard again inside of you. “Think you can keep up?” you tease already starting to roll your hips into his.

“Yawne, you have no idea.” With one swift movement, he had flipped you over so that you were on your back and he was hovering over you. He meant every word too. Lo’ak hadn’t had any type of relief since the last time you two were together and he fully intended on making up for all the lost time.

Your hands guide his face down to yours to meet in a heated kiss. Lo’ak thrusts into you at a slow and steady pace. Every roll of his hips is deliberate and precise and it reaches the spot you need it to flawlessly. He pulls away from the kiss and holds you close to him while he whispers sweet words into your ear. “I love you”, “You are perfect”, “I need you”, “I am only yours”, and so on. You can feel him just pouring all of his love into you. You can’t quite name the feeling that comes over you, but whatever it is drives you to sink your teeth into Lo’ak’s shoulder.

There is an overwhelming, deep-rooted need to have him completely belong to you. A need to make it clear to anyone who laid eyes on him that he was already taken. Even if over time the mark would heal and fade, you’d mark him again and again for the rest of your life if you had to.

The twinge of pain in his shoulder fuels the pleasure and makes Lo’ak pick up speed. You let go of his shoulder and lick the small drips of blood that spill from the punctures you made. He sits up to his knees and holds your hips level with his while he continues to rut into you faster and harder being spurred on by the sight of your bouncing breasts and parted panting lips.

“I love you, Lo’ak.” Your words are breathy and broken, but he still hears you clearly.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lo’ak. I love you” you repeat it while you feel your high approaching. “Haah…Lo’ak, I’m going to cum.”

“Do it. Let go for me, sevin”

Your body immediately obeys his command for you and your head falls back while the knot in your body snaps. Lo’ak keeps fucking you through your orgasm, “Just like that.” He can’t stop moving feeling the way your pussy was gripping his dick as if you were trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Fuck…so good…” his eyes roll in pleasure as he chases his own high. You can tell from how he twitches inside of you that he’s close. You’re desperate for it already.

“Give it to me, Lo’ak. I want all of it.”

That was all he needed to take him over the edge and spill everything he had into you. His hips stutter and slowly come to a halt.

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before he finally pulls out of you and watches his cum drip out of you and down your ass. You look up at him, “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

He flips your body over by your hips and says, “You wish.”

…

For the rest of that night, you and Lo’ak went at it nonstop until you both were barely hanging on to consciousness. Afterwards, you both clung to each other while you slept half the day away.

Ako came by to check on you and was beyond relieved to see that you were well. And from the scent burned into your skin, she could tell that you and Lo’ak had finally made up.

“So, who officially lost the bet?”

Simultaneously, you and Lo’ak point at each other and make the same shocked face when you realized.

“You totally lost. You’re the one that said, ‘fuck the bet’ remember?”

“Yeah, but that was after you fucked me, so you lost.” He says lightly poking your chest.

“After you said you wanted to kiss me!” you blush trying to defend yourself.

“Kissing doesn’t count. But if it does, then you definitely lost that night after you fell off that branch” he says with an arrogant smirk.

“W-well, no because….you…I d-didn’t mean to…” you search for a rebuttal, but he had you cornered. You look to Ako for some type of help, but she only raises her eyebrows at you. “Sounds like you lost to me” she teases in a singsong voice.

“Shut up” your blush deepens while they both laugh at your flustered face.

“Anyways, I was going to gather some food. You two think you can leave your love nest for long enough to come help me?”

“Sure thing. Some fresh air will be good.” Lo’ak answers.

The three of you leave your tent and you and Lo’ak walk hand-in-hand into the forest.

[bouncykhotchillipeppers]

a short nct johnny birth chart reading (cross-posted from twitter)!

disclaimer: i do not know him personally, no harm intended, and others may interpret it differently. this is all for fun! please be nice as i don’t know nct super well. please do not repost or steal my work.

now, on to the fun stuff.

my first reaction was just…oh. that’s why. THAT is why he’s like this. the sheer, absolute, utter chaos inside of him. sorry to this man. the best way i can describe him is a cynical dreamer. completely out of pocket. very chill yet extremely uptight about certain things. his entire chart is a walking contradiction. let’s break this down.

the first thing i will focus on is his aquarius mercury rx in 5H because that is his chart ruler. a…backwards thinker, if you will. he’s that out of the box person who asks the weirdest questions in your biology class about, like, “since it’s theoretically possible, blah blah blah.” ACTUALLY. WHAT IF. MAYBE IF THIS HAPPENED. yeah, he’s that guy. don’t get me wrong! he’s actually a deep thinker, the guy that reads wikipedia because it’s fun and a walking encyclopedia of weird facts you really didn’t need to know about. he’s smart as hell and willing to debate anything, almost to a fault. it’s easy for him to see multiple sides, the cynical side giving way to the fantastical side and vice versa, and if he had harsher placements, i would say he’d make a fantastic lawyer because of this ease. truth is, he would fucking suck because he would let his emotional bias get in the way. he’s also not…serious enough. which i’ll get into later.

sun in aquarius in fifth house! creative, passionate, realistic. sun trine moon, in tune with himself. he knows who he is, though maybe not necessarily what he wants or needs. sun semisquare venus and sun opposite mars—a fighter. context is important, though. fighting against his friends is something he absolutely hates because he views his friendships as his solid foundation, somewhere he can go to let go. he will do everything he can to protect those friendships. he ACTS like he doesn’t give a shit because, hello, aquarius sun and gemini moon—the top two signs of not giving a shit—but the reality is that he does care, thanks to 7H in pisces and 11H in cancer. he’s just emotionally stunted because of that moon square saturn. he’s also a great friend because he’s so easygoing and lax about a lot of things. until you push him to his breaking point. then he will cut you to your core, taking all those little bits of knowledge he’s gathered over the years and turning them into the worst bits of knowledge about you and throwing them back in your face with a direct coldness. but other than that, he’s real chill. thoughts over feelings type of guy.

great friend, not so great boyfriend. he needs to be able to detach completely and emotionally, someone who’s as independent as he is and definitely not someone who’s clingy. he will prioritize his friends and family over romantic relationships any day, any time. he will dm you back with “i think we’d be better off as friends.” he will move on. he is a heartbreaker and does not care because that is not where his priorities lie. he thinks romance is inviting you over to his friend’s house for some beer and a nacho table and wii sports.

the final topic i will discuss is my favorite one: his grand mutable cross.

grand crosses (or grand squares) are when there’s four squares connected to each other to create a cross or a square in the chart, and they’re typically all in the same mode (cardinal, fixed, mutable). (i say typically because our very own mark lee has two grand crosses, one is fixed and the other is dissociate because of his cancer mercury rx.) but i digress. included in this aspect are his gemini moon 10H, sagittarius jupiter 3H, pisces saturn 6H, and virgo ascendant. so, what the fuck does this mean? to put it simply: chaos. despite all the stable capricorn and aquarius in his chart, this man thrives in disruption. every moment is a moment to live and enjoy. he needs to think, do, and decide for himself—to be free. he excels at the mundane but shines in the unanticipated. he’s good at seeing the small details and the big picture, the reason in the emotion, the halves in the whole, and is willing to take whatever life throws at him with ease because of the way he’s predictable with his unpredictability. restless and always looking to do something, anything to keep himself occupied. however, he tends to worry about meaningless things and ignores or outright avoids the things he needs to confront, hence why it’s hard to push him to his breaking point, which is confrontation. the capricorn in him helps with this to an extent. the tendency to see the absolute best and absolute worst in every situation is another one of his faults; as an example, he can cheer others on but internally be worrying that someone might get injured. he thrives in fun and excitement, constant change. as long as he has somewhere to focus his restless energy, he’s good.

some final notes:

i try to stay away from parents for idol chart readings, but since a parent planet is on the MC, i’ll talk about it. moon conjunct MC: he considers his mother to be the light of his life, literally. places her above everyone else. the midheaven is the highest point on his chart, the part the light shines on the most. he sees her as witty and capable and gets along well with her.

cancer in 11H: so devoted to his friends and his dreams. the basis and roots of his life.

a piece of advice i would give him: not everything has to be a major upheaval. it’s okay to let things go. it’s okay to be selfish sometimes, but the best place for you to be is in service to others. caring for others, especially friends and family, is what will make you happiest. but do not give a piece of yourself to everyone you meet.

ummm that’s it! 🙈 if you have a fan meeting with another member please ask them their birth time i’m always curious i love knowing idols’ charts

[zurajanaizurakoda]

I assume no one will read this, but the fanfic I'm working on is going to be more author notes than fanfic and I'm highly invested in Katsura as a character at the moment so I thought I would post my feelings about Katsura and disassociation here. (Mild Ginzura)

EDIT: I think I'm confusing fugue state with catatonic.

I very strongly headcanon that Katsura has dissociative states that can get to fugue state, and there’s not a lot of evidence but hear me out.  When Sensei is beheaded, he doesn’t react, like at all.  And I know it’s because the scene is supposed to be about Gin and Takasugi and Katsura is on standby as much as he possibly can be while still being in the scene, but it’s telling.  He doesn’t even cry, which is odd because he cries early and often, even in serious scenes.  During the battle at Eiroku, he cries simply because he and Gin lived through a battle.  I feel like when he realized what was happening he just went away when he realized he couldn't do anything.

Second piece is in the second movie where he’s facing execution, and he does literally nothing.  Definitely not arguing for fugue, he does react to his surroundings, for instance he watches Gin come up with the sword with at best mild interest.  (And this is a man who is a six foot penis dressed as his dead boyfriend running past security to take his head personally, you’d think it would be worthy of a reaction)  This is literally Runaway Kotarou, it’s essential enough to his character that he’s famous for it.  He escaped from jail in a week when he was a giant screwdriver.  It doesn’t come up much, but every time he’s been captured he’s escaped.  Suddenly he spends five years in a jail cell and then goes to his execution without a word.  I feel like he was living in some form of dissociative state for most, if not all the five years.  Once he realized that the world was broken in a way he had no skills to fix and realized he was useless and he just shut down.  I feel like Katsura’s sanity hinges on his ability to feel like he serves a purpose. Also, of course, he apparently talks about destroying this wretched world but the first thing he says to Gin is how disappointed he is in himself for not being able to save the world when Gin apparently failed. Unlike the execution scene, he actually displays a good deal of emotion when recounting the last time he saw Gin, almost crying. (One might even say it's implying that unlike his own death, which made no difference to him either way, he genuinely regrets Gin's death, but that's just me)

The third one is a good one!  After Nizou cut him down he played dead, meaning he was unresponsive enough that Nizou assumed he was dead and left him as a corpse.  When they discuss it later, Takasugi comments that he’s getting better at playing dead, implying that Katsura becoming unresponsive during battles has been a recurring theme in the past.  Katsura replies that the fault was Nizou’s, implying that he didn’t assign his survival to any conscious action on his part, it just happened like that.  Knowing he was about to die (and since it’s Katsura, the fact that he’s dying alone and possibly by the orders of one of his few friends in the world are probably factors in that) is enough to make him go away for a while.  I imagine in battle it would be useful, their battlefields tended to be piled high with corpses and it’s likely most soldiers wouldn’t go through them looking for survivors.  I feel like it’s highly possible that on at least one occasion his friends thought they were pulling a Katsura corpse out from under a pile of amanto, only to realize he’s alive and just left for a while.  Probably scared the shit out of them, and not just the first time.

The last thing is just a little one, but when he’s Zura he seems to turn off or at least greatly dull his pain reception.  He definitely seems to still be in the moment and aware of himself, but he’s consciously ignoring signals coming from his body.  Just noting that it’s something he does.

If you're into Ginzura, consider reading Big Spoon! It's not the fic this rant inspired, and it may be not the best characterizations but it's my favorite fic of mine. Gin and Zura sleeping big spoon/little spoon style when life gets too shitty starting in childhood, and eventually getting so many feels.

OH YEAH maybe not relevant but he sleeps with his eyes open and it seems like that's another indicator that he can just leave, five senses be damned.

[bestworstcase]

Listen as someone who loves Ozpin a lot, he got the better end of the deal and we know this bc Light said explicitly he would not be alone. No it’s not a GOOD deal but considering he found and reunited with and had kids with Salem in his first new life? Things only got terrible for him truly after they broke up / tried to kill each other.

Salem watched humanity be Destroyed by the “gods” of her world who thought she should be punished bc they were easily swayed into fighting by making her Love Forever, Invulnerable (can be brown. Apart but comes back together) and then Left Her Alone Until Humanity Evolved once again either by our real world rules or magical rules or a combination of the two.

Listen I’ll write an essay about Oz and his years of fucked up loneliness and body snatching he didn’t want but Salem being Alone for That long without even the release of death at her own hands? NONE of us would handle that well who knows how she rebates when life sprang up again like. She’s the villain for sure she’s fucked up for sure but man I would be too. I would be too

it’s funny that you say this actually because i think the opposite. salem may have been brutally psychologically tortured for millions of years at the hands of cruel and tyrannical gods, but 1. she’s still herself, 2. she understands that she did not deserve this, and 3. she was ultimately able to claw back some agency for herself by jumping into the pool of grimm (which is doubly true if that really did cause humanity’s resurrection, because in that case she actually ended the worst part of her curse).

meanwhile ozma got turned into a parasite who subsists by erasing and absorbing other people’s lives, over and over and over again, entirely against his will and in a manner that also forces him to experience this from their perspective too. and the god of light tricked him into agreeing to this—so he feels it’s his fault—on top of making it his sole responsibility to redeem humanity before the gods lest the whole world be obliterated. he’s been manipulated into a position where the one person who ever made him want to live is his greatest enemy and his whole existence revolves around a hopeless campaign to get rid of her so he can save the world that he only wanted to save because she was in it. and his sense of identity has been eroded so badly that he doesn’t even consider himself to be a person anymore. and he’s convinced all of his suffering is his fault and exactly what he deserves for having failed.

and rwby has been very, very clear that a person’s soul is their identity, their self-knowledge, which means that the nature of ozma’s curse is tearing his soul apart.

when salem found out he reincarnated early she kicked everyone out of the room, tried to calm herself down, had a meltdown, blew the windows in, and then very quickly shuffled her plans around to do damage control and even try to turn this development to her advantage (<- the ‘wring the lamp’s password out of him’ plan). when ozpin’s precarious house of cards collapsed he burrowed down into oscar’s head and went catatonic for months. and if V1 is any indication, as ozpin he regularly spent months on end just dissociating all the time. salem is like… a lot more emotionally functional than he is, and i think that’s entirely because ozma’s form of reincarnation is shredding his soul and forcing him to live in the bodies of people he involuntarily consumes.

[imtheiliad]

EVERY SINGLE THING I TOUCH BECOMES SICK [2.2k| emotional hurt comfort | established relationship] tw: dissociation, mentions of canon near drowning and suicide attempts, panic and anxiety attack, self harm companion to WE'VE BEEN LIVING ON A FAULT LINE {ao3}

Title from Bigger Than the Whole Sky by Taylor Swift. I do recommend reading we've been living on a fault line first if you haven't already :) I thought i was done with this universe but then @theladyyavilee made this post and it made me think too much and then this happened, it took me a long time to get the end right but i think i got it and who knows there might be a part three in me 😅 anywho happy reading! :P

We have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. ~ JFK

He’s in the shower of all places when it happens. It’s been a few weeks since the night on the pier. He and Christopher had a successful outing, coming back to the house exhausted but with a large teddy bear, and photo booth strips in hand.And it had been good, one of their best outings in a while. It was that same night that Eddie kissed him in the kitchen, smiling and soft like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He had talked about it all with Dr. Copeland. He knows that healing isn’t linear. He knows that just because he had one good day, one of the best of his life, doesn’t mean that the roller coaster was over. But he is still frustrated by the thought that floats through his head as the water falls around him, hitting his sore muscles.

Everything you love will betray you. Even water. Everyone important to you has nearly drowned.

He tips his face up into the spray, letting the water cover his face until he can’t breathe.

His body tips forward and forces him to again with spluttering coughs that wrack his body. And that’s how he finds himself, sobs wracking his body as he sits in the shower, the hot water continuing to relentlessly pelt his skin. He doesn’t even know if there are actually tears in that mix, but he does know that if he could move, he would get out of here. But he feels paralyzed, because it also feels good to feel something, anything, other than the hollowed out feeling that he had left the station with that morning.

It had been a kid in a pool. Not unlike a call they had before. Before he had even known Abby existed- a time when he had wondered if he would ever hear Maddie’s voice again, let alone hold her in his arms, hold her daughter in his arms. A time when being known and being loved for all of who he was was a distant dream and all that he yearned for in the quiet moments he had alone. A time when no one he knew would’ve thought of him ever becoming a father figure to anyone.

Maddie had been the one to take the call, and knowing that Chimney was busy treating them, she had texted Buck to make sure the call had ended on a hopeful note. He had called her as he waited for Eddie to shower, her worried voice telling him how she had texted Mrs. Lee for a picture of Jee after, and him reassuring her that it was a reasonable thing to ask after such a call. She had asked him if he was okay too, he had just said that he was tired after the long shift and was ready for bed.

Eddie had watched him carefully through the call. And pressed his leg into his on the ride back to the station. Their drive home had been silent. Eddie eyeing him from the passenger seat, waiting for Buck to say anything. But there hadn’t been anything to say. His conscious working overtime to silence the racing thoughts so they could make it home safely. And then it had lost the battle as he stood under the spray, trying to rid himself of the weight.

He isn’t sure how long he has been in the shower, but the water turns colder, and he still can’t make himself move.

“Buck?” he hears distantly, drowned out by the drops of water relentlessly pelting the side of the glass and porcelain, “Are you okay?”

A few moments pass, then,

“Buck, I’m gonna come in okay?” There's a pause as he guesses Eddie tries to open the door, “I gotta um break down the door.”

And then everything fuzzes out again, the white noise of the water hitting the tub filling his ears.

The water finally stops, and his sobs are echoing off the tiled walls, and he wants the noise to stop, because it’s all too loud, but he can’t make it stop.

“Buck,” his voice is so gentle it almost hurts.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can choke out, it comes out garbled by sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no, you have nothing to be sorry for Buck. Can I get you a towel?”

He nods slowly.

The soft fluffy towel is placed around his shoulders with such care he almost flinches away.

“I want to get you out of the tub okay?” Eddie asks rhetorically, “Is it okay if I help you?”

He nods again somehow.

And he wishes he could help as Eddie lifts him, slotting his arms under his and getting him into a seated position on the edge of the tub. Another towel cushioning the seat that gets wrapped around his waist.

“Hold onto me while I get your legs.”

Now that he can do. Hold onto Eddie like an anchor, he forgot there was a time where he couldn’t.

Once his feet are somewhat planted on the ground, Eddie kneeling in front of him, Eddie ducks his head to catch his eye, finally.

“I got you,” is all he has to say, “And I love you.”

That evidently is the wrong thing to say as Buck’s face crumples and he shakes his head.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie replies gently. He swallows and then takes Buck’s arms and places them on his shoulders. He stands bringing Buck up with him.

They make their way to the bedroom, and Eddie finds some soft sweatpants and a shirt. Buck shakes his head as he moves to put the shirt on him.

“I can do it,” his voice is a whisper.

Eddie nods and reluctantly leaves the room.

Buck stares down at the soft t shirt in his hands, there’s a small hole between the collar and the shirt, another one by the sleeve. He stares down at the drab green color and clutches it tighter. Because it was literally drab green, and his breath hitches. He was never sure if Eddie still had anything except for the medal that was deep in a box in his closet. Clearly relegated to a last resort chore day shirt but nonetheless he still had it. And now it’s in Buck’s hands.

But it’s soft and it smells like Eddie, despite everything that the anxiety was screaming, the comfort that brought him had transcended everything that was on the surface and burrowed itself into a home right next to his heart. So he slips it over his head. He puts on the boxers, sweatpants, and socks. And then doesn’t know what to do next. So he sits, tangling his fingers, worrying at his lip, on the edge of tears, but there aren’t any left.

He watches a few minutes tick by on the relatively new alarm clock that sits on Eddie’s night stand.

There’s a light knock on the door, and then Eddie walks in with a glass of water. His shirt sleeve is still wet from where presumably he reached into the shower to turn off the water. He sets the glass down on the nightstand and then sits on the bed next to Buck, pressing his shoulder into his.

“Hey, how we doing?” he asks after a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Th-The door, your wet shirt sleeve.”

“Buck, water dries, it is not the end of the world. And as for the door? We know how to fix that,” he says it lightly and genuinely, and he brushes their shoulders together.

And Buck smiles a little.

“Now, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He tangles his hands in his lap before taking a deep breath, “Did Maddie ever tell you what her final straw was, why she left?”

Eddie furrows his brow, he and Maddie had started getting closer on his visits to dispatch for lunch with Linda on the days she was working and he had off. He and Maddie had also started getting coffee on days when their therapy appointments converged, her therapist in the same office as Frank.

“Nothing specific,” he replies.

“Well, uh, she was giving Jee a bath during the blackout, and she had been awake for a long time, and she nodded off for a second and Jee slipped under for like a second. That’s what made her really think she wasn’t safe with her. And when she tried, she walked into the ocean. And you and the well. And Chris and the tsunami,” he loses the ability to really be articulate about it as he verbalizes each one.

Eddie takes a deep breath as each puzzle piece floats into place.

“Buck, all of that is just a horrible horrible coincidence,” he says carefully, a hand drifting to Buck’s thigh.

“But what if it isn’t? What if-” his eyes are watering again somehow as he looks toward Eddie.

“No. Loving you could never be a curse. Being loved by you is a gift.” Eddie takes a breath and moves to the floor in front of Buck, “I know I can’t fix this in a day, and not by myself. But I want you to know that I love you. And none of those things have ever and will never be your fault. And you don’t have to believe me, but you trust me, know that I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Buck nods hesitantly.

It’s quiet for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other.

“You know one of the reasons I moved here was the ocean?” he pauses, “Yeah I think it’s about as far as I can get from Hershey without leaving the contiguous states, but there was always something about the Pacific. The Atlantic is 200 miles from where I grew up but I chased the Pacific. One of the first days I lived here I just drove to the beach and sat on the sand for hours looking out over it and I finally felt like I was where I was supposed to be. Hadn’t even started the academy, didn’t know the 118 was out there but something told me I belonged here. And it was the ocean that told me that. And I loved her, and she almost took two of you, so I don’t know. It just feels like some fucking cosmic joke.” He laughs wetly.

“I don’t feel like I should still be drawn there, but I am. Going to the pier with Chris was one of the best days, it feels wrong that it’s also one of the worst.”

“You don’t have to stop loving something because it hurt you or the people you love. And especially not the ocean of all things, an ocean that is known for being a rough force not to be reckoned with. You faced it, and defeated it- You did, Chris did, and Maddie did. And that fact puts me in awe of all three of you, Buck. Being able to face it again, let alone make new happy memories with it is incredible.” he paused contemplating his next words and letting the previous ones settle, “Did you ever feel like that after the truck?”

Buck shakes his head and furrows his brow.

“You were able to get back in that truck because you love your job, the love is greater than the thing that hurt you, and it sounds like the ocean is another one of those things that you hold so important in your heart. You don’t give up, especially when it’s the people you care about. That’s what makes loving and being loved by you a blessing, Buck. One minuscule part of it anyway.”

Buck swallows the lump in his throat, and he nods.

“And I need you to hear me when I tell you that I love you, all of you. Even the parts you don’t love. I love them enough for the both of us, until you can, however long that takes. Just like you did for me.”

“I nev-I di-” Buck starts, his brow still slightly crinkled.

Eddie just shakes his head and holds Buck’s face in his hand, “You didn’t have to, I knew, in hindsight I knew. And I will always be grateful that you were able to do that for me, so let me take my turn.”

There’s a still moment of silence as the softness returns to Buck’s shoulders as if he is letting go of the weight. It’s shattered by the shaky audible breath that Buck let’s go of as he bends forward finally leaning his full weight into Eddie.

Eddie moves back to sitting next to Buck on the bed, never letting go.

They sit like that for a while, just existing together.

“I think I’ve had enough time. I don’t want to talk about it now because I want you fully here with me. But this is me telling you that I’m ready when you are,and we will figure out the best way together okay?”

Buck nods, “Thank you.” he says just above a whisper. And the silence returns, comfortable and inviting as they breathe together.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Grounded

Prompt: I know you don't let Patton, so I understand if you no want, but can we get some hurt/comfort pat? Maybe with janus or remus?? - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: character bleed, lite flavors of dissociation

Pairings: intrumoceit (sanders sides fandom why do we have the weirdest goddamn ship names I'm dying here) can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2087

As anyone who spends too much of their time reading things about characters receiving the things they want is wont to do, Patton spends a little too long reading something he maybe shouldn't have and now has to deal with the consequences of having many emotions that aren't actually his and, well, dealing with it. 

Luckily, he's got some help.

He made a dumb choice. 

It wasn’t like he meant to do it, and he didn’t mean for it to get this bad either, but he—okay, maybe he’s just bad at realizing when he doesn’t actually need to feel the feelings and he can just—just—

Patton stares at the ceiling tiles. Have there always been little scratch marks on that one? They look like they’re from a cat. 

He wants a cat. 

You’re allergic, he hears Logan’s voice drifting in from ages away, it wouldn’t work out. 

But Patton wants something to cuddle now and he can’t find anything because he can’t get up because of stupid feelings. 

His phone still lies next to him, the screen just flickering to black as he glances over. He blinks once, twice. Who knew people were so good at making him feel things?

Okay, he did read the tags, but like…that’ll only get you so far. And it’s not the author’s fault, they did tag it, and he’s—he’s fine. He’s fine. This will go away. It’s just a bad time right now. It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine. 

“Ho, ho,” and that’s Remus, isn’t it, “who’s having a not-fun time right now?”

He can hear the record scratch as Remus’s gaze lands on him and barely has time to blink before a concerned face is leaning over him. Remus reaches down and lightly smacks his cheek. 

“Pat-Pat?”

“Hi, Remus.”

Remus’s face softens, sitting on the edge of the couch. “I heard a bad thing, are you okay? Wait, no, stupid question.”

“’S not stupid.”

Remus frowns and runs a hand through Patton’s hair. The soft touch makes him want to close his eyes. Why is he so heavy?

“Patton. Patton.”

Oh, Remus is calling him. 

“Hey,” Remus murmurs as he opens his eyes again, “what’s going on? You look…floaty.”

‘Floaty’ is a good way to describe it. “I made a mistake.”

“Okay,” he says without missing a beat, “what’s going on?”

“I, uh, read something I don’t think I should have.”

“Like, it-suddenly-had-sex-in-it shouldn’t have or it’s-giving-me-character-bleed shouldn’t have?”

“The—the second one.”

Remus makes an ‘ah’ sound and ruffles Patton’s hair again. “Roro does the same.”

“Of course he does.”

An affectionate roll of Remus’s eyes as he stands up. Something in Patton wants to reach out, ask him to stay, but he doesn’t have time before Remus’s arms are winding carefully under him. 

“What…?”

“You’re having a bad time,” Remus says softly, hefting Patton into his arms like he weighs nothing, “I’m gonna help.”

“Um…”

Remus pauses. “Is that okay?”

“…do I even weigh anything to you?”

“Nah. It’s like carrying a kitten.” Remus nuzzles into Patton’s hair. “A big floppy kitten.”

The image of Remus with a massive cat in his arms makes him giggle as Remus carries him up the stairs. He pushes the door to Patton’s room open with his shoulder and lays him down on the bed. 

“Now,” he says, sitting next to him, “do you need to ride this out or do you want me to try and get rid of it?”

Patton’s fingers clutch at Remus’s costume. “Getting rid of stuff is bad. Logan said so. We’re not supposed to try and force them out.”

He feels more than hears Remus’s breath catch in his throat and when he speaks next, his voice is wet. “Oh, Pat-Pat, you’re such a softy.”

“Mhm.”

“Alright, then. Riding it out it is.” The hand is back in his hair and his eyes drift shut. Remus is warm. How is Remus so warm? “I dunno, you gotta ask Roman. We both run super hot.”

“…is that why Janus is always hanging off of you in the winter?”

Remus chuckles. “Yeah, probably. I know he wants Roman as his space heater as well ‘cause sometimes I gotta do things that he doesn’t wanna be around for.”

“Has he asked?”

A sigh warms the top of his head, somewhere between fond exasperation and bittersweet resignation. “You know Roro. He’ll give up his own heart if someone else asks for it and not give a damn that he’s bleeding all over the floor except that he’ll have to clean it up.”

…that is true. 

“They’re getting there,” Remus murmurs, still ruffling Patton’s hair, “but it’s gonna take them a bit. Until then I don’t mind.”

The floatiness is beginning to subside but in its wake comes a terrible heaviness that immediately threatens tears in the corners of his eyes. Remus notices because of course he does and in a flash he’s cradling Patton’s head in his hands. 

“Hey, hey, Pat-Pat, what’s wrong? Shh, shh, you’re okay, am I hurting you?”

“’S so much,” he warbles, pawing clumsily at Remus, “’s—’s not mine but it’s so much an’—an’ I—“

“Cmon, let it out, kitten, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Remus must’ve changed because Patton’s face meets soft cotton as Remus scoops him to his chest. “Better out than in, Pat-Pat, it’s alright.”

The sobs come in waves, the heaviness sinking so deeply into his chest one moment, receding and leaving him grey and cold the next. He loses track of where he is, swept up in the waves of strange and impersonal emotions, clutching Remus’s shirt as a warm hand runs up and down his back. 

Remus stays with him, murmuring a litany of comforts, nuzzling the top of his head and pressing chaste kisses to his temple. His fingers idly trace patterns between Patton’s shoulder blades, rubbing firm circles when the sobs start to sound painful. 

“Hey,” he whispers when Patton finally goes limp, “it’s okay, you feeling a little more like you?”

Patton nods blearily. “Thanks for staying.”

“Of course, kitten.” Remus grins as Patton’s cheeks flush. “Too much?”

He shakes his head even as his ears burn brighter. Remus softens, another kiss against his forehead. 

“I’m not trying to tease, I promise.”

“I know.”

“You wanna try and get back on your feet a bit more? Or you wanna lie here?”

Now that he’s cried, his shirt sticks to his chest and arms, tacky with sweat. His glasses lie lopsided on his face, face all stiff and swollen. As warm as Remus is, parts of him are freezing and other parts feel like they’re about to combust. 

“…c-can I…clean up?”

“Yeah, kitten, you can.” Remus ruffles his hair. “You good to move on your own?”

…he can, but he doesn’t want to.

“Can I call Janny?”

Patton blinks. “Janus?”

“Yeah. He’s the best at, uh, this part.”

“…really?”

“Hey,” Remus chides, tugging playfully at his hair, “don’t knock it ‘till you try it, okay?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

“Shh, shh, kitten, it’s okay. I was teasing.”

“I’ve never had—“

“Patton,” Remus sighs, “calm down. Shh, shh, come here, yes, that’s it, I’m right here, it’s okay. I’m not mad, Janus won’t be mad, you didn’t do anything wrong. That’s it…shh, shh…oh, kitten…”

Patton sniffles. “Sorry.”

“No, I should’ve known better. You’re really fragile right now.”

“‘M not.”

Remus just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you are,” and there’s no condemnation in his voice, “and that’s okay.”

“…maybe.”

Remus smiles, leaning down and resting their foreheads together. Patton can’t feel anything other than the weight of the hand on his shoulder and the mattress under him, but he knows Remus is there. 

“Can I call Janny,” Remus asks again after a moment, “can he help?”

Patton’s fingers find their way shyly around Remus’s wrist and he nods. 

A few moments later, there’s a telltale rustle of fabric as the door opens. 

“Well, this is certainly an expected surprise,” drawls a familiar voice, “and I’m not at all upset that you’ve disrupted my schedule.”

Oh. Was he in the middle of something? Did—did they mess up his schedule? 

He doesn’t get to stay in that train of self-doubt for long, though, because two seconds later, Janus glances over and sees him weakly clutching Remus and he barely has time to blink before there’s another concerned face hovering over him. 

“Sweetie,” Janus murmurs, expression open and soft, “can you hear me?”

Patton nods dumbly. Janus smiles. 

“Good. Can I ask Remus to catch me up?”

Another nod. 

“Character bleed,” Remus says softly, “too many emotions that aren’t his.”

Janus makes a quiet noise of understanding and stands up. “Have you gotten any food or water in him?”

“Not yet.”

A cool glass is pressed into his hand. “Drink, sweetie. Don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

Patton sips at the water as Janus bustles about the room. Remus reminds him to go slow, carefully taking the empty glass and setting it on the table. He keeps one hand under Patton’s head, playing absentmindedly with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“All done?” Janus holds out his hands. “How about a rinse-off? It might make you feel better.”

“But standing.”

Janus chuckles. “You do know you can sit and lie down in the shower, right?” When Patton just blinks at him, wide-eyed, he rolls his eyes fondly and leans down to scoop him up. “Come on, sweetie.”

“Eep!”

“Hey, easy,” Remus barks as Janus starts to carry him to the bathroom, “be gentle, Janny.”

“I will never be anything but.”

“Now that is a lie.”

“I won’t,” Janus whispers just for Patton to hear, “I won’t hurt you.”

Patton just nuzzles into his collar. Janus smiles, setting him on the edge of the counter and sliding his glasses from his nose. 

“Are you alright from here?”

“Mhm.”

Janus narrows his eyes. “Are you saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear or it is true?”

When Patton hesitates, he steps closer. 

“I’m not mad, sweetie.”

“…I don’t know.”

“I’ll get the shower going. And—“ he slides two fingers under the hoodie sleeves and undoes the knot— “you can do the rest?”

“Okay.”

True to his word, Janus leaves the bathroom once the shower is warm, leaving Patton to get in. He can’t feel the warmth of it, not really, not over the pressure of the water pounding over his head and shoulders. Slowly, he eases himself down, letting the water run over his front. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

…well, now he really doesn’t want to stand up. 

There’s a quiet knock at the door an undetermined amount of time later, rousing him from a daze as he fumbles to shut the water off. He looks up blearily as he tugs the towel down to dry off, dressing in the big t-shirt and shorts he keeps in here. 

“Patton? Are you alright?”

“Mhm. Coming.”

“No rush, sweetie.”

Oh. They made his bed. Janus holds his arms out, smiling as Patton stumbles across the room. 

“Your hair is all wet,” he says, but it isn’t scolding, only slightly bemused as he catches him. 

“Here, kitten,” Remus’s voice says before there’s a towel over his head. 

Distantly, he can hear the two of them having a conversation. 

“’Kitten?’”

“Tell me he doesn’t look like a stray kitten when he’s all sad and weepy.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your ability you share with Roman, would it?”

“Shut up.”

“Just because he can summon puppies—“

“Janny, shut up.”

Janus chuckles as Patton’s face reemerges from the towel. “Hello, sweetie. Is that better?”

“Mhm.” He blinks slowly. “‘M tired.”

“I bet.” A hand slips under his arm and guides him to bed. “Have a nap, sweetie. You’ll feel better.”

“W-will—will you stay?”

Remus is already sitting on the edge of the bed with Patton’s head practically in his lap, hand carding through his hair before Patton has a chance to finish his sentence. Janus just smiles and reaches out to pat his chest. 

“Go on, sweetie,” he whispers, “we’ll stay.”

“‘M I warm enough to be a space heater?”

Janus’s eyes widen. “You—you told him?”

Of course, Remus just cackles. 

“Remus!”

“He asked, Janny, I’m not you, I don’t lie all the time.”

There’s enough softness in their voices to tell Patton they’re not actually fighting and he falls asleep with his heart full of his affection for them to the sounds of bickering. 

“Okay, but have you seen what he looks like when he’s cold?”

“That is not the point.”

“So it is the point.”

“Remus!”

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[alleyskywalker]

A Bit On Theon’s Personality...

(THEON MONTH | DAY 2: Personality Traits; DAY 5: Strengths)

I think it’s been discussed fairly at length at various points by Theon fans that Theon’s personality can be difficult to parse out, even long before he adds the layer of complexity via dissociation while in Ramsay’s clutches. Where do Theon’s defense mechanisms and trauma responses end and his core personality begin? Which and how many of those coping mechanisms are so hard baked into him that they’re basically his personality now, and to what extent?

 For example, I’ve talked before (though I think on discord more so than here), about how Theon’s arrogance and entitlement are really bluster and self-pep talks – overcompensation for his insecurity and an attempt to project a sense of self-worth through that insecurity that he probably means to appear as cockiness at worst, but understandably might read as arrogance from the outside because so much of it is fake. (And the audience that doesn’t bother to read his content carefully falls for this charade as well, at least in Clash, where so much of Theon’s energy is spent on self-pep talks and self-reassurance, because those aren’t things he’s getting from any external source.) And, in fact, when he does get a modicum of emotional support and safety, we see him show actual vulnerability – i.e. see the scene with Dagmer in ACOK Theon III. Yes, he lists his achievements – one of the Blackfish’s handpicked scouts, leading the charge in the Whispering Wood, etc – but they’re genuine achievements he has a right to be proud of and he doesn’t elaborate beyond stating the facts. He leaves himself open by asking if his father knows he’s not a craven and admits to being upset he doesn’t have Asha’s command while also being aware of how petty it sounds. He’s rarely this openly vulnerable in his longing for acceptance, (as opposed to just feeling/thinking it), but is it really a surprise, given that Dagmer is the one person who has offered him actual emotional safety to even the smallest degree?

 And as for entitlement. Please. He’s not really any more entitled than any other character in this series in his social position (highborn male, heir to his father’s seat by all legal rights of this country and society – yes, even among the ironborn the son will be seen as more the heir than the daughter, no matter what Asha would like to believe, and there’s a reason she calls herself Balon’s “son” at the kingsmoot, etc). Even the allegation that Theon shouldn’t have pretenses to the lordship of the islands when he spent so many formative years away rings false and hollow. For example, while Daenerys has her antis who will find any fault with her, most people who criticize and critique her more reasonably (not the mention her fans) quite rarely leverage the accusation against her that she should not pursue her claim to the Iron Throne because she grew up entirely on a whole other continent. So why should Theon be blamed for pursuing his rightful claim?

 But even beyond that, while Theon has the unsettling and somewhat unpleasant habit – as a trauma response/coping mechanism – of buying wholesale into the power structures and privileges hardbaked into his society, including classism, in a way that’s maybe more showy and offputting than with some other characters of his rank, he’s not actually opposed to meritocracy. If anything, he’s very willing to work for and earn everything from his position as heir to affection from a friend. For example, people laugh at him asking for Casterly Rock as his seat – but remember, he’s asking for this as a castle he intends to take himself.

 "I will lead the attack myself, if it please you. As my reward I would ask that you grant me Casterly Rock for my own seat, once we have taken it from the Lannisters."

 —ACOIK, Theon I

 Is he maybe overestimating his abilities? Sure, perhaps. But that’s not the same as being entitled. When Asha is tasked to with taking Deepwood Motte, it’s implied that this will be her seat, at least for the time that she holds it – “I’ve always wanted a caste,” she tells the gathered family assembly smugly (or “like a cat in cream” as Theon calls it) (ACOK, Theon II). It’s just a normal rule of this society that if you take a caste, you’d become its lord/lady if you wished to stay and hold it (and weren’t kicked out). Theon thinking he can take Casterly Rock may be presumptuous, but asking for it as a reward for taking it isn’t.

 Some more: when Asha (in disguise) tells him that the ironborn would not seat a stranger on the Seastone Chair, Theon comforts himself by thinking that he has time to prove himself. Later, he asks Dagmer how he’s supposed to live up to being his father’s heir if he doesn’t have the opportunity to prove himself. Yes, Theon thinks he has the right to Asha’s command and to the title of heir apparent (because by the cultural and legal rules of this society he does) but he’s more than willing to prove himself and considers it rather natural that he should. On a more emotional level, when he thinks of saving Bran from the wildlings, he believes he ought to have “won a smile” from Robb for literally saving his brother. (This last also in the context of Theon thinking about how Dagmer smiled at him – i.e. showed him more approval and affection – than either Balon or Ned…or Robb.) Theon is literally the guy who thinks its normal to win affection from your friends for acts of bravery and service, as opposed to, you know…receiving it freely because friendship. I really don’t see how anyone gets entitlement from any of this (beyond what is culturally normative for someone of his rank and position in this society).

 But, agh, ok, I’ve really digressed here, because my intention wasn’t to write about what Theon isn’t but rather that he is. Not everything. Not every personality trail or even close, because otherwise it would probably take me all month (lol, just this took me long enough). But I did want to highlight a few things. Things that I got to thinking about, actually, after someone I was dating at the time asked me why I liked Theon. Not felt sorry for him or was rooting for him, even, but literally, “what about Theon is likeable?” (he asked a little incredulously). I hadn’t really been prepared for that conversation at the time and struggled to put my feelings into words, especially articulate, convincing ones. So later I began to think about this more, trying to effectively articulate and conceptualize as character traits what this quote made me feel (given that it’s the one that I thought of first when trying to answer his question):

 He's turned against me too, Theon realized. Of late it seemed to him as if the very stones of Winterfell had turned against him. If I die, I die friendless and abandoned. What choice did that leave him, but to live?

 —ACOIK, Theon VI

And I think what it comes down to is this: bravery/courage and strength (of the willpower variety).

 And I think I especially would like to highlight these two aspects because Theon is a character that often gets accused by fandom of being the opposite – weak and a coward. Too weak to not break under Ramsay. Too weak and/or not brave enough to stand up to his father/to stay loyal to the Starks. Not strong and brave enough to face ridicule and even willing to commit murder (the farmer’s boys, etc) to avoid it. Someone who needs external encouragement/recognition, which fandom (and society at large) will often classify as weakness. Sometimes, his failures – or perceived failures – are contrasted with him saving Jeyne: finally Theon grows a spine and does something brave, people say. But I have a different perspective on all this.

 Of course, saving Jeyne was brave and heroic, etc. It was also one of his most, if not the most, selfless acts. It’s also a brand of bravery and strength that is easily recognized by fandom (and society at large); this sort of grand, action movie bravery. It’s flashy, it’s uncomplicated, it’s very external.

 But for one, I don’t think Theon lacked this kind of bravery previously. Robb comments that Theon has “fought bravely for us.” Balon, while finding every fault possible in Theon, will allow him one thing: “at least you are no craven.” His taking of Winterfell was shortsighted but daring and even brave. Here’s another thing:

 But the girl was no true Stark, only a steward's whelp. Jeyne, her name is Jeyne. She should not look to me for rescue. Theon Greyjoy might have tried to help her, once. But Theon had been ironborn, and a braver man than Reek.

 --ADWD, The Turncloak

Now, Theon’s assessments of himself aren’t always realistic and excellent, but he does have a far more critical view of himself in Dance than in Clash. And that brings me to the second but: bravery was never really Theon’s problem. I wouldn’t even say that any one thing was – every choice he makes, whether obviously or arguably bad, is the outcome of a toxic cocktail of trauma, ambition, a search for acceptance, a stifled/unengaged empathy (in large part due to trauma), etc. But it’s neither cowardice nor weakness as such. (And I’ll say that what probably stands out most as specifically different with Jeyne is the level of selflessness and empathy he exhibits with her, the fact that it’s those priorities that drive his courage in that moment – but that’s a post for another day.)

First, I don’t think I need to spend too much time on Ramsay. I mean, maybe I do, but others have done so much more eloquently before. For my purposes here I’ll say that anyone would have broken under the kind of intense torture Ramsay put Theon through. Either broken or died. Yet, Theon not only survived, but he remained quite lucid and defiant throughout. As one of the most illustrative examples:

The world, Reek told himself, this is what the world smells like. He did not know how long he had been down there in the dungeons, but it had to have been half a year at least. That long, or longer. What if it has been five years, or ten, or twenty? Would I even know? What if I went mad down there, and half my life is gone? But no, that was folly. It could not have been so long. The boys were still boys. If it had been ten years, they would have grown into men. He had to remember that. I must not let him drive me mad. He can take my fingers and my toes, he can put out my eyes and slice my ears off, but he cannot take my wits unless I let him.

 —ADWD, Reek I

Playing along to survive or avoid horrific pain and mutilation is not the same as actually losing fortitude, giving up, breaking internally. (Another Theon Month meta goes into this in a little more detail, and as I said, others have discussed this before better than I could.) Just Theon’s Dance arch alone is a testament to his strength and willpower and, yes, to his bravery. But let’s go back to Clash.

His choice to side with his family over the Starks isn’t made out of weakness or fear – it’s just a choice based on priorities (his future, his family, his people vs. …well, Robb, basically). Even the farmer’s boy’s murders, while technically driven by a fear of ridicule, and while awful, are neither about weakness nor a lack of bravery. After all, Theon sees very well when even his own men start to turn against him at Winterfell, because they’d rather die “gloriously” than go through all kinds of tricks and slights of hand with child hostages and such. But Theon presses on with his plans to salvage the merest shadow of a hope for them to get out of there alive, even if it means sacrificing respect, a thing he has fought for so desperately up to this point.

Nor is it, by the way, that Theon is particularly driven by a fear of death more than any person really would be (after, all the human instinct is to survive):

They made a pitifully small assembly; the ironmen were few, the yard large. "The northmen will be on us before nightfall," he told them. "Ser Rodrik Cassel and all the lords who have come to his call. I will not run from them. I took this castle and I mean to hold it, to live or die as Prince of Winterfell. But I will not command any man to die with me. If you leave now, before Ser Rodrik's main force is upon us, there's still a chance you may win free." He unsheathed his longsword and drew a line in the dirt. "Those who would stay and fight, step forward."

--ACOK, Theon VI

Theon will die if he must. He’ll make a last stand. He’ll even do it all alone, abandoned by his men if they wish for safety (and many of them do abandon him). He refuses, in fact, sacrifice his dignity and surrender. It’s just…he’d rather not die if there’s a way to save himself, what’s left of his men and (if the hostage plan were to be successful) Beth and any civilians who might die in as collateral damage in the battle that will ensue as well. (Remember too that he refuses to put everyone to the sword when his men point out that he should, because the Winterfell’s civilian population will turn against them once the battle starts.)

Theon’s priorities and ethics in the middle of this horrific mental breakdown he goes through at Wintefell are all kinds of messed up – which he is aware of and feels intense guilt over almost immediately – but he’s never not brave and it’s never about weakness.

Now, sometimes, the drive to survive is presented as a weakness or a cowardice in itself. A sort of, “look at all of these terrible things this person will do just to live! They don’t have the courage to face death!” But per above, Theon doesn’t have an overwhelming fear of death. He’s brave in battle, he’s willing to make a last stand bravely if necessary.

To come back to that line again: What choice did that leave him, but to live?

Theon’s whole story is not just about survival. It’s about the courage and strength it takes to survive and to live. Theon surviving, living, not to mention finding any joy in that life, is a huge giant fuck you to a world that has knocked him down again and again, threatened his life literally, and threatened his ability to actually enjoy that life. A world that’s this close to winning long before Ramsay:

Outside the rain was falling harder than ever. The rope bridge twisted and writhed under his feet. Theon Greyjoy stopped in the center of the span and contemplated the rocks below. The sound of the waves was a crashing roar, and he could taste the salt spray on his lips. A sudden gust of wind made him lose his footing, and he stumbled to his knees.

--ACOK, Theon II

This is after that awful dinner at Pyke and the council where Balon lays out his war plans. It’s so subtle that I missed it on the first read and I think on the first re-read too. But stop to picture this scene in your head for one second. He’s lowkey suicidal before he’s even left Pyke.

Living for Theon is not the easy way out. It hasn’t been since he was 10. First a hostage, constantly living under the threat of death, culturally alienated, socially isolated, lacking in affection (the only person he seems to be even possibly emotionally close to is Robb, and even that relationship isn’t without its toxic power dynamics), traumatized by all of this. Then coming home and finding that it wasn’t only his childhood that has been stolen from him, but possibly his future too – he’s once again alienated from his people and his family, he can no longer connect with his childhood friends. He starts to slowly lose that sense of identity and self long before Ramsay’s twisted Reek games. But he just…refuses to give up.

In ever situation. At Winterfell, he tries to be social, riding and joking with members of Winterfell’s guards in AGOT when they ride out to the execution, showing that he had something of a social life probably, and casual friends, if not very close and intimate ones. He tries to be close to Robb. His chief and most visible defense mechanism is to smile, to pretend everything is fine. On Pyke, he’s determined to prove himself to his father, to the other ironborn, to show that he is a worthy son, a worthy Prince. At Winterfell, in Clash, he fights to maintain his achievements, his standing, his dignity, and yes, his life.

What choice did that leave him, but to live?

At this point, Theon just living is a contradiction. It’s inconvenient for pretty much everyone. He’s broken with the North, Asha feels threatened by him (though I don’t think she actively wants his death, he’s likely under the impression she does), his father has abandoned him, and as we find out later from Aeron’s POV would be happy enough to see him dead so he doesn’t “stand in Asha’s way.” And in the face of all of that to turn around and say, effectively, of all things, I don’t even know if I want to live anymore, but it’s the only thing to do. You would all rather I be dead, but fuck you. ???

So, I guess the answer to that question that prompted all of these thoughts is fundamentally this (at least in part): I wish I could be that strong and that brave.

[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidtrash @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @enbyspencer @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby

[lukasspookas]

My Linked Universe headcanons that are DEFINITELY NOT just me projecting

Time:

Has trouble seeing himself as an actual person, often feels like he's living someone else's life

Loves to sing, sneaks it in wherever he can, much to either the delight or annoyance of the rest of the chain

Plays the guitar, likes to duet with Malon

Has suppressed his emotions so much for so long he has trouble fully feeling them

Dissociates a lot, relates to Wild with this as well as shared trauma over involuntary time travel and permanent loss of certain life experiences and feeling as though they were "too late"

Makes a lot of those "Dad Grunts" where he makes a sound every time he even slightly exerts himself

Speaks fairy language, sometimes has secret little conversations with Hyrule that no one else gets

Feels responsible for everyone, as though he has to protect and defend each and every one of them despite the fact they are all quite capable

Talks to animals a lot, has that in common with Twilight and Hyrule

Got his armor engraved by the Gorons as a gift for helping them

Twilight

Allergic to cats but doesn't care

Has horrible handwriting, writes emo poems about Midna, shared them with Shad once who loved his writing and encouraged him to keep it up

Cannot. Dance.

Will growl at you like that one furry kid in middle school

Really awkward relationship with Zelda, never knows what to say because their only shared experiences are their relationship with Midna and traumatic experiences with Ganondorf and Zant

Very much an older brother sort to Wild and Wind especially

Talks to animals a lot, especially cats, goats, dogs, birds, and bugs

Herds the others like a sheepdog (shocker!)

Not very fond of social interaction, much much much prefers books and animals

Kids either think he is really cool or terrifying, either way it's a confidence boost

Sky

Taps his fingers, flaps his hands, and stims a lot when he's happy

Speaks eloquently until he stutters and his voice cracks horribly and he gets flustered

Loves simple but nice things, especially handmade things, really gets along with Four because of their shared love of handmade goods

Has ADHD, spaces out a lot

Loves feeling cozy, bundles up at every opportunity

Tends to think his problems aren't as important as the others'

Has athsma and terrible stamina, can't run for more than a few seconds

Feels obligated to fix and help everything because he feels like every thing bad in the others' lives is his fault

Sleep is his go-to coping mechanism

All of his dreams are about Sun, some are fluffy and sweet, others are dark and disturbing

Has OCD, does a lot of rituals like counting and having to fold all his clothes a specific way

Feels happiest when he's helping others

Wind

Can accidentally be very loud when he gets excited during a conversation

Can't tell the difference between a lobster and a crab

ADHD to the max

Surprisingly good at giving advice (he is a big brother after all)

Loves spending time with the others, but feels guilty for taking up their time

Passionate about a lot of things that he never really gets the chance to talk about, tends to overshare accidentally

Feels like he's annoying to the others, which is quickly reacted to with reassurance and kindness

Hates dry air with a passion

Very respectful to the elderly unless they're jerks

Four

Middle child syndrome, very good at solving problems

Overly critical of himself, never satisfied with his own work

Can't eat anything even remotely spicy (thinks bell peppers, cinnamon, and some cheeses are spicy, which Wild finds ridiculous)

Has a special interest in smithing and swordsmanship, knows everything there is to know about metal and weapons

Makes gifts for the others all the time

Eats lots of little snacks throughout the day as opposed to a few large meals

Embroiders his clothing as a coping mechanism for stress

Has OCD, constantly checking to make sure his swords aren't broken or rusted, won't step on cracks in the dirt or road, has to sheath his sword a certain amount of time

Really bad tinnitus caused by the colors constantly buzzing in his brain, likes to listen to Time sing and Sky play the harp to cope

Warriors

Feels bad for the others because of how unlucky they are and how underappreciated they were, has some guilt over the hero worship he received

Goes out of his way to make sure others know they're appreciated and important

Always on edge, can't relax, always anticipating the next fight anxiously

Doesn't know anything outside of war and battle

Treats others kindly because making others happy makes him feel confident and happy

Has anxiety over measuring up to the expectations of being "The Hero" and "The Captain," acts confident because he thinks it'll make him confident

Doesn't care for rich or sweet foods

Always giving the others advice and compliments in order to make sure they feel appreciated

Legend

Emotionally distant with the others because he's lost so many people that he doesn't want to get too attached for fear of losing them too

Wishes he didn't care as much about the others as he does

Swears a lot, often in other languages

Gives the others "anonymous" gifts (everyone knows it's him, they just don't say anything)

Severely touch starved but also scared of physical contact

Hates the sound of his own voice, wishes and often imagines he had a voice like Sky or Time but would never admit it

Loves sweets

Can tell you an extensive story about every single item in his collection

He collects items because he's been on so many adventures that without souvenirs he fears he would forget them altogether

Likes doing art but thinks all his art is bad

Will not tolerate self deprecating comments, aggressive positivity

Allergic to flowers

Wild

Extreme insomnia, scared if he sleeps he will wake up with no memory again

Not great at emotional vulnerability, but will always try to be there for the others when he can, even if he doesn't know exactly what to say

Wants to try everything because he is afraid of truly dying and losing the opportunity to do so, makes the most of every moment

Loves colors and sounds, tries to appreciate every little detail of life that he can

Asks a lot of questions, doesn't want to miss anything

Keeps a journal for fear of forgetting things again

Utterly and completely tone deaf, can't sing or play any instrument whatsoever

Despite this, quite likes music as it eases his tinnitus, sustained from his injuries from 100 years ago

Doesn't really understand gender or sexuality, doesn't use labels for himself

Loves architecture, takes pictures of it whenever he can, wants to become an architect to help rebuild his world

Hyrule

Easily drained by social interaction but enjoys it nonetheless

Loves animals, especially bugs, will hold them and talk to them for hours

Sees the others as stronger and nobler and more heroic than himself

Very strong ADHD, often wanders off by accident because he thought he saw or heard something

Swears a lot (even more than Legend) but not to be mean, it's just how he talks

Tries not to swear around Sky because he knows it makes him uncomfortable but still slips every now and then, he apologizes furiously but Sky assures him it's ok

Very good at singing but very insecure about singing in front of others, loves learning folk songs and stories, has them memorized

Doesn't ask for help very much because it makes him feel weak, when he does, he goes to Time, who counsels him with understanding, patience, and kindness

Wears loose clothing, hates it when his clothes cling tightly to him

Feels he doesn't deserve comfort or luxury

Gets panic attacks randomly, hides up in trees and sings to himself softly when they happen

Likes to compare he and Wild's bone collections

Dyslexia and nearsightedness, couldn't read or do math to save his life

Can't cook, prefers to just eat herbs and fruit straight from the source

Like Legend, is severely touch starved but isn't fond of physical contact

Doesn't find anyone annoying

Sorry this is really long

[gch1995]

"Anakin killed kids because he was ordered to and because he was too lost to the Dark Side to think rationally".

I love how these poeple more or less quote Obi Wan verbatim, whilst insisting they don't worship him.

The ironic thing about all this of course is that Obi Wan is an unreliable narrator- the exact same thing they accuse Anakin of being. Those of us who actually understand what "unreliable narrator" means, however have a far better basis for calling him one.

Obi Wan is well established as an unreliable narrator because he

a) Lies. Repeatedly. Which means we can't take him at his word.

b) Is mistaken: Despite how they try and claim he had legitimate basis for claiming Anakin was iredeemable, and saying Luke Skywalker was The Chosen One, Lucas and others have confirmed that he was wrong.

c) Doesn't have all the facts and presumes to comment upon events he didn't witness.

Basically, Obi Wan fails to meet all three conditions upon which a character can be deemed reliable. Therefore, why should be accept anything he says in regards to Anakin or his fall?

Thank you! Obi Wan Kenobi is not a reliable narrator at all, in spite of being a “good guy.” He deliberately lies and manipulates the truth to use other people for his and Yoda’s own ends to fit in with the Jedi of his all the time in both the OT and PT movies. He spent roughly three movies of the OT saga deliberately deceiving, endangering, and manipulating Luke to kill his father “for the greater good,” even though that shouldn’t have been Luke’s battle to fight, considering the fact that he was an innocent in all this shit between Obi-Wan, Yoda, his father, and the systematic abuse, crime, corruption, and oppression throughout the galaxy that led to their downfall, even if they didn’t deserve Order 66 and mass murder from Palpatine and the Sith.

That was all on on Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda the other adults in the old Jedi Order, and the other adults with power in the old Republic in one way or another over the past two plus decades, not just Palpatine and the Sith. Many of them were victims with compromised agency who were never going to be able to easily just say no and do better, so it’s not all all their fault, but they still technically could have done better. They still knew better, but their fear outweighed their consciences. They were helped fuck him up twenty years earlier with that whole “greater good.” By the end of the OT saga, Anakin seems to be the only one of Luke’s predecessors who’s genuinely learned to take personal responsibility for his crimes under Palpatine by sacrificing his life to save Luke, rather than trying to use him to run away from his problems with Sidious, his own self-hatred, or allowing him to be killed by his master because he realizes his love for his son is greater than his fear and self-hatred. Obi-Wan and Yoda never seem to learn that lesson, however.

The thing with Anakin is that he may be gaslit and misled a lot, he may learn to delude himself with that whole “greater good” mentality to try to dissociate himself from the horror of the crimes he’s committed, and he may genuinely feel like he doesn’t have or deserve much of a choice because the odds really are against for him safely doing any better and he’s afraid and he hates himself. However, he never consciously and deliberately lies to others to use them for his own ends like Obi Wan and Yoda do. Even when he’s an asshole to Luke and his friends in the OT movies, he’s not trying to outright deceive him in the same way that Obi Wan and Yoda are, so his word is actually more trustworthy than theirs.

[csaventing]

Tw Idk if this is okay to vent here if not you can delete and tw for mention of (non-sexual) animal abuse. All my sexual abusers were 18 and younger and it all happened when I was 18 and younger. Like I had a romantic relationship as a teenager that involved abuse I was 17 he was 18, 2 boys when I was little kept forcibly touching me as I tried to stop them and also made me watch them hurt animals which I just dissociated from most the time, my brother forcibly raped me when we were children on multiple occasions and emotionally abused me, 2 of my cousins also one who was 7 years older and the other was a decade older both coerced me into sex as a child and all I remember was crying cos it was painful and uncomfortable and hiding or covering my face. And I felt bad cos they had bad childhoods and were lonely teenagers who probably got into porn too young. A girl I grew up with psychologically, sexually and emotionally abused me and the adults around us helped/enabled her with it and would scream at me for not letting her hurt me. All I’m capable of is feeling a “sexual attraction” towards them. I literally cannot feel sexual attraction towards anyone I meet I don’t even know if I’m ace-spec or not, I can’t get off unless I think of my brother, cousins, that girl, or those boys. I literally cannot become lubricated unless I fantasize about them.

How could so many children and teenagers do that? How many cases of CSA are actually minors perpetrating cos that number must be fucking high.

One of them apologized, another looked sorry but didn’t say anything I should’ve let him cos I think he would’ve, one of them said nothing ever happened and I’m making it the fuck up, another used darvo on me, and another said he was entitled to hurting me cos he hates women, and the other said he did do it but doesn’t care and wants to “have sex” some more cos I’m “so sexy” and when he grabbed my hips and pushed it into his not too long ago (I’m 23) I became immediately lubricated and so turned on I stood frozen for god knows idk maybe like 10 seconds? And I felt I almost climaxed. How?? Why?? Same thing with that girl I grew up with who used darvo on me she also lubricated me so quick by getting physically close to me… Why can’t I do that with the love of my life instead? Does that mean I absued them since my body seemingly liked it? Or is it just a trauma arousal response? Sorry this was long you can ignore.

None of that is your fault and none of it should ever have happened.

Regarding the arousal I would definitely think it is a trauma arousal response. It isn’t uncommon for people who have experienced CSA to think of previous abusers when getting off either. You are not alone.

[honeycowinnit]

insp by this AMAZING piece of art by @jeeb-creeb and that emotional as FUCK vod today, jesus.

tw: dissociation, suicidal thoughts, guilt tripping, mentions of vomit (but only one line)

Tommy doesn't remember picking up the lead. He can't- there are pieces missing, important ones. He's yelling at Sam, then there's the portal, then the lead is in his hand and then-

Tubbo and Ranboo are huddled together, foreheads pinched, and when Tommy stumbles out, he's thinking, Friend, stay with me, keep close. The lead is cutting into his palm, he's holding it so tight.

They can tell as soon as they look up. It's written all over his face, Tommy knows that they know. When they ask, it's to be sure, he's knows that- he'd do the same if the positions were switched- but he can't help the hot well of anger that rises in his throat.

Isn't it obvious? He wants to spit, isn't it fucking clear what happened? Can't you just see it all over me?

But this is Tubbo. And this is Ranboo. And they're what Tommy has. They're all Tommy has. Other than Friend, a voice in Tommy's mind says. It sounds suspiciously like Ghostbur. You still have Friend. Friend always knows how to make it better. So he explains, trying to make himself sound present, trying not to float away.

He knows where they have to go now. He doesn't know what they have to do, what he even can do, what he even should do because when he actually decided to do something it went- Sam's hard voice, shouting, Tommy's hand tightening around a useless axe, Ghostbur, shouting for Tommy, pleading for him-

When Tommy decided to do something, it hurt people. The wrong person. His plan was only- it was only supposed to hurt Dream, maybe himself, whatever, but now-

Now Tommy just had Friend and no clue what to do next.

He's careful when they head over to La'Manburg. He leads Friend only where it's safe. He doesn't take Friend over mounds he can't handle. Doesn't make him cross paths with monsters that he can't take on.

His stupid fucking brain goes, shouldn't you have done that with Ghostbur? Why do you only learn a lesson after someone has been irreversibly hurt?

Tommy doesn't bothering telling it to shut up. It's right.

He's hopeful for half a second that Wilbur wasn't resurrected, that Tommy was just dreaming, that Dream felt terrified enough of how close to death he was to scare Tommy away with empty threats. But then there's that familiar laugh and those curls, newly colored with white streaks. There's Wilbur, standing there, in the flesh, in Ghostbur's spot.

Fuck, Tommy thinks, fuck. How could he- this is all his fault. If he had just fought his way into the prison instead of using Ghostbur as a decoy, then maybe, maybe Sam would've just killed him. Maybe then he wouldn't have to worry about Dream or Wars or disks or death, because he would be-

Friend bleats and nudges at the back of Tommy's leg. Tommy lets out the breath he's been holding.

He can only try his best. That's all anyone can do.

So he tries: he throws Wilbur the blue, asks him what he remembers, tries to find the Ghostbur hopefully hidden inside. He shows Wilbur Friend, asks whether Wilbur knows who he is, asks what he's thinking, where he's going, all the while thinking, please, please, just- let's be together, let's let it be like the very beginning, or better yet, a new start, brand new, we can change together now, we can help each other-

And then Wilbur says, "There was a train station."

And then Wilbur says, "It was hell for me."

And then Wilbur says, "Dream is my hero."

Tommy's breath stutters in his chest and he physically can't look at Wilbur anymore. He pulls at the lead in his hand and Friend presses closer.

Dream, a hero? Dream, who's taken Tommy and twisted him up and broken him down and tried to remake him into his? Dream who thinks Tommy is a fun bunch of legos, Dream who hurts the people and the things that Tommy loves for his own amusement?

That Dream? A Hero?

Wilbur's smile curls on the ends as he recounts Ghostbur and the way he cried, the way that it burned him. Tommy wants to vomit. Wilbur turns to Ranboo and Tubbo and Tommy loses time again, he can't feel his fingers nor his toes, all he can feel is the way his chest aches- the way that it echoes all down his limbs, filling his head with noise.

Wilbur declares that he has plans, many plans, big things coming, and leaves. Ranboo turns to Tommy, expression stricken, hard with anger- "What the hell did you do?"

Tommy doesnt shrink back, but his first thought is, where's Friend, is he behind me? Is he safe?

"I- I was going to fucking kill Dream, i was, but then-" Tommy's tongue ties, "I fucked up, I just- I didn't think he would-"

Ranboo turns away abruptly, leaving, probably tired of hearing the same shit from Tommy since the prison. Tubbo looks caught out for a moment, gaze flickering between Tommy and Ranboo's retreating back. Tommy looks down so he doesn't have to see Tubbo choose Ranboo.

He looks to Friend, who's looking up at Tommy trustingly, naively, thinking that because Tommy has the lead then he'll be safe. Thinking that there's no way Tommy would ever do him any wrong.

Friend looks up at Tommy with the same glowing trust Ghostbur did right before Tommy got him fucking killed.

Fuck. Fuck.

Friend always knows how to make it better, Ghostbur told him. Whenever I feel sad I go to him.

Okay, Tommy thinks. Okay Ghostbur.

He collapses to his knees, curls his arms around Friend and buries his face in the blue wool. He shakes and sobs and all the while Friend stays there, quiet except for the occasional bleat. If tommy squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can imagine that Friend is Ghostbur, and that Tommy was more careful with his lead.