#anyone else react with the exact same level of emotional intensity every time

[temporary-tats]

Don’t mind me just crying over the Bumbleby confession again <3

[mittensmorgul]

Incoming sad rant about the spn ending. Don't read if you're not interested in reading something like that, but I literally don't know anyone in real life I can talk about this with, and I really need an outlet:

Sometimes I can put the way SPN ended out of my head and think "it's just a stupid show. I don't have to accept the finale, and the writers/network are wrong." But other times I just get gripped with really intense sadness at the disrespect that was done to my favorite characters. To the point where I'll sit still for hours a day, just wallowing in it. It ruins my whole day and mood. And then I think to myself "I'll just find some other stories that end better!" but then I get sad again, cuz I don't think I will ever love other characters as much as I love Dean and Cas, and then I spiral again thinking about all the potential this unique beautiful love story had, and how we're never going to get the closure we deserve.

I really hate that after all this time, I'm a grown ass adult getting sad over fictional characters. I know it's not that trivial, but I sometimes wish it was so I could get over it 😞

Hi hi, and first of all *socially distanced internet hugs* I’m sorry you don’t have an outlet, but you’re always welcome to chat with me (if you come off anon we can talk privately if you want. My DM’s are always open, even when it takes me a bit to reply. no one should have to feel alone in this.)

I’m actually gonna start at the bottom of your message and work my way up, because I also, as a grown-ass adult, get sad over fictional characters. And I need to emphasize that this is the *point* of fiction. A well-written and developed fictional character is *indistinguishable in our minds from an actual real human being.* The way we react to them *feels exactly the same to our brains and bodies* as how we react to real people, and that’s a testament to just how well developed Dean and Cas were in canon.

I am not a young person. I have engaged with a lot of media over my life, and have *never* felt this strongly about fictional characters before, so I understand what you mean when you struggle to think about finding another story that ended better, or struggle to think about finding other characters you might become this attached to or experience this sort of emotional investment in. And I think there is another factor you didn’t consider there: The vast majority of other media I have engaged with, I was able to relate to on a level of “oh that’s nice for them” or “wow that sucks for them.” I have never, and possibly never will again, feel so utterly invested in fictional characters, to the point where it affects my real life as much as Supernatural has. Period.

I will likely never experience *literal physical lovesickness* over two fictional characters ever again. I hadn’t ever experienced it *in my own real life* before, and yet 15.18 triggered all those symptoms in me. As an aromantic person, this was pretty shocking to me. It also says a lot about just how real these characters feel to us, and how important they have become to us. They make us feel this! This is not an accident. It’s *incredibly difficult* to create fictional characters with this range and depth of emotional connection, and yet here we are.

I think that’s the biggest evidence possibly to present in defense of the statement that THIS IS NOT JUST SOME STUPID SHOW.

Other evidence: this fandom, still going strong after 15 years. Look at every SPN convention for proof. Look at AO3, where there are more posted stories about Dean and Cas than literally any other pairing on the planet (by a not-small margin, too). If that isn’t enough evidence, we have fanart to look at as well. Look through @theroadsofararchive where at the time of this posting there are over 40,000 artworks catalogued, and more being added all the time. Same with @canonspngifs where you can search through through nearly 75,000 gifsets organized by an excellent tagging system and made by dedicated fans out of love for the thing. This is all proof that you are not alone, that so many of us care just as deeply about them as you do. Not even mentioning the people who have written hundreds of millions of words of meta, articles, and even masters theses and doctoral dissertations on Supernatural and the fandom. This is a unique thing, even within the larger fandom culture. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your feelings for it are stupid or irrelevant or wrong.

But also don’t let anyone try to convince you that you must accept the finale as part of the story if you don’t want to. Don’t even let *yourself* believe that if you don’t want to. This show has done more to play with the themes of “what is reality” and “who gives a story meaning” and alternate universes and curses and djinn dreams to easily account for whatever the heck the finale was.

my current go-to theory: everything after Chuck’s defeat takes place in the Mockumentary Alternate Universe... it fits way too uncomfortably well... and then I just apply the fic I received in a cosmic transmission from the actual supernatural universe wrote detailing the events of what *I* hoped would transpire afterward. I know this doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me, mostly because it *has* to. It means far too much to me not to.

You are not alone in having invested yourself into this story, and these characters. Your feelings about them are not wrong or stupid or frivolous. And the proof is everyone else who feels the same exact way, who connected to this story (and to each other through this story), and whose lives have been forever altered through this journey together. The fact that Dabb turned out to have been Chuck Junior and couldn’t see (or was prevented from showing us) what Team Free Will would’ve chosen to do with that after defeating their original creator just stands to prove to me that the finale can’t possibly be The Truth, you know?

I don’t know if any of this will help you, or provide you some small comfort right now, but maybe it will eventually. We’re all processing the loss of the show and the abject failure of story that was the finale in different ways, and I’m sure our emotional reactions will shift over time. It was just A Lot to process all in the span of a few incredibly emotional weeks-- not even mentioning how all of that emotional response was compounded by the american elections and surrounding nonsense, the general stress of enduring a global pandemic and all that entails, and *waves hands around broadly at everything else contributing to the trauma occurring in the collective of humankind right now.* We’ve all been emotionally compromised, so be kind to yourself in how you feel you’re coping with it all.

And know that no matter what, you are not alone in how you’re feeling. The grief is real, and our brains don’t care if it’s felt for fictional characters or real people. This was honestly a once in a lifetime experience for a lot of us, and not even the wtf of the finale can kill it for us if we don’t let it. I reject that particular piece of rusty rebar and choose to believe in a just and narratively coherent resolution. To do anything less feels like dishonoring the story and characters who have drawn me in and made me feel so much for them over the years. If the story itself couldn’t honor them properly, then I can choose to do so myself.

<3

[plus-size-reader]

Hunters Wedding

Dean Winchester x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1550 words

Warnings:none

Summary: Dean had been wrestling with something for quite some time and finally confronts the reader about it. 

——————————————————————————————————

You never thought you'd get married.

Ever.

You had grown up in a hunters family, fully aware that what your dad called a "blue collar" life wasn't for you. In that respect, while your parents were married, you knew that wasn't going to be the path you would follow personally.

It was just too dangerous.

Having someone you loved in the sort of life where you tracked down and killed some of the most heinous monsters you'd ever seen was too great a risk. Those sorts of things were a liability, and could only end badly.

Maybe being raised understanding that had changed the way you saw the world around you, at least in a romantic sense, but you didn't care. You didn't even give getting married a second thought, all your life.

Even getting into a relationship was questionable when you got to the point in your life.

You and Dean were in a relationship for all intensive purposes but it was never supposed to be more than that. You didn't even like calling it a relationship really. It was more of a partnership. You cared about each other and you kept each other alive, and that was enough for you.

That was all you needed.

You kept him at an arms length, whether you wanted to admit it or not, just so you didn't get too close. You both sort of lived in fear of what could happen if you got too close and something happened to the other.

Losing him would break your heart, and you were painfully aware of that. Still, there had been a shift in him recently and you could tell that something was going on with him. You had no idea what it was, but you were sure you'd find out before too long.

It was no secret that Dean had always craved the family that he'd never had a chance to be a part of. Maybe it was buried deep down, and maybe he liked to pretend that it wasn't there but you were going to figure it out at some point.

He wanted to have a family, but more than anything, he wanted to have a family with you.

...That was the exact moment he decided he was going to ask you to marry him.

However, it wasn't as simple as just asking. You had made it abundantly clear that you had no intention of ever getting married, and while Dean knew you loved him, he wanted to respect that.

Hell, he understood your reasons better than anyone else ever could but he just couldn't shake the feeling he had that he needed to make you his wife. Deep down in his gut, he just knew that he had to.

So he did the only thing he knew to do, he asked.

It took everything he had to build up the courage but after listening to the pump up jams of classic rock and shotgunning a beer or two, he just decided that he was gonna do it. There was no more thinking that needed to be done, and he couldn't put it off anymore.

You knew there was something wrong with him immediately.

More than normal, Dean was being squirrely. He entered the bunker's concrete kitchen with a strange jaunt in his step, doing his best to seem inconspicuous as he scanned the files Sam had left on the table.

It may have worked, if you were blind or dim but every time you thought maybe he'd just eaten a bad burger, he glanced back up at you. That made it pretty clear to you that the blonde had something on his mind that he wanted to share.

"Can I help you?" you wondered finally, having finally had enough when he glanced over his shoulder again to make sure you were still standing there, though you clearly hadn't moved.

You were just minding your own business, trying to make those gluten free pancakes Sam had been raving about all week for when he got back from the morgue. However, seeing as you knew Dean wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole, you knew it wasn't about the food.

"I made regular pancakes too, so don't get pouty on me" you warned, only half joking in an attempt to get him to spill his guts before you had to break out the interrogation chair. You could get it out of him, but frankly, you were too lazy for that.

It would be much simpler if Dean would just open up for once.

"I want to marry you"

Those five words fell from Dean's lips before he even meant for them to and as soon as they did, all thoughts of joking left your mind. Surely he was kidding, after all, you knew he shared your opinions of marriage in this life.

The two of you frequently made fun on those people who tried to balance both lifestyles, so you knew he wasn't actually suggesting that you try to do the same. That would be ridiculous...wouldn't it?

"Come again?" you asked finally, fully aware that you must have sounded insane. Still, you couldn't possibly wrap your brain around anything more than that. Could you have heard him wrong? Maybe you were having a stroke.

At this point, nothing was off the table.

Dean took a deep breathe, still not looking at you. He had no idea how to recover from that, though now that it was out in the open, he might as well just get it off his chest. After a second, much longer deep breathe, he spoke.

"I think that we should get married" he repeated, not really giving you the clarification you'd been searching for. There was very little you could read from the situation, now fully ignoring the sizzling, and likely burning, of that pancake batter in the pan.

Ok, so you hadn't heard him wrong, at least you knew that much. What you had to figure out now was if he was the one having a stroke. What he was suggesting didn't sound like the Dean you knew at all.

"You think that we should get married?" you clarified, you were pretty sure that was what he was suggesting but you were just having trouble wrapping your brain around it. You really just hadn't seen this coming and you were caught off guard.

Naturally, you needed a few moments to process this.

You were pretty sure that you and Dean were on the same page when it came to this but if he wanted to talk about changing it, you weren't going to shut him down immediately either. He had been really open to hearing you out and you owed him the same courtesy.

Dean nodded in response to your question but said nothing else while you turned off the burner on the stove, making your way over to him as quickly as you could. "Okay, let's talk about it. I assume this is why you've been so strange these last few days?"

Without missing a beat, you sat down at the table, waiting until he did the same across from you to say anything else. The two of you were adults, and you could handle this, even if it was a lot for you to take on at once.

See, for you and for Dean as well, you knew that a talk about marriage wasn't just talking about marriage. It was also a talk about taking your relationship to another, more intimate level, and in a lot of ways, it forced you to think about losing him too.

It was an emotional rollercoaster if nothing else, and you just had to give it time to settle before talking it through.

"It doesn't have to be a big thing, I'm just driving myself crazy here" he started, fully aware how strange he was reacting to all this. It wasn't the Dean you were used to at all, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Now that you stopped to think about it, a hunters wedding wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"You really want to do this don't you?" you hummed, reaching out to take his hand in your own, immediately feeling his other hand clasp down onto of yours. It created an airlock of sorts, from which you couldn't get your hand back, but you didn't care.

Right now, you were far too preoccupied with all the unanswered questions and feelings to even worry about that.

"I really do"

...That was that.

"Okay, If you really want to do this, we'll do it" you shrugged, it wasn't exactly how either of you thought today was going to go down of course, but maybe that wasn't the worst thing. A proposal was a hell of a lot better than an apocalypse.

Now you just had to figure out what that meant for the two of you, but first, you had to call Jody. You had no idea how she would react to something like this but she was the closest thing to family you had and you knew she'd want to know.

Speaking of, Sam was going to have a heyday when he got home. His pancakes were ruined, but something told you he wouldn't mind.

[dreamingyouth]

[Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader] Part 1 - Read with me next time

This is my first reader insert and English isn’t my native language, so please be kind with me ;A; I hope it’s not too bad !

Words count : 2050 (oops) Triggers warning : none

Spring. The sweet season was back at last: birds chirping happily, comfortable warmth, plants and trees blooming and welcoming the life which pushed away the stillness of winter. It wasn’t that you disliked winter per se: you were content snuggling in your fluffy blanket with a warm drink, your favorite book in hand as the snow fell outside. The new season had something more: the nice weather called for picnics and reading sessions under this big, isolated tree - your tree - where you could find the peace and silence you craved.

However, this time, your spot was claimed by an unfamiliar figure. The person seemed tall. Confident. You couldn't see much due to the black cloak covering their body, a large hood hiding their face from your curious gaze. This stranger was nothing like the inhabitants of the city you lived in, of this you were sure: too calm, too quiet... were they meditating?

Your steps led you to the silhouette sitting cross-legged, only stopping about a meter or two away as the person looked up.

The stranger was a he. He was different from anyone you knew, not only by his behavior but by his physical appearance as well. He had fire in his eyes and hell written on his face, the symmetrical black tattoos on his red skin luring you in like a demon's charm. There you stayed, observing each other for what felt like hours before your lips parted to let your voice be heard.

"Excuse me... this is usually my spot-"

At your words, he began to rise in silence, his burning gaze never leaving you as you lifted a hand up to stop him.

"No, wait! I... I didn't mean it like that. I was just wondering if you would let me sit by your side to read my book. There isn't anywhere else I can go to, but I don't want to bother you either."

He seemed to think it through for a moment before slowly sitting down again, uttering a single word in a voice that gave you goosebumps from how deep it was.

"Sure."

You nodded slightly. For someone so scary-looking, he didn't seem much like a threat to you. In an instant, you were sitting down, the feel of the grass beneath you comforting as you gave the stranger a soft smile in gratitude. The both of you looked away simultaneously, his eyes closing as he resumed his meditation and yours remaining open to read the captivating story of your current book.

You didn't mind each other's presence. If anything, it was soothing, and, as you left him in the late afternoon, you caught yourself hoping he would be there the following day too.

Much to your delight, you found him in the exact same spot the next day.

"May I?"

A nod, a hum, and you were by his side once again. You didn't know anything about him: his name, who he was, where he came from. Why would this matter? You were content like this. So much that it became a habit; you would join him right after lunch, sit beside him and read until it was time to go home again. He was always there before you and you were the first to leave.

One day, you found him sitting casually, far from his usual upright meditation posture. His hood was down and you could see the horns tracing a crown on his head. He was a living piece of art.

"Is everything alright?"

You questioned, his eyes staring at your face as you lowered yourself to his level. Have you ever been this close to him before? You weren't sure. Or was it because you were actually facing him as you sat down, instead of having your back to the tree you now shared? No matter the reason, it felt different, and you couldn't help the slightly faster pace of your heart. His flaming eyes looked into your own, and you swore you could return his gaze forever. Not once have you ever seen someone so captivating outside the books you lost yourself into, day after day.

"You're late."

Those few words took you out of your daydream, a surprised expression on your face. Late? Sure, you had to help your neighbor before coming, but it couldn't have been this long. The sun was still high in the sky, after all.

"Were you worried?"

You got no answer from him. Instead, he went back to his usual posture, legs crossing as he closed his eyes. One of your eyebrows raised, you tilted your head, unable to look anywhere but at his face.

"I'm sorry I made you worry. - I wasn't worried. - Then why weren't you meditating when I arrived, as you do every day? - Why weren't you on time as you are every day?"

His sarcastic reply was a clear hint he wasn't planning on giving you any explanation. You met each other daily for quite some time, yet you realized you never got to know him any better. He was always so silent. Reserved. His identity was a mystery. He was a mystery. You could never tell his opinion on something you said, or guess his thoughts.

This simple conversation, much to your surprise, initiated a different kind of relation between the two of you since then. You actually spoke to each other and it wasn't rare that you would tell him a few words about the beginning of your day, or something that was on your mind before you went on with your reading. He would always listen with interest.

***

You were too lost in your story to notice the shift beside you. Your reading pace has increased, the pages were turned faster than usual, and he had noticed. Word after word, sentence after sentence, the action taking place was clear in your mind as you saw it unfold. You were running with the characters, fighting alongside them, you could feel their emotions as if they were your own. A soft, quiet gasp escaped you eventually at a revelation you hadn't expected.

"What is it about?"

You jumped, turning your head toward the voice- only to find yourself almost nose to nose with your demon-looking acquaintance. You froze. Was he looking at you all this time? Was he reading over your shoulder without you noticing? Why was he so close? And most importantly, why did you want to lean in so badly?

"Uh- - Well?"

You gulped. You wouldn't be surprised if your face was competing with his own to know which one could get redder at this point. Except that his skin was naturally red. And not yours.

Ignoring your silent panic, he leaned back a little, his eyes moving to the open book in your hands. This allowed you to try and compose yourself, finally finding your voice again to explain the plot to him. Who knew anyone would ever be interested in what you read?

"... I tried not to spoil anything. I didn't know you were one to read books! - Why? Do I look like an imbecile to you? - No! No, not at all! This isn't what I meant, I..."

Your shameful apologies were cut short as he let out a small chuckle. Was he being playful with you now? This was the first time you saw the corner of his lips turn upwards; and, to be honest, you quite liked it.

***

You grew closer from then on. You learned his name, Maul. He was Dathomirian. This pretty much explained his unusual skin, which you loved more and more as you saw him; his eyes always burned with the same intensity and held a passion you've never seen before. On his good days, he would even greet you with a slight smile: unsurprisingly, these were your favorite days of all.

Physically speaking, you weren't as distant as you once were either. You would sit closer to him, or he would move to be closer to you; he would meditate half of the afternoon and would read over your shoulder the rest of the time. Most often than not, you would have moved on to a different book by the time he decided to accompany your reading again, yet he didn't really mind. What mattered wasn't the story. It was you.

You, who gave him the kindness he was never shown from day one. You, who wasn't scared of his appearance despite never meeting anyone of his kind. You, who knew when to talk and when to stay quiet. You, who respected his boundaries. You, who made him feel accepted and... liked, somehow.

You.

He couldn't get you out of his mind as much as you couldn't get him out of yours. He would look forward to your daily meeting, sometimes so impatiently he was about to use the Force to know where you might be.

As unexpected as it sounded, he was grateful his Master told him to keep a low profile for some months after his last mission.

***

Summer was getting closer: the temperatures were beginning to rise, days got longer and the faraway city lost more and more inhabitants due to highly awaited holidays. This didn't prevent you from meeting your dear Dathomirian companion; in fact, it gave you an excuse to stay longer, pretending the sun setting so slowly made you lose track of time.

Despite the warmth radiating from his body, you didn't mind being close to him. He was deep in meditation and you were deep into your book, the chirping birds the only sound filling the area. As the afternoon unfolded, the hot weather left you feeling drowsy, making it hard to read... until your eyes fell closed and your head tilted to rest on his shoulder as you fell asleep.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to you as he felt the weight on his shoulder. He was... surprised, to say the least. Never before had one shown him appreciation. One falling asleep on his shoulder so comfortably? It was new, unexpected, and he didn't know how to react. The warmth spreading through his chest at the sight was different than the passionate fire burning inside while he trained, yet it was strong and inviting. The more he looked at you, the more he wanted you closer, to keep you by his side, to protect you.

He carefully picked up your book, placing your favorite bookmark inside for you to resume your reading later on. This wasn't much, but he thought it would probably make you happy, guessing how frustrating this might be for you if you were to go through all the pages again to pick up where you left off. A sigh. He cared, and there was no way to deny it.

About half an hour later, you woke up, only to find yourself... held. Your eyebrows slightly furrowed, you discreetly opened your eyes and had to hold back the large smile threatening to stretch your lips.

There you were, tucked against Maul's side, his arm around you securely as he read the story you were enjoying earlier- your bookmark carefully placed where you left off. It was the first time you saw him read. And what a sight!

"So you truly are one to read books."

Your quiet voice didn't go unnoticed. He closed the book with one hand, the other holding your arm as if you would try to get up and leave. He looked at you, meeting your gaze with his own; and you couldn't help but notice the slightest hint of softness in his eyes. You were lost in them. How could you not? You were so close... His voice sounded like velvet in this moment, and you knew in your heart there was no turning back, no denying of how you felt. Because, maybe, he felt the same.

"Bring a new book and read with me next time."

You allowed a happy smile to spread on your face, snuggling against him as you closed your eyes, head resting in his neck. The last thing you felt before going back to your nap was a gentle kiss on your temple; and this, without a doubt, was more comforting than any book you've ever read.

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PHEW ! Sorry it was so long, I couldn’t stop writing ! Maybe this calls for a part 2, which might be shorter. Tell me if you would be interested in this !

Edit :  Link to the part 2 right here and part 3 over here !

Also, I tried to make this as gender-neutral as possible. I hope I did well and that everyone can enjoy this reader insert ! xo

[miss-choco-chips]

Soul Shards part 4

I have nothing to say for myself. Don’t kill me? I tried to edit this, but it’s longer than what I’m used to, so I probably fucked up somewhere along the way.

This... will probably need another part. Or should I leave it like this? I dunno.

Enjoy!

~~~.~~~.~~~

Timothy’s eyes shone hatefully. It was the most beautiful shade of icy blue he had ever seen. Even if the emotion was such a dark one, they weren’t empty anymore.

-It’ll be over soon -he shushed, slowly sinking to his knees and bringing the man into his lap, almost engulfing him between arms and firm chest, as if to protect him from the pain that was coming from deep inside; distantly, he heard Kon and Jon’s voices as they approached, their concern obvious but unimportant at the moment-, you just have… a lot of emotional catching up to do.

~~~.~~~.~~~

16   -   21

The young man raised his eyes from the documents he was revising, merely glancing over Damian’s case files.

-Zsasz -was all he said, before going back to his own thing. 

Damian a year ago might have gotten mad, thinking Timothy was sprouting spur of the moment lies to get him to stop nagging him. He knew better now, that the man didn’t need more than a second of looking at his carefully collected evidence to make a verdict.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, though.

-How? -was all he asked, giving the file a closer look, trying and failing to see what the other could- He was at Arkham at the time of the crimes, there’s witnesses and video evidence. 

Timothy didn’t seem to be paying attention to him any longer, answering by rote but not taking his empty eyes from his own work.

-Not Zsasz himself, but not a copycat either. This is the work of a lover, or someone romantically interested in the bastard. Could be a courting gift, a mean to attract his attention, or both. Look deeply into any woman…

-Or man, or both, or neither -he felt compelled to add. Timothy shrugged, but his soul gave an approving humm.

-... or man, or both, or neither -the detective conceded, dropping his papers in favor of his coffee cup and tablet-, visiting him this last few months, or that could have benefited from any of Zsasz murders; maybe he unknowingly saved someone by killing their abuser or something like that, and they fell for him. Think Misa Amane from Death Note.

As he did any time Drake dropped a reference, Damian made a mental note to check this out. At least, “Death note” sounded more his style than the time he had to watch both Mean Girls movies.

-How do you know it’s a love interest and not, say, an apprentice?

Without dropping his cup, and balancing the tablet against his legs where he was sitting on the couch, Timothy raised his other hand and pushed one of Damian’s papers across the coffee table towards him. One of the autopsy’s photos.

-The cuts. Zsasz usually makes them all across the body, picking certain places that would make his victims bleed to death as slowly and painfully as he feels like. These, instead, are focused on the chest area, almost circling the person’s heart. In this one, a victim that was murdered specifically on Valentine's day, the cuts are even closer to it, almost framing the heart. 

-...I can see it -he muttered, eyes widening. After two weeks of useless tumbling around this case, it was only when he caved and went to Timothy for help that he finally had some possible lead on it. And, as every time he did this before, a few minutes was all he needed to figure it out and to point him in the right direction.

-I’d hurry, if I were you. The least thing Gotham needs is a new villian power couple, a “Harley and Joker” take two. It was just too good when she left him for Ivy, so don’t allow anyone else to take their places as the criminal lovers of the city.

Damian nodded and went back to his files on Zsasz, energies and will renewed. Timothy ignored him once again in favor of his own things, and silence enveloped them. He didn’t mind; the icy blue soul’s warm encouragement was all he needed.

----.----

-It has grown -commented the older of the two, watching from the corner of his eye the souls on Damian’s lap. They had to fight some sea monsters at the beach, and sand had gotten into his pouch, so he stopped at the earliest chance to clean it up.

It was the first time Timothy saw his soul in years. Damian had being careful to not take it out around him, scared it might spook the man into leaving.

If anything, he seemed curious.

-It has? -he asked, dropping his own back on its hiding place and rising the other to eye level- It still fits in my palm the same way it always did.

Timothy rolled his eyes.

-Yeah, and your hand is the exact size it was when you were twelve? Brat, you are already taller than me -wipe that smile off your face, we both knew this day would come. You grew, and if it still fits the same, it’s only logical that it did as well. You probably didn’t notice because you see it all the time, and since your soul has also grown, there’s no sure way for you to compare them and realize it.

Amazed, and more than a little happy, Damian examined it closer. He was right, of course; now that it was brought to his attention, he couldn’t unsee it.

-A soul grows and thrives on multiple things -kept going the other, shaking his head to get as much sand as possible off his hair-, both positive or negative.

Damian knew this, has seen the sheer size of the Joker’s rotten soul, doubled after his latest killing spree: it fed on the pain of his victims. It was a disgusting sight, but one that proved just how different the psychopaths they fought saw life, and how unlikely it was they’d ever stop.

-And in this case? -he asked, refraining himself from saying ‘your’ instead of ‘this’.

A shrug- If I had to guess, love, like most people’s. It was what always healed me, time and time again, growing up; love for my friends, parents, family, people I liked… It started to shrunk when half the people I cared for died, and the other half didn’t seem to want my feelings nor return them. Poor, past-me’s soul was starved to death. You seem to have it well fed, tough. 

It was said tonelessly, but Damian felt two sizes taller all the same. The soul at hand seemed to shine in front of his eyes (although it was probably just the sun’s reflection), and a quick succession of images flashed across his eyes.

Kon El, Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark and a few other heroes he recognized from Drake’s old Young Justice photos, going out of their way to seek him out and keep him company in his self imposed soulless exile.

Grayson, Father and Todd sitting quietly at the Cave’s Red Robin memorial (with cracked glass; The Red Hood hadn’t reacted well the first time he saw it), sharing stories of the man as they knew him: brother, son, childhood friend.

Cain and Brown, sitting back to back, holding the other’s soul shard; Brown delightedly absorbing the love Timothy had put in Cain’s icy blue compass, and the other carefully caressing the almost black locket, cocooning it in her hands, as if trying to breath emotions back into the almost empty thing.

Himself, tirelessly looking for information on the man years ago, following him around more recently. Taking hits for him during the times they worked together, doing his best to keep Grandfather away, sneakily replacing his coffee for decaf.

(taking care of his body)

Holding the precious icy blue orb in his palms, cradling it against his chest when sleeping or fondling with it between his fingers when troubled or distracted. Constant, tender touch. Never damaging it. Never leaving it alone. Never ignoring the feelings it sent his way.

(taking care of his soul)

Timothy looks indifferent, typing away at his new phone (he changed them almost every day, no doubt to keep Oracle or Father from finding him), but his soul reacts beautifully to Damian’s thoughts.

Fed by love, indeed.

-----.----

17  -  22

After he saved some children and comforted them during patrol, when he had (briefly) the upper hand against Cain in a spar, when he successfully talked Todd down from blowing up a building, when he stood firm against father in order to protect Jon, Colin and the rest of his friends from a scolding, when he tried (and failed) to help Alfred bake Grayson a cake for his birthday… each time, he would feel a tug from the not-so-little-anymore orb, and when he took it out of his pouch to inspect it, he’d always see a new, beautiful green and gold spot slowly dying the area surrounding the core. 

Little specks of his colours, appearing here and there at times that seemed random to him, but evidently were appreciated by Drake’s soul. 

It scared him so badly he could barely sleep without nightmares. Because, even if it meant tentatively good things (he was leaving a mark on Timothy where not even Todd had reached, was securing himself a way into his heart), it also meant a change. 

What if, after all his efforts, this made impossible for Drake's soul to fit into his body after all?

After the soulless man had pointed it out for him, he begun to notice things. Not only the suddenly appearing, breathtaking looking spots on the icy blue sea of his soul, but how it seemed to shine more with each passing moment, how the feelings it gave off were more intense (it had come as a surprise; he would never had guessed they were muted before, until he was almost blown away by the soul’s rage after an encounter with Deathstroke left Nightwing at death’s doors), how the small little bumps and dents in it were filled out as the soul grew, healthier and prettier. 

It had grown so full of feelings, so strong, he feared. What if, even if he got Timothy to take it back, his body couldn't accept it due to its changes? Or what if the accumulated feelings were too much for him to take, to process? He certainly had some emotional baggage to catch up to, and he had little to no information on soulless people accepting their core back to properly  predict what outcome they might face.

He was scared by the changes. He was excited about his colours slowly taking space into Timothy’s soul. He couldn’t rest properly anymore.

The soul was a faithful companion on his long, sleepless nights. It spoke to him, in a language of feelings and abstract-like images he had come to learn with the years. It returned his love and care tenfold, in a way he knew only Drake, with his seemingly unending flow of emotions, could do.

A part of him (Wayne, hero, martyr) didn’t believe himself deserving of it. None on his family, with maybe Cain and Pennyworth as the exceptions, were worth the unconditional trust and loyalty Timothy bestowed upon them.

The part that was purely Al Ghul (proud, selfish, greedy) asked for moremoremore, and only himhimhim.

That didn’t help his insomnia.

Neither did Timothy’s warm comfort.

The feelings, on both ends, only grew.

-------.-------

When he finally gathered courage and went to the source, Timothy himself, to show him the changes on the orb, the man only hummed, undeterred in his task of cleaning the kitchennet of this small place he was using for the week. They were somewhere in Singapore, and Damian could see the sea from the living room window.

-It’s such a shame, really -he spoke, as his hands worked steadily and with the ease of familiarity on making both coffee and Damian’s favorite tea. Never let it be said he didn’t know how to host. Another muscle memory skill, no doubt.

-What is it?

-You fell victim to Robin’s Third Law. I thought you might have been excepted from it, but obviously not. So sad. If I had an Alexa, I’d have her play sad violin tunes.

Ignoring the last bit, he took his eyes from where he was comparing the blue and green souls (his and Drake’s), and glanced in his direction.

-Third Law?

He never heard of it before. He would remember if Father or Grayson told him about it.

-Hmm -he nodded, brining a tray with the beverages and cookies to the low table, taking his seat in front of Damian, back to the window (whether this was trust in him to watch out for him in case they were attacked, or he simply didn’t care, he didn’t know)-. It’s a theory I developed while Stephanie was Robin, and you only confirmed it for me. First Law: Each Robin shall have his or her Batgirl. Dick and Jason had Barbara, me and Steph (though very briefly on her case) had Cass, and you currently have Steph. Second Law: Each Robin will have either a Super, a Speedster, or both, as his or her friend and teammate. Dick had Wally, Jason Bizzarro, I had both Kon and Bart, Steph teamed up with Kara for a while there, and you have Jon.

Blinking rapidly, he nodded. It- it was too much of a coincidence. Timothy’s claims, as always, had their merit, no matter how far fetched it seemed to have three unescapable facts following the wearer of the Robin mantle.

-And the Third Law?

-Each Robin will fall in love with their predecessor, without a happy ending.

That stopped him cold, tea cup halfway to his mouth.

He knew?

It must have shown on his face, because the man rolled his eyes.

-Just because I don’t have feelings of my own any longer doesn’t mean I can’t recognize them on someone else. I told you, the soul that belonged to me -he nods in the direction of Damian’s lap, where he had placed the soul while they eat- thrived in love. It’s almost the size it was back then, when I was young, idealistic and stupid.

A sip of coffee. Timothy’s soul reached out tentatively, it’s metaphorical touch brushing Damian’s own, a wave of lamenting and corresponding. He didn’t want to focus on what it meant.

-Dick loved the boy he was, the little Robin his parents raised, that flew on the trapeze without a care on the world. That kid died the night his parents fell. Jason most likely had a crush on Dick back when he was Robin, though the way he was treated by him back then killed that tentative love. I know, because I studied him for years, until I learned everything there was to learn about my predecessor and friend.

Damian listened, but half his mind was on the unrelenting wave of feelings Timothy’s soul was sending his. There was a message there, but he was way too overwhelmed to understand it.

-Myself, well, since you have that thing -he pointed to Damian’s lap, then shrugged-, you must know about my hopeless, tortuous love for the bastard. You know, even though past me trained himself with a flight or fight response to him, it still took me some battle time to go for the fight one? My body couldn’t seem to settle into the idea of hurting him -he sighed, shaking his head- Stupid little brat.

-Th-then… What about… Brown did have you. Her... her love didn’t have a tragedy following.

TImothy merely raised an eyebrow.

-Even before she faked her death, I was kind of an asshole with her, always demanding she hang up the cape. Then, when she came back, I was so pissed and betrayed, I couldn’t even look in her direction as much as I couldn’t take my eyes away; from what I remember, it was hell. I’m pretty sure a part of her will always love past me, just like him would always love her a bit, but they’re never getting back to what they were. There’s just too much polluted water under the bridge.

-Her shard is almost completely black and empty -he muttered, eyes dragged against his will to the Icy blue (and green and gold, now) soul.

Timothy laded his head- Doesn’t surprise me. Kon, Bart and Cassie all have theirs in almost perfect shape, though some spots here and there are losing their colours. They were absolutely freaked out when it started to happen, came straight to me to yell about friendship, bonds and  shit like that. I’m guessing both Cass and Alfred’s pieces are the same -at Damian’s reluctant nod, he smirked- about time, too. 

Damian didn’t comment on it, because he was well aware of how much Drake wished for all his soul shards to go completely null. When that happened, his soul would have definitely died, no take backs. 

There was also the matter of the soul core, in Damian’s possession, that kept on thriving and growing, but Drake didn’t seem too worried about it, which scared Damian in turn. 

-And, lastly, young current Robin. In love -he smirked-, ah, no, corresponded love, judging by the green spots, with his predecessor. Tough luck. The soul might have feelings for you, but the body certainly doesn’t (muscle memory from back then is a bitch, isn’t it?), and those by themselves are not enough, are they? Such a tragedy.

He smirked while talking, empty eyes not really caring about Damian’s crushed heart. 

He hated him, a little, just then. Not nearly as much as he loved him, sadly.

-------.-------

Watching him through the monitors of the cave was such a normal thing for him to do, it no longer called to the attention of his family members. They just accepted it as one more of Damian’s oddities and moved on. 

Sometimes, Grayson or Todd would stop by. They would comment on some sparring mistake he made, or marvel at the mission report when Drake’s explanation on the thought process that drove him to solve it was beyond amazing, longing and pain lacing their words. 

Cain and Brown rarely accompanied him, but when they did, it was their choice on what to watch, and more often than not it was some funny, endearing thing, like Drake’s comm quips, or mask recordings on the cheesy puns he threw to his enemies.

Father never stayed, once Damian took a seat by the Batcomputer. It was beyond frustrating, his decision to pretend his son was dead, from the memorial to avoiding all talk of him unless forced. Timothy was out there, and Damian held in his pouch the answer to his predicament, but no, Father would sooner think him dead than deal with the emotional rollercoaster Damian was currently riding.

Timothy defied death itself when everyone else thought Father dead. He went toe to toe with  a devil like his Grandfather, and came out on top, for him. It angered him, not seeing such devotion returned. Todd’s death and later criminal career had undoubtedly messed with his emotional bonds with all his children, but this was just ridiculous. They fought over it, often. They fought a lot, these days; his older siblings said it was a rite of passage, to reach that moment when Robin was just done with Batman’s shit.

-Master Damian, you never showed up for supper. I took the liberty of bringing some leftovers for you to snack on here.

Lost as he was, both in thought and in footage of Timothy reaching a compromise with Poison Ivy, he had to repress a startled jump; it would be unbecoming of him, with all his training. Though, Pennyworth probably knew anyway. He always did.

-Thank you -he nodded, accepting the plate stacked with sandwiches. The old butler left a cool glass of water by the computer’s keyboard, and his eyes went up to the image of Timothy returning home after another successful mission. His tired eyes seemed to soften.

-How is Master Timothy fearing, young sir?

As sure as he was that everyone suspected him, only Alfred directly addressed the fact that Damian went to his old charge, time and time again. Even so, when he asked for “Master Timothy”, he always referred to the same.

Wordlessly, one hand holding a sandwich, he retrieved the soul next to his from the pouch. The spots weren’t bigger than last time, but more numerous.

One finger softly caressed the orb. He wouldn’t feel it, but Damian could, and it always warmed him the way Timothy’s soul reacted to the old butler’s touch.

-To think I let a young man under my care to go starved... -muttered the man. He hadn’t taken well when Damian confied on him the reason why the blue orb used to be so little.

-It was a shared mistake, Pennyworth. If anything -he nodded towards the man’s bowtie, where the small icy blue shard still shone- it’s evident how you -and Cain- were far from the worst perpetrators. The fault lies on the rest of us.

The man sighed- It’s such a shame, truly. Master Timothy was such a bright, full of life young man… his heart might have been naive, but it rarely steered him wrong.

While he spoke, the man went around Damian, reaching for the keyboard. A few clicks later, and a video file he never saw before was brought forth. Timothy’s young face appeared on the screen, and Damian paused, softly putting his glass back down.

On screen, his predecessor, down to his old Robin pants and no shirt, was finishing a training routine on the mats.This one, he didn’t recognize.

-I searched every bit of information on Drake, how…? 

As he asked, another figure appeared on screen, this time… an odd version of Nightwing. He started needling Timothy (the file lacked audio), seemingly asking for something the other kid wasn’t willing to provide. He kept shaking his head.

-I have every bit of photographic evidence of Master Richard’s… most questionable clothing choices password protected, least he finds a way to get rid of all of it. It’s for posterity’s sake, you understand? And to maybe help refrain him from trying his hand at “improvising a new suit” ever again.

Looking at his mentor’s mullet hair and deep v-neck, he can’t exactly bedrugde Alfred his counter measures. He’s feeling shame just by looking at a video, can’t even imagine what living through that must have been for the poor butler.

-Grayson’s fashion sense is sadly lacking, isn’t it?

-I wouldn’t call that fashion, Master Damian, nor sense. One could forgive and forget the first Robin suit, a circus child in need of colour and reminders of home. But this? -a stiff nod to the screen- This makes me worry for any children he might have. 

-I’ve been keeping him away from orphanages -he assures the old man, because at this point, it was a two on two battle, him and Pennyworth against Father and Grayson and their inability to keep their greedy paternal paws off of possible new family members.

-Good lad.

In silence, they watch as Nightwing goes off screen, returning later in civies. One would think anything would have been less of an eye sore, but the bright green pants, red sneakers and yellow shirt aren’t so much better than glitter and feathers in a skintight suit.

Shockingly, though, Timothy-on-screen seems to disagree. Graysons’ renewed efforts at convincing him of whatever he wanted bore fruits, and soon enough, both vigilantes left the scene. Automatically, the video started to reproduce again, on a loop.

Alfred hummed, taking back the empty tray- I would highly recommend you went upstairs to try and sleep, young Master. Your eyebags are two thirds the size Master Tim’s used to be, and that’s worrying on its own.

He wanted to protest, but the look on the old man’s face made him reconsider. There was very little any of them could do to repay Alfred for everything he did for the family. Easing his concern was just a start.

Silently, he closed the files he was revising and walked side by side with the butler. 

-I wonder what was what Grayson said, to make Timothy concede -he commented, while they slowly hailed back to the Manor.

-Nothing of great importance -was his answer-. Master Timothy’s will is a force to reckon, but he always found Robin to be his Achilles’ heel. The moment Master Dick changed into civies the colour of his first suit, poor lad had lost the battle.

The words kept spinning in his head, even after he went to bed.

It wasn’t a plan, not even the beginnings of one, and it lacked all the finesse and detail attention one of Timothy’s would have, but it was more than he had yesterday. 

A start.

------.------

He went to Kent with his idea. Conner. Kon El.

(Not Superboy. Not his Superboy, at least; just like he wasn’t his Robin)

He choose him, because he could fly them somewhere away from his Grandfather's ears. Because he was better at lying than the Impulse, and less noble and forthcoming than Wonder Girl. He trusted him more than he did Timothy’s other Young Justice old teammates.

But, more importantly, he knew Kent would be ready and willing to do whatever it took to get Drake back.

-You know it’s gonna hurt him -the clone pointed out, face serious and stony. He was already preparing himself mentally for the backslash of what they were going to do. His hand had raised up to the Icy blue earring. Out of everyone else, Cain and Pennyworth included, his soul shard was the brightest; his love and loyalty to Timothy never once wavered.

The soul in his pouch gave a warm wave of fondness. He suspects that, during Drake’s darkest hours, his best friend’s love was what kept the little orb fed. Even now, he felt it strengthen under Kent’s undying devotion.

-I know.

There was no question it would. If they succeeded, the onslaught of feelings would be far too much for anyone to handle. Timothy, awesome as he was in every other field, would not be the exception.

-He’s probably gonna hate me.

-No -he shakes his head, echoing on Timothy’s soul sentiments- He never could. You and the others… he’s weak to you. That’s why I’m asking for your help. I need you there first, to soften him up to the idea. Make him more… receptive.

A pause. Then:

-It’s me he’s going to hate.

-At first, for sure- the easy admission, from the mouth of someone as well (or better) versed in the mysteries and wonders of one Timothy Drake, hurt; then, the man continued- but I can promise you, it won’t stay in the way of your little love story for long. He will cave soon enough.

Startled, he looked into the meta’s eyes; mischief, but a shade of seriousness. He wasn’t lying.

-There is no love story. Only redemption for me, and a chance at happiness for him.

-Yeah, yeah, I know, you bats are all for ‘what’s right’ and ‘emotions and personal life are for the weak’. I’m just calling it like I see it, dude, and anyone can see how you look when you talk about him. And, honestly? It’s a little creepy, Edward Cullen style, the way you spent your entire teenagedhood pining after someone without actually interacting with him for almost half of it.

Multiple reactions raced through his mind. Embarrassment, denial, rage…

...resignation.

-I’m not worthy of his affections, not after everything. And even if I was, who’s to say the feelings his soul has now will be the same once it’s back with its rightful owner?

Kon El just sighed, something that sounded like ‘emotionally stunted bats’, and carefully placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. It was striking, realizing they were not so far in height now. He would never bulk up the way Superman’s clone had, but his body was closer to it than Timothy’s, or Grayson’s.

-I’ll let you in a secret. There’s one easy shortcut, straight to Tim’s heart. Though, maybe ‘straight’ isn’t the right word in this case.

-Shut up.

A smile- Trust me on this one. You’re already using that way, even if you don’t realize it -he clasped his hand tighter, and then released him- Well, gotta go. Showtime is in two days, right? Have to be ready. 

He was already taking off, when Damian’s brain to mouth filter seemed to break and he blurted out.

-What is this shortcut?

Still flying, the meta spin in place to face him, moving backwards. His smile was one part wistful, two parts sad.

-The fastest way for Tim to love you? Love him back. He’s a sucker for people giving him the barest scraps of affection, it would be impossible for him to resist someone wholeheartedly loving him.

-----.-----

18  -  23

All fell into place on Damian’s birthday.

The morning, he couldn’t escape his family. Grayson cried, of course, and  Father had his constipated-emotionally confused face on. Todd and Brown promised to take him to a bar, careful to make that claim where Pennyworth couldn’t hear them. Him and Cain were in charge of the cake (Cassandra’s latest focus of attention had been bakery, and she wanted to participate), and Damian spent half the day surrounded by their love and support. 

As promised, Jon came by mid afternoon to take him to ‘celebrate together’. He asked his family to wait for him awake, even if he came past the time patrol usually started. An odd request, but since he had asked for so little for his birthday, they couldn’t help but agree, Barbara going so far as to have The Birds of Prey ready to cover for them.

It was a long flight to Uruguay, but it was needed. He had taken note on how Drake was, more often than not, found on some seaside location. According to Grayson (and the multiple mission reports he had read on the subject), the tiniest Robin always seemed to like  and take comfort on the beach. It had become a small compulsion, probably one he wasn’t even aware of, to stray to places surrounded by water.

The only stop they made, was for Damian to change civies for his suit. The Robin suit.

They found him sitting on the sand overlooking the calm afternoon waters, at La Pedrera Beach. Just where Damian asked him to met, where Kon had undoubtedly brought him a few minutes before. 

No one was around, thankfully. The less witnesses, the better.

Jon touched ground softly, smiling at Damian and taking off again, to wait with the older Superboy as planned. His friend’s eyes betrayed no nervousness, but he didn’t need to; Damian was nervous enough for both of them.

Steeling himself, he walked towards the smaller man and stood by his side. Silently, they both watched as the sun slowly sunk into the horizon. In ten more minutes, it’d be completely hidden. Damian wanted for everything to be done before then, as if the beauty of the sunset would counter the pain of what was to follow.

-Okay, Baby Bat, lay it on me. Why ask me to come here, all the way from Italy? I was having a blast, you know, catching those mafias one by one.

Even as he spoke, he didn’t look particularly bothered. Soulless as he was, he had no qualms on showing his displeasure. Right now, though, he looked as satisfied as he ever did since losing his soul. The morning catching criminals, noon with his best friend and afternoon at the beach seemed to have worked like a charm. He was at ease, no longer waiting for Damian to attack him, and when he looked up at him and saw him wearing his colors (for once his more muted pants having a green tint to it, resembling more his predecessor's old costume), surprise gave quick way to trust.

Alfred was right, as always. Robin seemed to be the key past Timothy’s defenses.

-It’s my birthday today -he informed the man, doing his best to not be so stiff- And I want my gift.

A sharp laugh, devoid of feeling but humorous all the same, and Timothy stood, face to face with him, tilting his head to look him into the eye.

-My, my, what a spoiled prince. But whatever, I’m here already, and I already indulged you these last two years, letting you stay around and helping you with cases. What’s one more? I won’t take the soul back, though.

Damian shook his head.

-I don’t intend to return something of yours. I want to give something mine, for you to carry with yourself.

The smirk on his face turned utterly devious, and Timothy’s pale hands found perch on his shoulders.

-Such a daring man you have turned into -slowly, he leaned closer, standing on his tiptoes to reach Damian’s ear- What do you want to give me, baby bat? -his warm breath caressed his face, and he had to shut his eyes tightly when he felt Timothy’s face getting even closer- Maybe a kiss? It’ll be free of charge, even, just because I’m in such a good mood. I’ll still let you have the gift you had in mind, too.

Startled, he held the other man’s hips. The want that pushed viciously against his restrain left him dizzy, but his heart twisted and the pain brought him back to his senses, just before his lips -that he hadn’t even be aware he was parting- touched the other’s. 

Carefully, because he didn’t mean any harm and because of how hard it was, he pushed the man away.

-No.

-No? Despite how desperately you clearly want it?

He clenched his fists, before slowly opening his hands and dragging them away from Timothy’s body. He opened his eyes again, looking down at the beautiful face, at those empty eyes. That sealed his decision.

-Not like this. Never like this.

He both regreted and was relieved by his words the moment he had uttered them.

A huff, and slim arms crossed over his chest. It helped a little, once the temptation was over. 

-Okay then, boring. What’s this gift you want? Wanna give me a necklace or something? You seem the possessive type.

Damian breathed in, deeply. This was the moment.

-Open your hand, please.

Eyes rolling over the drama, one hand on his hip, he stretched out the other one, palm up.

Bracing himself, Damian retrieved something from his pouch. Before he could second guess himself, he softly placed it on Timothy’s hand.

Deep, rich green. Shinning gold. A sea of those colors, with specks of icy blue floating around.

His own soul.

Timothy’s eyes went to the soul, the one that wasn’t his, and widened a little. Reflexively, he closed his fingers around the orb as much as he could. He was still being moved by the muscle memory, the compulsion of pleasing Robin.

A second later, tears started to endlessly flow, and he was screaming in pain. 

-----.----

For months, years, Damian had looked over him and saw two separate pieces of the same puzzle. Soul and body, beautiful on their own, but absolutely breathtaking if he only could put them together.

Now, the full picture stood in front of him. Despite its beauty, there were visible cracks where Damian had forced their ragged ends together, where he had to put his own soul as a filler between them.

Effective as it was, meshing two pieces, despite they belonging to the same puzzle, wasn’t the most gentle way to mend them.

They were bound to break a little, in order to fit.

-What have you done to me?! -demanded Timothy, hand clutching desperately at his chest (the other one still holding the gifted soul core), knees failing him. He would have crashed into the ground, if not for Damian’s firm arm around his waist.

He looked completely miserable, scared and shocked, which sent waves of both guilt and elation through him, because his Beloved was hurting because of him, but he was feeling.

Timothy’s eyes shone hatefully. It was the most beautiful shade of icy blue he had ever seen. Even if the emotion was such a dark one, they weren’t empty anymore. 

-It’ll be over soon -he shushed, slowly sinking to his knees and bringing the man into his lap, almost engulfing him between arms and firm chest, as if to protect him from the pain that was coming from deep inside; distantly, he heard Kon and Jon’s voices as they approached, their concern obvious but unimportant at the moment-, you just have… a lot of emotional catching up to do.

-What is happening to me?! How?! This isn’t my soul! I shouldn’t be feeling my own emotions! -he shrieked, his entire body shaking, and it was obvious he would have attacked Damian if not so focused on his own pain. Tears fell seemingly without his notice, and flickers of different emotions crossed his face. Guilt, anger, joy, sadness, rage, fondness, pain, guilt, anger, joy… Too quick to properly categorize, too sudden for Timothy to process them. Those were the emotions his soul had been storing this past few years, and it was all crashing down around him.

-I’m well connected to the soul you gave me. As thus, by using my own as a conduit and bonding us together, yours finally has a way to reach out to you, to do its job and make you feel. It’s muted, not as strong as it’d be if you had accepted your own soul back in the first place. I’m afraid that would have killed you.

-I feel like I’m dying now.

There was screaming. Then laughter. Panic and crying. Puking. Timothy’s hand left his chest to tug at his hair, plucking off strand, then going to his naked arms and leaving red indents with his nails. Softly, he took his fingers between his,  Timothy’s back to his chest, if only to keep him from hurting himself any longer.

-I can’t breath. I can’t think. Why did you do this to me? I love you. No, I don’t. Fuck, I’m going crazy -Daman tightened his arms around the man, shushing him, rocking back and forth on the ground, wishing desperately he could sooth his pain.

-It’ll pass.

Timothy whined, and cried, and smiled, and puked on the sand.  

-I hate you right now. I love you. I’m scared. I hate you again. I/

-I know, love. I know.

When he passed out, still caught between tears and smiles, Damian couldn’t help but feel relief.

[metalchick19-blog]

The Bowers Gang: How the Guys Would Treat a Self-Conscious S/O with Sexual Trauma/What Their First Time Would Be Like (Anonymous Request)

Trigger warning: Contains themes related to sexual assault

* Any and all credit for this idea goes to the requestor.

Belch: Belch would be extremely understanding of an s/o with confidence issues, to the point where it would almost seem like the two were made for each other - unlike the other guys, Belch has struggled with low self-esteem his entire life, and still does on a day-to-day basis. Because of that, he would have a firm grasp on exactly what his partner was feeling, and would do anything necessary to make sure they felt beautiful, intelligent, and appreciated at all times. Out-of-the-blue compliments, private dates, and big, cuddly bear hugs would be a must, along with almost constant waves and smiles when he saw them in school. Really, Belch would just go out of his way to make sure his s/o felt acknowledged; he would want to make his feelings for them apparent, so that they would always be certain they mattered. When it comes to learning his partner had experienced sexual trauma, Belch likely wouldn’t know how to react at first - he’d just quietly let them explain what happened. Afterwards though, Belch wouldn’t hesitate to let them know how much he genuinely cared for them, and would be serious about letting them know that they could come to him whenever they needed to talk. He would also be noticeably more protective over them after hearing it, to the extent where he might even argue with Patrick about toning down his creep-ish ways when his s/o was around (which, sadly, would never happen). Their first time together would be calm, quiet, and as gentle as humanly possible:

Almost afraid to touch his s/o at first

Starts by moving very slowly

Deep, passionate kisses punctuated by soft breaths

Holds his partner close in hopes that it will make them feel safer

Slowly begins to undress them, but pauses every once in a while to check their comfort-level

“Are you sure?” x10

“Are you sure?” (once more, for good measure)

Whispers sweet nothings in his partner’s ear the entire time

Insists they stay the night afterwards for ice cream and cuddles

Henry: When it comes to having a self-conscious s/o, Henry wouldn’t necessarily make his s/o’s confidence issues worse, but he wouldn’t do much to make them better either. Being that Henry has extremely low self-esteem himself, and being that his concept of a woman’s role in a relationship comes directly from his Father (woman = subordinate/support), Henry would be much more focused on his partner’s responsibility to pump him up than on his own responsibility to do the same for them. It wouldn’t be because he didn’t care about them, per say, but would most accurately be linked to Henry’s tendency to prioritize his own needs first - because of that self-focused disposition, Henry most likely wouldn’t even notice his partner had a self-esteem problem unless they explicitly told him about it. He does throw compliments around pretty easily though (especially about his partner’s face and body), and so would have a chance at affecting their body image in a positive way. If he were to learn that his partner had endured sexual trauma, Henry would first become very awkward about the situation - like Belch, he would listen quietly, but he probably wouldn’t make eye contact or even change his facial expression after his partner had finished the story. He would sit in puzzling (maybe even slightly hurtful) silence, desperately trying to come up with the right thing to say, but seeming to his s/o to be very unemotional about the whole thing. In the end, Henry would just put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, and squeeze - the only way he could think of to express his sympathy. From there on, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone looking at, talking to, or even coming near his s/o, adopting a fiercely protective nature that would end up in the beating of almost every male in Derry High. Henry’s first time with his s/o would still be slightly rough, but significantly more gentle than normal:

Kisses his partner hard at first, then suddenly flinches back

Looks down at the ground for a moment, remembering

Brings a hand to his s/o’s face

Moves in again, slowly

Heartfelt tongue kisses that turn into gradual undressing

Starts to get too passionate/intense every few minutes, and has to pause to calm himself down

Genuinely trying so hard not to be scary

Picks up his partner and carries them to the bed

Keeps saying comforting things, but always in an angry tone of voice (because emotional illiteracy)

“...I’m not gonna’ hurt you, you know. It’s… just tell me to stop, and I will, alright?”

Goes very slow to avoid losing control

Lets his s/o lay on his chest afterwards

Secretly runs a hand through their hair once they fall asleep

Patrick: Patrick couldn’t care less about having an s/o with confidence issues - if he improved their self-esteem, it wouldn’t be on purpose, and would most likely be owed to his constant raunchy comments about their face and body. Basically, he could improve body image, but wouldn’t be good for much else; in fact, Patrick might find it funny to use his partner’s lack of self-confidence against them in certain situations. He loves to see people blush, and so might force them into unexpected social situations or embarrass them just to see them sweat. In a lot of ways, it might be better that Patrick didn’t know his s/o struggled at all, as he would absolutely target it as a weakness rather than try to help them feel better in any way. If Patrick were to find out his partner had experienced sexual trauma, his initial reaction would be the most inappropriate out of the group (as usual): excitement. He would beam, lean into his partner’s words, and insist on being given as much detail as possible to paint the picture in his head. He would have a visible hard-on (which he might even stroke through his pants as they told the story), and would feel nothing in the way of sympathy whatsoever. After his initial interest had waned, Patrick might actually become a little irritable about the situation - he would feel like something had been stolen from him in a way, being that someone that wasn’t himself had traumatized “his property.” Eventually he might ask his s/o who had done it in an attempt to find them (which wouldn’t go well for that person at all), but he would give up easily if he found they were gone. In the wake of finding out the news, Patrick would bring up his partner’s trauma on a fairly regular basis, joking about it constantly with the guys even though none of the rest of them would find it funny. In special circumstances (i.e. when his s/o made him angry) Patrick even might refer to them as “damaged goods,” in an attempt to to hit them where it hurt. Patrick’s first time with his s/o would be in no way good for his s/o’s psyche, and it would likely get worse as time went on:

Comes onto his partner the first time they come to his house (two weeks after they told him their story)

Is aggressive and forceful on purpose, because he wants to see the response

Holds his partner’s hands against the wall

Kisses them hard, bites their neck, and starts ripping their clothes off with his free hand

Throws them onto his bed once they’re completely naked

Unbuckles his belt with a smile

“Okay, baby… my turn to see what you feel like.”

Tries to recreate the circumstances and style of his partner’s traumatic experience as closely as he can - goes rough if their attacker was rough, soft if their attacker was soft, and may say things he was told their attacker said

Truly wants to see his partner in the exact state they were in when they were assaulted

Leaves immediately after finishing, but tells them to leave their bedroom window open that night so he can come over for more

Victor: To an s/o with self-esteem issues, Victor would be nothing short of a knight in shining armor. He’s very perceptive, and so would most likely key into their low self-image long before they started dating - in fact, it might even be the reason they start dating in the first place. Being that Victor is a compassionate person by nature, he’s often drawn to people he feels he can “fix” in some way  (hence his entire friendship with Henry and the guys). Because of that, he’d most likely seek out and genuinely enjoy dating someone he could encourage on a regular basis, because it would make him feel like he was doing something worthwhile for their life. He’d leave love notes in his s/o’s locker, touch them whenever the opportunity presented itself, and, in general, devote a lot of time to really learning about who they were as a person. Their dreams, their nightmares, their hurts - Victor would want to know it all, and would make it known to them how much he valued the moments when his partner chose to open up. In being told that his partner had experienced sexual trauma, Victor would hold their hand in his, and listen attentively as they re-lived the story. He would face them, gaze into their eyes, and let his hurt for them show all over his face. At the end of it all, he would just sit quietly before wrapping them in his arms; he would let his s/o bury their head in his neck, shielding them with his body as best he could. In the days that followed, Victor would adopt an even more potent gentleness toward his s/o, and a viciousness towards anyone that gave them trouble - he would be absolutely unwilling to let more harm come to them, regardless of the form it took. His eyes would soften, his kisses would become more heartfelt, and he’d find himself being who he genuinely is more than ever before. Victor’s first time with his s/o would be truly special - romantic and real in every way:

Takes his s/o on a late-night date to the quarry first

Sets up a picnic, candles, and a boom-box playing his partner’s favorite songs

Partner convinces him to take a night swim after eating

Swimming becomes skinny-dipping

Kisses his partner in the water and holds them close, caressing their body and telling them how much they mean to him

Says “I love you” for the first time

Swims with his partner back to shore

Lays with them - kisses their hands, stomach, legs, arms, everything

Checks often to see if they’re trembling

Truly cares about their experience with all his heart

“Are you okay?” x 15

Stays on top throughout so he can see their face - conveys with his eyes how much he adores them

Takes them back to his house afterward for showers, movies, and overnight cuddles

* I apologize for Patrick’s part in this, as it was truly hard to write - I ask that everyone keep in mind his basic character, and know I was doing my best to write him as he is.

[jessejackreyes]

AUish Headcanon for Jack Morrison

So I have this old AU Headcanon for Jack Morrison that I have never done much with, that I was inspired to talk about because I read a fic that had something similar.

Most of the canon information we get about Jack is that he was charismatic, inspiring, a real captain America type person. People loved him and respected him and he brought out the best in everyone.

A certain portion of the fandom’s response is to twist that into selfishness and turn those positive traits into negative ones. I.e he is secretly an asshole or something like that. I understand the desire to try to deconstruct this, but I personally took it in a slightly different direction and a step or two further. This is going to be a long one.

People in universe don’t really talk about Jack Morrison like he is a person, they talk about him more like he is a symbol. It is something that people will often do, but I like to think that a part of the reason that they do that is because he is seriously like that when people meet him.

So I have to explain why Jack would act this way and the answe became, because he is incapable of handling emotions and people normally. Most specifically he lacks any real empathy. He understands that other people have wants and desires, that they have agency and are individuals in the same way that he is, but this understanding is intellectual and learned.

Jack had to learn, largely on his own, to understand why other people act like they do and what was expected of him in social situations. As a result his youth was very rough and intensely frustrating for him and those around him. He was brilliant and tenacious though and, over time, he slowly learned how to get people to act the way he wanted them to. He learned how to talk to people, to convince them of things and how to smile to put people at ease and get them to open up and relax.

Going into high school practically nobody would have connected him to the cold and occasionally cruel kid he used to be. He laughed, smiled, flirted, joked around. He had started working out and eventually tried out for sports. He didn’t rest until he was the star quarterback, the most respected member of the most popular sports team in school. He was a social butterfly of the highest order, he even, of course, was prom king.

He didn’t just excel when it came to being social or playing football, no. His grades were impeccable, his test scores practically perfect. He took the highest level courses available to him: calculus, sciences. You name it he took it. He graduated valedictorian.

Over the course of his early life he went from the local trouble child to the kid everyone wished they had. He was the wonder boy. Everyone loved him, he always had time for everyone, managed to keep up with his school work and studies. People called him a superman, amazed that he could manage everything he did with a smile on his face.

The truth of the matter was that he did nothing but all of this, all the time. He had no hobbies, nothing he did for fun or relaxation. All of his energy went into being absolutely perfect in this rather specific way. The few people who understood, to some degree, what he was doing would never understand his motivations. That motivation had a lot to do with his evolving sense of self. As a relatively natural consequence of the way he thought about people, it was easy to elevate himself over them. They were easy to predict and manipulate and that affected his growing philosophy and relationship to people as a whole.

His personal philosophy has a wide range of influences. It was as he reached his high school graduation that he had begun to get a rather consistent and coherent sense of what that was. To somewhat oversimplify, he has a strong belief in his own superiority over others. He feels a need to show people that he is better than them, but also, to make them love him for it.

The sort of interesting consequence of this is that he holds himself up to a near impossible standard, while at the same time having a hard time blaming people for things that they do wrong. He easily dismisses others’ actions because they don’t know any better, or are incapable of doing better on their own. It’s a weird I can’t be mad at them because they couldn’t do better even if they wanted to thing.

He joins the military at the cusp of the crisis because he knows that he will be able to do something about it better than anyone else and he couldn’t leave his own safety in the hands of others. Even here he manages to say and do the exact right thing. His superiors love him, most of his colleagues do too.

Through his excellence he is offered a chance to join the SEP and he jumps at the opportunity. It was another way to make him better than he already was.

This is where most of my stories with this Headcanon begin, because this is where it all changes. This is where he meets Gabriel Reyes and he is forced to reevaluate his relationship to other people.

A small group of highly qualified soldiers are brought together to undergo experimental procedures to make them better. Jack charms his fellow recruits and the people in charge easily enough, but one person seems to resist his every attempt at manipulation. His bright smiles don’t seem to work, his smooth words fall on deaf ears and even his small town charm and naïveté don’t seem to produce the results he wants. No matter how hard he seems to try he and Gabriel do not get along.

They end up being roommates, much to Gabriel’s annoyance and Jack’s approval. It would give him plenty of time to work on whatever was going on that made Gabriel dislike him. Jack had met other people who were more difficult to work with than most. The most common of these tended to react somewhat contrarily, meaning they needed to be handled differently.

He tried flipping around his tactics, manipulating Gabriel into thinking he wanted one thing while he was after another. No matter what he did it was like the other man anticipated things. He would never react the way Jack expected or wanted and everything he did seemed to make the man dislike him more and more.

That distance only vanished when Jack gave up and eventually stopped trying. He stopped putting on his fake smile and laughing about things. Jack had not intended to do that, but the pain, fever and just plain torture of their treatments often left him out of sorts and eventually they talked.

When they were delirious from pain Jack didn’t have the presence of mind to pretend to be something else. He spoke clinically and precisely, often talking about emotions and reasons for actions in a way that always made people nervous or upset. Jack figured it would end up making things worse, but instead Gabriel started talking to him.

It only seemed to annoy Gabriel when Jack pretended too hard. When he was somewhat relaxed and natural for him, Gabe would smile. He wasn’t sure if Gabe understood just how deep his emotional disconnect ran, but it didn’t seem to drive him away.

Gabriel was the first person in his entire life that he could relax around. When Jack said or did atypical things he never commented unless they caused an actual problem and he was understanding even when they did. It helped as well that Gabriel was brilliant and strong and fast, he was everything Jack thought himself and possibly more.

There is no single moment that he can point to where he fell in love with Gabriel Reyes. It just seemed as natural to him as breathing. Before meeting Gabe he had never considered the possibility of finding someone worthy of his respect, let alone admiration. For everyone else his actions were dictated by their external reactions, but with Gabe he paused to consider how things would make him feel and what the man would want. Considerations that he had never given anyone but himself.

He would worry about impressing the man, constantly striving, not to be the best anymore, but to make Gabriel smile, to meet his approval. Gabriel would wrestle him to the ground, he would knock his ass out in boxing. Gabriel could bench press more, Jack outran him on the track. Before long Jack began actively wanting to spend time with him and lamenting when he could not.

Gabriel made the first move, because of course he did. Jack had no idea how to handle the way he felt. One night, after another intense sparring session, Gabriel grabbed him before he made it to his bed and kissed him. It was a quick chaste kiss, testing the waters. Jack reacted poorly, pulling away, confused by the sudden touching.

The look on Gabriel’s face when he did so was the most distressing thing Jack had ever experienced. He could recognize the pain that the other man felt and before he could do anything, Gabe bolted out the door. Jack had only a few moments to consider his response before he was chasing the other man. He had recoiled because the thought of such physical intimacy, sharing bodily fluids even, had always disgusted him.

He had never meant to hurt Gabriel though and he needed to apologize. Luckily Jack was faster and he managed to tackle him to the floor before he got too far. He didn’t know what to say to fix this, so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed Gabriel back. Gabriel returned and deepened the kiss and Jack realized that with Gabriel things were different, as long as it was Gabe then he could do this and make him happy.

They spend even more time together talking, often alone so Jack could drop his act. Jack begins learning about Gabriel and how he wants to save the world. He wants to protect people and fight for peace. He learned about altruism from Gabriel like the concept was new, like he had never heard anyone else spout it out like nonsense.

It wasn’t nonsense when Gabriel talked about helping others, about sacrifice and the greater good. Even though Jack did not understand that he was in love with Gabriel at the time he truly admired the slightly older man. He began to question his own beliefs, because if Gabriel Reyes cared for and respected other people, as flawed as they were, who was Jack to dismiss them out of hand?

He never did tell Gabriel about what he thought of other people or why he joined. He did not want the man to think less of him. Instead he internalized Gabriel’s desire to protect and built himself anew around that. He and Gabe were better than everyone else and as such it was their duty to protect and guide them. He would be the hero that Gabriel wanted him to be because he wanted Gabriel to be happy.

This is why he acts the way he does, why people talk about him like he’s something that isn’t human. It’s because he acts like it. He is practically perfect through practice and will. He embodies the values that Gabe distilled into him and like everything in his life, he takes it to its ideological extreme. They treat him like he was a ray of sunshine that could inspire the greatest loyalty in anyone and he was, because he consciously worked every second of every day to be that.

Phew that was long and rather specific. I have more about this AU and where it splits off and about Gabriel and stuff if anyone is interested.

It’s interesting but super hard to write well/super easy to screw up.

[scuttleboat]

What are your predictions for the Blake siblings going forward from 4x07?

I feel like this question might be better answered after next week, when we have a 3 week gap before new episodes.

But in general, I think that they’re going to reconcile at some point this season. However, something has broken between them. Their relationship as it was had been pulled all askew but we saw in 405 that they still came back to a core connection–not so after 407, I think. Things were really damaged between them after 310 but they still hadn’t changed their fundamental patterns even in s4. But damn, did it change now. For Octavia, it was when she went hard on rejecting Bellamy in 406, then tried to kill herself in 407. That’s affecting her on every level, I think, and it’s ultimately going to shape how she reacts to Bellamy in the future. For Bellamy what broke was the hope of having a relationship, something that had been much damaged but didn’t finally break until he listened to two people die and accepted his ultimate helplessness​ to affect things that are simply not affected by his wishes or desires. All his hopes and willpower and effort couldn’t save the people in the radiation, and all his hopes and will and effort cannot save Octavia.

Realizing that is devastating and it is doing some serious damage to Bellamy’s sense of self and of connection to the world. I don’t think Bellamy is suicidal, but I don’t think he will view things the same next week. Hope and purpose has been peeled back like fingernails being ripped out.

I’m not being as in-depth as I’d like to be on this topic at some point, but as a lot of fans have been predicting since mid s3, I think the relationship that Bellamy and Octavia had needed to break. It’s awful but they had to give up and let go, to accept that change is happening no matter how awful. Like breaking a bone to re-set it properly. The Blake siblings will have a relationship in the future, and I think it will be one of love, but I wonder if they’re ever going to be as close again as they were before Earth happened. Probably not for years. I think there’s always going to be a part of each of them now that is held separate. Sometimes in a story you have to lose something to progress, and that’s what’s happened in season 4.

I think Bellamy and Octavia’s intense, unhealthy dependency is part of their innocence, part of their childhood, and it can’t hold up in the face of the horrors of Earth, and how Earth had changed them both. So that connection had to break and now it has. As a consequence, what we saw at the end of 407 from Bellamy was *grief*. He was grieving not just these lost people, but also his relationship with his sister. When he finally allowed himself to let Octavia go, the grief washed over him, and that gave us the scene in the car. Loneliness, desperation. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. The torturous, hurtful rain was a wonderful visual metaphor for his emotional state.

That grief for Octavia, for their relationship… it’s going to swirl around Bellamy like a cloud for the next couple episodes. He believes he’s lost the last member of his family… and he’s finally allowing himself to grieve that. It’s a process he refused to allow himself to go through before, no matter how strongly Octavia made it clear that their relationship could not return to what it had been. It’s a fundamental loss and he resisted accepting it for so long because he didn’t want to let it go.

Octavia is tougher to speculate on, because I always have this vibe that she’s living in a totally different book–probably a different genre–than literally the entire rest of the cast. The kinds of tropes she gets are not given to anyone else; see the cave “I just want to feel alive” hook up for example. So I don’t know where precisely her story is going this season, just have ideas. I don’t think she is going to mourn the loss of family the way Bellamy is right now, because she’s the one who is leaving, not the one being left. And because she already tried to sever their closeness several times, starting in 310.

Octavia and Bellamy come at their relationship (and leave their relationship) from very different angles that are intricately tied to the unique nature of their upbringing. That comes on top of her hurt in believing that Bellamy triggered all of this in choosing politics over family. He doesn’t think he did that, in fact the opposite, but she sees him as the one who betrayed (and broke the bond) first. Octavia has been through trauma and she’s in a depression, manifesting recently as a suicide attempt. So while she may seem less outwardly affected by Bellamy’s loss than he seems by hers, that’s because she’s wrestling with this entirely different beast right now. Octavia can’t mourn their broken family bond, her mind has no space for that question when she doesn’t even know if she wants to go on breathing at all.

Okay this went on longer than I meant but there you go for my prediction of their journeys: Bellamy will be sad and Octavia will be erratic and they’ll reunite in a dramatic way down the line. It’ll be powerful and hard to watch, but afterwards their next relationship will hopefully be more manageable, even if it’s not as intimate. They went through a shorter version of this in season 1, and in some ways this storyline is repeating the same exact story but darker–a storytelling crutch that The 100 has in more than one area… see: bone marrow transfusions and a doomsday scenario. Ah well, that’s the show.

[mojput-mypath]

Good / Bad / No Middle

HRVATSKA VERZIJA ISPOD!

NAUGHTY, I AM, YES.

Being naughty is finally giving me a headache. I was so happy to arrive to a new level of directness, to the point it started coming back like a boomerang. You cannot do too much of nothing. I cannot remember exactly the reason for it, but for a few days there I lived in pure hatred. Pure evil and hatred were my constant companions. Watching people smile, saying nice things, was twisted in my eyes into a distorted world, where everything seemed so weird and ugly, like when you’re on acid (acid or trip=a hallucinogenic called LSD). Like a bad trip, everything became a botheration. It must have been Mercury Retrograde. In my personal chart, that planet is burned, retrograde and I was also in a small period of Mercury – three out of three indications that you will not be having a good time.

GOODY GOOD, SHE AND HE. WERE.

I want to tell you about empathy. About how I tend to feel other people’s pain and then I am pain. Every time that happens I usually know if the emotions are mine or from someone else. Depending on the intensity of other’s feelings, for sure. But, this is not about me. This is…to say that I have compassion, or rather I feel the pain of those close to me. People I feel closer to, the pain becomes stronger. This is difficult to utter, but I will have to. These are my feelings now: A great white soul has decided to go to another place. Maybe she got bored with us. Dasha. Dasha is a doggy. Chau and Samojed breed, if this is important to anyone. By the name of Dasha. She was an undivided part of my family for quite a few years. Long enough that I cannot remember the exact time when she showed up. She was here. She is here no longer.

Except Dasha, a few more people have gone. One such person is Dharma. Sova. He left me a bhajan (mantra song) that he played and loved to play, so I remember him. Often. How come that we spend such a sweet and short time together 6 years earlier to meet again suddenly and unexpectedly not so long ago? I don’t know. Do not ask.

Entire lives come and go, yet, the smallest moments are heavy as stone. When life gives you a good squeeze. When a brick flies in your direction. When you do not know where you are nor where you would even like to be, but you do know that where you are at is not where you have to be. Is this feeling always present? That this is not IT. Is this an eternal state, that nothing is ever as it should be?

Dharma & Daša

GOT ENLIGHTENED, AHA.

Yoga Vasistha (a part of a Veda, coming from India, something someone once wrote) starts off with Rama’s incessant complaining how everything sucks. First we’re babies, so we are not really aware of anything, then we go into teenage, which is especially disgusting, living the life of a hormonal monster. Then we become young adults, seemingly start getting something, but actually not. Then supposedly the best age comes. I am looking at people around me and it does not seem they’re so excited and happy, more like in a state of crisis. Then old age. You feel young, but you cannot get why things are not like they once were and you start panicking that you’ll die and how everything passes. That is all only one life. How many were there? How many more to come? Until when will this continue? Rama is complaining and complaining, and so am I. Later the sage Vasistha nicely explains him how nothing is real. The rest of the book is how everything is unreal and eternity is the only thing that exists. In short.

You thought I would not mention the Guru, did you? Did you secretly hope I will not be mentioning Him this time? This time he is not the author, but retells a story: two shepherds, one kind, the other less kind. The less kind one was sitting and wondering when he would get enlightened, so God sent him word that it would be in a couple of lives. The guy went berserk, lamenting on how all his meditation and efforts in this life were in vain… While the kind one was not even much interested, but God’s message had reached him, nonetheless. It stated that he would be enlightened after living as many more lives as there were leaves in one tree. He considered this to be really cool and started celebrating and dancing, went crazy. It is said he got enlightened there and then. Wise, huh? You can basically stick it with all this wise stuff, when even Rama felt all was in vain and boring and good for nothing, because one has not yet got enlightened. That shepherd had a great time, he was so relaxed. Did he arrive to this state of being so totally relaxed about life, or did this happen just like that? When that basic mathematics would actually be accurate (if…then…), that would have made me quite happy.

Like in the game “Black and White”, if you are naughty, the reward is less. But if you are goody good, the rewards are more useful, the process itself becomes more complex, asking for a greater investment. You can use the intellect and effort to solve the riddles and puzzles, or you can break everything down and go to the next task immediately. Just, the reward is less if you are naughty.

GOOD ALWAYS WINS?

So, two things. What does it really mean to be naughty? (This takes me back to the 4 years of a high-school subject called Ethics). And the 2nd thing is Karma, the always returning one. Karma. Everything you do, boomerangs back. What you reap, you shall sow. Yes, I keep getting my boomerang back, but others are getting their boomerang back through me. being naughty cannot be avoided.

1. Naughtiness is a relative term. Let us limit it to something I would call “allowed naughtiness”, expressed verbally or mentally (emotionally) and physically. Let us say that it is allowed to show displeasure and criticism verbally. Whichever tone of voice we use all of the above, depends of the person accepting the complaint, how they will take it in. Another factor is included here. Words are one, and another is the energy behind the words. (I keep having this nagging feeling that I am just going in circles with my egg/chicken, chiken/egg first, packed together with “All is relative”. That is how the day is going, that is how this period is going. Anything is possible!) Let’s move on to something a little more concrete: He says to Him: Come, come on time today, so we can finish on time as well. He turns to us and says: How can he be so impolite? What an attitude! He didn’t even say good morning, nothing! Such rudeness! Two people having a simple conversation turns into a complete misunderstanding of souls. Everyone else present felt the same sentence and approach were diametrically different: a kindly put, simple request. Have I already mentioned how everyone creates their own reality? What I wish to convey here is that person number 1 thought nothing malicious, and even the energy behind the request was benevolent. Person number 2 (Him) experienced the lack of an introduction and kinder words as an insult, a request as an order, and therefor had not even noticed the true softness in the energy behind the appearance.

2. Continuing on number 1. We perceive people and what they tell us differently in each next moment. In reality, we behave like mental hospital patients. Today you say one thing, and I perceive it as one thing. Tomorrow you say the same, and I perceive it in a completely different way. And on top of that, we demand of others to change THEIR behaviour! At the same time completely inconsistent in all we do and demand. We keep wasting our lives in debating spoken words, or what we assume the other person had thought, but not said at all. If I have the impulse to react to you in a certain way at a given time, I don’t know in what way it will be perceived. If I have good intentions, maybe you will not recognise it. Even if I have bad intentions, maybe you come over and give me a big compassionate hug? If I have done something bad in my past, and that has to boomerang back one way or the other – someone’s gotta be the executioner! Are you an evil person, just because destiny has chosen you to be the bloody executioner?

There is no third thing. There are a few more tiny things running in circles inside my little head. One of them is that there is no good or bad, only that what is. Did I just knock everyone out with this amazing epiphany? I truly have touched the universal truth of the entire existence, the universe and living beings in it. To repeat it: There is only what is. Now you know. I know this is the truth, as it comes from the very depth of my existence, the most intuitive corner of Me, and now I am sharing this with You. You must feel special now, privileged, enlightened? Me to!

Now, seriously. There is such a thing as bad behaviour, whether on purpose, or not, but it depends on the receiver (the victim of the naughtiness), how they will receive it. It depends on the scale of naughtiness the individual carries along. Therefore, no one is bad to me, nor am I bad to anyone! That is my ethically-logical conclusion of the day!

THE MUNDANE

Except all of the above, strictly speaking in an earthly more, I had a short sick-leave, too much of screen-staring. I still don’t really know how to balance between what I like to do, but tires me, and what I do to feel charged and rested. I spent my sick-leave staring at the ceiling, sleeping and listening to all sorts of stuff, as I was unable to even peek at screens

After having slept like a baby, day and night, I am feeling much better. The headache that carried the pain as powerful as a sonic boom must be, is gone. Why would I have such a headache? Because my digestive system is weak. And why is it weak? Because I am constricting myself. Unbelievable how much this entire stomach and abdominal area is stiff, trapped and contracted. How my digestion has deteriorated in the last half-year. Am I alright? What is the emotional reason behind all this stiffness? Will I manage to save myself? Will someone be able to cure me?

Read about it in the next episode about Passion of Gordana. Because this is my life. A Great Passion. And Great Dispassion. One, then the other, in constant alteration.

Enjoy the snow!

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ZLOĆKA, TO SAM, DA.

Zloćko me došao glave. Toliko sam se veselila tom novo-postignutom nivou direktnosti, koji me došao glave. Ne može ništa u prevelikim količinama. Ne znam što je točno bilo povod, ali nedavno me nekoliko cijelih dana prao hejt. Čisto zlo i mržnja me obuzeli. Gledam ljude kako se smiju, kako govore lijepe stvari, a čujem i vidim distorzirani svijet, u kojem je sve izobličeno i kao na tripu (trip=halucinogena droga zvana LSD). Kao na lošem tripu, kad ti sve smeta i loše je. Mora da je to bio taj Retrogradni Merkur. Kod mene osobno kao planeta u horoskopu spaljen, i retrogradan, te također i mali period merkura – sve tri indikacije da će te merkur opaliti po nosu krasnom, ako te to zanima.

DOBRICA, ONA i ON SU. BILI.

Želim pisati o empatiji. O tome kako osjećam tuđu bol, i onda bolim. Svaki puta kad se to dogodi, obično znam jesu li to izvorno moji osjećaji, ili tuđi. Ovisi o intenzitetu tuđih osjećaja, svakako. No, ovo nije o meni. Ovo je…za reći da suosjećam ili pače, osjećam tuđu bol, kada su mi bića bliska. Bliska bol i bliski ljudi. Teško je samo to reći. Ali morat ću. Ovo su sada moji osjećaji: bijelo klupko mira i lagodne sreće nije više s nama. Velika bijela dušica je odlučila otići negdje drugdje. Možda smo joj dosadili. Daši. Daša je pas. Pasmine Chau i Samojed, ako je to ikome važno. Imena Daša. Bila u milosti i nemilosti moje obitelji dugi niz godina. Dovoljno dugo da se ni ne sjećam kada se pojavila. Bila je tu. Sad više nije.

Osim Daše, još par ljudi nema više. Bar ne u obliku u kojem sam ih ja poznavala. Jedan takav čovjek je Dharma. Sova. Ostavio mi je jedan bhajan (pjesma s mantrama) koji je svirao i volio pjevati, pa ga se sjetim. Često. Kako to da smo se kratko i slatko družili 6 godina ranije i onda iznenada ponovno i dosta kratko, no intenzivno, samo par mjeseci prije nego je odlučio otići iz meni poznatog svijeta? Ne znam. Ne pitaj me.

I tako životi dolaze i odlaze, a nama mali trenuci teški k'o teret jedne oveće klade. Kad ti život stisne glavu. Cigla kad te zvizne. Kad ne znaš gdje si i gdje bi želio biti, ali znaš da tu gdje jesi – nije to. Jel' uvijek taj osjećaj da nije to to? Jel' to vječna stavka, da ništa nije ono što bi trebalo biti?

PROSVIJETLIH SE, AHA.

Yoga Vasistha (dio jedne Vede, potekle iz Indije, ono što je tamo netko pis'o) počinje s tim da se mali Rama tužaka kako ništa ne valja. I kako je cijeli svijet teško nje-sra. Prvo smo bebe, pa ništa ne kužimo, onda smo tinejdžeri, a to je božemesačuvaj, hormonalna čudovišta. Onda smo kao mladi odrasli ljudi, tek tada ništa ne kužimo, onda k'o fol najbolje godine. Gledam ljude oko sebe, i ne djeluje mi baš da su najbolje, više bih rekla da djeluju krizno. A onda starost. Osjećaš se mlado, a ne kužiš zašto stvari nisu kao što su nekad bilo i krene te hvatat panika od smrti i prolaznosti svega. To je samo jedan život. Koliko ih je bilo? Koliko će ih još biti? Dokad tako? Žali se Rama, žalim se i ja. Poslije njemu svetac Vasistha sve lijepo objasni, kako ništa ne postoji. Ostatak knjige je većinom o tome kako je sve nestvarno, i samo je vječnost ono što jest. Ukratko.

E da ti ne bi propustila spomenuti Gurua! Jesi se malo ponadala/ponadao da neće biti njega ovaj put? Ali ovaj put nije on rekao, već prepričao pričicu: dva pastira, jedan zgodan, drugi nezgodan. Ovaj nezgodni se pitao kad će se više prosvijetlit i javi njemu Bog: ono, nakon još par života. Ovaj poludi, ajme meni i kuku lele, zar sav moj trud i meditacija u ovom životu uzalud? Dok zgodnog nije ni zanimalo, ali nekako je došla do njega poruka: Bog mu je poručio da će se prosvijetlit nakon što proživi još života koliko je lišća na jednom stablu. Njemu to bilo super, pa počeo slavit, plesat, razludio. Kažu da se tog trena prosvijetlio. Eto, mudro, a? A džaba ti to sve mudro, kad ti je ko Rami sve uzalud i bezze i dosadno, jer se nisi još prosvijetlio. Super je tom pastiru, kad je bio opušten. Jel' on došao do tog stanja potpune opuštenosti sam ili mu se samo desilo? Kad bi ta osnovna matematika (ako….onda….) šljakala, to bi me razveselilo.

Kao u igrici 'Black and White', ako si zločest, nagrade su manje, ako si dobar, nagrade su zanimljivije, korisnije, i sam proces je kompleksniji, iziskuje veće ulaganje. Možeš razriješiti zagonetku intelektom i trudom, ili možeš sve razrušiti i doći na sljedeći nivo odmah. Samo. Nagrada je manja kad si zločest.

DOBRO UVIJEK POBJEĐUJE

Dakle, dvije stvari: Što to uopće znači biti zločest? Što je to točno zločesto ponašanje? (ovo me podsjeća na sve četiri godine predmeta Etike iz srednje škole). I druga stvar je – milo za drago? Karmetina. Sve se vraća – sve se plaća. Jest da se meni vraća i plaća, a također jest da se i kroz mene vraća drugima što se njima treba vratiti. Zločestoća je neizbježna.

1. Zločestoća je relativan pojam. Ajmo se ograničiti na nešto što ću proizvoljno označiti kao „dozvoljena zločestoća“. Izražena verbalno tj. mentalno (emocionalno) i fizički. Recimo da je verbalno dozvoljeno iskazati negodovanje, nezadovoljstvo, kritiku i tako dalje. Isključimo ružno neosnovano vrijeđanje za sada. Kojim god tonom izrazimo sve ovo gore navedeno, ovisno o tome tko kada prima verbalnu primjedbu, kako će je primiti. Još je jedan faktor. Riječi su jedno, a energija iza riječi je nešto sasvim drugo. (Cijelo vrijeme imam podmukli osjećaj da samo pričam meljem bezveze, izmjenjujući priču jaje/kokoš, kokoš/jaje upakirano sa „sve je to relativno“. Takav mi je dan, takav mi je period. Sve je moguće!) 

Ajmo na malo konkretnije, da bude lakše: Kaže on Njemu: Ajde dođi danas na vrijeme, da završimo na vrijeme. Kaže On nama na to: Kakav mu je to nastup? Kako je samo nepristojan! Ni dobar dan, ni molim te. Bezobrazluk! Dakle, dvoje ljudi razgovara, to je sasvim jasno. Jedan kaže rečenicu. Drugi doživi rečenicu na gore navedeni način (Bezobrazluk!). Svi drugi dožive rečenicu na dijametralno suprotni način, kao najobičniju, uljudno iskazanu uputu. Jesam li već spomenula da svatko kreira svoju stvarnost. Ono što želim napokon reći jest to da osoba 1 nije mislila apsolutno ništa loše, i čak je energija iza riječi bila sasvim benevolentna. Osoba 2 (On) je doživjela nedostatak uljudnih riječi kao uvredu, zamolbu kao naredbu, i nije zbog toga osjetila stvarnu mekoću iza riječi.

2.     Nadovezano na 1. Doživimo ljude i ono što nam kažu u svakom trenutku drugačije. Zapravo se svi ponašamo kao pacijenti bolnica za mentalne smetnje. Danas mi kažeš jedno, ja doživim na jedan način. Sutra mi opet kažeš jedno, a ja doživim na dvadeseti način. I onda još tražimo ljude da isprave SVOJE ponašanje! Dok smo sami potpuno nedosljedni u svemu što radimo i tražimo.  Provodimo živote svađajući se oko izgovorenih riječi, onoga što pretpostavljamo da je druga osoba mislila, a nije uopće rekla i slično tome. Ako sam ja ponukana da reagiram na tebe na određeni način u određenom trenutku, nemam blage veze kako će tebe to dotaknuti. Ako imam dobre namjere, možda me zauzvrat upravo napadneš. Ako imam ružne namjere, možda me požališ i zagrliš? Ako sam ja u svojoj prošlosti učinila nešto loše i to mi se ima vratiti, netko mora biti krvnik! Jesi li ti zločesta osoba samo zato jer te sudbina odabrala da odradiš ulogu krvnika?

Nema trećeg. Ima još par stvari koje mi se vrte po glavi ovih dana. Jedno od tih je da nema dobrog i lošeg, ima samo ono što jest. Jesam ga sad odvalila, ha? Baš sam pogodila univerzalnu istinu cijelog postojanja, svemira i svih bića u njemu. Da se ponovim: Ima samo ono što jest. Sad ti je sve jasno. Ma znam da je, kad to dolazi iz najintuitivnijeg kutka mog postojanja. I sada to dijelim s Tobom. Mora da se osjećaš privilegirano, posebno…prosvijetljeno? I ja!

Sad za fakat. Postoji loše ponašanje, bilo namjerno ili nenamjerno, ali ovisno o osobi koja je žrtva zločestoće, kako će primiti to ponašanje. Po mjerilima osobe koja je primatelj će se mjeriti visina razine zločestoće. Zato nitko nije prema meni zločest, niti sam ja prema ikome zločesta! E, to ti je sad najbolji etičko-logički zaključak ikad.

ZEMALJSKA DOGAĐANJA

Osim toga, ovako zemaljski: bila sam na kratkom bolovanju, jer sam se prenaglila s buljenjem u ekran. Još ne znam baš kontrolirati koliko radim onoga što me veseli, ali i umara, a koliko, proporcionalno tome, radim stvari koje me odmaraju i pune. Bolovanje sam provela buljeći u strop, spavajući i slušajući svašta, jer nisam mogla skoro uopće buljiti u ekran.

Naspavala sam se kao bebica, i sad sam puno bolje. Glava me više ne boli bolju koju bih mogla usporediti sa silinom probijanja zvučnog zida. E, a zašto me boli glava? Jer mi ne radi probava. A zašto mi ne radi probava? Jer sam se stisnula u se. Nevjerojatno koliko mi je cijeli taj predio trbušne šupljine ukočen, zaustavljen, stisnut. Koliko mi je probava pogoršala u zadnjih pola godine. Jesam li dobro? Koji je emocionalni razlog moje stisnutosti? Hoću li se uspjeti spasiti? Hoće li me netko izliječiti?

Pročitajte u slijedećoj epizodi Muke po Gordani. Jer to je moj život. Jedna Velika Muka. I Jedno Veliko Olakšanje. Jedno, pa drugo u neprekidnoj mijeni.

Uživaj u snijegu!