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horizon-verizon · 2 years

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[HotD] Helaena and Alicent’s Relationship: Evidence of Neglect and Abuse

CW: Domestic Abuse

Helaena is our sweet, mythic Cassandra, but in her feudal, martial, patriarchal society and in the Red Keep's court, she is likely just too “odd”.

Since she doesn’t appear to interact with anyone in court and those courtiers would have seen her mumble under her breath, playing with creepy-crawlies most of the time, she undoubtedly would have been seen as either crazy, feeble-minded, or defective. Which has interesting implications for her relationship with Alicent.

Signs of Mental/Emotional Abuse (LINK)

being emotionally upset or agitated

being extremely withdrawn and non communicative or non responsive

unusual behavior usually attributed to dementia (e.g., sucking, biting, rocking)

nervousness around certain people

an individual's report of being verbally or mentally mistreated

Traits of Abusive Behavior from Parents (LINK)

Continually ignoring or rejecting a child

Physically or socially isolating a child

Forcing a child to do things by scaring them

Exposing a child to domestic violence

Constantly criticising, humiliating or blaming a child

Constantly swearing, yelling or screaming at a child

Making a child feel different from other family members

Telling a child that they’re worthless, unloved or not enough

Withholding love, support, praise or attention from a child

Bullying, teasing, insulting or belittling a child

Having unrealistic expectations or unreasonable demands of a child

Not allowing a child to explore, express themselves, learn or make friends

Treating a child badly because of things they can’t change (eg. disability, gender, sexuality)

Threatening abuse or threats to harm loved ones or pets

Alicent's Characterization

Show!Alicent is one of the many women of the ASoIaF universe whose close family member uses their body's reproductive abilities for their own ambitions and against her will.

But Show!Alicent is the example of that woman who doesn’t resist against most patriarchal expectations and standards of moral femininity--unlike the gender nonconformists Daenerys, Rhaenyra, some of Cersei, Arya, Brienne, etc. All women who, it must be noted, dressed and/or acted outside of the norms of Westerosi standards for (noble)women even when they were children and teenagers.

Yes, even Cersei, the woman who constantly uses Lannister specialness as a way to access that martial power that men receive and direct in this world, rejects anything remotely feminine if it doesn’t lend to this access, and thus becomes blind to her own faults and weaknesses. This looks like nonconformity, but of the self-destructive and abusive kind. Yet, she also puts pressures on her own daughter, Myrcella, to conform to the patriarchal standards of femininity, which Myrcella resists.

Show!Alicent is clearly more like Cersei in this last aspect, when episode 6 shows us Alicent grabbing Aegon’s face and yelling into it about him being the challenge to Rhaenyra’s claim and how Rhaenyra will definitely kill him if he doesn’t work with/stand untied with Aemond against Rhaenyra’s children. Alicent wants Aegon to consider Rhaenyra a bigger threat than she is, and when he doesn’t she lashes out against him.

Show!Alicent is a person who demands conformity to the feudal standards of gender expression from herself and from others. She wants "perfection".

Helaena can never conform to the standards due to her visions, mumbling, fixation on bugs (before she becomes a mom but too late because everyone in court would have seen her as weird), etc. Some of us may like Helaena for basically exposing Aegon and for being the least hateful or power-seeking of all the characters, but in the context of feudalism and the environment she would have grown up in, she would be seen as just defective.

Thus, Alicent definitely can't even begin to understand her, let alone respect her boundaries. She would see Helaena as someone either needing "fixing" and try to make her act more like she strived to when she was younger. (Not that we get to see how Alicent reacted to Helaena after she had her, because of the time jumps.) That is, of we have a consistently wrotten Alicent character.

Mother and Daughter Don’t Get Along

Since we don’t get scenes of events between the 5th and 6th episodes due to the massive time jump, the audience is forced to evaluate Alicent and Helaena’s relationship in just two episodes (6 & 8). On one hand, I think is unfortunate because Alicent and Haleana get only 3 scenes together where we could have had more to better answer the questions I have about Alicent, Helaena and Aegon [II]. At the same time, I think the show also is trying to let us know that their relationship is one that is one of silent resentment and ignorance with how little to two actually speak and understand each other.

Helaena becomes a Cassandra figure in the show, where she sees future events, talks about them in language that’s more poetic than colloquial, and gets ignored by her entire family. It looks like she’s usually on her own with small objects of her interest: the small knitting kit and her bugs. Her brothers talk about her while right next to her in episode 7 while she mutters about threads and the coming civil war. Viserys is nowhere to be found near her, nor do we ever see him talk to her or about her. Otto seems much less stern, intimidating and looming towards her than he is with Alicent, but it still seems indulgent and condescending (episode 8). And Alicent doesn’t seem to really know what to do with her in any of the scenes they have together.

Images Credit: criston-cole @ tumblr

Phia Saban, the actress playing Helaena, plays her as at least neurodivergent and maybe autistic. And the refusals happen when Helaena is trying to tell Alicent about her visions. We get scenes where we’re made to wonder whether it’s just autism, autism and non abusive emotional distance built from very different personalities, or if it’s autism and abuse that makes Helaena refuse Alicent’s touches.

Helaena does let Alicent touch her in episode 8 when she enters Aegon’s room after Alicent lectures him for being so openly promiscuous. However, that touch recives no real reciprocation (HBO, “Lord of the Tides”, Episode 8: 24:50).

We may argue that is just an autism thing, but autism is on a spectrum of behaviors and manifestations. Not all autisitc people reject all sorts of touch.

And the reason why I think that Helaena doesn’t want Alicent’s touch specifically is because she was much more receptive to Jacaerys Velaryon in episode 8 where they dance together than she ever was to Alicent, her own mother.

Images Credit: mercymaker @ tumblr

Helaena w/Others Besides Alicent

I don’t think that it’s just Helaena being an autistic person who experiences an aversion to touch even from family members. Because, an autistic person who does have this aversion is not going to accept touch and physical interaction form either family or almost strangers, and Jaecaerys is less family-by-blood than Alicent is. He also doesn’t appear close to Helaena and didn’t seem to have grown close in the same spaces while he lived in King’s Landing. We don’t get even one interaction between them when he lived in the Red Keep. He also has apparently been in Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and Daemon for the past years between episode 7 and episode 8, away from King’s Landing, being even physically further from Helaena than he was before.

Obviously he would have at least said some words to her or have been near her for a few hours at some point in the past, but there’s no indication that they ever spent time together openly and intimately to have grown any sort of bond. Alicent would have had much more opportunity, even with her possible household duties as a married royal/noblewoman/queen.

We don’t get to see how Helaena regards Aemond’s or Otto’s touch, but seeing as Otto isn’t much of a toucher himself and Aemond looks more focused on training with Criston and on Alicent, I doubt they have much of a strong relationship themselves. I believ that this was intentional on the part of the writers, to show only fraught interactions between Alicent and her kids. Even that moment of episode 9 where Alicent nonchalantly calls Aegon an “imbecile” for doubting her love for him we learn that aegon feels unloved and has for his entire self-aware life. There has to be a reason as to why, that sort of feeling doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. And in comparison, the show shows us that Rhaenyra’s kids and stepkids aren’t distant, scared of her, nor Daemon.

The greens however have multiple instance of that happening.

As for Aegon, they managed to produce three children (Maelor should appear by the next season), at least having sex twice to have them (Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are twins canonically. I assume that in the show they are still twins). And she had them very quickly after she married him. Plus, in episode 8, as she talked to Baela and Rhaena about the good and bad of marriage, she herself reveals that she doesn’t get to see Aegon often, implying that there is a standard of intimacy in that Aegon never met because he doesn’t work to build bonds of love between them both because Helaena is another way for him to not have a choice in when Otto/Viserys arrange their marriage AND because he doesn’t think anyone really loves him. Similar to Daemon not wanting to marry Rhea Royce but forced to at 16 for political/economic advantage of his superiors. (Digression: Perhaps they also thought that it would be good for him, since Rhea could count as an heiress.)

There is therefore a quiet loneliness with the imposed solitude there, and which I think she has learned to live quietly and ignored or side-eyed since her childhood.

Alicent’s willingness to put herself before her firstborn doesn't erase the pattern of neglect and abuse done.

#helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #alicent and helaena #asoiaf abuse #the greens #the blacks vs the greens #tw child abuse #helaena's characterization #alicent's characterization #my hotd headcanon #hotd helaena #HotD #asoiaf

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quantumdefender · 5 months

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who created the bitter jaded man

They Say we are all born with a clean slate. That’s its up to us what we make of our lives. But, how much optimism are we actually supposed to be born with? Do we really get dealt a fair hand? Or do some of us keep getting dealt joker hands and told to just get over it, and play the hand your given?

I was raised, I like to think with loving parents. But my father came with his own baggage. From the stories I have heard from him, and my Aunt. He was abused, forced to run away from home. This was a time when child protective services was, prob in its own infancy. He had no one to turn to. He clearly had to live with that trauma as he was in true survival mode. Had to find humor and some situations where humor was prob not the right response. No doubt, my father was not ready by any means to be a dad. He passed his traumas on to me in the form of abuse. As an adult I can see it for what it was, and I can forgive now. But the child that was me never understood why I had such a bastard for a father.

Then he found my mother, clearly a light in his darkness. You could not find a better woman in my mother to this day, now a grandmother. Loving, sweet, generous to a fault. Forgiving and tolerant. Just a few traits that pop in my head at this writing. There is so much I want to say about my mother in a positive light, but this keyboard cannot hold all my tears. Just to sum up, most men should, and I do, when looking for female companionship compare their own mother as the standard to what a woman should be. To this day, I regret, the pain in the butt I was as a child, for I was no golden child, but I know with no question or doubt, she either forgave, or ignored my shortcomings, and for that I love her even more. Which can explain why she loved my father the way she did.

And there is yours truly, the oldest. Some would say because I was the oldest, I took most of the abuse. He may have mellowed by the time my siblings were born. which would be years later. But in that time but the time I was 4 years old, I think. I recall dimly the fateful day the Cult, I will always think of them as a controlling, unforgiving cult, you may have heard of them, they are called Jehovah’s witnesses.

Now, just to say something positive about this cult. My father needed it. He needed a father figure. I can see that now, cause from what I hear, he was a MESS. I have no memory of him doing any drugs, but he was a heavy smoker, he chewed Tabacco, (one time when I was a barely older than a toddler, I asked him for some, and the asshole actually gave it to me, I recall throwing up all over a back seat of a car. My first Trauma) and of course he drank. Well, the cult has no tolerance for Tabacco users, so he managed to quit smoking and the chew. He may have cut down on his drinking, but he did not quit that. From what I could tell he cleaned himself a bit. If anyone says he had rough edges, I won’t doubt that. Dad could definitely have used some therapy. But the cult frowned on that.

Now, I do have good memories as well as bad, and painful memories of my father. But someone once said ‘every good moment must be purchased with an equal amount of pain’. Boy, my father was a prime example of that statement. The Beatings were fierce, I may have had some of them coming, but not only did he over do it. But most often, when I did have it coming, it was probable because I was acting out do to the last beating. The CULT always encouraged it by quoting that old scripture “ spare the rod, spoil the child”. My guess is he used it as an excuse to let loose all his own frustrations from his own youth.

Now because of my abuse, I never learned to defend myself. I was so afraid of being hit, I used to run from bullies. It wasn't till much lated I learned to defend myself. So I have abuse at home. Attacked by bullies at school. Brainwashing from the leaders of the Jehovah's witnesses. Where was my safe place? Where was my refuge? When I prayed to god? All I got was another beating. Nice way to beat faith out of someone in their youth.

Its also the reason I have trouble communicating with others. I ended up becoming an intovert.

As for my being raised this way, I came to really hate all religions, I am an atheist to this day. If I meet god when I die, I will expect at the very least an explanation, of why he lets kids go through this kind of trauma.

Skip ahead now to my teenage years. And yea, I am skipping a lot. But I don’t know how long this urge to write will last. Now I admitted earlier I acted out, I had to vent somehow. You try bottling up years of what I went though already. Back then we had bowling alleys with video games. I got addicted to the games. Which brings me to something stupid. My mom had me go to the store to buy bagels and cream cheese. Well, I blew that money on the games. Then I had the not so bright idea to try and shoplift the bagels and cream cheese. Well folks, I am not a talented thief I thought I was. I was caught, parents called, the jig was up. Now, you average kid, would might have got a spanking, grounding something like that. But no, they had to tell the cult elders. I was labeled a bad influence in front of the whole congregation, and disassociated. (Now what that means is that I was shunned, like the amish. No one was allowed to speak to me from that point.) this means I had no one to even speak to, if I ever learned how to articulate what I was going through. The bullying never stopped, the beatings never stopped. And now, my father threatened to throw me out the house the second I turned 18.

At the lovely age of 16, I was now not already in survival mode, with the usual anxiety, but now I had a deadline. I dropped out of Brighton high school in the 9th grade, to get a crappy job with lousy pay to prepare to be thrown in the wild. Well, I was ready, I walked out of the family home a month before my 18 Birthday. (Oh by the way, at this point, Jehovahs witnesses don’t celebrate holidays or birthdays) yje only thing I could celebrate is the last beating from my father. We didn’t speak for over 7 years.

The roomate I ended up moving in with stole from me. I ended up homeless for a year before I swallowed my pride and moved in with my grandparents. (mother’s parents) I am thankful for them for leting me move in. How ever, my grandfather was an accountant. My grandmother invited me out to dinner one time. Great time. But when we got home, my grandfather told me what I owed him from the dinner. I was not ready for that one. From then on, when I was invited out to dinner or anything from anyone, my response was to turn it down.

Now, at this point, I am compelled to make note of a shameful part of my life. I did something monumentally stupid. I wont say what I did. But I got 2 year probation, and 3 years of therapy. It helped, and the court paid for it. But I could not afford more which I could have used. I haven't committed a crime since. But its still a regret that help get my head on straight a bit.

Now enters the best/worst part of my life.

As with anyone, you will likely have a series of jobs in their life. Some you remember with fond memories, some not so fond. Maybe one where you need a different category altogether. I had a job once at the Sheraton Tara hotel in Braintree. Its torn down now, but I have so many mixed memories, some were life lessons, some were exasperations, some memories were just a series of “what the hell” moments. And some memories were just heartbreaking, soul destroying memories. Yea that hotel had it all. It was where I had a crush, a strong one. But it was the beginning of learning how cruel women can be without even trying.

Now keep in mind the time, this was mid to late 1990’s. long before friend zoning was a term, but women did it. Long before women got caught making false sexual harassment Claims. This was a time where a woman could say the term “sexual harassment” and her word was gospel and men had no say, Men were not allowed to give their version of events.

Now, while I was working there, there was a cute Italian girl, Julie G. working in another department. So we only saw each other in passing, but she always had a smile when we encountered each other. I did my beast to be friendly, turn on what little charm I had. (lets face it, I never learned to flirt. Ok cut me some slack.) she always had time for a quick chat. I soon had a crush, but I kept it in check. Frankly I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing for a long time. Soon the months passed, maybe a year. She got moved to other departments.

Eventually, she moved to my department. She became my supervisor. I thought we made a great team. Our comradery made the days pass quickly. We chatted while we worked, we got to know each other well.

Well as coworkers do, sometimes they go out after work for drinks. We were working different shifts but I told he to call me when she went to bar I would meet the gang there. She never called. Now if you read this far, you should know, I don’t take being left out very well. I finally went to the bar. But when I got there, they were already in the parking lot and leaving. But I got over it the next day, but that should have been a red flag for me. But I ignored it.

I eventually found the guts to tell her how I feel. We went for a drive one night and I spilled the beans. She actually tried to teach me how to drive her Jeep. It was a stick shift. I was scared to ruin the night by destroying her jeep so I surrendered. I should have realized she was trying to change the subject with this move. In hindsight, this was another red flag I ignored.

Then when my Birthday was approaching, she gave her notice. I figured this was my chance to get a date to say goodbye properly, I asked her out, she smiled and said we’ll see. My birthday arrived, I went and bought a suit, and flowers, I was going to take to a restaurant and a movie. At least that was the plan.

Went to work that morning. She was outside smoking, but she had the worst poker face. I realized my money spent on my suit and flowers went down the drain. But I kept a stiff upper lip, and went to work. Sometime after lunch, I got a call on the radio and a guest needed help. Went to that location, opened the door. There was a lit birthday cake. Right then and there I saw her plan. She never wanted to date me. And she thought a cake would soften the blow. It didn’t. I just wanted to get out of there before I snapped. And my coworkers kept getting in the way. I finally shouted “I don’t want to a have my birthday in this God forsaken hotel.” They got the hint and backed off. But the damage was done.

I cooled off when I got home. I tried to call her, but her roommate would not listen to me, would not let me get a word in. she just kept insulting me without having a clue.

A week after she quit, I got called to HR, and got a 45-minute lecture on sexual harassment. But I saw it for what it was. She didn’t have the guts to tell me to my face she didn’t want to see me ever again. So she had HR do it for her. Sitting in HR getting that speech, can you Imagine how degrading and traumatizing it was to just be there as the light goes on in your head?

And then, before I can have time to process what I went though. The next couple of days later she shows up to visit her coworkers at the hotel, she is standing at the door in the kitchen, and says hello with a damn smile on her face like she did no wrong. I had no words. I just walked past her with the events of HR still in my head. Went to work in another room with tears of frustration of loss getting in the way of my vision. She wasn’t sorry in the least.

She never got the flowers, I never wore my suit. I ended up burning it weeks later trying to burn away the pain. It didn’t work. I tied a few times to ask other girls out, but I never had a date. I never had a relationship. At most, I got stood up a few times with online dating sites over the years. No apologies.

I lived with the loneliness and depression, and abandonment in silence. Who would believe me? Years and a decade or 2 passed. Now its 2024. Now we hear on the news about Amber Heard, destroying the credibility and reputation of the #metoo movement, over her antics with Johnny Depp. One day I read an article on the internet about women trying to repress men’s Freedom of speech. I don’t recall much detail except for a comment about feminists being behind a lot of false accusations against men. but now, men are silent no more, men are pushing back. I realized then, that was what was done to me. She got what she wanted at the expense of my peace of mind. Julie G was my amber Heard.

I pride myself on the little fact I did not spend a dime on gas over the years on stalking her. Everyone always thought the worst of me. They all expected me to be a monster, but at most, I am but a ghost. But I doubt my memory will haunt anyone. I did decide to google her, and found out she was a Spanish teacher and a guidance counselor! Add to that she got a vacation with her students in the Dominican Republic! The thought that she could be messing with other kids minds? Well, I went stir crazy in my apartment. I hit a low. I wrote a whole essay (not this one) about women. I read it back to myself and ended up deleting it. But you could say I found my writing mojo.

Anyway, as of this writing (ok typing) I am 55, I have not seen a doctor in decades, but I think my health is sub par, I think I have nerve damage in my hands from childhood thanks to dads beatings and me trying to protect myself. Back pain. I am reduced to buying arthritis pain Motrin regularly. My eyesight has never been that great. And If I could afford therapy I bet they would say I not only have depression and anxiety, I think I got an eating disorder now.

Thanks to not ever having a girlfriend, as of this writing, I kept my expenses low. I don’t have a nest egg, chances are I’ll be dead of natural causes before I am old enough to collect social security. But I pay the balance of my credit cards every month. So I managed to avoid the interest trap thus far. Being a computer technician pays ok. But I have no ambition for more. I have some talent for self reflection, being alone your whole life will do that. But no ideas on how to fix all my flaws. And frankly at this late point in my life, why try? Women never wanted me when I was at my best. Which I am not now. I got enough saving to pay for my own cremation. I wont have a funeral, no one would show unless there was free food. If I died today, my mother and siblings and their kids would show. That’s about it. If anyone else were to show, it would be to point out all my failings, and free food. But I can do that myself so no thanks very much.

But why cremation you may ask? Who would visit my grave? No one visits me now.

So what have I learned in this life? Pain. God if he exists, is like a deadbeat parent. Women consider it a sport to hurt and abandon those that need them the most. The best place to scream out your frustrations is Blue hills reservation. Never tell an ugly stripper you will pay her if she will get off you. Asking a niece for a hug is like pulling teeth. Your nephews throw toys, Duck. Don’t Try to give them any life wisdom they just want to play. Anyone who says your negative, likely was born with a silver spoon up their butt. Anyone who says forget the past, had a poor memory to begin with.

As I write this essay, it with the intention that it be a script to use when I make make youtube video, that can be played for those that want to attend my funeral. I really doubt I will have one. The family that will miss me is small unless you count spouses. We the exception of 2 aunts, the rest can’t be bothered to give me the time of day. I can count on one hand how many friends would give a damn, if I cuts off a couple of fingers.

As for where I am headed? Well, my life was hell. The rent in heaven is too high. So I guess its dust for me.

What did one shepherd say to the other? Lets get the flock out of here. Peace

#metoo #incel #male privilege #child abuse #isolation #childhood trauma #ptsd recovery #feminism #massachusetts #hull #false accusations #jehovah witness

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allmightluver · 4 years

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**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana.

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy.

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further.

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury.

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on?

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him).

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

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yukisohmasmokesweed · 3 years

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what are your opinions on the thought process that Shigure groomed Akito so he could have control over them?

i think this opinion is a massive oversimplification of akito and shigure's power dynamic that has roots in the latent sexist idea that men inherently have power over women, as well as the heteronormative idea that love between a man and a woman is inherently romantic.

first off, i think it's a pretty bizarre assumption that a child could have the wherewithal and foresight to enact a complex series of actions that relies on the aggressor having a working knowledge of children's needs and behavior and years of planning and execution. people like to cite shigure's childhood declaration that he "...want[s] to make that [love] last forever...to give it form and make it [his]" as a statement of intent to groom and control. not only is this an absurd thing to say about a child who can't be any older than 10, it disregards two vital facets of akito and shigure's relationship: the magic in combination with shigure's own trauma. in my opinion, these lines speak to the power of the bond and how shigure interprets it. hatori and ayame reject it, the former letting himself sink into despair over his lack of control and festers in resentment, the latter completely removing himself from family life in order to avoid it. shigure, however, copes with the curse by diving in head first; just like the rest of the zodiac, he knows that there is no way out, so he embraces the good things about it in order to cope. in addition to this, though we don't know much about shigure's upbringing, we can assume based on his short interaction with his parents that he came from an emotionally neglectful home (expanded on here), so the prospect of unconditional love from akito is something he craves. i think these are much more reasonable motivations for the beginning of shigure's obsession rather than positing that grooming a person he had never met before he even went through puberty was his goal.

with regards to gendered power dynamics, i think this take severely underestimates the amount of abuse shigure withstands from akito. the idea that shigure is somehow in control of the relationship is simply not true; their relationship is DEFINED by their power struggle, which is a game that akito was winning until the very end. it ignores that men can be abused (and we see him being abused by akito, both physically and emotionally), and it also ignores that, in many toxic and abusive relationships, there is not always someone who is purely a victim. shigure is undoubtedly horrible to akito back—he is vindictive, cruel, and cold towards them. he also knows full well that he is one of akito's most important emotional supports and uses this position to manipulate them. however, his gender and age does NOT give him power over akito. he must do as akito says, both because of the magic and akito's position as the family head. while their relationship is not necessarily a victim-and-perpetrator situation, the power dynamic clearly favors akito, who is literally all-powerful and a professional abuser.

with regards to the heteronormative idea that men and women who love each other is inherently romantic: the scene most often referenced for this opinion is the scene between teenage shigure and child akito in chapter 101 where he tells akito he loves them. i do not interpret this scene to be romantic whatsoever, and i actually think it's really weird and telling that so many people do. these are two people whose only comfort is one another and have known each other since early childhood; i don't think it's weird at all for shigure to tell akito he loves them in this situation. given fb's focus on familial and platonic love, how platonic love can transform into romance, and the fact that akigure is a parallel to kyoru, i interpret this scene as entirely familial/platonic.

i can understand why people have this opinion: shigure is a man, and he's older, and he is a manipulator. he gives people very visceral reactions because he's incredibly well written. his actions do also fit into some of the stages of grooming, but it falls apart upon closer look (source): he targets a child (ie, he becomes close with his cousin who he is supernaturally bonded to against his free will), he gains the child's trust (ie, they become friends), and he fills a need, in this case akito's lack of parental support, all of which he does as a child himself. he does not, and cannot, isolate the child because he doesn't have the power to—akito's status would prevent them from being completely isolated (a good example of akito's position inherently giving them more power). when it comes to sexualizing the relationship, we just don't know, there isn't enough textual evidence to argue either way. as for the last step, maintaining control, shigure does NOT try and make akito think he is the only person who can fulfill akito's emotional and physical needs. in fact, he's doing the opposite; he WANTS akito to meet and be changed by tohru, and he has no problem with akito's intimate relationship with hatori, who probably provides more emotional and physical support to them than anyone. you could argue that shigure is trying to isolate akito by driving the other zodiacs away, but i don't think shigure attempting to separate an abuser from their victims is what "isolate" is meant to reflect here. so, as we can see, shigure fulfills SOME of the stages of grooming, but i don't think they hold up to scrutiny if you're thinking about fb in a nuanced and world-appropriate way.

i can also see why people misinterpret shigure's bid for control as some sort of abuse, but he states that he wants to be equal with akito, not above. i do think there is an aspect of misogyny here; shigure's masculinity, and the role that masculinity grants him in society, is threatened by akito's control over him, but i don't think having fragile masculinity and making grabs for power because of it when you're in an abusive relationship is abuse in turn.

i'm not trying to absolve shigure of anything here. he is cruel, he is manipulative, and he does things to hurt akito on purpose whether it's in revenge or not. but i don't think shigure meets the standards of being a groomer, and i think this assumption, in addition to what i previously stated, is a symptom of fandom misusing buzzwords to gain points. it's not a nuanced view and i think a lot of it, in my experience, comes from projection; shigure, in all his awfulness, is extremely easy to project onto. however, i think that there are some things in fb that are just not analogous to real life, and that this aspect of akito and shigure's relationship is one of them.

#ask #meta???#takes a huge bong rip #csa mention #shigure #akito #shigure sohma #akito sohma #fruits basket

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cdroloisms · 3 years

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i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell.

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic.

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad.

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw violence #tw broken bones #tw injuries #tw mental deterioration #tw isolation #tw panic attack #tw self deprecation #tw trauma #tw memory loss #tw death #tw dark content #tw dark imagery #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #quill anon !

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angelfishofthelord · 3 years

Text

"I know what you did"

Whumptober Day 4: pushed. (also on a03)

From a dark au idea I've had for awhile where Cas goes off to be a vigilante post 15x03. And after seeing @dadstiel liveblogging about the end of s14 I wanted to write a scene about what happened in 14x19.

There’s been half a dozen similar stories in the past few months: a child trafficking ring in a state up north was busted and all the men holding the children were discovered either dead or comatose; an abusive father of two young girls was dropped off at the steps of a police station, reduced to a drooling crippled mess; an anonymous call about a factory with underage workers, and when the authorities arrived they found the teenagers huddled in the corner and the burnt, sightless body of the boss under the desk.

“He saved us,” the teenagers were quoted as saying in the article. Similar words used in the most recent news where a local gang that was using eighth graders to sell their drugs was uncovered in the same mysterious pattern. “It was this man...he just came in like the wind,” said Timothy Grant, one of the 14 year olds who was a runaway that had been promised protection by the gang but was then forbidden to contact his parents. “Everyone who ever hurt us was….gone. And he said we could go home now.”

Sam closes the laptop with a sigh. The descriptions in the reports vary, but there are always a few that are consistent: a man with inhuman speed, and the glowing light that either destroys the evildoer or heals the injured. It could be a rogue angel, or one of Chuck’s little comebacks like Lilith.

He ignores the other option, the faint suspicion niggling in the back of his mind.

No. It can't be.

Whoever it is, he’s finally close to finding them. They’ve been smart; security footage has shown that they change cars frequently. The most recent one was a blue pickup truck left under an overpass in the next town. Sam has been staying in the area, checking headlines and talking with local police to see if they’ve seen anyone with a penchant for dispensing judgement on those who hurt the innocents. Like some kind of vigilante, Sam thinks as he pulls up a few feet away from the dark outline of the barn. He got a call from the lady at the diner across from the motel he’s been staying at, saying her friend saw something outside the abandoned Miller farm. It’s probably nothing, but he's here to check, just to be sure.

The first floor of the barn is empty but Sam knows that someone’s definitely here. There’s a flicker of light in the loft above and the muffled sound of grunting. Sam puts the flashlight in his mouth and ascends the ladder carefully. He keeps one hand free and on the hilt of the angel blade in his jacket. As he gets closer to the top he sees a pair of black shoes and the bare, bloodied feet of another man tied to a chair. The man with shoes has his back to him; he looms over the seated man, one hand pinning his shoulder against the spine of the chair.

Sam reaches the last rung of the ladder in time to clearly see the standing man shove his hand into the other’s chest. Light swirls around the invasion, blazing and white-hot, before he withdraws his hand. The man in the chair slumps back, eyes blank and jaw slack.

He knows who it is even before he turns around. He always knew, in a way. “Cas?”

Cas glances back at him with a twinge of surprise in his eyes before he turns back around. “Sam.”

Sam steps closer to the man in the chair. His fingers are still close to the angel blade in his jacket. “Is-Is he dead?”

“No.” Cas keeps his back to him, folding up a map on the wooden table at his side. He sounds strange. Frigid. “That would be a mercy he doesn’t deserve.”

“W-What are you doing?”

“Recharging.”

“No, I mean--that’s not--” Sam rubs a hand over his face. “You’ve been doing all of this? All those people--you killed--why, Cas, why are you doing this?” He knew Cas must be devastated after Jack’s death, after Chuck’s betrayal, and some kind of subsequent fallout with Dean, but the reality of what he's been doing still feels like being hit by a tank.

“I’m saving people. Children,” he adds.

So it is about Jack. “Cas,” Sam moves closer, trying to sound placating. He puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I know losing Jack wasn’t easy. I miss him too but this isn't--”

Cas whirls around, eyes burning blue, and Sam finds himself being hurled across the room, crashing into the wooden boards of the wall before landing hard on the ground. He gasps, trying to find his breath, and looks up to see Cas hovering above him, palm outstretched, face wreathed in fury. There’s a slight pressure on Sam’s shoulders; he’s not being pinned to the wall, but it’s enough to tells him that he absolutely will be if he tries to move.

“C-Cas?” Sam breathes. Maybe he's possessed, maybe Chuck is controlling him. He has to get through to him before it's too late. "It's just me."

“Don’t talk about Jack that way,” Cas says, voice low and lethal. “I know what you did. He told me everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

The shadows darken around Cas’ face. “You prayed to him. He was locked in that box because he answered your prayer.”

Oh. This isn't someone else manipulating Cas, this is really him. Sam feels the tug of shame sloshing in his gut but he brushes it aside and instead makes a faint attempt to rise, only to feel the firm nudge of being pushed back. “Look, I know it wasn’t the best thing to do, Cas, but there was no other way, Jack was dangerous, and he--”

“Did you even try to find another way?” Cas snaps. “You fought fiercely to keep Dean from his fate in that box. Yet you were ready to condemn Jack to an eternity of that same fate without a second thought.”

Sam swallows hard. He tries to remember all the mental gymnastics he did to convince himself why Jack had to go in there, but Cas is still talking. “Do you know why other angels don’t usually answer prayers? Because it makes us vulnerable. It’s not considered a wise strategic move because it calls an angel, by name, to a specific place. There’s no time to scope out the destination for danger or to evaluate the potential risks.” He moves in closer, towering above him. “Or if it’s going to be an ambush.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” He really is. “We didn’t handle it right, and I wish to Go-” he catches himself. “I wish Jack was still here so he could know how sorry I am. But Cas…what you’re doing isn’t right either. You must know that.”

The eerie glow of Cas’ eyes pierce through the night. “You know, when the Bunker’s alarms went off, it wasn’t just because Jack was trying to break out of the box. I could hear him. He was screaming. The same way he was screaming when….” the light in his eyes suddenly dims and Cas’ hand drops back to his side.

The pressure on Sam yields abruptly and he immediately leans forward, gulping for air. He knows what Cas didn’t say; the sight of Jack collapsing in that graveyard, crying out as searing light ruptured from him, still frequents Sam’s own nightmares. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, useless as the words are. “It wasn’t--”

“I loved him.” Cas isn’t looking at him now; he’s focused on some distant point above his head, blinking hard. “You have no idea how much Jack meant to me, how much I--” his voice catches and he turns away. In between the shafts of light Sam can see his jaw working, the bob of his throat and clench of his fist as Cas struggles to compose himself. A cold, sickly way of guilt washes over Sam and he feels almost nauseous. Every excuse and reasoning dries up on his tongue.

After a minute Cas glances back at him, his expression once more glacial. “You and Dean have each other. Don’t come looking for me again.”

#my spn fic #whumptober 2021 #userjeb #slipper007 #plantdadcas #seraphcastiel #rambleoncas #thisisapaige #dadstiel #angst fic #spn s15 #castiel #sam winchester

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 years

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You know, I have toxic parents. Honestly I don't even know if they love me like at all. Lately I've been feeling like I can only be useful to them if I do what they what. I honestly can't wait to leave and make my own decisions without being called lazy,selfish or greedy because I want something for myself.

I've been watching miraculous ladybug lately and the way the portray Adrien and Gabriel is terrible. I really hope they don't make Adrien forgive him and that they make him actually move on and make him have more autonomy. But for some reason, I feel like they're going to make Adrien forgive and acts like all that 14 years of emotional abuse and trauma can be fixed with an half assed apology. I want Gabriel to realize he can't keep controlling Adrien all as his life. I want him to feel loss when his son do leave and how much he had hurt his son. I want Gabriel to realize his son real personality that is Cat noir and him actually liking Adrien for it. Not him saying sorry and Adrien running right into his arms because he has a big heart and blah blah blah.

The biggest part of Adrien for me is his wanting to be free. He wants to stop pleasing his dad and be himself. That relates to me so much. But if he decides to not be free and forgive his dad, where is his character and his development?

Sorry for the long rant BTW.

I’m sorry you have to go through that anon. Your rant doesn’t bother me at all. I welcome anyone to share their opinion on the show if they’re comfortable doing that. I hope you have the strength to keep going and start your own life away from your parents.

Like I’ve said so many times, the concept of parenting in Miraculous Ladybug is incredibly black and white. Either you’re an amazing parent who loves their kid unconditionally, or you’re a selfish asshole who hates children. There’s never any discussion of parents making bad choices or projecting onto their children, much less actually showing the way bad parenting affects people other than making them sad like Adrien or entitled like Chloe.

I was lucky enough to have parents who weren’t complete garbage, so while I can’t directly relate to people who have suffered at the hands of abusive or neglectful parents, I can still understand how frustrating this must be for people who have dealt with bad parenting seeing people like Gabriel and Jagged Stone do terrible things like ignore their family and still be portrayed as good parents.

Gabriel is clearly controlling Adrien, and it borders on actual child abuse. It feels like the writers introduced the possibility that Adrien is a Sentimonster so they don’t have to get into subjects like Gabriel emotionally abusing Adrien by saying Adrien had no choice but to listen to Gabriel and that it obviously doesn’t count for some reason.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #ml salt #adrien agreste #cat noir #chat noir #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #hawk moth #shadowmoth #shadow moth

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infinitecrime · 3 years

Text

Just a quick statement in case anyone was wondering where I have been/will be. I've been taking, and will continue to take, a short Tumblr break until the SCU (Sebastian Cancellation Universe) wears itself out and goes on hiatus. I deleted Tumblr off my phone a few days ago and realised immediately that all this vicious, misinformed discourse pretty much solely exists on here and twitter, and if I want to avoid it, I can simply remove myself from the space.

I'm certainly not going to be gone forever - the head Canceller has made it quite clear that her sole intention was to "bully Sebastian off the internet", and presumably his fans too, while using POC and social issues as pawns/collateral damage. To quit the fandom feels like letting them win, but taking a break feels necessary at this point.

I like to listen to others who have different perspectives and value their opinions - but at the end of the day, I form my own and do my own research. And so far, I have seen absolutely nothing to change my opinion that Sebastian is a kind and well meaning man who sometimes doesn't think through every conceivable perspective before his does something - in other words, a flawed human. I'm not going to call for the end of a man's career and/or life, or withdraw my support of him, because 4 years ago he (accidentally, for all we know) liked a video of a man being called out for rapping the N-word and being told to censor himself, or because he smiled weird next to a statue while playing a Buddhist character. We can criticise him for his own actions, but these are willfully disingenuous interpretations specifically designed to harm not just him, but also POC fans who look up to him. I won't let myself be lied to, gaslighted, or dragged into a herd mentality. A disturbing number of people are not actually angry at him, but are simply scared of being harassed if they dare to question what they're being told or form their own opinions, so join the herd. The pursuit of the moral highground is addictive but futile, and you lose it as soon as you stoop to bullying, abuse, harassment, stalking and running dedicated, deranged hate accounts.

I'm not going to cancel him for a handful of bad jokes or mistakes made years ago that have been profusely apologised for and learnt from, either, and I'm not going to cancel him because of the years old actions of people he is associated with that he had nothing to do with. This isn't fair, proportional or helpful, at all. It's not activism, and it's not social justice - in fact, the constant malicious attempts to cancel him are only making it harder for him to see legitimate criticism or respond without setting a precedent that death threats will get his attention and a grovelling apology for things he didn't say and views he doesn't hold.

If your whole life was on tape and available to comb through with the worst intentions, and you weren't hiding behind anonymous accounts, I could construct equally terrible narratives from every bad joke, misspoken word, ill thought out comment, accidental like, dubious friend, mistake, genuinely hurtful moment or show of ignorance that you have ever made, but apologised for, grew from and forgot about instantly. You have that right: but you don't grant it to him, because he isn't truly a human being to you. So many of the blatantly and demonstrably false accusations I have been seeing would have been dispelled through the most basic level of fact checking and critical thinking, but through herd mentality and what I can only describe as moral bloodlust, they've gained serious, dangerous traction.

For someone who was raised in a deeply insular, conservative, traditional, orthodox environment, he has done a genuinely excellent job of freeing himself from that cycle of ignorance and using his platform in a positive way, as well as responding when he genuinely has misstepped. He will likely never be on the same level of educated/woke as a ~25 year old American who was literally raised knee deep in social justice twitter discourse, because he didn't have that privilege, but we are all on a journey and progress is not linear or with a clearly defined end.

The ironic thing is: the current state of the fandom is a direct result of how nice and willing to listen and learn Seb has been! The level to which he used to engage with fans and respond to criticism and feedback has created an expectation that he will ask how high whenever he is told to jump, and if he doesn't respond to every little thing, this means he doesn't care or hates us. His willingness to own up to mistakes, apologise and grow publically has created the strange idea that if he's not doing something publically, it's not happening, as if he only exists while we can see him, like social media peekaboo. His openness and willingness to act on criticism of those in his social and professional circles has led to the belief that we can demand he cut anyone we dislike out of his life immediately instead of helping and supporting them in making amends and learning, if only we can dig up some old dirt on them. It's entitled, parasocial nonsense. This is a total stranger who owes us nothing, is not actually accountable to us, does not have to ever respond to us or meet our demands, and has a complex and private inner life that we ultimately know nothing about.

I feel immensely sorry for the fans, especially POC, who have been wrongly led to believe that Seb hates or is discriminatory towards them on the basis of lies, hyperbole and some serious reaching. I feel deeply sorry for Seb's friends and family, who have been subject to an enormous amount of abuse and harassment (much of which has been racist, sexist, bodyshaming, xenophobic and cruel in nature - all in the name of social justice?) merely for being friends with him, and who recently had to see #RIPSebastianStan trending. Mostly, I feel immensely sorry for Sebastian, who has not been allowed the same basic rights everyone else in the world gets: the right to learn and grow, the right to forgiveness and freedom from harassment, and the right to be judged on things that *you* actually *did* rather than fictional narratives.

I cannot imagine the mental toll thousands of people calling for your death must take. I cannot imagine how it feels to have hate accounts dedicated to abusing you and critiquing your every move, and that of everyone you love. I cannot imagine the impact of obsessive doxxing, stalking and harassment. I cannot imagine all of this happening when you have been quite open about your mental health issues and serious struggles. There are truly only so many messages telling you to kill yourself that you can take, and I just hope he has people in his corner to remind him who he truly is and what he truly stands for.

#sebastian stan

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 years

Text

and then the world stopped (1/2)

Summary: Vic wasn’t unhappy when she moved with her husband to Washington D.C. She was happily married, had a new job as a teacher and was trying to get pregnant. But after a year of trying still nothing has happened. She didn’t know that just one accident of the nanny of one of the children in her class was about to change her whole life.

Pairing: Dave York x OFC

Wordcount: 4.4k+

Warnings:fluff, smut (shower sex, fingering), Infidelity, mentions of physical abuse

A/N: Okay I have no idea what’s going on with me but the words are flowing. I decided to cut this into two parts. Part 2 is coming next week :) Big thanks @yespolkadotkitty for being my beta on this. I guess I really am in the pit now :D

Taglist in reblog (join my taglist here or drop me a message)

Masterlist

Victoria didn’t even know why she bothered taking the test. She was only three days late and she knew it would be negative. She had been trying to get pregnant for almost a year now. She was healthy, her husband was healthy, but somehow, it just didn’t work out.

When the test she took confirmed that she indeed wasn’t pregnant she just sighed and put it in the trash, then slicked on some eyeliner.

Her husband, Phil, was standing at the kitchen counter, his phone in his hand, his cup of coffee next to him. He looked up when Victoria entered the room, hopeful. She just shook her head, grabbing her purse. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

When Vic moved from New York City to Washington D.C. she had plans. She had just married the man she thought she loved and they were happy. She had gotten a new position at the elementary school close to where their new house was, while Phil had the job he had always dreamed of. They were happy.

For a good year.

Children were always on their wish list. So even though they both just started their new jobs, Victoria got off birth control, and oh, did they try. But the longer nothing happened, the more frustrated both became. She could handle her frustrations by going to the gym. Phil on the other hand… It must have been the fifth negative pregnancy test when his hand slipped the first time. Victoria had been so shocked she had just left the house, not knowing how to process what just happened.

This wasn’t the man she wanted to spend her whole life with. Somewhere that man got lost and she wasn’t sure if he was still inside of there, or if she could find it in herself to forgive him.

The bruises on her skin faded, but not the ones on her soul. She threw herself into her work, treating the sex they still had like a chore to maybe get what she wanted. It didn’t feel like before, there was no passion. At some point, she asked herself what would happen, if she would end up pregnant? She couldn’t bring a child into this mess of a marriage.

Thankfully she didn’t have to make that decision because Phil had to travel more and more for work. The last time they had sex was 6 weeks ago and she clearly wasn’t pregnant. He would leave again today, and this time, she didn’t bother to ask for how long.

Maybe it was time to end things. But a part of her missed the man she had fallen in love with. The man who might be hiding somewhere deep inside of the corpse of a man she was married to now.

“Hi Miss Vicky,” she shook her head to clear her thoughts, a smile coming to her face as she spotted Alice.

“Hi Alice. How are you?” She asked, seeing the girl’s eyes shine enthusiastically.

“Dad tried to make pancakes.”

“And they were good?” Victoria saw her shake her head with a sour expression and tried not to laugh. She didn’t know much about her father, only that his wife died. She only ever met the nanny.

“But he’s the best at making sandwiches.” Alice grinned and Vic chuckled.

“Then maybe your Dad should stick to sandwiches.” Vic winked.

Vic didn’t mind when parents were running late picking up their kids after school. Though most times it was a couple of minutes, 15 max. But when the clock was running towards 45 minutes after the bell rang and her colleague brought Molly, Alice’s sister to her class, because she couldn’t stay any longer, Vic grew a little worried. The nanny, Sarah, had never been late. She was one of the few people who were always waiting outside. Watching Alice and Molly draw, she dialed the three numbers that were listed as the emergency contacts. The first one was Sarah, the nanny. The call went straight to voicemail again, but she left another message.

The second one was the cell of their Dad. David York. It went straight to voicemail, too. Sighing she dialed the third number, that didn’t even connect.

The next thing she would have to do was to call either child services or the police but as she watched the girls drawing and playing together, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

When another 45 minutes passed she asked the girls if they knew anyone else they could call.

“Just Dad or Sarah. There’s no one else,” Alice shrugged before she got back to drawing her picture.

“Hm… What do you think about going to my place to wait until someone calls? I bet you are getting hungry, huh?” Vic asked before she couldn’t think more about it. She sent a little prayer that their father was only held up at work.

“Can we make pancakes?” Alice asked excitedly and Vic chuckled.

“Breakfast for dinner? I like the way you think.”

She called both contacts again, saying that she hoped it was okay not to call the police and that she would take the girls both home with her. She gave her address and then went out. Hoping that she was doing the right thing.

“Miss Vicky?” Molly was sitting on the kitchen counter. They had been at Vic’s house for a good two hours now and the pancakes were almost finished.

“Yes Miss Molly?” She asked with a small smile, making Molly giggle as Alice insisted on setting the table.

“Where is our Dad?” She asked. Vic flipped the last pancake and overplayed her concern at their Dad’s disappearance before she smiled. “I bet he’s only stuck at work. He’ll be here before you know it.” She tapped on Molly’s nose, making her giggle.

“Maybe you can show him how to make pancakes, Miss Vicky. They are soooooo good.” Alice hummed and Vic turned her head, suppressing her grin at the girl stealing a piece of the plate full of pancakes on the table.

“I bet your Dad knows to make other stuff instead,” she winked.

“Yes! He makes the best blanket forts.” Molly clapped her hands in excitement.

“Does he?” Vic asked.

“One time, when Mum was just gone, Dad made the whole living room a blanket fort. It was the best thing EVER!” Alice giggled. Vic was about to answer when she heard her phone ring. She turned off the stove, setting Molly down on the floor before she went over to grab her phone, sighing relieved when she noticed it was Mr. York calling.

“Mr. York.” Vic said relieved, taking the call.

“I’m so sorry. I just got off the plane. Sarah had an accident and is in the hospital.” Vic ignored how deep and velvety his voice was.

“Oh no worries. Is Sarah okay?” Vic asked.

“Just a broken leg. She has to have surgery, though. Again, I’m so sorry. I’m on my way now. Thanks for taking care of my girls.” She could hear his relieved sigh.

“Oh, they’re just precious. We are actually about to have pancakes for dinner and their homework is done too,” Vic smiled. She heard a chuckle on the other end of the line and found herself smiling at her phone.

“Pancakes… They really love their pancakes.”

“They do,” Vic walked over to where the girls were waiting patiently for her.

“It’ll probably take me another hour to get to your side of town.”

“That’s no problem. It’s Saturday tomorrow, I have nothing planned.”

“You’re an angel,” she heard Mr. York say. Her heart fluttered.

“I really am not. See you in an hour, Mr. York,” she smiled.

“Thank you.” He said again before he ended the call. Alice and Molly looked at her as she set her phone down.

“Your Dad will be here in an hour. How about we save him one of the pancakes?” Vic asked.

Elsa was just about to sing “Let it Go” when the doorbell rang. Vic had seen the headlights of a car outside the kitchen window only moments before. Molly and Alice were sitting to either side of her, cuddled against her. It felt natural; like they had been doing this for years. Shaking her head, she untangled herself from the girls who were so invested in the movie, they didn’t even notice that there was someone at the door.

Slowly Vic walked over, looking at herself in the mirror next to the door, to check her appearance before she opened the door.

Vic wasn’t a big fan of romcoms. She never believed life could throw you just this one person in your life, that made the whole world stop when they look at you. She didn’t have this ever before. Yet when she looked up into the warm brown eyes of David York, it was just like that.

The world stopped and she didn’t know for how long. He looked tired, yet a relieved small smile graced his lips. His hair looked like he had run his hand repeatedly through it, probably in frustration, and she wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked.

“It took a bit longer,” he said before he held up a sunflower. “I would have gotten something bigger, but that was all they had at the gas station,” he said hesitantly. Vic was so awestruck by the handsome man standing in front of her that she had to shake her head a little before she chuckled.

“You didn’t have to. They were little angels.” She took the sunflower, daring herself not to smell it as she stepped to the side to welcome him in.

“Yeah? They can be little devils, let me assure you,” he said, watching her closely. She closed the door, suddenly very aware of the weight of the ring on her finger. Sucking her bottom lip in she turned back around to find him standing in her hallway.

“I’m just glad nothing happened to you, Mr. York,” she nodded towards the living room and he followed her.

“Please, call me Dave,” he winked and she only nodded, ignoring the shiver that went over her body when he smiled at her.

The girls really wanted to finish watching the movie. Vic didn’t mind but she could see that Dave wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s okay. Really. I actually love Frozen. I can understand if you want to go home, but don’t think you have to leave right away on my account,” Vic said.

“You sure? Your husband won’t mind?” Dave asked, looking at her from the side he was standing. It had been a long fucking day. Well, two days. The job should have been easy, but he should have known better. And of course, his nanny had to break her leg today. Not that he was mad. It had just been shit timing. But standing in his daughter's teacher's home, watching said teacher bend over to load the dishwasher, might be the peak of his day. It was a pretty little house she was living in and he made the mental note to find out more about her. And her husband.

She was absolutely beautiful. Her dark hair in a loose braid over her left shoulder. She was wearing a soft white sweater dress that went just above her knees. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. He found himself asking how on earth he had never seen her before? Then again, he hadn’t been around to pick the girls up from school lately.

The only thing that he didn’t like about Victoria Stone was the ring that marked her as clearly taken. Dave did like a challenge, but making his daughter’s teacher cheat on her husband wasn’t on his agenda.

Yet.

“The girls left you one pancake.”

“Really?” He asked, surprised sitting down at the table. She nodded with a small smile.

“They also told me about you trying to make some last weekend. They really are not that hard to make.” She pushed the plate towards him. There was one pancake with a whipped cream smiley face on top of it, making him smile a little.

“They decorated it,” she explained. He looked up, finding her green eyes already looking at him. Fuck he liked her. And he had only met her twenty minutes ago.

She felt the shift in the air as he looked at her. His eyes, fixating her like he had some kind of spell over her. She swallowed, feeling nervous.

“You mind if I grab some wine?�� She whispered. He shook his head.

“Please. It’s your weekend too,” he whispered back.

“Okay, girls. The movie is over. You’ve been annoying your teacher for long enough today,” Dave called out. Alice and Molly ran over to him and into his arms and Vic’s heart just melted. This, this was what she wanted. A loving husband. Dave didn’t seem like he would blame her for not getting pregnant. Then again he probably wouldn’t have any problems getting her pregnant.

Her eyes shifted over his broad back as he helped his daughters with their shoes. Fuck, she shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

God damn it you’re married, Vic.

“So even though I sound like a broken record, you saved my ass today.”

“DAD!” Alice shouted, making Dave wince.

“Swear jar. I know.” He groaned. Vic chuckled.

“Seems like we’re gonna see each other a lot more in the coming weeks,” Dave continued, as he stepped out of the house, Molly on his arm who fought against falling asleep. Alice was already climbing into the car.

“Huh?” Vic asked.

“With Sarah out, I have to pick the girls up.”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah. Well then, see you next week?” She asked.

“I look forward to it.” He winked at her before he turned and walked to his car. She looked after him, before she closed the door behind her, her back against it.

“You are in so much trouble, Vic,” she groaned to herself.

Vic wasn’t a newbie at covering up bruises. At the beginning of their marriage, she didn’t mind the hickey and bruises, mostly because they were somewhere where only she and Phil knew of their existence and they existed out of passionate moments in the first place. But looking at herself, the imprint of his hand on her upper arm clear as day from when he had dragged her to the bedroom last night, all she felt was shame.

He had locked her into the bedroom. When she woke up the next morning, he was gone. Shaking her head, she tried to get rid of the thoughts when the bell rang and the children packed their stuff together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Vic smiled. Alice grinned at her. It had now been almost two months since the day she took the York girls home. Their father, Dave, had been picking her up every single day since then. She found herself looking forward to seeing his face. The most disturbing thing for her was that she didn’t feel a single bit of guilt. Phil had been home less and less and she couldn’t even remember the last time he had looked at her the same way she saw Dave looking at her. She did notice the way he checked her out last week when she was wearing that summer dress she loved so much. Later that day, when she was home alone again because Phil was gone, it was Dave York’s hands she thought about as she touched herself.

David York didn’t seem like a man who smiled much, but every time she looked at him, his lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Vicky,” he asked as he stepped into the classroom. Turning her head to look at him, she had to suppress the urge to bite her lip. He was wearing his dark suit pants, a crisp white dress shirt, the first three buttons undone. He looked good enough to eat.

“You don’t want to know what's going on up in there.” She pointed towards her head.

“Oh you’d be surprised.” he winked, and she blushed. When did she turn into a giggly school girl again?

“Ready for some Ice cream, Alice?” He asked and Alice nodded enthusiastically, making both Dave and Vic chuckle.

“You wanna join us?” Dave asked, his hand coming down on her upper arm and she flinched slightly. She didn’t think he noticed, but of course, he did.

“That’s nice, but no. My husband is supposed to be home tonight.” She said with a forced smile. She wanted to talk to him tonight. She couldn’t do this anymore. Not when she spent every living moment with another man on her mind.

“Well then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dave smiled. She only nodded, looking after them before she packed her stuff.

Dave was sitting at the ice cream place when he typed a message to one of his contacts, ordering a full background check on Victoria Stone’s husband. There was something off about the man, and the way she flinched away from him left questions he wanted answers for.

Phil didn’t come home that night. And frankly, Victoria was pissed. He didn’t call her back, and she’d come to a point where she didn’t care. That’s how she found herself in the late night at the gym on the treadmill, “Footloose” on her ears, powering herself out. The gym was relatively empty, only a few people were there. Who would want to go to a gym at 1 am anyway? She didn’t care who was watching as she began to dance along while trying not to trip on the treadmill. Out of breath, she grooved to the last notes of the song when she heard someone applauding behind her.

Looking over her shoulder the inevitable happened and she did trip when she looked at Dave York behind her. Before she could fall, two strong arms wrapped around her, catching her, before her face met the ground. Looking up at him, his brows furrowed in concern, she was sure her heart stopped beating for a moment. He was just so close. All she had to do was lean in and her lips would be on his… Shaking her head to get rid of this though she let him help her up before she brought a little distance in between them. Trying to get fresh air into her lungs, his scent lingering in her nose like an aphrodisiac.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, pulling her earbuds out, suddenly feeling too naked to be standing in front of him. She was wearing her workout clothes. Some very tight leggings and a blue sports bra. Dave didn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on her body.

“Working out? It’s the only gym that is open around the clock, and this is the only time someone can watch the girls at the moment.” He shrugged, his tongue daring out to wet his lips. His eyes lingered at her cleavage before he looked up into her eyes again. Victoria was glad that she did just work out, otherwise, he would have seen the blush on her cheeks. She tried her hardest to ignore the way his sweaty shirt was clinging to his chest.

“Didn’t take you for someone who likes to work out,” she teased, and this time she couldn’t hide herself biting her lip as she admired his strong arms.

“I hate it - but I have to.” he shrugged. “Need to work on my stamina.” Dave stepped closer, tilting her chin up, and there it was again, the feeling that the world around them stopped. He didn’t care for consequences as he looked down at her. She was smaller without her heels. And he wanted her.

“You wanna help me?” he looked down at her lips before his eyes flickered up to hers. She swallowed, her breath getting quicker. She couldn’t think when he was this close. But maybe it was time to not think for a moment. No matter the consequences.

“Sure. How do you want me?” she whispered and he grinned, leaning down, his lips close to her ear.

“Wet and naked under the shower.”

The first time Dave kissed Vic would be burned into her memory. She imagined it to be hard and desperate but it was soft, his hands on the back of her neck as he brought her closer towards her. She gasped when her back met the cold shower wall, her hands wandering under Dave’s shirt, pushing it up until he took it off, letting it fall to the ground without a second thought.

Holding on to his back, as his lips wandered down her jaw, her neck, her throat she whimpered when she felt his hands cupping her boobs.

“Been dreaming about this for weeks…” he groaned, his fingers pulling down the elastic fabric of her sports bra. He kissed every part of skin that was revealed to him until his mouth closed around her nipple.

“Fuck…” Vic moaned, her hands in his hair. He blew on her hard nipple after sucking on it, making her shiver. She could probably come just from the way he was looking at her. Like she was the most precious thing in the world. Like he wanted to eat her alive. And she was ready to let him.

“Dave…” She whimpered and he came up to kiss her again. “I need you inside of me.”

He smirked.

“Take off your clothes.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her that Dave York was someone who went commando. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his pants down and Vic was sure the temperature in the shower went up.

Pushing her sports bra over her head, her pants and panties down her legs, she and David just gazed at each other before she turned around with a little shy smile, stepping into the warm stream of the shower. Letting the water run down her body, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. Dave drank her in, her body wet, her hair clinging to her back. It was at this moment, that he decided to never let her go again. Stepping closer, he kissed her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her stomach as his cock twitched in contact with her hot wet skin. And then he surprised her again by grabbing the shampoo and washing her hair.

In a way, this was even more intimate than what was bound to happen. His strong hands massaged her head before he guided her slowly under the hot stream of water, to wash her hair out. It was like a dream.

“Think you can keep quiet?” He asked, kissing her neck.

“Why? Do you want to make me scream your name?” she challenged and she felt him grin against her skin, as one of his hands, dropped lower, two fingers circling her clit.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” he asked with a predatory grin. He pushed his hand in between her legs, finding her slick and warm. When he pressed his two fingers inside her, she knew that there was no way she would be able to keep quiet. Letting her head fall back against his chest, she closed her eyes. She only hoped that these showers would be unoccupied for a little while longer.

“Keep going....” she whispered. His other hand came up to massage one of her boobs while his finger kept slowly fucking her.

“You gonna come for me like that?” he asked, sucking on the skin behind her ear. He added a third finger, feeling her hips move to meet his fingers.

“Yes…” She whimpered. He pinched her nipple before he brought his hand up to turn her head to kiss her hard, swallowing her moan as her orgasm washed over her.

Fuck that felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she came so hard. Out of breath she smiled against his lips, turning in his arms, bringing his fingers that had just been inside her to her mouth to suck on his fingers.

“Fuck me…” Dave groaned and she grinned wickedly.

“What about you fuck me?” Vic hummed, her hand reaching for his thick cock in between their bodies, slowly rubbing his length as she smirked up at him. His eyes were as dark as night as he looked down at her. Something seemed to snap inside of him as he pushed her against the cold tiles, his mouth on her.

He grabbed both of her hands, bringing them up above her body, keeping them pressed against the wall with one hand, while he pulled one of her legs up with his other hand, hooking it around his hips.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered as he lined himself up and filled her with one thrust, making her cry out. He waited only a moment before he started to move. Thrusting deep, while his lips left bruises all over her neck. She didn’t care, she would wear those with pride. He let go of her wrists only to pick her up, her legs now crossed behind him, as his thrusts became harder. She held onto him, one of her hands on his shoulder, her other hand in his hair.

“D...Dave…” She moaned, pulling at his hair hearing him groan. He twitched inside her, and she did it again.

“Keep doing that…” he mumbled against her skin before his lips closed around her nipple.

She pulled at his hair, her fingers digging into her shoulder, as she felt her second orgasm fastly approaching.

“I’m close…” she moaned and he snapped his hips faster.

“Then cum for me, sweetheart,” he moaned, close himself.

Vic was glad for his strong arms around her as she cried out in pleasure, her orgasm making her whole body shake.

“Fuck... you’re so fucking perfect…” Dave groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier before she felt him spill deep inside of her. His lips searched for hers, kissing her deeply, as he held onto her.

Trying to breathe, he leaned with his forehead against his.

She couldn’t name the expression on his face as he looked at her. It seemed like he was trying to analyze her.

“We’re doing this again,” he breathed before he kissed her.

#my writing #dave york #dave york x ofc #Pedro pascal #dave york x reader #dave york x you #david york #fanfiction #fan fiction

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always-inquilab · 3 years

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Look. I think that Tatiana is an interesting character and that the conditions she grew up in provide great clarity regarding the sort of vile person she ends up becoming. It's important to atleast attempt to understand the complexity of a character before jumping directly into hating them.

Tatiana grew up ignored and neglected for the sole sin of having been a girl. Her father was a piece of utter shit that never gave a single flying fuck about her. We know that Gideon and Gabriel grow up to be good, wonderful men (Gideon is literally my favourite character in TID btw) but it is equally true that they weren't the best when they were younger. They were little pricks. More importantly, they were a duo. The Lightwood brothers. and Tatiana was left out.

As Tatiana describes in the letter, her brothers clearly do not recognize they are given preferential treatment while she is constantly looked down on. She also states that Gabriel was replicating the same awful patterns of asserting 'authority' of their horrible worm of a father. Furthermore, she feels abandoned by Gideon. She is stuck in a home that is no more than a prison for her, surrounded by people that do not treat her well and she is angry at her big brother for leaving her in that hellhole while he is having fun in another country, free from all this bullshit that she has to deal with.

I think that she was well within her right to have been angry at how she was treated. Also, I saw some takes about how upsetting it was that Tatiana always hated her brothers. And I have to ask, have none of you ever called your brothers names?? Especially when they were being shitheads? Do you really want to tell me that you've never been furious that your brothers don't even realize how they're doted upon simply because they're boys?? Tatiana did not start out hating her brothers in the terrifyingly heartless way she came to do in the later half of her life. Her resentment began in justified ways.

So now we have Tatiana Lightwood, clearly scorned by literally everyone in her life. And for the first time in her life, someone gives her attention and affection. Rupert Blackthorn. Can you imagine how heady that must have been for someone as lonely and miserable as Tatiana? (Yes, because we read the letter lol) She clearly thinks the world of him almost instantly and ofcourse, she does. She is so starved for attention. For someone to just look at her and see her means everything to someone who has been ignored their whole life. This is important because this is vital to understand her downfall. Her love for Rupert is absolute. (She reminds me of Jessamine Lovelace a little bit. They're both girls who make terrible decisions in their utter desperation to be loved.) We don't know exactly what sort of person Rupert was but considering how we know the story progresses, it is safe to assume that he remains beloved to Tatiana and is the most important person in her life. And then she loses him. She loses the only person that ever seemed to truly love her. Her world is fractured irreparably, whereas, it appears to her, that her brothers have everything she has ever wanted. They have a good reputation, a good life, a happy family. Everything that was taken from her. This is where her existing more or less innocuous resentment for her brothers takes on its vicious character. Later, her son dies too. Another of her only earthly tethers, lost. Gone. There is noone left that she loved. No one who loves her. Under these circumstances, I have to wonder, who wouldn't go insane?

I am not justifying her actions. I don't even like her. She continues the cycle of abuse she was subjected to by being horrible to Grace and I detest her for it. In many ways, she becomes exactly like the person she hated the most. Her father. I would not ask anyone to forgive her or even like her because I don't either. But I believe in critically analysing characters and attempting to understand their motivations. Tatiana is not pure evil. Or atleast, she wasn't always. People are far more complicated than just black and white and that's what Cassie is trying to show. She is not trying to get you to forgive Tatiana and start liking her. She is providing a nuanced perspective on the character's development (or devolution, in Tatiana's case) and I think that's essential for good storytelling. So be a little mindful when you read is my humble suggestion. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

#secrets of blackthorn hall #tatiana blackthorn #i cant believe i wrote so much for tatiana of all people lmao #shes awful but i mean please atleast hate her in the right way #blackthorn #jesse blackthorn #lightwood #tatiana lightwood #cassandra clare #cassie clare

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stellocchia · 3 years

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okay thank you! (and don't worry, i like debating and getting rants in response to what i say). there is a huge movement behind the "don't portray c!wilbur as physically abusive" in pogtopia, which at its heart i agree with, but i don't agree with how people portray it as the only way c!wilbur could've abused c!tommy. it goes from "don't portray c!wilbur as physically abusive!" to "don't portray c!wilbur as abusive at all!" and ignoring all non-physical actions of c!wilbur in pogtopia. it takes "c!wilbur sees c!tommy as an extension of himself" and leaves it at that and c!wilbur's tragedy, without acknowledging how that would negatively effect c!tommy. how c!wilbur is self-destructive, and repeatedly lashes that out on c!tommy. how that is also abuse.

i think it ties in a lot with the idea that people can't be bad to others, hurt others, or abuse others without going full c!dream "i'm going to kidnap and horrifically abuse this teenager for months"

c!wilbur gets the absolute worst either "this man is a horrifically abusive manipulator whos irredeemable" or "c!wilbur was mentally ill and suicidal when he did these things, which means we don't need to talk about how he actually hurt people!" and it pisses me off, especially in regards to c!tommy

(also, @ the "don't make c!wilbur physically abusive towards c!tommy in pogtopia" gang, again, fundementally i agree with you, but... what do they call forcing someone (who you've already shown abusive behavior towards) into a situation where they'd get hurt no matter what, even if it isn't by you directly? i think there's a word for that...)

Before seeing your last paragraph I was about to say that there is, in fact, at least one known instance of physical abuse because really you cannot describe the pit scene in any other way. That was a mix of physical abuse and verbal abuse all thrown in together that people very often just convenintly gloss over.

That said I actually fully agree with you on this one!

I've actually seen people go further and say that Wilbur wasn't manipulative to him either which is just so blatantly false.

There is something called "shaming" that c!Wilbur likes using a lot, which can be summed up as: manipulator uses sarcasm and put-downs to increase fear and self-doubt in the victim. Manipulators use this tactic to make others feel unworthy and therefore defer to them. Manipulators can make one feel ashamed for even daring to challenge them. It is an effective way to foster a sense of inadequacy in the victim.

This is what that whole "you'll never be president" thing was about. This is what "he's not as mature as you Tubbo" during the pit scene was about. c!Wilbur constantly defining c!Tommy as immature and berating him was a type of manipulation.

How about him telling Tommy they couldn't trust anyone? Enphasizing that he shouldn't trust Tubbo? Yes that was his paranoia speaking, but believing in something doesn't make it any less manipulative. He still used that rethoric wich he believed in to his advantage, to make sure Tommy wouldn't leave him because he had no one he trusted to go to.

Also I really don't know why people simply gloss over the fact that Tommy was living under the constant fear of the place he fought for being obliterated and the people he cared about potentially dying during it. Like, I know no one died (aside from Jack Manifold and Wilbur) on the 16th but the characters didn't know that no one would die in the explosion. Wilbur didn't know that no one would die!

Yes he was self destructive, but he was actively constantly threatening everything Tommy cared about. He exploded the country while everyone was there and with Tommy on his last life. For all he knew Tommy could have had his final death that day as well!

Like, we really do not talk enough about what an absolute nightmare it must have been to be 16 and have to bear the weight of a whole country maybe exploding if he wasn't good enough to persuade Wilbur not to do it. He literally had to talk him down from suicide once and he did that by threatening his own death basically! I mean he clearly was not okay...

Also as I said other times not being as bad as cDream is not the big achievement some people seem to think. C!Dream kidnapped someone with the full intent of abusing them and manipulating them to depend on him because he's obsessed to that degree with his main victim. He then proceeded to beath him to death to prove a point. Being better then him is not even the bare minimum, he is not the standard you have to get to for something to be considered abuse, that's just not how it works.

#anon ask #c!wilbur critical #tw abuse #tw manipulation #tw death mention #dream smp #long post #I ended up agreeing but ranting anyway...#oh well!

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years

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5 ships I hate, why I hate them, how to (kinda) fix them, the better ships you should be doing in that universe, and why you should ignore me and keep writing them if it makes you happy.

Note: this is done for amusement, please don’t be offended; I’m not attacking your ship, I’m just listing some ships I do not always care for, and how I think they could be improved, and maybe made brilliant, by clever writing.

In no particular order, and focusing on ships that often annoy me, with no attempt by me to say anything meaningful or popular about the current state of any particular fandom. I’m also a firm believer in the idea that there’s no such thing as a bad ship, only a badly executed ship, so my objections to these is less a dislike of shipping, or the paring, and more that they raise writing issues that I think are difficult to fix in a satisfying way. That’s why in a lot of the examples below I prefer AU ships to ones that try to messily work it into the cannon. Anyway, enjoy... I guess?

Marco x / anyone (Animorphs)

Why I hate it: Animrophs is an intensely character-driven story, where the tension of each book comes from the conflicts, external and internal, that the five Animrophs (and Ax) face during a long, hard, traumatic war. And while several of the character are paired off romantically, it’s always to emphasise character conflict over their different points of view. Jake and Cassie are a pair because Jake’s struggle with having to make hard, grey, morally ambiguous choices as leader is highlighted by Cassie’s burning need to make the right choice, the lesser evil, the choice that leaves some small shred of humanity and dignity and kindness left in this bleak world. Tobias and Rachel are a pair as their arcs deal with literal and figurative loss of humanity, as the slow accumulation of trauma over time turns these happy(ish), normal kids into psychologically ruined husks of their former selves and destroys them slowly, one fight at a time.

Marco’s arc, isn’t about either of these things: Marco’s arc, is about the bright, clear line between A and B, between problem and solution. Marco is a utilitarian, a pragmatist: his concern isn’t the burden of leadership, or the cost of the decision, but about how to put that all aside and make hard decisions that actually work regardless of cost. It’s not about what to do, the path is obvious: the bright, clear line of ruthless logic, but how to do it. His match, his counterpoint, the other character who’s all about the logic of taking awful decision in a way that actually works for the team, and his foil, his female counterpart in this, is not a romantic partner, but his mother: Visser one, making the exact same hard, difficulty ruthless decisions using logic and maths, but for the other side of this war. A romantic paring gets in the way of this arc because a partner doesn’t help him with that bright, clear line, and worse, any attempt to pair him of with either Rachel or Cassie breaks up not only a cannon paring, but their respective character arc.

How to (kinda) fix this: Marco’s arc is, at the end of the day, a trolly problem. So make sure whoever you ship him with is one of the people tied to the tracks. Introduce a character he crushes on, and then in the second act reveal that they are either a Controller, or in the family of a Controller or the proximity of the target of their next mission in a way that will make them collateral damage ,and let Marco struggle with what happens when that bright, clear logical line from A to B cuts through someone he actually loves; you know, like it did with his mother. See, even trying to fix this ship is weirdly Freudian.

The far better ship you should be doing: Ax x / EVERYONE. Ax in human form is described as a worryingly pretty, worryingly androgynous male of indeterminate race. He is a literally Bishonen alien hedonist with no familiarity with human senses, poor impulse control in human form, and no knowledge or understanding of human courtship rituals, and he can shape-shift, including into other members of the core team if needed to compel a mission, he calls Jake his prince, and he is incredibly close to Tobias, the lonely outcast woobie that the LGBT fans adopted as their poster boy. Come on, the potential for shipping, both with wacky hijinks and sad, tragic star-crossed lovers’ trope is endless. Every line dedicated to Marco shipping is a line of text that could be dedicated to Ax trying to eat a Cinnabon erotically on his first date as a human and hulking out mid way because he forgot just how good they are. What could be better than him leaning into to erotically kiss a team-mate, and then fucking up due to his failure to understand human mouths, making weird mouth sounds, and then licking crumbs of the table in the middle of the mall, in front of the entire school, while his crush awkwardly tried to pretend this is normal? What’s wrong with you Marco-shipper people, do you hate fun?

Riz/Tem (beastars) Why I hate this ship: Okay, just to quickly ask a question, to people who un-ironically like this as a serious ship and not a dark joke, just one little question: What’s wrong with you? I mean,are you okay? Keep taking the meds: the show is VERY clear on that point.

It’s like those people who say Joker X Harley Quinn is their ideal dark, edgy relationship: no it’s not, it’s abusive! Morticia x Gomez is dark and cool but CONSENTUAL and HEALTHY. This… this is a deeply imbalanced person murdering someone and telling themselves after that fact it was special and rare and magical. ITS HOMICIDE! And even if you write that out (and you shouldn’t, because that changes the character arc of every other major character) it’s still got more red flags that a soviet military parade. This is the botulinum of a toxic, one-sided teenage infatuation. Riz’s entire arc is about how he projects his thoughts and feelings about himself onto this idealised, made-up version of his and Tem’s relationship which, from Tem’s point of view, never existed. Riz never loved Tem: he loved the idea of Tem, the idea that someone would see the real him, see his inner pain and accept him anyway, but he never once told Tem this. He didn’t warn him “Hey, because of you I don’t feel I need my meds any more, do you mind if I try not taking them and we can meet and talk about this in a safe, well-lit pace?” He’s not honest with Tem, and on top of that It doesn’t make sense from the point of view of either of the characters for them to be actually, romantically in love (although they were clearly close friends), because it undermines and cheepens Riz desire to just be seen and accepted for his real self, and the cannon Tem X Els ship. It also doesn’t make sense from a story point of view: Riz is a shadow archetype for Legosi. He’s what Legosi would have become if someone hadn’t interrupted his attack on Haru. That’s why Legosi needs to beat Riz with his own hands: because then he’s beating the darker version of himself he’s been carrying with him, and he can finally move on with Haru guilt-free. Having Riz and Tem’s relationship actually be what Riz imagined it to be undoes that. It undoes Riz’s interesting, dark inner struggle between truth and fantasy, it turns Tem’s tragic, unsolved murder that sets the entire story in motion into a just sort of weird Romeo-and Juliet suicide. It’s ruins the character arc not only for Riz, but for Legosi, and also, by extension, Louis and Haru, because Legosi’s internal angst over whether or not herbivores and carnivores can have a relationship as true friends needs this example of a tragic, flawed, toxic, failed friendship to bounce off of.

How it could (sort of) work: an AU where Riz’s attack on Tem is interrupted and Tem lives with a slight arm injury, and doesn’t tell anyone out of his complex feelings for Riz. Meanwhile, that bunny girl from the gardening club had been brutally devoured and Rz and/or Tem are so horrified with how close this was to their own near-miss, they start to investigate the murder, and in doing so get caught up in Louis’ inner struggle. Because that’s how the story needs to work, it’s about duality and struggle: and if Riz takes Legosi’s role, and by dating a herbivore he de facto takes the role, so Legosi must take Riz’s. This could be a great AU!

The better ship you should be doing: Pina/Riz (with a dash of Pina x Els), no, seriously, I’m not shitposting. You want to give Riz a redemption arc with a cute woolly boy? How about a story where Pina, out of a need for closure about at happened to him, starts to visit Riz in jail and they talk, mockingly at first, confrontational at first, but later Pina slowly becoming more fascinated in Riz and Tem’s life and asking Riz for more and more detail until they both bond over their shared traumatic experiences and their sense of loss for Tem’s senseless death, Tem’s unfished life casting a shadow over both off them. Eventually, the two of them find, from Legosi who still has the diary, that Tem had planned out an elaborate and beautiful first date with Els that he never got to take her on, and Riz, guilt ridden and sad than Tem never got this beautiful moment, decides to ask Pina take her on that date for Tem, with Riz coaching him by phone cyano-de-Bergerac style, Riz finally getting some closure that he helped one of Tem’s wishes come true and finally acknowledging to himself that Tem had a life and loves outside of him that were cut of short by his actions, and just crying over his lost friend, as Pina and Els slow-dance in Tem memory. Or if you just want to see Tem awkwardly date a carnivore boy from school, why not something less creepy and more wholesome and ship him with Jack? That would be cute AF, and more importantly, not romanticize brutal murder. Or an AU where everything is happy and nice, I’d argue at that it’s no longer Beastars at that point, but if it makes you happy, go for it. Let’s not shame anyone here.

Snape X Lilly (Harry Potter)

Why I hate this ship: honestly, it’s not for the reason you think; I just like Snape too much as a tragic character, and making him in any way happy destroys his arc in my opinion. The objection’s others have raised: that Snape acts in a worryingly possessive stalker-ish way towards Lilly, and that if Voldemort had gone for Nevil rather than Harry as a child Snape would have remained a loyal death eater, are true and I acknowledge them as having some validity, but that’s not why I can’t stand this ship. Snape is supposed to be a morally and emotionally complex, tragic figure. That “After all this time?” line was the best line in the Deathly Hallows. Snape is supposed to show the equality destructive and redemptive power of love. It’s sort of trinity: Lilly shows the pure power of true, unconditional love in her sacrifice to save Harry, Voldy shows what self-destruction and cruelty a life without understanding love leads to, and Snape sits somewhere in the middle: his one-sided un-requited love being both the cause of his darkest, and his greatest actions. His curse, and his redemption, fall and rise. Making him happy messes that up.

How to (kinda) fix this ship: make them miserable. Make them fall for each-other only to be pulled apart by circumstance (you know, like they were in the darn original source material). You’re serious about making this a tragic, dark romance? Don’t ship them when they’re at school: Ship them during Voldemort’s rise to power, in the 80’s, after Lilly is married. Have the original Order of the Phoenix send her to meet with Snape and use their previous relation to try to milk some information out of him. Have her feel conflicted about it, have James furious about it, but have her do it anyway for the greater good. Have her meet up secretly with Snape who is angry and distrustful, knowing his must be a trap, and talk. Have the relationship slowly build over time against the backdrop of a cold-war spy thriller, as Lilly slowly realizes that she has some lingering feelings for Snape, but can’t reconcile them her loyalty to the order and her family. Make this a love story of conflicted feelings, divided loyalties, and spy-work against the background of drawing war-clouds. Have Snape offer to leave Voldemort, if she’ll leave the Order, and run away with him, but by that point she knows she’s pregnant and chooses to stay, out of loyalty even though she’s crushing on Snape. Have him show up at the rendezvous expecting for her to be there only for James to lead an Order Ambush, and a fight to ensure, on top of Tower Bridge in the howling wind and rain, Snape surviving but having his spirit crushed and fleeing before Lilly can tell him her true feelings. Make it big, and melodramatic, but above all, make it tragic. Because that’s the only way Snape works as a character. Always.

The better ship you should be doing: Ginny X Nevil or Luna x Nevil: You want tragic lovers, at school, with divided loyalties, who never get together in the main cannon because a Potter ruins it and gets the girl? Ginny X Nevil. Write what was happening that final year Harry wasn’t at school when they took Dumbledore’s Army and make it work in earnest. Heck, you could even have Snape, as headmaster, hated by them but secretly trying to protect them as a secondary character to their secret, forbidden love. You don’t want to break up Harry X Ginny? Luna X Nevil is sweet and wholesome, but also tragic as they never get a chance, having their school life taken over by the horror of that final year and the need to fight for their very souls in a school run by Death Eaters and the trauma of the Battle of Hogwarts meaning that in order to put away the past and move on, they need to leave each other behind. Hell, do an AU where they canonically end up together, why not? They deserve happiness.

Dean / Sam AKA Wincest (Supernatural)

Why I hate this ship: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. Several times.

How you could (sort of) fix this ship: You can’t: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. I guess a body-swap arc could fix this, as it’s less squicky if its just their bodies with someone else’s minds, but seriously, the reasons why this shouldn’t exist are extensively covered in the show, and it was hilarious. To be honest, I don’t hate this ship done as a joke, but I have seen some dark spots on the internet, and I can say with all honesty it’s not always treated as a joke. Some folks are really invested in this, and all I can ask is, is your home life okay?

Now, done as a joke, I’m 110% behind this. This is exactly the sort of insane wacky bullshit that makes for a good crack-fic. For example imagine that the supernatural threat of the week was book that made anything written in it come true, and the brothers are trying to find and destroy it, but they keep getting distracted by their burgeoning romantic feelings for each-other, and suddenly realise that the owner of the book is a fan on the in-universe novels, and writing slash-fic in the book. They need to find the writer before they make them do something they’ll both regret, but it’s just so distracting when Sam’s beautiful eyes are right there and- dammit, Sam, it’s happening again! Make Sam less concerned and even a little amused, with it, but make Dean hate what’s going on. Especially when the writer’s description suddenly makes Sam noticeably better hung that him. Make the villain turn out to be Becky from “Sympathy for the devil” and end with them trying to take the book away as she writes frantically to force them to do her bidding, and you’ve got yourself a good fic.

The better ship you should be doing: Cas/Sam or Cas/Dean or Cas/Sam AND Dean fic. Duh. Once again the show-runners beat the fans to the mark and pointed out that this is the best ship, and then they took it away just to fuck with us.

Any Katniss ship that ignores her obsession with Emotional Security Logic. (The Hunger Games)

Why I hate these ships: Katniss is, briefly put, a mess before the books ever start, her father’s death and harsh upbringing have arguably given her PTSD before she ever volunteers for the reaping, and it doesn’t get better from there. In psychology, Emotional Security Theory (EST) is a hypothesis that the heightened emotions surrounding repeated violent exposures leaves children vulnerable to dysregulated distress responses and eventual psychopathology, aka, why Kat be so messed up. Her internal monologue makes the books completely clear that her choice in partners is not motivated by normal affections, but by deep, deep fear. A fear of loss, abandonment and death that leads her to make every decision about what minimises her, and her sister’s, exposure to potential physical and emotional harm. It’s frantic, fraught, cold survivalist thinking. And the other characters in the book notice and acknowledge it! “Which of us will she pick?” “She’ll pick whoever she can’t survive without.” Kat doesn’t like herself for it, but she does eventually admit to herself that she makes her decisions like this.

How do we fix this ship: Ship Kat with whoever you like, but give her a good reason to pick them: and in Kat’s mind “A good reason” is based on Emotional Security Logic, she needs to have a pressing reason why this ship makes her and her sister safer. Do that, and you’ve got yourself a good Katniss story. Don’t do that, and while you may or may not have a good story, the person staring in it isn’t Katniss Everdeen anymore.

The better ship you should be writing: Finick X Annie. Or, Haymitch prequel ships

FinAnn. This, this ship has some real potential to it, and is criminally underutilized. Finick and Annie’s relationship is one of the most tragic and romantic in the story, and has so much to offer. Or, if you want to have a hard-bitten character from district 12 struggling with trying to find love in the hellish combat of the games, do a prequel in which Haymitch finds love in the capitol during training, but loses then in the area and turns to drink as a result. Heck, you could even have some fun with this and turn it into a dark comedy, or a great tragic love story, whatever you like. It’s got potential, and his backstory is vague enough you could do a lot with it.

So, tell me below why I’m wrong, and have fun with your writing: just because I hate that ship doesn’t mean you should. Enjoy yourselves.

I’m off to write awful Ax/Pina/Luna Polyjuice’d into Nevil/Cas/Finick fiction set at an anime high-school that fights a magical war against other fictional schools, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

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cdroloisms · 3 years

Text

more of the vegas team 2.0 !! time for a group therapy session* :D

*includes very little therapy

tw: TORTURE (doesnt happen in the scene but is Absolutely talked about), abuse, beatings, violence, manipulation, toxic relationship, prison arc, mental instability, emotional distress, trauma, dehumanization

"So!" Wilbur claps his hands, smiling widely. "Are we ready to start?"

"This is fuckin' stupid."

Ignoring Quackity, Wilbur looks out over his handiwork; Quackity, Sam, and Dream and himself are sat down in a circle on the ground, all looking like they're at varying levels of get me the fuck out of here. Quackity glares up at him with his one good eye with a scowl on his face, while Sam looks pointedly at the opposite wall like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Across from him, from where he is sandwiched between Quackity and Sam, Dream gives him a pleading look that Wilbur deliberately ignores.

"Big Q is right," Sam sighs, anxiety making his voice slightly tinny, "We're wasting a lot of time, Wilbur. We all have a lot of stuff to get done to get ready for tomorrow-"

Wilbur's arm snaps out, pressing on Sam's shoulder as the taller moves his hands to the ground in an effort to push himself up.

"No- come on, Sam. Don't be like that, man. It'll be fun! We're a team," he stretches the word just to watch the others flinch, feeling a cold sweep of satisfaction when they do, "It'll be good for all of us- what do you think, Dream?"

Dream freezes, wide eyes turning to look into Wilbur's, lip beginning to tremble. Wilbur smiles serenely, watches as he shakes worse with every second of Quackity's angry glare and Sam's cold gaze directed at him with equal parts curiosity and excitement, smiles wider when he finally wilts under the weight of all of their eyes.

"I think- I think that it's a good idea, Wil," he mumbles, flinching back when Quackity's eyes narrow further, and Wilbur bites down his laughter.

"Wonderful!" Quackity turns the fury of his expression back over at him, all but snarling, lips curled and wings fluttering in anger on his back.

"What the fuck- no I'm not helping with this- this stupid fuckin' group therapy bullshit- what is this, a fuckin' AA meeting?" He accompanies his words with a series of jerky gestures, seemingly oblivious to the way that they make Dream curl more and more into himself, and Wilbur digs into his inventory-

"Yeah, that's exactly what this is like, Big Q!" He drops the result of his search unceremoniously into the other's lap, grinning at the look he's given when Quackity finally stops fumbling with the item.

"Is this a stick of dynamite?"

"It's your talking stick!" Quackity looks about three seconds away from cursing him out or burying a sword in his neck, while Sam and Dream look like they would rather be anywhere else at the minute, and this is the best decision that Wilbur's made in his life. "I was thinking that because there's clearly been some tension between us-"

"Quackity tried to kill Dream three times this week."

"-that it would be good for us to talk about our feelings!"

Sam looks entirely unimpressed, a flash of frustration breaking through his usual mask of cold indifference.

"Wilbur, what are you-"

"Ah ah ah!" Wilbur gestures at Quackity, smoothing down a smirk at Sam's irritation, "You can't speak."

"And why am I not allowed to speak, again?"

"Big Q has the talking stick, so he's the only one that can talk right now."

"Wilbur," Sam's hand moves to his face, palms digging into his eyes, "you don't have the talking stick, either."

"Oh, sorry," Wilbur reaches over, easily plucking the dynamite out of Quackity's hands and ignoring the younger's protests, "As I was saying, only the person with the talking stick can speak!"

"...sure."

Wilbur turns his eyes to sweep over the three again, feeling a cold thrill growing in his chest; Dream has hidden himself entirely behind the cloth of his hoodie, knees drawn to his chest and hood pulled up over his head. Quackity, to his left, mutters angry curses, directing his glare at anyone that he deems worthy of his ire - which, per usual, means just about everybody. Sam holds his gaze with a cold stare of his own, a knowing look in his eye, and Wilbur smiles wider in challenge; you going to try and stop me?

Sam doesn't speak, looking away. That's what I thought.

"Anyway!" Wilbur claps his hands together, dynamite still held in his right hand, "Anyone want to go first?"

"...this is fuckin' stupid as hell-"

"You don't have the talking stick, Big Q."

"Fuck off."

"Would you like the talking stick first, then?"

Quackity grits his teeth, opens his mouth to begin what will no doubt be another expletive-filled rant, when he catches Wilbur's line of sight and his eyebrows narrow, lips pressing back together. The electric feeling in Wilbur's ribcage grows further, amusement piquing; interesting.

"Actually," Quackity smiles tightly, forced civility entering his voice, "I would love the talking stick first, Wilbur."

"Of course!" He reaches his hand out, dynamite held loosely in his fingers, "I was thinking that we could talk about our feelings, what's making us upset, you know? So we can all work together better."

"You know- I get that, I get that," Quackity's smile gets sharper, voice growing crueler as he yanks the dynamite out of Wilbur's grip, brings it to his chest, "I see what you're saying, Wilbur. And I think that this is a great idea."

Wilbur's eyes flick to the others as he nods along; it seems like he wasn't the only one to notice the change in Quackity's tone. Sam looks noticeably more uneasy, shifting in his seat and tapping at the floor by his side. Dream looks like he's praying to the gods for the ground to swallow him whole.

Sorry, mate, but there's no one listening in hell.

"Las Nevadas, this place- I've put a lot of fuckin' time into this, ok?" Quackity drums his fingers on the side of the dynamite as he talks, and something in Wilbur shifts, settles, at the symbolism, "This isn't a country, isn't some- ideal, or egg, or some shit. It's power, plain and simple, and it's mine." His lips curl back, his golden tooth glinting in the light, "And I get the feeling that some people aren't taking this place nearly as seriously as they should be."

Dream's head snaps to the side, the pale face of his mask peeking out from where it had been pressed into his arms.

"What do you mean-"

"Dream-" Quackity reaches out, making Dream scramble backwards as Quackity's hand lands on his shoulder and grips it tightly. "I'm sorry. I don't think that you have the talking stick?"

Dream shakes, tugs unsuccessfully at the hand locked around his upper arm, breathing shuddery as he ducks away to look at the floor again.

"...sorry."

"Thank you," Quackity grins, lips curving cruelly. "As I was saying, all I want is for everyone to take a little more responsibility and shit, you know? We have to be efficient if we want this place to get off the ground, and we can't be efficient if everyone is fuckin' complaining all the time. I just think that it's about time that we let go of old grudges, move on already, you know? Focus on what really fuckin' matters-"

Dream's shoulders tense, and in the sliver of his face that isn't covered by his mask, Wilbur watches with unbridled glee as his eyes flash.

"Oh- you've got to be fucking kidding me-"

Quackity sneers. "Dream-"

Wilbur doesn't even catch the man moving, but between one blink and the next, the bright red stick in Quackity's hand has been ripped away from him, held in Dream's white-knuckled grip above his head as he scowls at Quackity.

"No- it's my time to talk now, ok? I have the talking stick- it's- it's my time to talk now. You fucking asshole- move on? You tortured me!"

"Oh- don't be so fuckin' overdramatic-"

"Overdramatic? You- you kicked my ribs in! You carved your name into my skin! You ripped out my fucking nails just to hear me scream-"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? You weren't giving up the information!"

"You didn't have to fucking torture me-"

"Watch your fuckin' mouth or I'll do it again, dickhead," Quackity hisses, a sword suddenly in hand, the blade pressed against the underside of Dream's chin- which would usually be the end of it, but Dream, who must be running on too much adrenaline to register the familiarity of the position, narrows his eyes and bares his teeth at the winged man.

"Yeah- go on, kill me, and we'll see what happens when I respawn, Quackity. I hope you like explosions-"

"Big Q, Dream." Sam's voice, deep and heavy with exhaustion, finally seems to snap the two out of their bloodlust, because Quackity stumbles back into where he was sitting and Dream immediately curls back into himself, breathing loud and rattling in his panic. Sam directs a disapproving glare in Wilbur's direction, "Wilbur, where did you even get popcorn from?"

"Oh- sorry," Wilbur smiles, lets the red and white striped bag fall back into his inventory. "I guess that might've been a bit rude."

"You guess?" Sam mumbles, massaging his temples with a heavy sigh. Quackity glares back and forth at all of them before standing and stomping away to sulk, his footsteps loud and heavy against the marble floor. Sam ignores him, pushes at Dream's shoulder with one hand, gets no response, and Wilbur laughs.

"You know, Sam, I think that went great."

#-> vegas team au 2.0 #tw torture #tw abuse #tw trauma #tw mental instability #q stream aftermath #tw beating #tw toxic relationship #tw unhealthy relationship #tw emotional distress #tw dehumanization #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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