#being real can hurt

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Remember: The burning sensation is part of the process.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I think you might have been a father to me, once.

You used to be more than just another man who hurt me in my life.

Reference pic!

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Humans told them about Orion the hunter, what a coincidence

[fairylando]

ngl with the news of the grand prix driver association creating an ig account, i think they should really channel the 1982 south africa gp strike energy😮‍💨

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

---------------------------------------------------------

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[mmmairon]

Please. I don’t want to hurt you.

Inspired by @wyvernne ’s vampluc

[mekk-u]

there's nothing to forgive

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[hanafubukki]

More of a “What If”

But can you imagine? Maybe it’s during the OB with Malleus and they need a way to stagger him/distract him or maybe it’s something related in the future when they all sit down and talk. I’m more partial to the OB Malleus more because feelings.

But imagine, they tell him the truth about his parents and Silver’s background in the midst of battle.

And there’s a pause.

A silence.

Before a sigh.

Malleus looks at them. His reaction opposite than what anyone expected.

“I already knew.”

Now they are the ones shocked.

Malleus with a derisive smirk at his audience before he looks at Lilia.

Malleus explains then how he would visit the cottage in the woods with Lilia and Silver napping at times. How Lilia would clearly have nightmares, and in order to sooth Lilia’s dreams and to make sure Silver didn’t awaken, Malleus would use his UM on them.

That’s when he found out. Many years ago.

When a shocked Lilia asks him why, why did Malleus never bring it up?

His question’s returned with a dismal look.

“I was waiting for someone to tell me the truth. I wanted someone to trust me.”

[allastoredeer]

Controversial opinion but I think Lucifer gets babied too much by the fandom. Like I get that he has mental health issues but seeing all this fanmedia of women and men of color nannying this white-adjacent man who has been shown to be an incompetent and absent husband, father and leader. Just. Grinds my gears.

Not saying I hate Lucifer but... when people frame past radiostatic with current radioapple as a huge upgrade, it reeks of a woman leaving her abusive ex for a neglectful husband. While I'm glad Lucifer is a step up from Adam, I need to see actual improvements if I don't want to get the ick.

Agreed.

I massively agree.

Lucifer gets babied a lot. And like you said, yes, he has mental health issues and that's valid, but a lot of the time, it feels like his mental health issues become a scapegoat for his flaws and bad behavior.

Depression is a legit reason for Lucifer to struggle to maintain relationships and reach out to those he cares about. As someone who has suffered from depression, I understand pulling away from people, feeling like you need a reason to reach out to someone, having a negative opinion of oneself, getting overwhelmed with anxiety, even ignoring other people's attempts at reaching out to you because it's just...too hard and it's too much and you're stuck in this cycle that you can't break out of.

HOWEVER

Lucifer's depression doesn't take away from the fact that he's neglected Charlie as a parent. It doesn't negate the fact that he has acted condescendingly towards her and her ambitions. It doesn't counteract the fact that Charlie felt uncomfortable and awkward for a majority of their interactions in "Dad Beat Dad."

I sympathize with Lucifer having depression, but unfortunately, mental illness doesn't just effect you, it also effects the people around you, and i can't fault Charlie for her feelings too.

Because at the end of the day, Lucifer is Charlie's father.

Charlie is his child.

And as a parent, he has responsibilities. Ones that he failed to meet, which would have an effect on Charlie as children are meant to rely on their parents.

It's very telling that Charlie calls Lilith (who's been MIA for 7 years) more than she calls Lucifer (who's probably just a few Circles away). And no, I don't think this is because Lilith kept them separated and all that bullshit. I think Lucifer 100% had a hand in his and Charlie's estranged relationship and I hate it when he's passed off as nothing but a victim in all of it.

I hate it when he's boiled down to sad depressed man who's done nothing wrong. He has done plenty wrong.

And that's okay.

Because that's what makes his character good. He is multi-faceted. He is flawed. You can be depressed and still treat the people around you bad. I don't think Lucifer ever meant to be an absent parent, he obviously loves Charlie with all his heart, but that doesn't mean Charlie wasn't affected by his actions.

She very obviously was. Charlie is one of the most positive people in the show (to an extent that it becomes one of her flaws too), but the minute she called Lucifer it was a complete flip of how we normally see her. She was immediately annoyed. Her patience was already wire-thin. She was close to snapping so many times.

And I can see why. He only calls when he's bored/wants/needs something. He forgot about where she was and what she was doing despite her already telling him. He told her that he'd do anything to help her, and then said "no" the minute she asked.

Also, let's not forget how he answered the phone in the first place.

"Heeey, bitch!"

And look, it was funny. I laughed too. I still think it's funny.

But, imagine you called your dad for the first time in years (a dad you have a very strained relationship with) and the first thing you hear is a peppy, "Heeeeey, bitch!"

Like??? I can't blame Charlie for being annoyed as all hell, okay? I get the sense that she's been putting up with this bullshit for a VERY long time ad she's lost all patience for it. She's done. She's sick of it. She's been disappointed one too many times.

Also, yes, it's not just that Lucifer has been an absent father but he's been a neglectful ruler too. I wouldn't be surprised if Pentagram City has as much respect for him as they do for Charlie. I mean

HE SIGNED OFF ON THE EXTERMINATIONS

Lucifer gave the go-ahead for a yearly genocide of the people he rules over. Can we get some repercussions for that? Do you know how many people lost their friends? Family? Lovers? Vaggie literally spared a child--a CHILD. And I doubt that was the first kid ever confronted by an Exorcist.

Imagine that Cherri died during an Extermination and here we have Angel Dust meeting the person who stepped aside and let it happen. Do you think he wouldn't be mad?

Imagine Carmilla did lose her daughters during that Extermination. Do you really think she'd meet Lucifer and feel nothing but anger and contempt?

Personally, I think Lucifer agreeing to the Exterminations is what fractured his and Charlie's relationship. Like, fully fractured it. That was the last nail in the coffin.

And honestly, I WANT Lucifer to see the consequences of the Exterminations. I want him to have repercussions because that was an INCREDIBLY SHITTY THING TO DO. I imagine he didn't think there was any other option, but we also know that he didn't hold the sinners in high regard anyway. He had the lowest of low opinions of them. I doubt it took much convincing for him to agree.

Lucifer is the oldest being in the Pride Ring--he may be the oldest being in Hell. He's the most powerful person there. He is the embodiment of Pride. And he ACTS LIKE IT IN THE SHOW.

He has acted that way towards Charlie too. He didn't go to her hotel with an open mind. He wasn't actually listening to her plan or taking it into consideration. He played stupid when she asked him what he thought about it. And when the hotel was under attack, instead of stopping it (which he could easily done with a snap of his fingers), he was smirking and acting self-satisfied as he gloated about being "right" about Sinners.

And if you think I'm exaggerating then go rewatch that entire scene.

Look at him

He is acting so smug and he is rubbing it in Charlie's face.

LOOK AT CHARLIE! She is in distress. She is angry. And she is hurting. Her hotel is falling to pieces around her, her friends are in danger, and the whole time she had her dad gloating in her ear about why her dream is, essentially, a waste of time.

And the only thing that snapped him out of it was Charlie asking why Alastor (the one actually protecting the hotel) has more faith in her than her own father. It took Charlie bringing up Alastor again for Lucifer to knock his shit off.

Look at how hurt and closed off Charlie is in the last screenshot. I can't imagine that this is the first time Lucifer has acted towards her in this way. Do I think Lucifer meant to hurt Charlie?

No.

But did he?

Hell-to-the-fucking-YES!

Lucifer is an asshole. He acted like an asshole towards Alastor. He's acted like an asshole towards Charlie. And he kind of acted like an asshole towards the rest of the Hazbin crew considering he didn't exchange a single line of dialogue with them. They introduced themselves to him and that was it. Lucifer spent the rest of the time dissing on Alastor and talking exclusively to Charlie and Vaggie.

Lucifer suffers from depression, yes, but that doesn't take away that he is as much of an asshole as any other character in the show. And I hate that being stripped away and getting turned into this sad, babied little man who's awkward and shy and everyone else is just being mean to him. It's so dull and it's such a disservice to his character.

I don't want sweet, shy little UwU Lucifer that needs to be coddled.

I want mean, condescending, ass-hole Lucifer who reaps the consequences of his actions and grows from them.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bare skin, bare feelings.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[the-crooked-library]

"Louis and Armand were still in love in Dubai!!" "Louis and Armand never loved each other!!" - no. it's worse. they were on the precipice of something good, but Armand couldn't recognize that, so he ruined everything they had, right when Louis had actually come to love him. the love was there for a fleeting moment and it was ruined irreversibly, never to return, even after decades they'd spent together out of desperation and spite. it's worse and that's the point

[hyakunana]

God and his staff

[burr-ell]

It's just fascinating to me the way Vex's trauma, first from Syldor and Syngorn and then from the poachers who kidnapped her, is so relatively mundane and yet so resonant. Her and Vax's only real recourse from the abuse and racism they suffered was to leave, but living on their own meant they were also perfect targets. Statistically it's not your average suburban kid gettin snatched in a parking lot that makes up most kidnapping or trafficking victims; it's the kids who've been tossed around the system, who have slipped through the cracks in some way, who are already vulnerable—the people who no one will miss.

And Vex freeing herself from the poachers still gave her trauma, just a different kind of trauma than she'd have had if she'd actually been trafficked. Leaving Syngorn meant freedom from its cruelty, but it also meant being at the mercy of the rest of the world, and it meant a final admission to herself that no matter how hard she worked she would never get the acceptance and the home she longed for. It's an experience that's unfortunately all-too-common among so many oppressed and marginalized peoples. She spent so much time in situations where there was no way for her to win or get out unscathed, and it's no wonder she closed herself off from the world.