#but all the time and effort and self reflection and coping just finally stuck. i understood why it wasnt working and i needed a reason

[sundays-mutt]

you know. i was also really worried i would come out of this like deeply resenting my parents or something like that but i think doing this made my own relationship with them a lot better in a weird way. their reaction made me feel like i understood them better than before

[heerinnie]

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬

𝐏.𝐉𝐒

SYNOPSIS: Long term lovers, long term friends. Nothing and no one could come in between you and Jay other than your fear of intimacy.

WARNINGS: tooth-rotting fluff and smut, bf!jay x inexperienced fem!reader, reader has a fear of intimacy, implied s/a (not graphic), soft!Jay (he’s so sweet in this I cried a little when writing, making out, dry humping, mentions of oral (f!), Jay’s experienced but his body count’s like 2, blasphemy, written with the song Training Wheels by Melanie Martinez in mind

A/N: This is very very self-indulgent, writing is a way i cope with my experience in these situations so I feel like I healed a little part of me by acknowledging it happened and it wasn’t my fault, instead I’m turning it into something comforting. This works for me and for some others however i recognise that it may be triggering for others even if there aren’t any graphic mentions of s/a only the aftermath, please only read this if you’re in the right headspace. Any disrespectful comment will be deleted and blocked from my account 🤍

WC: 1274

^^ NSFW UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI (not proofread)

It all happened so quickly and yet you were still stuck here, still scarred 2 almost 3 years in the past. Time doesn’t heal wounds, physical ones? Yes but this feeling you could never shake off even if you tried your hardest, you couldn’t heal especially not alone.

You weren’t the an overly religious person, definitely not after your trust was broken. If there was a god well they’re a dick, if god was real why did you get hurt? You didn’t do anything wrong you were so kind…so bright until a shadow blew your flame away and forced you to live in a chamber of your own inner darkness. It was not your fault, you didn’t do anything you were just there...

That flame grew smaller and smaller until it suddenly disappeared and all that was left was a trail of smoke showing that at some point in time you were burning and warming everyone’s hearts whilst yours was barley flickering trying so hard to stay alight.

So many things changed with Jay's re-entry into your life, everything seemed to change directions and you felt like there was a purpose for your existence. Despite the lingering pain and heartache thats been consuming you, his presence felt like a much needed breath of fresh air. It was as if he had come to you as a guardian angel pulling you out of the misery you were dwelling in. He gave you the comfort that you didn't even know you needed until he appeared. The one which eased the damages of your heart.

“I think I'm ready” You've told him this so many times that you're starting to feel guilty for giving him this false hope. You know you've pulled back on your words before, so you understand why he may be sceptical. However, this time is different. You've taken the time to reflect on your feelings and you're sure that you're finally ready. You want to show Jay that you're committed and prepared to take the next step in your intimacy and you're willing to put in the effort to make it happen.

He obviously had some doubts however, he took the time to affirm that you were genuinely ready and that you wouldn't have any regrets. He's always so patient and understanding which is not surprising considering that he has always been your best friend before he even had the privilege of calling himself your boyfriend. Someone who understands you better than anyone else, your soulmate in all and every way.

Your relationship with him is built on trust, understanding and respect and it was so scary, you've never been treated so well before Jay and it showed but he was patient with the time it took time to get used him.

“I’m 100% sure” you got up and sat on his lap. You were fine and it felt right, this time you were in control of the situation and you weren’t uncomfortable with the feeling of sitting crotch to crotch with your boyfriend.

It felt like there was a force pulling your lips toward his as you leaned in to connect with each other and in an instant, you felt a rush of intense emotions overwhelm you. Your pupils dilated and your heartbeat quickened as it was trying to catch up with the sudden flood of feelings. It was a moment of pure realization- this was what true love felt like, and now you knew it with absolute confidence.

You weren't Jay’s first but at this moment he felt like you were, he had like two quick fucks with past short term girlfriends but this time it felt different. His heart was running laps and it was like all the air in his lungs disappeared as soon as your plush lips met his. He mentally cursed himself for growing hard already but in his defence, he had the most beautiful girl on his lap making out with him and as much as it made him nervous he couldn't help but get aroused when you started slowly grinding on his bulge to set the mood.

Your lungs were beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen as the room was filled with loud and wet noises of lips smacking, what started off as a passionate slow kiss quickly turned into a deeply heated make out session. Tongues dancing in an animalistic rhythm, hands travelling anywhere they could- you finally unlocked another level of intimacy with your boyfriend.

As you reflect on the situation you're in right now you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude. You think back to all the moments you've shared together, from the first time you met to the night you opened up to him about your trauma. The thought that someone like Jay could choose to be with you fills you with so much happiness and you can't help but break into a fit of giggles at the sheer joy of it all. It's a feeling that's difficult to describe, but you know that you're grateful for every moment you get to spend with him.

Your hips moved faster as a result of the friction you felt, you moaned when it sent shocks of pleasure straight to your core and down your spine. When you adjusted to a better angle jays grip on your hips tightened, he let out a soft moan that sounded like music to your ears. You felt his soft palm touch your cheek signalling to look at him and once your eyes met he couldn’t control his body as he started thrusting in his hips into you.

Nearing closer and closer to your climax your head starting spinning when Jay let out moans and groans whereas you couldn’t keep even the smallest noises of pleasure within yourself, you noticed a tiny bead of sweat forming at the top of his sun-kissed skin. It was already a hot day but the way he was thrusting and you were grinding felt like the heating went up covering you in sweat. As you watched his face contort with pleasure you couldn't help but think that you had never seen a man this beautiful, both inside and out. His broad shoulders flexed to keep up with the movement of his hips and placement of his hands on your stuttering body, his chiseled features were accentuated by the dimmed living room light highlighting the sweat that trickled down his face. Despite the heat, he remained focused, determined to give you the best he could at the moment trying to leaving a lasting impression to say that sex isn’t as scary when it’s with the love of your life and you couldn't help but admire him for wanting to give you it all.

With all that work you finally felt your orgasm hit with jay’s quickly following after. You stayed laying on him ignoring the uncomfortable wetness on your panties as your blown out pupils stared off onto the empty space on the couch next to where you two rested,

“That felt amazing” you hummed agreeing with your boyfriend, “but if you’re up for it I can show you how good it can really feel” he purred, you felt his cock hardening again with the way you were spread out on him. In a span of seconds you two ran towards your shared bedroom preparing for a long night of what pleasure with your loved one really feels like starting off strong with jay devouring your pussy for the first time as an apology for the lack of dirty talk and foreplay he didn’t do before.

A/N: I’m not really happy with the ‘smut’ I rushed it and I think you can tell 😭 I haven’t posted in forever so this is a little filler for my hee fic that’s like 3/4 done (currently like 4K words idk 🤷🏽‍♀️) but I hope you guys enjoyed this little treat <3

[non-electrical-outlet]

10/31/24: Pre-Coaching Check-in

Biggest news from this week is that I had a 3 hour long conversation with my dad, and something particularly notable was that it did feel like we were engaging on equal terms. The conversation was able to happen because a) I needed his help for car stuff, b) I made active efforts to understand my uncomfortable emotions in the moment and act differently from my past self, and c) I felt emotionally resourced as a result of the work I've been doing in and around my Coaching sessions.

Another notable thing about that conversation, more on the uncomfortable side of things, is that I did feel trapped and restless toward the end. Conversation with dad, as well as certain other types of people I encounter, is unrelenting. No lulls, no room for thoughtful reflection, just more and more and more questions and challenges, and no acknowledgement of body language and efforts to escape. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Right as I finished writing that sentence, I realized that the next time I encounter feeling stuck in a conversation (with anyone, not just dad) is a great opportunity to practice disengaging gracefully from an interaction (a skill that I need to hone for Nursing). ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To summarize Notable Thing 2, as well as my realization about it: - I started to feel angry towards the end of our conversation. - Dad started mentioned the idea of me acting as a mediator/marriage counselor for him and Mom, a suggestion I found insulting considering my childhood emotional trauma stemming from their conflict; My current understanding is that I'm fucked up emotionally because I was parentified by each parent in order to cope with the other, and now my Dad is finally interested in me because of the emotional intelligence I display as a result of that trauma? Fucking infuriating. - Dad also was trying to talk shit about Mom, referring vaguely to choices my mom made decade(s) ago and how they affected both her and him. He said that he ended up being right about those choices and their outcomes. I wonder if he really was right, or if my mom simply acquiesced one way or another. But I don't have the time or energy to find out. - I did actually and successfully set a boundary in this regard AEB me politely explaining without blaming that I did not have the resources to mediate their decades of conflict. -

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other thing I wanted to make sure to write about before my coaching session this week is about The Kraken Bridge Incident, feminism, and Why I'm Still Moving Out ASAP ™.

The Kraken Bridge Incident was set off by Dad telling me to wash the dishes in the sink. A combination of his tone and my irritability r/t nicotine resulted in me becoming very angry, going outside to physically let of steam by punching the coniferous bush outside, as well as me slamming the front door on my way out. My slamming of the front door is presumably what angered Dad, and he proceeded to confront me when I returned inside.

Things got heated during this confrontation and Dad made my reaction out to be unreasonable, citing that people sharing a household should share chores. Though I wasn't able to express it at the time, this statement angered me then and since because Dad does none of the regular household chores (cooking, vacuuming, dishes, cleaning the kitchen) or does them poorly (i.e. putting soaking wet dishes into the cupboard despite having been told not to do so countless times over the years; weaponized incompetence?). Upon reflection today (10/31/24), I am further incensed by the fact that slamming the door was the specific action I did that set my Dad off; How many years did I spend learning to avoid my Dad's presence due to his slamming of doors and drawers? How many nights were my mother, sister, and I all laughing and connecting over dinner, only to fall silent at the sound of the garage door? How much of my life has been spent terrorized by this man's anger, powerless to fight or to flee from it, and now I am supposed to be "reasonable" with my anger for his sake? I'm supposed to talk to this man to meet his emotional needs when he is the cause of my own unwellness?

This is why I'm still planning to move out ASAP after graduating. I am planning to keep an open mind, apply to some new grad nursing programs at UCH and CHCO, look into getting a job at Sandstone Care so I can maybe move to the Springs, keep learning what I can from clinicals and school.

The future is coming, and it is uncertain and a bit scary, but it hasn't killed me yet. Let's see how it goes.

[toomanyfandomsorkinafs]

ASAHHGGHHH I LOVE RANTING ABIUT CHARACTERS AND CONNECTING IT TO SONGS!!!

A Mask Of My Own Face - Lemon Demon

its about a person who thinks that the person they are pretending to be is the same as themself. They think that they are the only one in the world pretending to be themself.(SO TIMMY CODED CAUSE THAT BOY IS A WET CAT THAT PRETENDS TO BE BRAVE!!)

Fish in a bird cage - Fish in a bird cage 

The songs about the inherent wrongness and powerlessness of the fish and its situation, trapped worlds away from where it can exist comfortably and healthily. And it talks about how the ‘brother’ needs help the fish to actually live and have a normal reality.(Timmy and his godparents. Nothing else needed to be said.)

Slippers - Madilyn Mei 

It’s about wanting to do so much yet never being able to achieve them. Being so afraid of what would happen you never do it. (Every time Timmy does something for himself, it goes wrong. So he starts doing things for others and it still goes wrong.)

We’ll Meet Again - Frank Sinatra

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” (Timmy and his godparents when he has to lose them :( )

Disembodied Mind - Sparkbird

It’s about someone having trouble separating things that came from their mind and reality. So much that they start becoming consumed by their mind until they can’t go back. (Timmy and the secret wish. He can’t give up his fairies, he can’t. He can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore.)

Human Being (demo) - Emei

It’s about a person is just a dick. Not even trying to hide the fact that they’re almost inhumane. (Okay less Timmy but it’s more like Timmy to Vicky BUT!!! Still good song!!)

I’d rather sleep - Kero Kero Bonito

This song is referring to someone struggling to grow up. They are almost afraid to, wishing to stay dreaming in which there’s no stress of the world around them. (The secret wish!! Timmy is scared to grow up and lose Wanda and Cosmo! He’s stuck in a dream!)

Devil Town - Cavetown

It’s about parents who are divorcing causing trauma to the children. The parents aren’t good either, blaming the children for the divorce. But the child isn’t too afraid because they know they aren’t the only one to experience this. (Okay while Timmy’s parents aren’t divorced, they aren’t good. But Timmy’s coping with his fairies and the fact that he isn’t the only one person to need fairies.)

Boys Will Be Bugs - Cavetown

This song is about the toxic masculinity toward teenage boys that is portrayed in society. The singer recognises that he doesn’t fit in with this stereotype. He doesn’t wanna be mean and bully anyone; he just wants to play with bugs. (There are like two episodes where Timmy basically becomes trans. He’s bullied for being odd and dumb. Cosmo and Wanda are his bugs.) 

Unsweetened Lemonade - Amélie Farren

Self-destruction, bitterness, and the decay of love and relationships. The lyrics contain a mix of dark, metaphorical imagery and introspective reflections. (I can’t explain why this reminds me about Timmy. He gives the vibe of being a angry child who tries and tries to redeem himself, slowly giving up on trying at all)

Doctor - Jack Stauber’s Micropop

This song is about the importance of self-love and the healing power of acceptance and kindness. The lyrics suggest that love is the only medicine for whatever feelings of helplessness the singer is experiencing and encourages them to take 'three of these a day' - presumably referring to acts of kindness towards themselves. In the outro, the singer seems to recognize that the struggles they face may persist despite their efforts, expressing that they may become 'sick again', emphasizing the importance of repeating these self-care practices to ensure their wellbeing in the long run. (This is fucking Timmy when he finally loses his fairies. He’s alone, he’s got no one. There’s no one that understands him like his fairies. He’s ‘sick’ again.)

Good Kid - Chris McCarrell, The Lightning Thief company

The character, Percy, explains his story from his point of view of trying to do and be good yet it never being enough. Always trying to be a ‘good kid’ yet no one believes him when he says he can be better. (Timmy?? Every time he tries to help, to do good, it back fires. It’s like putting out the fire with water but someone swapped the water for gasoline.)

If ANYONE has any songs that fit timmy turner pls tell me I wanna make my playlist bigger :]

[shoezuki]

Tommy's prison/revival arc isnt well written actually

Anyways ive been wanting to talk on it a while for a bit here but havent had the Time or like. The thought to. But im gonna go off now.

First off im gonna say im ASSUMING this stream and plot of tommy being in the prison with dream is written entirely by tommy and dream. Wilbur May be involved in the latest stream but im not sure.

Bringing tommy back to life after only three days of him being dead did practically nothing to progress plot, the characters, or audience's understanding. In fact i feel that it damaged Other characters' potential and plot and already established plotlines.

The 'development' aspect

A really, really easy way to see if anything has changed or developed through an arc or plotline is to straightup just compare the 'beginning' to the 'end' in terms of the barebones situation. So;

Beginning: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream, his own abuser who has hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. He's terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

End: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream after being killed then revived by him, his own abuser whos hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. Hes terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

Okay. This is simplified obvious. But the point stands. ALTHOUGH the troupe of 'going back to the beginning' is common in the heroes journey its. It doesnt work here. Has tommy learned anything? Has he changed as a character? Is the severity of their situation any different? Have we, as the audience, learned anything new?

Im going to expand on that last point because i think it has the strongest potential argument. Technically for progression in literature and development of plot/characters, things can Change without them being Aware as characters. It can change just by the audience's perception changing or being challenge.

Slight example: i've been reading a webcomic called Your Throne. Its a fantasy/political drama about a noble lady who entered a competition with another noble lady to become the empress. The main lady lost despite her being a better fit, and the comic starts with the main lady trying to assassinate the empress. Its assumed and stated by the main lady that she 'ruined her life' and so thats all the readers know. However, later in the novel we see flashbacks to the competition itself and find that the two ladies were extremely close friends, neither wanting anything bad for the other, but it was the emperor himself who manipulated both of them for his own agenda. Those flashbacks gave us an entirely different idea of who the real antagonist is and completely changed the two main ladies' relationship. THAT is how the audience's understanding of the plot and novel can be used to change the entire story. We dont get such here though

Some things that were brought to light during tommy being dead/revived:

Dream is capable of reviving people infinitely

This was already implicated and assumed. The book dream has being a means of reviving people has been around Technically since schlatt's death. This just 'confirmed' what was known

Time works differently/feels longer in the afterlife

This doesnt really impact much beyond emotions and implications. If we had more insight into what the 'afterlife' is like beyond nothingness perhaps so. But really it just makes it so wilbur being dead for what feels like 9 years and tommy having been dead for 2 months appeal to emotions.

Wilbur is evil

This one fuckin sucks i cant lie HSKSHSISSGEGDV. Like i was gon go on bout it and i will but it jus sucks. We have nothing to go on besides tommy's word, no examlles of what Horrible things wilbur said could make tommy assume this, etcetc. Ill most likely make a seperate post on how this feels like we're just going to get 'wilbur is a horrible villain' type with him. But still. I feel wilbur Not Being Good isnt a new development.

Dream is going to revive wilbur

This doesnt feel new either, part because phil had wanted to revive wilbur before (ill get to that more later) and that tommy had kept dream alive/initially imprisoned him with the idea of him reviving wilbur.

Dream believes wilbur will break him out of prison

Okau this makes no sense to me actually. I cwnt understand How exactly wilbur would be able to do this? Or why dream believes he even Could? Mans been dead for like 9 years and all we Know of the afterlife is that its black... nothingness. How would 9 years of that make wilbur capable of busting the prison open?

So. Yeah. All in all this plotline hasnt done anything new, developed things, or altered people's perceptions. We just ended up back at square one. Back to tommy being traumatized, dream being 'evil' and horrible and doing villain monologues, and them being stuck together.

Other characters and plotlines

Im pretty damn sure tommy's revival fucked up a LOT of other characters' plotlines and potential development. Honestly i feel this has a lot to do with the writers not communicating with other ccs well enough. But Ill talk about specific characters from least to most fucked over in my opinion:

Sam

He's the best off. He hqd been there during tommy's death, had been close to tommy, had majorly blamed himself and his own mistakes for tommy's death. His grief and self hatred was actually really heartbreaking and well done. The attached character of Sam Nook being unaware of tommy's death and simply waiting for tommy to return was a really good parallel to sam's own grief and anger. like it really snapped sam the guy who cares for tommy and wants to do Right by him back together with him as the Warden of the prison. Mixed personal life with 'just business'.

I feel it wouldve been nice to have him like. Have more time to grieve properly and come to terms eith tommy's death and his own involvement/influence over the events. Him finding tommy alive again Could be a means of him like. Facing his own grief head on if done well.

Ranboo

Mostly in the context of him and sam's argument do i feel it got screwed over. The weight of them yelling at each other and trying to find who to blame and the implications that Maybe ranboo was the one who caused the security breach that closed down the prison on tommy just.... doesnt hit so hard anymore. Because how can there be blame and arguments and a 'who done it' mystery when tommy popped up all fine again?

Puffy

I dony know much of her involvement or how she found out tommy died (besides metagaming shhhhh) but i saw her monologuing of how they 'failed' tommy and like. Her whole 'he was so young we the Adults failed him' spiel is like........... inconsequential? Now??? Like no dont worry he died but hes alright now.

Philza

BET YOU DIDNY EXPECT TO SEE THIS FUCKER!!!!!! But actually though i want to talk bout how this ties into phil. A LOT. for Zalbr ❤. But also because i see ppl tying phil to tommy's death n like nah shutup u doin it wrong. Ill go off more in a Wilbur Post. But essentially: i dont like that dream is now going to revive wilbur. I feel they arent going to tie philza into this Despite phil having originally been trying to revive his son and studying on it and Attempting and Failing. But now suddenly dream can just. Say some magic words and Poof wilbur lives? So we're just going to Kill philza's revival attempts plotline and leave that hanging? This made his efforts seem pointless and Wack like oh why didnt you just Say The Magic Words phil????

Niki

I feel really bad for niki. She hasnt been able to do a lore stream during tommy's 'death' (she tweeted she wanted to but her computer wasnt working) and considering her entire character.... that shit is important. We seen it with Jack Manifold how tommy's death impacted Him considering he literally wanted tommy dead. And since niki is in a similar boat to jack of trying to kill tommy and it being her Only goal...... thats extremely important.

BUT. i feel there wasnt any communication. Did she or anyone even know tommy would be revived? Did no one consider they could At Least let her do a single stream on it? Like jack manifold????

We couldve gotten a Really good niki lore stream. I genuinely was so excited for it and i dont regularly watch her. But we seen it with jack manifold which is why i dont feel he got screwed because mans genuinely did So Good he could pop off with anything n i think it works in His favour. But now........ for niki. Canonically she never even knew tommy was Dead. So its like nothing even happened for her. Is she just supposed to continue on trying to kill tommy with no progression?

What i think would work

This is more me being like 'hey @ the dsmp writers let me in' type speculation sbosegussgs. But i was thinkin on a Really easy way to 'fix' this without rewriting lore and the streams.

Dream should kill tommy again now that he's been revived and Leave Him Dead.

More development for the characters who are affected by his death Especially niki. More time for grief and self reflection and development

A chance for the audience to figure out what the 'afterlife' really is.

Dream is supposed to be smart and a master manipulator or something right? Why doesnt he use being able to revive tommy as a bargaining chip with sam for his own freedom?

The audience would now Know dream's intentions with tommy better, that this death isnt 'final', but we could still see other characters' grief and reactions and coping without it feeling cheap. Ive seen some 'but people dont know tommy is alive so hes still dead in their mind' but that sucks imo.

We'd know more on dream's ability to revive people and that he can just Do It on a whim (which i think sucks but hey im trying) but no one else would know this canonically

Okay. Im done. If you read this. Thankyou. I love you. Hmu.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

selfish

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: allusions drug abuse, arguments, cursing, smut, angst, talk of depression

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: the aftermath of a break up

authors note: hello! okay, so, i just want to put a disclaimer about the way that i describe harry in this. i want to go on record, stating that this is purely a work of fiction. i don’t think this is how harry truly is as a person, nor does it reflect his views and actions toward mental illness. i am in no way romantisizing any behavior like this. also, this fic is kind of heavy, with depictions of depression (which are based on personal experiences; everyone deals with it differently) and angst so keep that in mind... i think that’s all! i hope you enjoy! thanks xx

—

The one thing Y/N is worried about is sleeping alone.

Coming back, after staying with her mother for two weeks, to find their once shared home completely stripped of anything to remind her of him is one thing, but the fact that she has to sleep in their bed, knowing full well he isn’t going to be coming in late after a long day at the studio, knowing that he isn’t going to be there to kiss that spot between her shoulder blades before he falls asleep, knowing that he isn’t going to be mumbling sweet nothings to her in the dead of night, knowing that he isn’t going to be there when she wakes up. He’s never going to be there again, not to hold, to kiss, or to make love to.

The thought of sleeping alone brings her close to breaking down and calling him.

But she can’t.

Isn’t it odd how, when you’re in the reflection period of the break up you focus mostly on the good parts of the relationship? Maybe it’s because you’re unconsciously trying to lift your spirits; perhaps it’s because your heart has been through a lot with a separation, and thinking of all the good memories is a coping mechanism, or maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that you made a mistake, even though you’re sure you didn’t.

Y/N doesn’t dwell too much on the months of loneliness she felt. She can’t seem to recall that she basically slept alone during the months leading up to their separation, with Harry staying out late, and even when they were in bed together, they slept on opposite sides, backs facing each other.

Instead, she remembers the nights where he was needy, desperate for any sort of contact with her, whining when she would move away in the slightest. She easily remembers the mornings where he snuggled close to her chest, his nose dangerously close to her cleavage and hands drifting across her skin. She remembers the beaming grin on his face when they woke up in a beach cabana in Jamaica, the sunlight seeping through the rippling blinds, the breeze warm and calm. She remembers the day she came back from a hard day at work, and he was there, with his arms open. That night, he wiped her stress-tears with his thumbs, and he told her that everything would be alright. She thinks about their first date, their first kiss, and so on.

Her heart wants to blame Harry for the downfall of their relationship. Surely, they would still be together if only he communicated more with her, if only he noticed anything. She could make millions of excuses. Her heart wants to blame him, but her head knows that they were both at fault.

They started distancing themselves after their three-year anniversary. It just sort of happened. They had been living together for a year. They had been way past the honeymoon stage, and they were comfortable with each other. They didn’t need to constantly talk or be close to one another anymore. This was normal for a three-year relationship; it was just a little slump, but as the months drew on, it got worse. They rarely talked; it was like living with family rather than a lover. He was distant, secretive almost. She knew that he wasn’t really hiding anything from her, he’d been cheated too many times to do the same to her, but it was as if he wasn’t comfortable being open with her anymore.

Slowly, Y/N felt herself falling into a hole that she didn’t know she could crawl out of. When she noticed herself withdrawing, it was with simple things, like not wanting to go out anymore, whereas that’s all he ever wanted to do, and then she barely had the energy to go to work, let alone out in public to socialize. She could always see the frustration in his eyes whenever she would tell him she would rather just stay in when he offered to take her out with him.

Soon, he just stopped asking.

He would come home late to find that she didn’t move at all, and he would crawl in bed, silence heavy between the two of them. Sometimes he would ask if she had eaten anything, and she would lie. He would be gone by the time she woke, busy with his high-demanding job before the sun even came up. She would find the bed empty and cold, and the day would start all over again.

The thing about Harry is that he doesn’t really understand what it feels like. He’s never had trouble with negative thoughts. He would never understand how much guilt she felt for not being the same person as she was when they met. He doesn’t know the sinking feeling in her stomach when he forgets to kiss her forehead in the morning, and how her mind runs wild with self-doubt. He’s never known how it feels to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.

He doesn’t know how much of a burden she feels like because she couldn’t seem to make him happy anymore or how much it breaks her heart to feel him slipping through her fingers, and she’s just stuck, frozen with fear and anxiety and dread, wondering what she’s doing wrong, but that’s the thing. She knows exactly why things aren’t as good as they used to be. She’s fully aware that if she just put in a little more effort, they could be happy again, but when it comes down to it, she can never find the energy to do it. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s so difficult to get past it.

Y/N went to her doctor before it got to the point of no return. She started taking her old medication, and she slowly felt like her old self again, getting out and appreciating things more and more. However, as she was starting to get back to her normal self, she noticed how much of a strain their relationship was in. She thought that if she got back to normal, everything would be fine. She tried her hardest to spend more time with him and get back to the way things were before, but he just pulled further and further away.

This was happening for months, but neither had the courage to say anything. Perhaps it was because they didn’t want to be alone. They didn’t want to go through the pain of a break up. They didn’t want to learn how to live without each other because they were together for three years. They were both so used to just having each other there that they didn’t want to consider the possibility of the other not being there.

When she finally admitted to herself that their relationship needed to end, it felt like a weight was put on her shoulders.

Despite everything, despite all the good memories, the time they spent together, and the warm love they once shared, the break up was for the best, really. At least, that’s what Y/N thought. Even though it was a long time coming, the break up was still less than amicable. Harry, on the other hand, was in denial, insisting they were fine. It was just a rough patch, and they could move past it; they had survived a lot worse.

She almost believed him.

But when she asked him to give her a reason to stay, to tell her to not give up on the past three years, he just looked at her with teary eyes, at a loss for words.

She wanted to hear him say, “I love you.”

If only he said those simple words, she would have stayed, and now, instead of being alone, wallowing in self-pity, and dreaming of what could have been, she would be with him, talking through their problems. He would promise to make more time for her, and she would tell him all about her poor state of mental health. He would apologize for putting her through any pain, for turning a blind eye when she was in need. She would beg him to forgive her for being less understanding, for jumping to conclusions and making decisions without communicating with him first. They would cry together, mourning the first chapter of their lives that was filled with domestic bliss and innocence, but they would also be filled with hope for the future and stronger than ever.

And maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

If only he said, “I love you.”

But he didn’t; his silence was answer enough. He couldn’t give her a reason to stay, so she didn’t. She nodded, tears finally spilling out.

“I’m—” Harry choked on his words, reaching helplessly for her. She hugged him one last time, cupping his cheek, and he dipped down, pressing their foreheads together. At this point, they were both exhausted. They fought, yelled, cursed each other, but when the dust finally settled, they were left devastated, left with absolutely nothing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, broken and defeated. He let out a breath, lips quivering.

She knew what he was going to say.

I’m sorry.

She understood; she really did. She knew how painful it was to face your problems and to find yourself just stuck, unable to do anything or say anything to right your wrong, but she can’t really blame him. When you fall out of love, there is just no changing that, and it was selfish of her to expect his feelings to go back to what they used to be. He isn’t accustomed to change, so she understood how difficult it was for him to let go, to just discard their relationship, and move on like nothing ever happened.

Even though she understood, she had to walk away.

What’s the point of loving someone who doesn’t love you back?

Before she left, he kissed her, maybe it was for old time’s sake or maybe it was his last ditch effort to convince her to stay, and she almost did. She almost broke down and collapsed into his arms, relieved to feel safe and loved once again.

But she couldn’t.

She left that night with the bags that she had packed over a month ago, and told him that she would be back in two weeks to, hopefully, find an empty house.

—

Harry doesn't quite remember how he ended up in the dingy bathroom of an underground bar in downtown L.A. with a girl between his legs.

Then again, he can’t remember much of anything nowadays.

The night, hell, the past two weeks, has been blurred with tears, flashing lights, and lots of drugs and tequila.

He doesn't know the girl’s name, how they met, or even what she looks like, but he can’t bring himself to care. He lazily pulls her hair up into his fist, the strands stringy and dull. His grip is loose, just enough to hold it together so it didn’t get in her eyes. He leans his head against the brick wall, his knees weak.

He loses himself, his drug addled mind wandering. The buzzing of the lights above the sink pairs well with the bass coming from outside. The brick walls of the bathroom are graffitied with luminescent paint, which glows painfully bright in the black light. The faces and letters melt off the walls, dripping onto the floor and leaving a puddle, but the original shapes still remain. The tattoos on his arms move and shift; some fall to the floor, slithering toward the puddle from the paint on the walls. He grins, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the cloud of euphoria grows stronger, numbing his fingers. He flexes them, nearly laughing aloud at the tickling feeling that spreads through them.

He hasn’t binged this much in years, and he can feel it.

When he and Y/N first started dating, he stopped. Not necessarily because she forced him or even told him to, but he just didn’t want to anymore. Then, they broke up, and Harry has never been good with coping.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

"Harry," the girl moans, pressing her lips to his hip bone. The unfamiliar voice knocks him out of his stupor, eyes flickering open to see the girl staring up at him, alluring and dazed. He swallows, blinking slowly to come back to reality. Y/N never called him that. It was always H or Haz, never Harry. He can’t seem to quell the dismay that settles in his stomach, wishing he could get lost in his head again.

Maybe this time, he’ll be able to see Y/N.

He blinks slowly, focusing on her touch on his abdomen. It tingles, like when your leg falls asleep, and spreads down to his feet. It’s almost painful.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

“C’mere, baby,” he slurs, tucking his thumb beneath her chin. She smiles, biting her lip gently. She hooks her fingers in the belt loops of his pants, and she stumbles when she stands, tripping over her high heels. He barely catches her before she could fall, fingers digging into her waist. She’s thin; he can feel the divots of her ribs as she breathes deeply. Y/N always felt soft and warm. He would kiss and massage the little pooch hanging off her stomach and hips. It was always something she felt insecure about, but he always tried his best to make sure she knew that he loved it. The girl nestles into his neck, kissing and biting at the skin.

“Such a nice cock,” she moans, stroking him slowly. “What can you do with it?” He grins, tracing his fingers over the side of her neck. She has a tattoo of a butterfly there, with fancy script looping all the way up to her ear. He can’t make out what it says. He licks his lips, baring his teeth as the tips of his fingers dig into her skin. Her heart races. He leans in close to her ear.

“Bend over f’me, lovie, by the sink.” The pet name slips out before he can stop it, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She smiles, smooth cheeks lifting with life beneath hollow eyes. Her makeup is flaking off. He thinks her eyes are bleeding for a second.

She leans against the sink, her back facing him, arching, compliant and vulnerable for him. Harry pulls one of her knees up onto the counter, the dark red dress bunching up to her hips. He traces the stitching of her leather dress, pulling her panties to the side. He traces the head of his cock over her slit.

“Fuck me, please,” she moans, her hips bucking against him. When he bottoms out, he closes his eyes, savoring the warmth swallowing him. He breathes out deeply as the room spins and closes his eyes, trying to focus on her tight walls, squeezing and milking him. When he feels stable again, he opens his eyes, bright colors flooding his vision. He thrusts his hips roughly against hers, and a groan bubbles in his chest.

The girl rests her cheek on her arms, glancing up at him with big eyes. They’re Y/N’s eyes, he realizes, filled with warmth and love and security. Y/N smiles from beneath him, teeth nibbling on her swollen lips, teasing him. Her nose crinkles suddenly as he hits that spot inside, and a gasp of pleasure slips through her lips, shallow and weak, breaking slightly at the end, but her serene features, content grin, and glimmering eyes show him nothing less than bliss.

It makes him falter, seeing Y/N for the first time in weeks. He’s barely been able to even think about her without breaking down, let alone look at pictures of her, so seeing her beneath him, panting and moaning like all those other times they made love, makes a sob grow in his chest. He leans closer, making her whine, and nestles his nose into her hair, grinding himself deeper into her. Her free hand moves to the back of his neck, fingers carding through his wet hair. He inhales her scent, an odd mix of vanilla and salt.

Her hand moves, trailing down to his on her hips, desperately clutching onto his fingers, their pinkies interlocking. That was something Y/N always did; somehow, she would always find a way to hold his hand. She told him that it kept her grounded, kept her from going off into a headspace, and reminded her that he was real.

That’s how he knows it’s her.

Tears burn his eyes, and his arm circles her middle, clutching onto any skin he can, eager to feel her. His fingers dig into her stomach, pressing until he can feel himself through her skin. A wave of relief washes through him, and he thinks he’s going to collapse, knees feeble. He rests his forehead against the crown of her head, and she turns slightly to kiss the curve of his jaw.

“Missed you so much, babylove,” he murmurs into her hair, the heat from his breath making her shiver.

“Faster,” she whimpers, backing into him. His fingers trace the skin of her neck, thumb and forefinger massaging just beneath her jawline. He can feel her heartbeat pick up.

“Feels so good, Y/N,” he moans, grinding his hips deeper into her. “D’ya like that, lovie? Such a dirty girl f’me.”

“Yes,” the girl whines, voice broken and weak. “Harry, ‘m gonna come.”

He blinks, once, twice, three times. There’s a ringing in his ears, muffling the sounds of her moans and the music thundering in the bar. He pushes himself from her and looks up, hands resting on the counter.

The mirror above him is grimy; despite that, he can still barely recognize the person staring back at him. Red blotchy rings paint the outside of his eyelids and beneath them are dark purple circles, stretching down to the tops of his cheekbones, making him look gaunt and hollow. His hair, greasy and tousled, slips down onto his forehead. Stubble coats his jaw and trails all the way down to the better part of his neck, which is marred with deep love bites.

Looking at the sorry state he’s in makes him nearly stumble back, but he feels his world stop for a second when he remembers that this girl isn’t Y/N.

That’s all it takes for his world to come crashing down.

”This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.”

Harry never really understood how easy it is to break something down after building it up so far. It takes just one drop of water to break a weak dam.

Like the dam, Harry’s walls came tumbling down.

The weight of the situation finally settles on him, and he feels like he can’t breathe. His chest tightens painfully as visions of the woman he loves pass before him. He remembers the first time he ever saw her, how she pulled him in with her smile, and when she spoke and laughed with him, he was a goner.

A coldness fills his veins, dread passing through him. He took her for granted, and he has to pay the price. He will never be with her ever again. He will never be able to hold her one last time. He isn’t going to marry her or grow old with her.

He lost the love of his life.

He just let her walk away.

“No, no, no,” he whispers, stumbling back to the opposite wall. His knees give out, and his back harshly hits the brick. He struggles to button his pants in front of this stranger, who is trying to also cover her modesty, tugging at her dress shakily. A sob wracks through him before he can stop. Clutching onto his mouth, he finally breaks. Guilt and pain sink into his stomach. His heart beats faster as he struggles to catch his breath, lips trembling. His nails dig into his arms as he cradles himself, knees tucked close to his chest. Blood drips through his fingers.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” The girl asks, kneeling in front of him. Her dress is pulled back down, but he can see remnants of himself on her skin, her thighs quivering and the skin of her neck wet from his kisses. Sweat on her hairline makes flyaways cling to her forehead. She wipes them away and reaches for his arm, eyes filled with concern.

He shakes his head and inches away from her, his shoulders digging deeper into the painted wall, all while pitifully wiping the wetness from his cheeks; his skin is dry though, no tears actually escaped. His heart races, feeling the pressure in his head build. All he wants to do is cry, but nothing will come out.

“I’m—” He begins, but the words get caught in his throat.

I’m sorry.

Memories of that night come crawling back, festering and pushing deeper into his mind until it feels like his head is going to burst. Y/N looked so sad, so weak, so empty. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes, once radiant and optimistic, were hollow, void of any light.

When Y/N asked him to give her a reason to stay, he had millions of them, but when he looked at her, beaten down and tired, he couldn’t say any of those things. He couldn’t say any of them. He couldn’t say how much he loved her, how he knew that she was going to be the woman he married, how much she meant to him, even if he hadn’t shown it as often. He wanted to tell her to not give up on them because he didn’t know what to do without her; she was his rock and his safety net.

He couldn’t say any reasons because he was just being selfish. When she was so clearly broken, nearly deteriorating before his very eyes, he couldn’t make her stay.

So he let her go. He let her walk away, and when he kissed her for the last time, he felt all the pain she did over the past few months. He hated the fact that he was the cause of it.

It was for the best, for her.

Then, why does it hurt so much?

—

By two in the morning, Y/N is no closer to falling asleep than she was hours ago.

She started in their bedroom, sinking into the down comforter that Harry insisted they get, even though it got too hot for her liking. Now, it’s always cold, no matter what she does.

What makes it worse is the fact that it doesn’t smell like him anymore. There was no warmth or comfort left in that bare room. She tosses and turns for hours, trying not to think of the memories the two shared in that room, trying not to think of the paintings that were no longer there, trying not to think of the fact that he’s not going to be there. It’s not just one thing that makes her miss him. It’s a bunch of little things, like how his shoes aren’t thrown about at the door, piling up until she trips on a pair. Hell, she almost started crying when she saw that there was only one toothbrush in the holder instead of two.

It was for the best.

Y/N moved to the couch at around midnight, but it didn't help either.

She has honestly given up on trying to sleep. With a mug of coffee in hand, she settles onto the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. She contemplates getting a cat. It’s an impulsive act, really, but anything is better than the loneliness. She knows that she won’t end up getting one, but it’s nice to think about coming home to someone who missed you. She knows that the heartache will pass, but for right now, she’s left with doubt and sorrow.

An infomercial plays in the background, lighting the room. It’s bright, but the burning behind her eyes is from exhaustion. Sleep refuses to take her, mind filled with thoughts of Harry.

It’ll get easier, she tells herself. Sure, it’s tough, now, but soon, she’ll be able to sleep on the couch without thinking of the times they spent bingeing shows. Then, she’ll be able to sleep in their bed and not think of him snuggling into her, nose pressed into her neck, or waking in the morning to find him between her legs, or even how Harry had the terrible habit of talking in his sleep. She’ll be able to shower without thinking of the times when Harry would accidentally turn the lights off. She’ll be able to cook in the kitchen and clean the house on Saturday mornings and lay in the hammock on the back porch without thinking of him.

It’ll get easier, but for now, it’s just painful.

Y/N sighs, resting her chin on the pillow, which she has gathered in her arms, bundled and clutched tightly to her chest. Her thumb mindlessly caresses the velvet as fatigue gets the better of her. Just as she’s nodding off, her phone rings.

—

part two

[doctoraliceharvey]

hey, could you write malice where matthew gets angry (not necessarily with her but in general) and how alice deals with this because it’s been implied before that she can’t deal with shouting?

uuuuh this got long, but I hope you enjoy it and I really enjoyed exploring this entire aspect of Matthew and Alice.

it's of a different fic (and felt like it took me forever to actually write it), but honestly the idea of actually exploring a little of WHY Matthew yells and how that could affect a potential relationship with Alice was too interesting to pass up. The working title of this fic was "Matthew Goes to Therapy" and honestly most characters on this show probably should, but I'm very proud of Matthew actually sitting down with his feelings and anger and dealing with them. Please enjoy! - Dee

tw: mentions of abuse

Flowers In The Darkest Part of My Mind

AO3 | FF.NET

-----

"What brought you here?"

Matthew sighed as he shifted on the couch; it was a comfortable couch and Matthew had gotten to know it over the past few weeks of coming to Dr. Graves, but at his question, suddenly Matthew felt like he had at the beginning: out of place.

"Matthew?"

Glancing over at the doctor - a tall, quiet man about Matthew's age with his dark grey hair starting to go white - Matthew sighed again.

"There was… an incident."

"What sort of incident?"

"One of the constables - a little green around the gills, no fault of his own - messed up on a case and it happened that I was… stressed out that day. I'd been stressed quite a bit before this incident, but this was the day it all just kind of… blew up. A… friend and colleague overheard the yelling and… she pulled away from me because of it. Alice… I won't say much because I also don't know much, but she… didn't have a happy childhood and I'd seen the way she was like when someone raised their voice or moved too quickly towards her."

"Ah," Dr. Graves nodded as he jotted down a few notes. "So, Alice pulled away?"

"Yes, she stopped coming by the house for dinner, stopped bantering with me at work, only doing the bare minimum in interacting with me or the police, so… after talking with Jean - who knows a lot more of Alice's past - I realized Alice was afraid of me… of my anger."

"And that's not something you want?"

Matthew shook his head, "I don't think it's something I've wanted for a long time. Besides scaring Alice, who's a close friend… I'm just tired of being so angry for so long. Angry at my father, angry at my past, angry at Lucien, angry at the higher ups, angry at the world… God, I'm just so tired."

"Hm, interesting."

He liked Dr. Graves; the psychologist never pushed and had a sort of eclectic way of looking at the world - it almost was like he'd found another "Alice" and found it easy to talk to the man, regardless if he'd been nervous at first.

The way Alice had looked at him after running into him in the hallway once he'd been through with carpeting the constable, the way her eyes were wide, scared, and how she'd stepped back from him - flinched, really - confused him; they'd gotten through so much and had started to fall back into the friendship both enjoyed prior to Lucien going missing, that her pulling back so suddenly frustrated him.

It wasn't until Alice didn't show up for dinner a few nights in a row, that he finally turned to Jean for her input.

"You remember the day you were reaming out the constable?" She'd asked him quietly as the tea steeped between them.

"I do."

"You weren't in the bullpen with us, but… Alice was shaking."

"Shaking?"

"Yes, she'd come by to drop off a report and was chatting with me and Peter when you started in; I nearly thought she would faint dead right then and there."

He couldn't picture Alice close to fainting, but Jean looked serious.

"She couldn't hide the way her hands shook or the paleness of her cheeks, so I told her to go outside for fresh air."

"I ran into her on her way out, and she flinched from me, Jean. She's… she's never done that before even before we really knew each other."

"But you don't know each other, not… I mean, you're close, but there's still so much you don't know about Alice and things she doesn't know about your past."

Matthew pulled at his hair as he ran a hand through it; letting out a frustrated sigh, he watched Jean pour them tea.

"What am I missing, Jean? I don't… I don't want it to be like this, I… I miss her."

Jean continued to pour the tea and fix their cups to their liking - staying quiet for a long time (and Jean could draw out her silences when she liked to) before she took a sip and sighed.

"I think… I think Alice was startled and got scared… by your anger, Matthew."

"My anger?"

"The yelling."

Scrubbing his face with his hand, Matthew frowned, "But… why?"

"That's probably for Alice to tell you, but… from what I can tell she didn't have an easy childhood. Lucien and Charlie once mentioned she'd told a suspect that she 'didn't need protecting since she was twelve years old'... I'll let you speculate as to why."

Matthew sighed, a tired, weary sigh, and leaned his head in his hand; he'd seen enough children abused by their parents to hazard a guess (hell, he'd been through some with his father), and the flinching, the startled, almost deer-in-headlights look Alice got when she'd overheard his yelling started to make a little more sense.

"Oh, Christ."

Jean hummed and pushed his tea towards him, "So… I suppose to fix this… you might need to do some thinking and reflecting."

At that he huffed a silent laugh, "Thinking never helped me get anywhere… just leads me in circles."

"Then maybe you need someone to help guide you… your brother-in-law works in the field of psychology, does he not?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I could tell him all about this… I know there are things that Vera never told him about our past and I don't want to drive a wedge between them. Vera's moved on as much as she could."

"Then see if he has a friend or colleague who might be open to new patients."

Matthew sighed again as Jean patted his hand and he stared off into space as he mechanically sipped at his tea - not really tasting it as Jean started on cleaning up the kitchen post-dinner. Would he really do this? Could he really do this? Go and talk to a stranger about… well, everything?

If he didn't, would he lose Alice?

And so, here he was, a few weeks later after a few days of self-reflection and knowing something needed to drastically change in order for his world to right itself; Matthew reached out to his brother-in-law, Daniel Anderson, and found someone to help him figure out where to go from there.

Doctor Maxwell Graves was certainly an interesting choice, but Matthew liked how he made him feel at ease even when asking deeply probing questions about his past, his father - everything, really. Through the psychologist, Matthew was able to take the demons of his past and shrink them down into more manageable battles; he gave Matthew new tools to work with - a journal, counting to himself when he found his anger rising, breathing exercises - and never judged Matthew if he fell a little behind or had to reschedule. The practice he ran with his wife - also a psychologist who tended to see the women of the practice, and specialized in victims of abuse - had become a place of comfort to Matthew in the weeks since his last outburst.

"Matthew?"

"Hm?" Matthew felt his cheeks grow warm, realizing he'd drifted off into his thoughts for far too long.

"What were you thinking of?"

"Just… just how much everything's gotten better since I started coming to see you, Doc."

At that, Dr. Graves smiled. "I'm glad to hear it, and I think that I've finally figured out the source of all of this."

"Really?" Matthew sat up slightly to make eye contact with the doctor. "What is it?"

"I don't think your anger is actually anger, I think it's grief."

"Grief?" That wasn't what Matthew was expecting to hear at all.

"Mm-hm," his psychologist nodded. "I think it's grief that you never let yourself feel; grief for your childhood, grief for your father, grief for your friend, Lucien. It comes out as anger, but I think you're lashing out from a place of sadness and hurt."

"I understand that part, but… I also get angry when things are unfair… is that also grief?"

"In a way, it's grief stemming from your immense capacity for empathy; you're sad - and angry - at the world because you genuinely wish it could be a better place and through all you've seen at work it feels like you haven't made a difference at all. You get stuck on all the things that haven't changed, all the good that hasn't been done instead of the good impact you've had, that it builds up and lashes out on unsuspecting constables."

Matthew chuckled, "I suppose that makes sense… does that change anything?"

"Not really," Dr. Graves smiled. "Same sort of coping mechanisms, but also allow yourself to feel everything… don't hold back if you need to grieve or cry or whatever when a case gets to you, or something happens in your life; and of course I'll be here for you to talk to - in person or over the phone if it's particularly bad."

"Hm…"

"I know it sounds very simple, and also goes against everything you've been told growing up about how to be a man, but allowing yourself to feel is a lot harder than it sounds. It takes quite a bit of bravery, but I assure you it'll be better for you, your emotions, and your relationships in the long run."

"I'll try, Doc."

Dr. Graves patted his shoulder, "That's all I ever ask, Matthew. Now, continue your journaling, work on the breathing exercises, and allow yourself to truly feel something this week besides frustration or anger."

Matthew snorted a laugh, but shook Dr. Graves' hand as he stood. "Thanks, Doc. I should get back to Ballarat."

"Have a safe trip, and, Matthew?"

"Yeah?"

"I would tell your Alice about all of this… it sounds like you really care for her and I think she should know the effort you've been making to deal with your anger."

Matthew nodded and headed out of Dr. Graves office with a lighter heart. It was still hard work to confront his past and unlearning old habits, but he deserved better.

(And so did everyone around him)

-----

Alice felt lost; this wasn't the first time (nor the last time), but this time she felt it much more keenly than before. It all started with a letter.

She didn't know how they'd found her; she'd left that life long ago - as well as her sister - and wanted nothing to do with her parents. Alice battled with the urge to read the letter or to simply throw it in the fireplace - the very sight of the return address bringing up memories that were never far from her nightmares. They affected her sleep, which affected how she came across to people, and Alice could tell Jean was starting to notice, when that fateful day in the station happened.

Her emotions were already holding on by a tightly wound string, and to hear Matthew yelling in that way had violently shook her to the core; his voice morphed into that of her father's - the letter still burning an image in her mind - and Alice tried to hide the way her knees suddenly grew weak and threatened to give out underneath her.

"Alice?"

"I'm fine," she'd tried to smile - to reassure both Jean and Peter.

"You're as white as a sheet, let's get you out for some air, hm?"

Flinching just a little away from her friend's grasp, Alice shook her head, "I… I can find it on my own, thank you."

All but running from the bullpen, and away from the questions that would arise if she stayed any longer, Alice gasped when she nearly ran into Matthew.

"Alice?" he reached for her and she flinched away - her mind not knowing the difference between him and her father, all it urged her to do was to get out of the building, to run to where it was safe.

'Matthew is safe though,' she tried to tell herself, but his sudden outburst of anger scared her.

Shaking her head with a faint apology and fighting tears, Alice tore out of the station and back to the hospital - trying to calm herself down in the process.

She knew Matthew got angry when things were unfair, and that he had to keep a strict hand on the station lest it got out of control, but… she'd never quite heard or seen him this way. He got short, yes, or abrupt, but not like this; the closest he'd come was when he'd snapped at Jean outside the morgue - she'd been more annoyed with his treatment of their mutual friend than scared, and still felt safe around him, knowing he was different than the men of her past.

But would he be safe now after this? Would he get angry again, and angry at her? Could she risk her heart like that?

Alice sighed and leaned back on her couch - no closer to answers than she had been weeks ago. Against her wants and wishes, Alice drew back from Matthew - not going around for dinner with him and Jean, no lingering conversations or looks in the morgue or station, and mainly going through the motions she had to for her job. It hurt; she missed Matthew, but she couldn't risk all the progress she'd made in her life to be around someone who got angry like that.

But has it really been progress? Has she really been getting over her past? Or was she still running from it like she had when twelve years old?

Eyeing the letter on her coffee table - still unopened - Alice felt so damn lost… and desperately wished someone was here to help guide her through it all.

The sound of her doorbell jarred Alice from her thoughts and she leapt to her feet - trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart as she wiped her sudden clammy palms on her robe and went to see who'd come around to her little bungalow. Peering through the peephole, Alice bit her lower lip when she saw Matthew standing there.

'Why is he here?' she thought, even as she slowly unlocked the door and peered out through a crack.

"Hi," he gave her a slight, nervous, smile. "Uh… I hear it's your birthday today, and I didn't want you to think I forgot."

Honestly she'd forgotten about her own birthday - most people did, at least until she'd come to Ballarat. The sight of the small bouquet of daisies (he'd remembered her preference for them over other more… obviously romantic flowers usually picked), and a gift bag in his hand nearly made her start crying.

"I, um, I understand if you don't want me to linger or come in, or even if you don't want to accept the gift, Alice," Matthew cleared his throat and continued. "But I want you to know… that I've been working on my anger, and the yelling, and the… overall grumpiness. That's… that's what I've been doing this past few weeks when you pulled back, and I don't blame you at all. I don't think I've been happy with myself for quite some time, and… well, I'm getting help - professional help - with all of it."

At that, Alice opened the door further and silently stepped up to Matthew; sliding her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face in the crook of his neck - smiling when she felt him hesitate before pulling her closer.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome."

Drawing back from the spontaneous hug, Alice wiped at the tears falling and waved him in.

"You're sure?"

Smiling at the way he shifted his weight like a schoolboy about to be scolded, Alice nodded; Matthew stepped into her home, watching her quietly as she closed the door behind him. Knotting her fingers in front of her, Alice shuffled nervously next to him.

"I… I've missed you," she admitted in the uneasy silence between them.

That got her a shy smile, "I missed you too."

"Tea?" She motioned further into her home and led him to the kitchen; it felt… right to have him here - sitting silently at her table as she bustled around readying a brew for two. Alice hadn't realized just how much she'd missed him until that moment; he had always made her feel comfortable (he shared a silence with her the same way Lucien always made her at ease by filling up the air with words and pulling her out of her shell).

"Still white with two?" she asked him.

"Yeah, you still take honey in yours?"

"Yeah," Alice smiled over her shoulder as the kettle boiled.

"Why honey?"

"It's what Mum had on hand most of the time… cheaper than sugar since one of our neighbors had a hive."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Oh, the other neighbors hated it, but since it was up on the roof, they couldn't complain much," Alice shrugged. "At least we got free honey."

Matthew's faint chuckle warmed her heart as she brought over the steaming cups; watching him blow gently on his before taking a sip and (predictably) burning his tongue a little, Alice smiled as the warmth in her chest rose - she'd missed him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why?"

"For… for pulling away."

"Don't be," Matthew reached out a hand and squeezed hers when she met him halfway. "Don't be, Alice. If you hadn't… I probably wouldn't have gone to get help."

"What do you mean?"

"I wondered why you pulled away, why you hadn't come by for dinner, and Jean finally sat me down and told me you'd gotten scared of my… yelling, my anger."

Alice squeezed his hand as he drew in a deep breath.

"And… as awful as it was not having you around, I'm grateful for it… it pushed me to get help and I can't express enough of how much better I feel for it. I'm… I'm sorry it took something like what happened in the bullpen to have me look for help, but…"

"You're still grateful for it, I understand."

"And… I want to tell you about why I tend to yell."

She could feel the way his hands started to shake in hers, and saw the nervous tick of him chewing on his inner lip; she'd never seen him this nervous, not even when he'd bucked up the courage to ask her out to dinner that first time.

(How she hated to have to let him down gently, as much as she wanted to finally go forward in their dance)

"Okay," Alice nodded. "Okay, yeah, do you want to stay here and tell me or move to somewhere more comfortable? How's your le-?"

"Alice, sweetheart," Matthew smiled, cutting off her concerned questions, and her stomach fluttered a little at the term of endearment.

"Anywhere is fine, I just… it's harder to talk about this than I thought, which is stupid because I just talked about it all with Dr. Graves."

"It's not stupid, it's not."

Matthew shifted in his seat and sighed, "It still feels stupid."

"It's not," she squeezed his hands. "I know how hard it can be to admit these things to people you care about because you don't want things to change… or how they view you to change. How about we move to the couch and maybe that'll help you figure out what you want to say?"

"Okay," he nodded.

Alice made new, fresh cups of tea for both of them as Matthew shuffled out of the kitchen to the couch; as she brought the mugs in, she saw him eyeing the letter still on her coffee table.

"Not a fan of opening your mail?"

"Not overly fond of mail from Sydney… I'll tell you after you get whatever it is off your chest, that's what you came for after all."

He nodded and smiled when she handed over the fresh cup of tea. It all came out - slowly, and frequently punctuated with long silences as Matthew worked out what he wanted to say; she had no idea what a brute his father had been, and how similar their childhoods were. Matthew's father was more emotionally distant - with somewhat violent drunken outbursts - and tended to gamble things and money away rather than beat the living daylights out of Matthew, and Alice wondered if it was because Matthew started fighting back once he got older and stronger than Alice had been - ultimately more of a coward than her own father.

Matthew's upbringing along with the bullying he'd faced at the hands of McAvoy (no wonder he'd been so stressed during the Ballarat West case) shed light on his overall grumpiness and anger - it had all been a wall, a way to separate himself from the world, from getting attached because his heart felt too much. Alice squeezed his hands - their tea cups abandoned on the table, cooled and forgotten - as he went into all that the doctor had told him about how his anger was actually his grief manifesting from a place of hurt.

"Now that you know, what is he having you do to help?"

"I have a journal," Matthew smiled - their joined hands on his good knee. "Dr. Graves has me write down something good each day - even if it's just as simple as 'I had a really good cup of tea', and that way I can look back on the week and see how much good really is in my life, so I don't lose focus of that when work gets to be a lot."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Me too," his smile widened and he wiped away the lingering tears he'd shed earlier; Alice leaned over and kissed his cheek as she hugged him.

"I'm so proud of you."

Matthew sniffled some - clearing his throat in a way that told Alice he was trying not to cry again - but he held tight to Alice and she felt her shoulder grow a little damp.

"I'm so proud of you," she told him again as he drew back to wipe his tears.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Alice felt her cheeks warm as he softly kissed one; Matthew smiled when she immediately reached for his hand while he took a little time to recover.

"Now, uh," he cleared his throat, "what about Sydney mail hits you the wrong way?"

"Where to start," she sighed, but with Matthew's hand tight around hers, she drew the strength to tell him of her past.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of the shining look in Matthew's eyes - not pitying like some had done - as he remained silent throughout her tale (exactly like she had in his - squeezing her hands reassuringly whenever her throat closed around her words), but she greatly appreciated finally telling someone the whole sad, sorry lot she'd received in life. Finally, Matthew would understand why she was so touch-averse from people she didn't trust. Finally, he'd understand why any type of raised voice could set her on edge. And finally, he'd understand why it took her so long to open up to anyone (and how Lucien had done that by simply accepting Alice for herself - no expectations, no restrictions, just pure acceptance of her as a doctor and her as a friend).

"Oh, Alice," he gently pulled her in for a hug. "I'm so sorry you ever had to go through that, and I'm proud of you."

Alice held on tight to him - taking comfort in his solid, steady warmth - and though the tears fell, she felt so relieved to finally get it out in the open; she was no longer running from her past - not quite confronting it, but willing to stop and walk with it instead of away from it.

"The yelling and the anger on my part… was that another reason you were so hesitant about… us?"

"I… I think so."

"Then I'm definitely glad I went and got help. I know, I know, I shouldn't want to change for the hope of a relationship, sweetheart, but I also wanted to change for myself and you're worth changing for."

Alice simply held him tighter - not knowing what to say, but it did give her a little bit of hope that maybe their dance could resume.

"So… are you worried that your parents have finally found you with this letter from Sydney?"

"Yeah," she wiped her eyes.

"Want me to open it for you and then you can read it?"

"Oh, would you? I-I don't know if I could ever buck up the courage to."

Matthew kissed her forehead and leaned forward to pick up the letter; the address of her parents' house glared up at Alice as she leaned her head on Matthew's shoulder - though she didn't recognize the handwriting. He gently ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter.

"Can…" she sighed when he held it out, "Can you read it? Out loud, please?"

"Yeah, I can," he kissed her forehead again.

"Dear Alice," the letter began, "I know this letter might come as a shock, or completely unwanted, but I hope you've decided to open it and find out. It took awhile to track you down, but Father's lawyer finally did, and I'm writing to tell you that Father is dead. Mum's still alive, and I'm taking care of her as she deals with both her grief and relief over the fact that she's out from under his abusive thumb. I'm also writing to tell you that I never hated you for leaving, my dear sister. You got out when you could, and I was thankfully shielded from Father's abuse by Mum, who didn't want to lose her other daughter. You made your choice to leave, and I made my choice to stay after I got older, and I just… I wanted you to know that both Mum and I worried after you. I hope you reach out to us again now that Father's gone, I'd love to introduce you to your niece - she reminds me so much of you every day. Yours, Peg."

"Oh…" Alice covered her mouth with her hand as she gently took the letter from Matthew's hand - more tears springing up in her eyes as she poured over the slanting handwriting of her baby sister - so very different from when they were young.

"Oh, Matthew…"

"Seems like good news, hm?"

"I… I don't know."

He kissed her temple as she stared at the letter, "Well… your father's dead, and it sounds like your sister and Mum miss you."

"What if it's a trick?"

"There's one way to find out," he pointed to the phone number written down at the bottom. "If it is a trick, you've still got me and Jean and the whole of Ballarat's police force to help protect you. We'll do whatever we need to do."

That did make her feel better; she had a family here in Ballarat - one unlike she'd ever had before, and she felt more confident that she could confront any negative consequences from reaching out to her family.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She nodded, "Okay. I want to call and find out."

"How about tomorrow, it's getting a little late."

Alice looked down at Matthew's watch and giggled at the late hour.

"Might have to sneak out of here, but first, you have a gift to open."

"I completely forgot."

"Sit tight, I'll get the gift," with another kiss to her forehead, Matthew got up with a slight groan and quickly retrieved the bag he'd brought in.

"Happy Birthday, Alice."

She peered into the bag and giggled at the familiar sight of Jean's biscuit tin. "Did you nick Jean's biscuits, my dear Matthew?"

"No!" He protested even as she laughed. "No, no, no, it was all that was on hand to hold your present. As if Jean would let me nick her tin anyways."

Alice continued to laugh and opened the tin - inhaling the scent of baked shortbread drizzled in chocolate; they weren't perfect, some of the pieces were a little wonky, but when she pulled one out to sample they were just as delicious as Jean's usual shortbread (and the added chocolate made her want to eat the entire tin in one go).

Matthew cleared his throat again, "Sorry some of them look weird, I'm not as skilled as Jean is in the kitchen - though she did hover over my shoulder while I made them."

"You made these?"

His cheeks turned pink (as did his ears), but he nodded, "I, uh, I wanted to give you something a little special, but not too over the top."

"It's perfect, Matthew," Alice leaned over and hugged him - the tin still in her hands as her friend laughed. "Thank you, I love it."

"Good," he kissed the top of her head as she lingered in his arms, "I'm glad."

"And I'm glad you've gotten help, and that you've trusted me with everything."

"Just as I am with you trusting me with your past."

She hummed a little happy hum before kissing Matthew's cheek as she drew back from the hug; he smiled at her - his hand coming up to trail over her cheek - it widened when she leaned into his touch.

"It's getting late," Matthew told her softly.

"It is… you'll come back tomorrow?"

"Yeah, or you could come over to the house - have some privacy in the studio before staying for dinner."

"Is this your way of asking me over for dinner?" She teased.

"Maybe," he kissed her cheek, "that and Jean also misses you coming by."

"Alright… provided we don't get called in on a Sunday, I'll drop by in the afternoon to make the call… you'll be there, right?"

"For as long as you want me to be, sweetheart."

"Good," she smiled and leaned in to press her lips softly against his. "Good."

Alice's smile widened when he stared at her for a moment before a wide, boyish grin spread across his face, and she giggled as he pulled her in for another kiss - the shortbread tin lifted from her hands to be placed on the coffee table as he kissed her again.

It was getting late, and Matthew probably should leave, but Alice mused (as they traded more kisses) that he wasn't leaving any time soon.

-----

"How have you been since our last meeting?" Dr. Graves asked him, and Matthew couldn't stop the goofy grin spreading across his face at the memory of kissing Alice the night of her birthday.

"Matthew?"

"Sorry, Doc," he cleared his throat, but the psychologist waved him off.

"It's good to see you so happy. What happened?"

"I, uh, I told Alice about everything."

"That's good," Dr. Graves smiled. "And?"

"And what?"

"What's causing the grin?"

Trying to bite back another grin - and failing - Matthew ducked his head.

"Ah, well… Alice and I have a date… after sharing a few kisses."

The answering smile from his psychologist made it feel even better.

"Good, very good."

[into-crazy]

More to the Madness Pt. 8

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You and J throw some knives after your sex sesh. With the night off, you engage in a twistingly fun time together.

Warnings- Cursing, self-conscious thoughts, brief harassment(not from you or J), violence, murder

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

Redressed in your red attire and shoes, you glanced at your discarded underwear. Torn completely to shreds. Collecting the fabric pieces, you couldn't help but giggle at the fact that you will now have to go commando the rest of the night. Which is quite comfortable. The only downside being you'll have no breast support. Poor girls. You stuck the futile garments into your boots. You'll dispose them later.

No traces left behind.

As for your bodily fluids in the mattress, grimy as it sounds, you have no choice but to risk leaving them to dry up and hopefully be forgotten with the building. Not like you have a sponge and a bucket of bleach on hand. You excused yourself from the bedroom to freshen up in the bathroom. Luckily the water that still ran in the desolate complex was clean. Actually, you're just lucky there's running water to begin with.

Enclosed in the private enclosure, you quietly observe your post sex state. Facial features blotched out with various colors, much like a paint bomb went off in your face. Murky water fell into the sink when you rinsed your face clean. There was no hope for your tangled hair, you redid the buns best as you could. You weren't sure how long you stood staring at your reflection in silence.

Mere seconds, a few minutes..

Solidarity time to process what happened. Try and calm those bothersome questions running rampant through your head. It wasn't until you heard the hasty knock at the door.

"Hope you're not up to anything sketchy in there." Joker's voice came from the other side, an obvious hint of annoyance in his tone.

You blink back into reality. That's when panic set in. Shit, oh shit! Your makeup is in your car. What are you supposed to put on to cover your face? "N-no," you give a half-assed answer. There's a shuffling noise then the door's barged open.

"Then what's the hold u-" J's words were abruptly cut off at the sight of your face, "-p." Utterly uncovered to him, for the very first time. His eyes scan every single feature, as if he were burning you deep into his memory. He's fully gathered, with a fresh coat of greasepaint. Which no doubt he slathered over the last layer.

You had no choice but to stare back, wide eyed and waiting. Why is he looking at me like that? Is he repulsed, disappointed?

Shooting his glance to meet yours, he smiles before finally speaking. "What's with the ah, shocked expression doll?"

You struggle finding the right response, "I, uh, I don't have any makeup on me." Turning away to peer disapprovingly at your reflection.

J huffs, "you don't need it." He leans against the door frame, closely watching you through the mirror.

Shaking your head, you scoff, "believe me, I really do." It was in the way you said it that made him figure you weren't only referring to confining your identity. Purposely avoiding his gaze. The distaste in how you're looking at yourself, almost embarrassed of your appearance.

Sure. When you're wearing the disguise, you feel like the sexiest, most confident woman alive. Because everything which defines your face, is hidden. Take that off, remove the cover, and all the insecurities flood in. Pinpointing each and every detail to find a flaw in. No matter the times you were told differently. By that sweet old woman at the entrance of your complex who calls you a "beautiful young girl." Or when random citizens heartily complimented your smile. Though it was appreciated, you just couldn't see what they apparently seen.

Joker couldn't grasp the way you viewed yourself. Staring with strong resentment and disgust. And you didn't have to say what you thought- he saw it through you. It didn't make sense to him, he's the one with the scars. The permanent mangled marks embedded in his flesh- protruding from his face, visible even under layers of paint. Yet, not once have you looked at him the way you are right now towards your own reflection. He sees no reason for it, he doesn't like it, and he wants it to stop. Right now.

"Y/n," he sighs heavily, stepping into the small space. The use of your name getting you to turn and meet him as he props both hands on the counter either side of you. "And you should listen to me when I say You. Don't. Need. It." He sternly punctuates every word. "Anyone ah, thinks otherwise can deal with me."

Alas, you manage a half smile, "I think otherwise."

"Well bunny, I guess you'll have to ah, take it up with me. Besides, no one else is gonna have the luxury of seeing my dolls pretty face tonight. Just me." His tongue grazes his lips with the statement. Which earned a genuine laugh from you. No other words needed to be said on the matter, your eyes spoke gratitude for you.

Thanks J.

With that, he left you to finish up. To him, it was becoming awkward, since he's not one for emotional stuff. He thinks it's pointless, there's no room for any of that in his world. He hardly(HUGE emphasize on the hardly) ever addresses his own. Therefore he didn't know how to help you cope with yours. He tried to the best of his abilities, despite how uncomfortable it might have been. Nevertheless, you were grateful.

Joker took the liberty of plucking your harness off the floor. Intending to hand it to you when you came out the bathroom. But instead stopped to marvel at the few selected weapons secured on the piece. He was especially intrigued by the throwing knives. Pulling a blade from it's secure compartment, his gloved fingers traced the smooth finish on both the blade and handle. Crossing your arms, you watch as he examines the item.

"These are something," he notes tussling the blade in his hand, "little small, but they have weight. I adore a girl with ah, unique tastes.. how come I never see ya use 'em?"

Dropping your arms, you sneer, "one, I haven't gotten around to it." Reaching out, you pluck it from his grasp. Positioning it between your thumb and middle finger, index grazing the back. "And secondly," you turn in a stance to throw, flashing him a cheeky glance, "you never ask." With a quick motion, you whip your arm towards the wall releasing the knife. The force sending the blade to pierce into the drywall. A good ole classic no-spin.

He cocks a brow at you, "not bad doll. Not bad." You reach into the next compartment for the other. Since the blades are on the heavier side, you only carry two on you. Which is really all you ever need. Lose or break one, you have replacements. Flipping it over, you wave the handle out for J to attempt.

"Your turn."

"Me?" He staggers, palming his chest in a dramatic manner. You nod, further beckoning the blade, trading it for the harness he still held. He squints at the diminishing look on your face. As though you're eagerly waiting for him to throw a bad toss. "Y'know," he acknowledges, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were ah, underestimating my knife throwing abilities."

"What?" You scoff, a playful expression spreading your cheeks, "what makes you think that? I didn't even say anything." Oh, how true was he. Falsely deny it all you want, you're certain he read it just by the indication across your face. Yeah, he's good with his knives, but how is he when it comes to throwing these bad boys?

Joker let out a sharp sigh, "ya didn't have to say it. Doesn't take much to throw a knife." In a lightning fast action, he launches the segment at the same surface. The sight of the blade actually gouged into the wall struck wonder in you. "Although, we could both agree that some skill would be quite beneficial." There goes that cocky grin again.

"Alright, that was good," you credit him, advancing to collect the pieces. Yanking them from the spots they landed. "Though moving targets are trickier," you tease passing him a second throw, "shame we don't have any of those around." You launch another flawless toss, reveling in the satisfactory form of it sticking into the old apartment wall.

Joker let out a breathy chuckle, "who says we don't," he hurls the blade, it lands inches shy of yours, "how about we go out and fetch us a couple?" A mischievous gleam in his blackened eyes as his tongue grazed past his lips.

You shake your head nonchalantly at his offer, which he was seriously considering. Pity the poor saps who'd fall into that category. "Tempting as that sounds," you return, "wouldn't you prefer letting me in on the next move?" Referring to the upcoming step in his plan, walking to collect for another toss. This time, it required extra effort to extract the blades you nearly flung yourself backwards. Cringing as your still sore from your previous activity.

"Later," J speaks before your throw, which wounds a slightly louder thud. "It can wait, the next job isn't til tomorrow. So we uh, got the rest a the night off." He chucks the blade using an underhand throw, it sticks the mark. Now, he's just showing off. No biggie. You've got a couple tricks up your sleeve.

"Oh do we?" You question as you recollect, "what did you have in mind?" There was a printed copy of a Harvey Dent propaganda poster taped on the wall to the side. A picture of Dent's face with the virtuous "I BELIEVE IN HARVEY DENT" slogan big and bold across the bottom. You tore the flyer from it's place, instead placing it in use as a target.

"Well," J states, "before you came in, I was in the process of ah, relocating." He launches the blade, it lands centimeters from the edge of the paper. Letting out a dissatisfied grunt upon missing the mark.

You hum, "Yeah, I seen that. Anything that involves getting some fresh air, I'm game. Because it's really hot in here." Fanning your warmed cheeks and neck with your free hand.

"Then," he replies, "take your shot so we can go." Motioning his hand impatiently for you to throw a toss.

You flash him a coy smirk, positioning the knife where the blade is between your fingers. Handle pointed away from your frame. A quick flick, you hurl the blade. Sticking the target, the blade piercing the eye of the man on the paper. The strike surprising even you.

"Hm," J sneers, "lucky shot." The low growl a clear indication he's irritated you struck it before he did.

"Yeah," you humbly gloat, a bounce in your shoulders, "was aiming for the neck or chest area, but I'll settle for that one."

~~

To Joker's dismay, his crew failed to leave him a vehicle. So you insisted on taking your car since it was parked only a block away. You left him to finish gathering what he's bringing to the new hideout.

You'll admit, you were a bit wary on letting Joker into your car. Partly because he's not exactly a neat person, nor careful to say the least. In addition, he's bound to draw attention in some sort of way. In the loud and chaotic manner that he can. And you're not in the mood to be chased by Gotham P.D. or the Batman tonight. To say your concern grew when you brought the car around, and he carelessly tossed three large duffel bags into the trunk. Two of which containing nothing but vast weapons, ammo, and explosives.

In the car, you wait. Fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. Scanning the area to make sure no one caught either of you or identifies your vehicle.

J was quick with it, slamming the trunk to walk over to the driver's side where you sat. Knocking twice on the window to get your attention. You roll the window down a crack, and he tries the handle. It's locked. He tries again, "Let me drive, I wanna drive."

Shaking your head, you huff, "nu-uh, not a chance. I'm driving."

His gaze narrows as he leans in to speak through the small opening, "I know where the location is." Spoken on the verge of threatening. Like if you don't open that door and comply, you'll pay for it.

"The point of me driving is so that we don't draw attention," you explain.

He waves a finger at you, "fair point."

Joker didn't give you an exact address. He gave directions as you drove, telling you which streets to take and where to turn. This frustrated you because he mistakenly led you down the wrong street at least three times.

"Take a right here.. wait, that was uh, you were actually supposed to turn left."

You sigh, "seriously J?"

Reclining back in his seat, he grins slyly, "had you just let me drive, we wouldn't ah, have this issue." The little shit. Surely this is his way of punishing you for not letting him drive.

Apparently nothing in your car was off limits to him. The components of your glove compartment and console- he messily rummaged through them out of curiosity. He found the black eye shadow and lipstick you use. "So this is what you use for your eyes." He laughs waving the cosmetic in your view, "Hey ah, quick question, you didn't get your inspiration from me did ya?" He motions at the black paint around his eyes.

"No, I did not," you acknowledge, "before we even met I considered wearing an eye mask, but I decided makeup's more fitting. It actually allows me to see."

The street you were currently traveling was eerily quiet. Passing through the sketchier parts of the city, it's to be expected at this late hour. Only sellers and prostitutes occupying the corners. The few that there are anyways, they're in for a long night.

Coming up on a red light, your vehicle slows to a halt. J turns to glance at you, "ya could've ran that."

"Would've, could've, should've," you roll your eyes, "but I didn't."

He nudges your arm, "geez doll, lighten up. I know we're uh, layin' low and all. But have a little fun." Casually listing out, "run a red light, go thirty over the speed limit, hit a pedestrian, something."

See, THIS is why you're behind the wheel.

You were about to respond when a vehicle pulls up by your side. The light is still red, therefore it wasn't suspicious. Joker leaned back, obscuring behind the barrier of your seat to examine the car. You also turn to take a look. Three guys inside- windows rolled down, speakers blasting a tune. Appears they're out for a cruise, possibly up to no good.

Wandering eyes peek into your car and land right on you. You heard their voices as they talk obnoxiously amongst each other, a bottle in each their hands. They're drinking.. great.

"There's a chick in there!"

"Is there?"

"Yeah, yeah, there is!"

Your fingers grip the steering wheel in dread with what's coming next. Though nervous, you keep your cool, you've dealt with it plenty of times before. Just face forward and ignore them, they'll lose interest.

"Hey mami, how's it going?" A man calls. Another whistles at you like one would a dog, "look over here baby!"

You continue to stare forward, you're not concerned about them. The only thing worrying you to the max is having it happen with J sitting beside you. His jaw clenches and his hands ball into tight fists. So hard you could hear the pained squelching from the leather of his gloves. Growing angrier by the second, he reaches into his trench, pulling out his glock.

He goes for the door handle to get out. But your quick hand on his thigh stops him. As he looked back at you, you caught his blistering fury, ready to snap. You whisper, "no J- please- it'll draw attention."

He contemplated between staying in and getting out to handle the situation. His hand on the verge of opening the door as the men continue on catcalling. Words slurred from the alcohol in their systems.

This is the longest red light ever. Turn green dammit! You thought. Since they wouldn't get the hint, you retort to flipping them off. A clearer answer- I'm not interested, leave me alone. That only seemed to spur them on even more.

The man sitting shotgun shouts, "aye, come on baby. Don't be like that." The one in the back blurts, "Yeah, don't be a stuck up bitch! The three of us could give you a good night fuck." He then launches a beer bottle at the floor by your door, the glass shattering, a few shards scraping your car. They retort to laughing amid their own stupidity, going completely over the edge. You were nice enough to let it slide once, had they just stopped. However they chose not to, crossing the line into harassment.

Putting the car in park, you look at J. He's not going to let that slide, and neither are you. Pulling your gun from your thigh, you flash him a smile, "okay, I'm ready for that fun now." In return he grins back, wide and Cheshire-like, knowing exactly what you meant. Forget being subtle, you're gonna correct these disrespectful assholes- together. With a flick, the windows on your side of the car roll down.

Whistling and cheering, the men take it that you're giving in. You smirk darkly at them, cocking your head to the side. How wrong they were. You lean back in your seat, revealing J's presence next to you. If you could pinpoint the exact moment their souls left their bodies, you'd get it spot on. Eyes widening in fear as they see the Joker, you both holding the same spine-chilling expression. Confusion and panic wash over them.

"Ah shit! Hey man, that's the Joker!"

"The fuck is he doing with her!?"

Before they had time to react, you push your seat far back to aim your gun out the back window. J pointed his out the front above you. Savoring the sheer regret in their faces. A couple clicks are heard in the muted air, then you light up the car. The deafening gunshots ringing the street, echoing down the block.

When their movements stopped, you threw your shift back in drive. Flooring it the hell out of there before anybody could make you. Not to mention, the light was still red. The twisted mix of your shared laughter the last thing heard on the street as you drive away.

"Pull over," J instructs once you're a far enough distance from the scene. You comply, swiftly parking by the curb. Heated blood still rushing through your bodies, he grabs your face and kisses you greedily. You grab his wrists, kissing him back. It wasn't until you both needed air when you pulled way, staying close in your embrace.

The light from the lamp posts glows into the dimly lit space. Granting him the bewitching sight of his red spread across your lips panting against his own. It looks good on you. In fact, it'd probably please him if you'd sport his paint remains on your gorgeous lips. Perhaps maybe a lip shade identical to his, because red suits you perfectly. Especially his. He hums as the thought crosses his mind.

"You're mine." He breathes heavily on your lips, thumb swiping your flushed cheek. You trace his wrists in unspoken agreement. "Now scooch over hm, it's ah, my turn to drive." This time you didn't protest. When he got out and walked to the driver's side, you went over the middle counsel to plop onto the passenger seat.

It didn't take long to reach the destination. Within minutes, you arrived. To an enormous warehouse on the outskirts of the city. There are plenty warehouses that harbor the area. Many which currently remain in use, and some that are abandoned. The depot Joker, along with his crew, moved into was definitely one of the relinquished buildings. At least until now.

He parked a good distance from the entrance to the warehouse. Neither exiting the car just yet. "Did you ah," J starts, "did ya wanna come inside? I'll give ya a grand tour."

You take a moment to contemplate. "No, it's late. I better head home. Rest and come back for tomorrow's job- I mean if that's okay with you."

"Geez doll," he scoffs, "it's not like I gotta leash on ya- though we could uh, arrange that for another time if you're into it." His tongue clicking at the suggestive statement. "No- no, I won't hold ya. Ya wanna go home, go. Get some shut eye and be here early."

Joker grabs his bags from your truck while you take your place back in the drivers seat. Arms propped on the frame, you watch him drag the duffels onto the sidewalk near you. Chin lazily resting atop your arms.

"Now I better not find any trackers in my car." You jokingly mock.

"I look like the Bat to ya?" He throws back sarcastically, "don't push your luck sweetheart, you just keep givin' me great ideas."

"Some of which I might consider letting you take me up on." You can do this all night, the playful banter. Constant back and forth with snarky remarks. It's a strong, lively connection thriving between you two that somehow works. You like to poke him, he likes to poke back- harder. And vice versa. It never gets old. Alas, your body is exhausted and in need of sleep. It's quite noticeable, he can read the exhaustion on you. You smile warmly him, "night J."

Spoken so soft and calm, you're unsure whether he heard it or not. He did. Two light taps from his hand on the car's door proved to be. Thus ended your time together, and he stood there to watch your tail lights fade into the darkness before he finally deemed necessary to go about his own way inside the warehouse.

Man, what a night.

End of part 8. I hope this part wasn't too boring. I needed a good break from the smut- having written AND read😅 Anyways there's more to come!

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Do you think Sugimoto will get any significant character development? He's my favorite character and I worry that he'll be stuck in the same place as he always has been by the end of the series.

To be honest...

I’m also among the many people who hope Sugimoto will change and who worried a lot when The report of the Golden Kamuy staff talk event 19 April 2019 came out.

That’s because in it “Noda-sensei told Geno Studio that Sugimoto was already a completed character, so they didn’t need to think too much about his growth.”

On Discord we’ve been worrying a lot if this means that Sugimoto won’t get character growth, or psychological healing or whatever.

As we don’t have the exact Japanese sentence we can’t know if it can be subjected to nuances or interpretations so we’re only left with the translation which might not be litteral.

Long story short, the translation isn’t really reassuring.

So I’ve been trying to see how other characters develop, to get some sort of reference for Sugimoto.

From what I can see it’s not like Sugimoto or the others never changed but Noda actually went at it in a much more realistic way than many other stories do.

There are assorted types of changes in a character behaviour in Golden Kamuy.

The easier to spot are the ones caused by trauma and they’re often the most drastic type.

Almost everyone in this story has a trauma that changed him or her.

Even in the last chapter we saw how Ueji transitioned from a normal kid who wasn’t good at school or particularly social and liked to play with his dog whom he deeply loved but was also hurt by his relatives pressures to the man covered in tattoos who enjoy disappointing others and who murder kids after torturing them and buries them in his garden.

The pressure, coped with the trauma of the loss of his dog, whom he believed to have been murdered by his father due to Ueji shattered him and turned him into a different person.

There are however also changes in behaviour that are spurred by facts that aren’t that terrible in nature but are actually caused by positive experiences.

Koito discovers his father actually loves for him and this pushes him to realize his own worth. He likely stopped thinking he had to die heroically to gain value in his father’s eyes or that his father would have preferred for him to die instead of his brother, and starts devoting all his efforts in the Army Academy instead than in the Naval one.

There are changes caused by the relations that the characters form.

Shiraishi originally was a selfish person who prioritized himself... however he slowly developed tight bonds with Sugimoto, Asirpa and Kiro. Even through he used to insist people have to escape alone, when he believed remaining with Kiro was dangerous he wanted to escape WITH HER and remained with her when she refused to escape. While he shrugged Kumagishi’s death off and the same is true for Nihei or Henmi, with whom he seemed to have good relations, he cried for Kiro and buried him on his own despite always attempting to skirt hard labour before.

There are changes caused by a growing awareness of the situation or, more simply, by learning something.

The story starts with Asirpa sure that she doesn’t need the gold nor does the Ainu so she can let Sugimoto first and then Shiraishi also have it all. Then Kiroranke teaches her of the situation of minorities and she realizes the gold could become a powerful toll to use to help her own people.

Koito also worshipped Tsurumi at the start of the story and pleasing him was all he cared about but then he learns Tsurumi deceived him and his father and loses that blind worship. He still trusts him but no more blindly, he wants to be sure what Tsurumi pursues would sit well with him also.

There are changes merely caused by... well, growing.

Cikapasi at first tails after Tanigaki and Inkarmat mostly because he hoped they would become his new parents. We see the way he interacts with them, he’s very much the child he is, playing and asking for money to buy sweets and depending on them to solve situation. During the travel to Karafuto he takes a more proactive role, protecting Enonoka from the wolverine, helping her to retrieve the dog, taking part to the circus act and so on until he manages to let go of Tanigaki and Inkarmat and decides to stop where he thinks he belongs. While he still has a long way to go, he has grown a lot from where he started.

Note that, except when trauma is involved, those growths don’t turn a person into another overnight but it’s a slow growing process (and even when trauma is involved they still have a transtioning time).

So, Sugimoto and his possible growth.

We know that in his past he did some changing due to trauma, one time when his family got sick and consequently died and his own village ostracized him and another when he went to war.

Even though we don’t know much about Sugimoto prior to all this, it’s clear pre-war Sugimoto is someone who likely never killed a soul and wouldn’t have been capable to think ‘I’ll kill and skin 24 convicts to get money’.

This however is the past and I’d like to think he won’t receive further traumas.

Sugimoto is an adult, so he clearly won’t get a growth caused by merely growing as, although he might underwent some more.... let’s call it tuning, most of his personality and mindset are already well shaped.

It can be that’s this what Noda means when he says he’s a complete character.

In fact Sugimoto's behaviour has changed due to relations.

When the story started he was okay with involving Asirpa, a child, in a bloody gold hunt. When he grew fond of her he tried to keep her out of it, first leaving her behind then trying to entrust her to Tsurumi.

We saw that he wasn’t really paniched about her when Tamai and Co hunted him even though Tanigaki went after her. He even paused to watch the scene and talk a little with the cub bear. Compare this to how nowadays, as soon as he’s parted from her and the situation is somewhat dangerous, he run after her screaming ‘Asirpa-san’.

But on the other side it’s possible Noda doesn’t see this as ‘personal growth’. Sugimoto might have been a person who would always react this way for the people he really cares a lot.

So what changed isn’t Sugi, it’s just his relationship with Asirpa.

What we see now when he interact with her isn’t a Sugimoto different from the start of the story, it’s just a Sugimoto who acts accoding to the deep caring he had developed. If Umeko had been there at the start of the story, we would have seen him acting with her the same he does with Asirpa.

Sugimoto’s behaviour has changed also due to awareness of the situation.

When he was told Kiro has betrayed him, he switched by being on friendly terms with him from deciding to murder him.

When Hijikata revealed his plans for the Republic of Ezo he went from desperately wanting to murder him to grudgingly accepting to cooperate with him.

But again, this is not personal change, it is adapting to the situation.

We also saw how, when he got lost, he knew what to do in order to survive out there in the wilderness because... he had learnt it from Asirpa.

So again, although he acted differently, he wasn’t a different person, just someone who knew what to do.

What I think many people would want through, is for Sugimoto to either psychologically heal or try to fix some of his character flaws.

Now... I expect Golden Kamuy to cover 28 volumes and we’re at around the ending of vol 26 so there might be not much time for Sugimoto to do either.

However I like to think there could be the possibility that Sugimoto will, at least, gain an awareness of his own problems, along with the will to try to fix them or improve himself.

This would be a giant size step for him and one that could bring him to evolve, to improve himself.

There’s who managed to get awareness of his own problems, like Inkarmat who got aware of how ‘obsessed’ she was with Wilk and unable to let him go (even though in Abashiri she still was unable to move on... but whatever, now she’s with Tanigaki and she can try doing so one step at time).

Shiraishi might have realized his goal of living life as it came, merely enjoying it, was a bit shallow and might aim for something more fulfilling.

Koito too decided in life he had to adopt an approach who was less ‘accepting blindly��� and more ‘making sure things were right’. Koito is trying to be less prejudiced and blind in his views (through Koito’s change was prompted by various things combined together an not just by self reflection).

As for Sugimoto, I think the character flaw he should correct is his overconfidence in his own opinion. Suzukawa too pointed out how when Sugimoto gets persuaded of something he brushed away everything else.

This often leads him to make mistakes.

If he could learn to reconsider his opinion or ask for other people’s input instead than just taking a decision on his own and take everything inside himself, I think for him things could improve.

He could learn for a start that the ones who love him don’t think he’s doomed to hell because he killed people in war, that they would accept him anyway, that they would go to hell with him... but also how if no one does something it’ll be impossible for Asirpa to keep her lifestyle so just telling her to turn her gaze away and go on with her life doesn’t help.

At least that’s what I hope for him.

But for now we can only wait and hope as the final part of the story unfold.

Thank you for your ask!

[caduceusil]

❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope .

loud & deafening silence | N O T  A C C E P T I N G @gerichteter

tw: blood, implied self harm, drunk sex

the blood seeping from the tip of her fingertip, beading like a little rivulet - it reminded her of so many terrible days, too many to count. it healed almost as quickly as it came, preceded by her dropping the little pin she’d used to poke every fingertip. she laughed softly, a clipped wing of a noise. it aroused a resting giant above her, one that absently, gently pushed her shoulder with a half untied boot. that shallow bell ringing continued as she pulled herself up to sit, mussy white hair brushing her cheeks.

how common would these nights become, drenched in a creature comfort that couldn’t kill them, no matter how much the thought crossed drunken minds? the state of her small quarters would be a problem for tomorrow, for splitting headaches, dry mouths and shaking hands. in the present, she had found her final prey, a martini glass with some indistinct red liquid inside; more importantly, a cherry. innocently, she placed the soft flesh of the fruit on her tongue, expecting saccharine memories of childhood, but receiving only the bitterness, the burn of some spirit. she swallowed it regardless. she pressed the metal skewer down on her tongue, tasting iron and salt and heat.

oh, how’d she’d become an angry ghost, trying to finish some unfinished business in this world she’d been given 13 years to destroy. hadn’t she been chosen to heal, to save? hadn’t she once taken care of those 7 souls? tears welled in her eyes for the fourth, fifth time —

An ocean, Edeline, give me a fucking ocean.

she turned her head, still knelt upon the ground, uniform jacket untied, revealing gossamer fabric below, the result of poor planning and rushed dress. those round drops fell on sunken cheeks. oh, but she was no pouting child. the nurse stood to her feet, feeling the force of vertigo trying to press her into the floor. she fought like hell against gravity, feeling it twine with the curse to pull her bones apart piece by piece. any bruises on her legs faded, and she finally stood tall, manila coat hanging on a thin frame over a white silk dress, dripped in red.

“Haven’t I given enough, Bertholdt?” the acid made her want to retch, disgusted at her own syllables. blue gaze bore down through the man sitting in the rocking chair they used to fall asleep in. she had no more tears left to cry, not now. even as he stood, even as his voice raised, cracked, she stood in his shadow, cast by one oil lamp. she spat her own words, cursing the world they had been stuck in, all slurred in together with his - it was not the ocean that had been asked for, rather a puddle of broken hopes. “I - I’m sorry, Bertholdt, I didn’t — “

it happened all at once.

hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt,

                broad palms on her shoulders,

                               the heat of an alcoholic kiss.

though they were both soldiers, under so much pressure, she chose not to fight. she didn’t need to. she was not afraid, this was no act of war, it was an internal coup, fighting within themselves, the action just externalised. she has no ability to comprehend such minutia in this moment. catharsis could come from heat and fire, couldn’t it?

his hands were instruments of toiling pleasure. as they stumbled into the wall, they found their sudden way under her dress. no movements were planned, not even her own. slurred touches, those that ran over milky skin, handled soft mounds in calloused fingers. the shape of his jaw was traced, thumb pressed up against the beating artery just beneath it, a beautiful, useless threat.

he was a streak of onyx hair and forested eyes. back arched and palms pushed up against the wall as she felt fingertips on her stomach, curled down into soft cream fabric. the offending piece of clothing soon clung to her ankles, kicked away by unsteady feet. knees buckled slightly when those same long digits found their way inside. she moved her hands into his hair, pulling him down into another kiss to swallow up the moans echoing from her lips. there was already an implicit acceptance, a vow, that this would stay between their bodies only.

Paradis has warped them into cracked reflections of themselves, drew awful words from every pair of lips that could still open to speak. she’d had made it out easy, hadn’t she? said her apologies and gone back to pretending? their pain came in different shades, mixed together in the moment to create a horrific canvas, eldritch in its inability to be read clearly. in other ways, their love was a simple one, a knot in a string held at either end, meant to support them as they were forced to learn further, further, further back. how close was it to snapping? or — would someone let go?

it was a wonder how they were both standing, given their states. he tasted like cigarettes and brandy, fire and earth. soft locks of white hair fell into her ruby tinged face as she writhed, cursing that she was already so wet on his fingers. her own pulled out what was left of the knot in his tie, doing her best in between drunken waves through her vision and trembling digits to undo buttons. he burned, touches made to firm muscle fluttering as if to not singe off fingerprints — eventually, she began to crave the warmth, palms pressed and ridden up his back to pull him close. if he melted her down to a puddle of wax, she wouldn’t fight it.

whole moments disappeared, like a burnt roll of film. desperate fingers tugged at clothing that felt like shackled bonds, hushed swears and names slurring into one another. this was an act to be finished, a play only for the actors themselves. a strangled sigh echoed above her as a palm pressed against tented fabric. with some effort, she undid his belt, the force of pulling down on the zipper gave her legs all the reason to obey gravity. she sunk down to her knees, bitten lips and the blade of her tongue meeting velvet skin, enveloping for a few seconds filled with aching groans.

fingers in her hair tightened enough to tilt her head up, eye contact an inevitability she cursed. oh, how his gaze had changed, not just in this moment, but ever since he’d returned. she no longer tried to make it revert back to soft glances and excited shine, there would always be a backdrop of pain. let him have his pain, don’t paper over it. the grip made her obey a silent reminder of the purpose of their entangling. standing took work, but as soon as she felt that heat she’d felt on her tongue push inside, there was an instant urge to fall back down, keep falling.

his hands took hold over her hips, pulling them forward, leaving her shoulders and upstretched arms to support her rather than trembling thighs. his name poured out into palms hastily made into a muzzle — pace arrhythmic and rushed, she had already begun to unravel, eyes rolling back in her head. everything was too much.

eventually, they were forced to give in, falling into the bed and back into one another. nails turned talons dug into hot skin, steam rising from blood drawn. kisses were purely excuses to keep eyes shut, to place bruises that would disappear into the ether. neither would last long, not burning the wick this quickly. no, both were melting fast, pooling into the pits of their stomachs and threatening to spill over. he was consumed first, followed by her downfall not far behind, lost to the wave of heat that rolled over them, through them like molten earth. fingers paused before they reached flush cheeks or sweat drenched hair. loving caresses had no place here.

and as soon as it had come, it was gone.

the alcohol pulled itself back up, into the sink or into the garbage, burning like the acid that had been spoken into existence earlier in the night. aching, she rested her head on the cold floor, but only for a short time. she washed her mouth out with brandy ( to taste him again was not her aim, but it was a consequence ) and filled a cup with ice water. her lips didn’t touch the glass, feet carrying her to the bathroom. she placed it on the sink, blue gaze lingering on his form, folded just like she had been beside the bed. fingertips brushed his shoulder, enough to elicit a soft mutter — a reminder she would be nearby with no further invitation.

find us, he’d called. she had, too late.

[ittakesrain]

Psycho Education

Psycho Education: Things I Learned in the Psychiatric Hospital

I knew I needed to be hospitalized. I’ve known that for a while. Hell, I tried to get myself into a hospital prior to this, because I was desperate for some relief, and nothing happened. I guess it all accumulated for the past year or so, though. I went to my psychiatrist for a normal appointment on February 10th, and she sent me to the ER like, immediately. She actually called them and told them I’d be coming (I felt like such a VIP: very important psycho). My boyfriend left work early and picked me up and we went. And thus began an interesting journey where I learned a bunch of things that I’m going to explain in a vaguely chronological but unimportant order. This doesn’t include everything, and I have so many more thoughts that I’m dying to get onto a page, but I think it’s important that my first post is positive and talks about the last month as a learning experience.

I was in the ER for a day and a half. It was an overwhelming experience. I was crying a lot, and I just wanted to lay there on the gurney under the sheets and be “alone.” But I was on Constant Observation (since I was suicidal) and had someone watching me at all times. And apparently I couldn’t go completely under the covers because they had to see that I wasn’t killing myself under there. So I was basically inconsolable.

I hated the guy watching me, at first. He would ask questions and I’d try to answer, but I’d just start crying at the fact that I didn’t think he understood what I was actually experiencing. How much pain I was in. Like…was he belittling me? I couldn’t tell.

I came around to him eventually. I don’t know when, exactly. Maybe after he went on his break. The nurse manager watched me while he was gone, and she was really nice. We talked a little bit, and maybe that little bit where I was broken out of my shell helped me not feel so upset with Charles who had to sit there and stare at me. Not that he was creepy; he wasn’t. He was cool. It was just a hard situation, and I was emotional and all over the place. I realized that seeking comfort is okay and even brave at times, but at the end of the day, when no one else can do it you have to do it yourself. I was lying there, tossing and turning, my mind racing, all of my painfully confused…and I had to just calm myself down. I’m not saying I was successful at that (I wasn’t). But the lesson stuck with me. I asked for help, and I’m proud that I did. But I also learned that I can’t get help with everything. I can’t have someone help me control my emotions, it doesn’t work that way.

Charles and I eventually got into conversation, and he imparted a gem of wisdom that totally relates and that I wrote down as soon as I had a notebook in which to do so: no one can swim for you and no one can breathe for you. I couldn’t tell you what the hell we were talking about (I’m assuming it was the impending hospitalization ahead of me), but it’s true. The coming weeks were something I was gonna have to face on my own.

Yeah, definitely true. Although once I got to the psych hospital, I wasn’t completely on my own. I made friends almost immediately (once I stopped crying, showered for the first time in three days, and actually consumed some sort of food). I guess there’s nothing quite like being locked up together to bring about friendships. It also probably helps that we were all in a similar place mentally and emotionally. We related to one another. We grew into a weird little dysfunctional family.

And dysfunctional we indeed were. Lock a bunch of crazies up together and shit DOES get intense. I realized pretty early on that sometimes it’s best to just walk away. Walk away from a fight or confrontation, walk away from a trigger. Hell, sometimes you even need to walk away from someone crying who just needs to cry. I loved when the other patients there calmed me down as I was crying. A fist-bump and a sneaky hug go a long way (we weren’t technically allowed to touch each other). But there were moments I just needed to cry. And I saw the same being true of other people.

We were a unique bunch.  It became increasingly clear to me why you should never judge anyone without talking to them first. Like, everyone has their own shit. You literally never know someone’s story without asking them. And human beings are interesting, so ask! Listen to everyone’s story and learn from them, because my god is there so much to learn. Not to mention that people are all complicated, with or without mental illness. We’re all just different. It’s fascinating.

I sat down next to the schizophrenic who needed to be restrained and sedated the day before and actually talked to him. I was happy I did because he’s got a lot of wisdom inside of him next to all his fear. We sat there on the floor outside the med window after each taking our cocktail of pills, and started talking. The day after that was not one of my better ones. And he was the one to sit down next to me. “Hey,” he said. “Put out your hands like this.” I wiped my tears and looked up at him. I held out my hands in front of me. “Do you see them?” he asked, to which I responded with a tentative ‘yes.’ “See? You’re here, you’re safe, you’re okay.” I used that technique to ground myself a few more times after that.

I can’t talk about lessons learned in the psych hospital without mentioning how I learned to be thankful in a simple but grand way. I vowed that when I got out I’d stop taking day to day conveniences for granted. My phone and my laptop are wonderful tools I have, and I’ll never again forget how fucking cool they are. I was, however, already thankful for the support I am lucky enough to have. Every morning we had a “community meeting” where we told everyone how we were feeling, what our goal was for the day, and who our support was. I never once forgot how special the people around me are that they love and support me as much as they do.

Then there’s the lesson I’m continually re-learning: let it go. I really tried to tone down my reactions to minor little things while I was there. Like, I put serious effort into it. There were a few instances in the beginning when I was uhh…using humor as a coping mechanism, and it wasn’t received well by some of the staff. So I was told to stop. Which, okay, that’s fine, right? It is, and looking back I realize it right away now. But my general response is to feel stupid and dumb and dwell on the situation for far too long and then feel stupid again and just continue on and on. But I’m actually damn proud of how I let it go because I literally forgot about how angry I was at that staff member until just now. We turned out to be chill with each other anyway, and I’m glad we turned out that way because I feel happy to have known the guy. But yeah, I’m giving myself major props for that one, and I’m gonna remember this exact paragraph next time I go to overthink about something like that. I also want to phrase it differently, in case I didn’t make my point as effectively as I wanted to: don’t worry so much about what’s going on in other people’s heads, because you don’t have to live there.

As I got more stable (I’m gonna write a whole post about how that was able to happen to begin with, because holy shit was it a process), I started to get the itch to get the fuck out of there. I wanted to go home. I was naturally going stir-crazy, as you can imagine would happen after being cooped up for over two weeks, and I was even getting anxious wondering when they were gonna release me. I was tentatively scheduled to be discharged Tuesday the 25th, but on morning on the day before, I’d just about lost my mind wondering if that date was still set. The weekends went slow there, and no doctors or social workers were there, so I was left hanging and wondering. Anyway, as I was freaking out, another patient pulled me aside and told me that in his struggle with drugs, whenever he told himself “just don’t do drugs” every day, he’d inevitably wind up doing them. But “when I told myself I was gonna get up, go for a run, make breakfast, and so on, guess what I did?” I stared at him for a second. “I’m gonna go home tomorrow,” I told him, and he smiled and nodded. The moral of the story, I guess, is either that you attract what you think about, or that it’s easy to spot what you’re always thinking about. And it turns out I did go home the next day!

As I was getting ready to be discharged, I started to reflect back. I’d filled an entire marble notebook with thoughts and feelings, but there was still a lot I wanted to think about. Still a lot I had to think about. I said to the counselors and my social worker that even though I’d done so much work and self-reflection, I knew I still had a lot more work to do once I left. And oh boy is there still a lot of work to do haha. Self-discovery is a never-ending process. I think I used to let that overwhelm me, but honestly? It isn’t such a scary thing. Life is a never-ending process. Self-discovery is just a way of life.

And finally, because I actually do feel hopeful that I’ll succeed in my quest to be the best version of me: remember to have hope.

[enneagramspam]

SAMANTHA BARNES

9w8

“I didn’t know what it would be like…. Caring about people. People who are alive. How wonderful and terrifying it all is. I didn’t know that my actions could have consequences because they never did before. Not since…well. I never had an effect on the world around me. And I got used to that. But that hasn’t been true for a while now…” 

Sam is introduced in The Bright Sessions as so deeply disintegrated, she appears very much like a Six- incredibly anxious, obsessed with anticipating and managing possible threats, so desperate to avoid conflicts- internal and external- that she self-isolates to the point that she rarely leaves the house and has no social relationships to speak of. As an unhealthy Nine, she struggles with asserting herself and has difficulties with change that result in an inertia that pervades every aspect of her life, despite, as Dr Bright puts it, a great desire to find “order in the chaos,” and to create lasting peace of mind for herself and her loved ones. While as the series progresses, she goes on to confront her basic fears and move in the direction of her basic desires, proceeding generally towards integration, the stressors she faces contribute to disintegrated behaviour displayed even late into the series. 

Basic Desire: To have inner stability "peace of mind"

“I have an Olympic gold medal in shutting myself off from the world.”

Like many Nines, Sam is often extremely conflict averse. Indeed, she’s introduced as diffident and eager to please;

“I’m Sam, Samantha, my name is Samantha Barnes but you can call me Sam. Or Samantha. Either one is fine, whatever you’re comfortable with. It’s your office.”

Sam’s tendency to self-isolate is not only a result of her fear of loss, but a result of that desire for “peace of mind,”- Sam’s anxiety disorder is severe enough to be triggered by mundane things, and she finds herself “nervous” about day-to-day activities including “grocery shopping,” and “talking to people,”- so she does what so many Nines do, and turns to avoidance as much as possible. For instance, she mentions no longer being able to attend the cinema because the darkness and noise is triggering, and only makes microwave meals in case she time-travels while using the stove and burns her house down. Even her time-travel itself, as much stress as it causes her, is a manifestation of her desire for stability, and dictated by her inner landscape;

Dr Bright: “I think the [time travel is] your body’s way of trying to calm down during a panic attack. When you’re in emotional or physical turmoil, your body transports you to a different place that it deems safe. As if it's choosing flight over fight…”

Sam: “So I’m basically just always trying to find calm.”

It’s important to note that at first, Sam enjoys her “visits,” to different time periods as welcome escapes from the stresses of her everyday life. This atypical coping mechanism is comparable to the fantasies and daydreams real life Nines will often retreat into. 

However, somewhat unusually for a Nine, Sam is well aware of her state of inertia from the start of the story and she repeatedly expresses a desire to break out of it;

“I’m tired of waiting

I’m tired of hiding

I’m tired of wanting,”

Her way of living, fine-tuned as it is to avoid conflict wherever possible, becomes in and of itself a source of internal conflict in an unhappy, self-perpetuating cycle;

“When I [time travel], I’m nowhere. I’m invisible. I’m no one. And it’s not better here [in the present], where I have no life, no friends. I don’t exist anywhere! I’m so scared of everything and I’m starting. To lose. My mind!”

It’s Sam’s desire for genuine internal stability that necessitates that she abandon her dependence on avoidance and self-isolation. Nines are often described as being “asleep,” both to their true nature and the world around them. Apart from comparing living her life to “sleepwalking,” this pervasive numbness is something Sam struggles with- her lifestyle leaves her feeling like “[her] brain [isn’t] being fully used.” While she was aware of it, it took meeting Mark, whom she describes as her “catalyst,” to change her behaviour and mindset.

“Working with Joan, and meeting you, and saving you it- it woke me up. It gave me a purpose…”

“I think somewhere amongst all the tragedy, and the panic, and the loneliness, I forgot how to be a person. Or, at least, the person I can be. And now I feel like I’m waking up for the first time in a decade.”

 It takes a glimpse of that reflection of her self-imprisonment in Mark, confined against his will, (“I know what that’s like - to be trapped like that,”) to prompt the realisation that the only way out is through, and spur her into action in efforts to achieve peace in the long term for the pair of them;

“I’ve spent my whole life afraid, it’s nothing new. I’m not going to walk away. Even before talking to him, I could have never lived with myself if I let someone rot in the past like that. Now that I have talked to him, well, I want to get him out as much as you do.”

Coming to terms with her own agency is a frightening process for her, as she herself admits;

Sam: “Whatever I am, I think what’s important is that I finally have options.” 

Chloe: “And that’s terrifying on its own.”

Sam: “Right. “

Chloe: “But it’s not terrifying in the same way as before.”

Sam: “No.”

It invites conflict in a way that undermines her inner stability, but, crucially, she begins to recognise that standing still has done the same. Compounded with the other stresses she faces throughout the series, Sam is left between a rock and a hard place, due to the conflict that arises when, to achieve her basic desire, she must confront her basic fear;

“I’m- I'm just stuck. But I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to move forward with you but I have no idea how. So I just keep pretending. I keep pretending that I know what I’m doing, that I’m confident in my decisions, that I know how to help…. I’m just- I'm not sure I’ve ever been this lost.”

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

“I’ve been sleepwalking through my life - just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to get stuck, or to hurt someone again, or for someone to find out about me and lock me up and experiment on me- god, I'm sorry.”

After the loss of her parents, Sam approaches her life in terms of mitigating the risks of potential personal losses. Consumed by this worry, she begins the series afraid to form attachments at all, living in fear of the possible impact of her uncontrollable time-travelling episodes, concerned that they could drive others away or bring harm to them.

Dr. Bright: “And no one has even seen this happen?”

Sam: “Um, I just tend to avoid…um. People.”

As time-travelling causes her to disappear without warning, they are by their nature a sort of forcible, unpredictable separation, and as such, force her to live with the threat of her basic fear constantly;

“I’m terrified all the time. When I’m not actively disappearing I’m worried about disappearing. I’m worried about, about being caught, about hurting someone, about not coming back.”

The death of her parents-  the result of a car accident when she vanishes from the driver’s seat- is what causes Sam’s basic fear to become entangled with her time-travelling to begin with, causing her to live in a state of extreme anxiety, functioning much of the time more like an unhealthy Six than a Nine. Even after her parents’ deaths, much of Sam’s life is dictated by a fear of losing her memories of, and feelings of closeness to, her late parents- a fear, by own admission, of a further loss, despite the fact that she has already “lost,” them in the physical sense;

 “Don’t you get it? I can’t lose them again. I owe it to them to remember.”

Ultimately, this fear leads Sam to shape her life around remaining close to them, which further perpetuates her own isolation;

“I’m just a ghost, haunting this city, moving their things from house to house like some sort of shrine. That’s— I know. I know how bad that is. I’ve been living with the dead for so long - in my house, in the past, in my own head...”

The idea of moving away from the area where they raised her is anxiety-inducing enough to send her into a panic attack. This fear of change pervades other relationships in Sam’s life as well; while visiting Mark, still, trapped in the past, she neglects to tell him that she is working on a solution with his sister ostensibly because of the potential conflict and complications to their relationship that conversation might involve; 

Chloe: “I get it. You don’t want to burst the little bubble you guys are in.”

Sam: “Yeah. I’ve vaguely mentioned that I’m looking into solutions. But I haven’t wanted to make it seem too real, yet. I’ll tell him once we get it all figured out. Once we feel as confident as we can that it’ll work. I just, I don’t want to make promises to him I can’t keep. I don’t think I could stand to disappoint him.”

This is one of the earlier instances of Sam deliberately sweeping problems under the rug to avoid the potential turmoil and loss of relationship conflict, a pattern which continues particularly as her Eight wing starts to become more pronounced.

When Sam does find new relationships, much of her energy becomes invested towards trying to ensure she won’t lose the comfort they introduce to her life and the people she cares for- her relationship with Mark is arguably largely defined by her desire not to lose him; 

“I’m scared for you. I just want to keep you safe.”

Her nightmares reflect these fears- in Episode 50: Rose, she has a dream during which she- quite literally- loses Mark in their new home, and suffers a panic attack upon being unable to find him and she goes on to express a belief that losing him is in fact, an inevitability;

“He’s just like everyone else,

He’ll soon be in your past,” 

Though he makes her “want to believe,” she describes this as a “want to be foolish”- her experiences have led her to believe the idea of keeping Mark is an unattainable dream- more of an expectation than a fear. The dread that comes with this supposed inevitably remains intense late into the series, and contributes to the breakdown of their relationship;

 “I love you and it’s…it's like having a stomach ache all the time. And I keep doing things to try and make it less painful and none of it works. Because you’re you and I’m me and our lives are just filled with uncertainty and danger.”

The potential loss is all she can focus on- to the point that she loses the peace and stability being with Mark previously brought her- being in love with him is “a stomach ache,”- in this state of disintegration, Sam’s basic fears are so overpowering that her basic desires are completely out of her reach. To avoid this situation precisely, Sam, who understands that life is inherently rife with both internal and external conflict, tries to acknowledge and accept her fears;

“Dr. Bright and I have spent a lot of time talking about acceptance. She’s told me that, even if I do get my ability totally under control, I might still have the occasional panic attack and leave without meaning to. And that I should try to accept that. Life is going to be stressful. Bad things are going to happen. It’s about how you respond that matters and that’s- that's what I’m trying to figure out.”

But this still isn’t something she has fully come to terms with by the end of The Bright Sessions, leading her to make mistakes in her desperation to control her circumstances and hold onto that which she fears to lose.

Disintegration to Six:

“It’s about survival, Sam // Never let down your guard,”

As aforementioned, Sam spends much of her life seriously disintegrated, and isolating herself out of fear. Dr. Bright describes the Sam she first meets as “malleable and desperate,” lacking “trust in herself,”- the caricature of an unhealthy Six. Gripped by an anxiety disorder, threat-obsessed, and in dire need of support, latching onto Dr. Bright even as she maintains a deep suspicion of her, Sam has all the hallmarks. Beginning to establish supportive relationships, her anxious tendencies do lessen a bit- but they are so familiar and habitual to her that she practically defines herself by them. It even becomes something of a running joke between her and Mark;

“You know, you can take the cape off for a day, Anxiety Girl. The world is not going to crumble around you ... No, no, it’s alright. You’re always preparing for the worst, I get it.”

 Her desire to protect is something that ties into her Eight wing (see below) but her constant vigilance and her distrust towards authorities such as the A.M. which underpin this desire are an unsurprising symptom of her disintegration, as is the ‘us vs. them,’ viewpoint and perception of constant danger- though, admittedly, it’s somewhat justified given her circumstances.

Sam: “You’re asking me to retreat. I’ve done that too many times before—”

Mark: “Retreat? It's not a war, Sam—”

Sam: “It kind of is. And I have a family to protect—”

Integration to Three: 

“I do want to do something with my life. Something productive, worthwhile.”

During The Bright Sessions, Sam doesn’t have much opportunity to demonstrate how she would look when integrated. By the end of the series, she still reacts with knee-jerk worry in the face of potential conflict; 

Dr. Bright: “Is that a slight against my scotch supply?”

Sam: “No, no, god— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  

But by no means is she quite as averse to it as she was to begin with; 

Sam: “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Sam begins to show tendencies of the healthy Three, becoming more self-developing and energetic, when she finds a project- namely, the improvement of the A.M.- to which she can lend her expertise and strengths. Early in the series, she describes herself as being tired of adventures- but newly ambitious, she begins to take a different tune;

 Dr. Bright: “Do you think you’re ready? For another new adventure?”

Sam: “Yeah, I think I am.”

  w8:

“Imagine what I could do if I was trying, if I had full control.” 

At the start of the series, Sam feels completely out of control, like any unhealthy Eight- she views herself as at the mercy of her time travel and her anxiety disorder. In this desperate situation, her self-isolation is an effort at maintaining control in the only way that she believes she can. Dr. Bright recognises this desire for control, and appeals to it when trying to convince her to harness her powers.

“You can learn to control it.” 

And as the series draws on, Sam becomes very occupied the idea (“I want to take control,”) and her Eight-wing becomes more and more apparent. When she gains some control over her ability, she soon becomes frustrated that she can’t have complete control over it- this is something she has to “try to accept.” This desire for perfect control after dealing with a complete lack of it for years might seem counterintuitive, or even ungrateful, but it demonstrates the importance of control as a motivator for Sam, and more critically, her fundamental discomfort confronting a lack of it. 

Like many Nines, Sam is initially out of touch with her anger, to the point that it’s something she jokes about;

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Well, you know, if I had enemies, that is.”

But when given proper incentive, she begins to exhibit the “intense eruption[s] of anger,” common to Nines who typically default to repressing it, and especially to Nines with an Eight wing- as when she punches Damien after he abducts Mark, surprising herself and those around her. In comparison with Nines, Eights are typically far more familiar with their tempers, and nothing is as likely to provoke them as the feeling that they (or their loved ones) are being manipulated or controlled against their will. Sam repeatedly lashes out in reaction to precisely this fear- early on in the series when she feels “manipulated,” by Dr. Bright, for example, and towards anyone who contributed to confining or controlling Mark (Dr. Bright again during Zero Hour, and Agent Green when he starts to “check up on” her.) 

Also like a typical Eight, Sam shows repeated reluctance when it comes to expressing vulnerability- she has issues talking openly with Mark and while she initially describes his respect for her privacy to Chloe as one of the reasons why she likes him, her self-described habit of “keeping [him] at arm’s length,” becomes a problem when they enter a genuine relationship, contributing to the communication issues between the pair of them; 

“I love you so much. Do you know that? No, I mean, how could you, it’s not like I’ve ever told you.”

More importantly, Sam’s desire and subsequent efforts to maintain control over her newly dangerous environment eventually lead her to go, in her own words, “full tilt control freak.” Enneagram Institute describes this as a need “to keep the environment, and especially other people, from hurting them and those they care about,” all the while cloaked “in a layer of emotional armor.” Sam likens herself repeatedly to Mark’s “knight in shining armor,”- at first seemingly jokingly, but it’s a role she takes to heart- usually revisited when she perceives that she has failed to keep him safe- and eventually she extends the metaphor to include “dragon[s]”- the potential dangers posed by the various people threatening Mark’s safety;

Mark: “You were still my knight in shining armor. You saved me from the dragon.”

Sam: “But what if there are other dragons? I don’t know how to fight every kind of dragon, you know? If I don’t know what kind of fire they breathe or how resistant you are to that fire—”

Mark: “This metaphor is getting away from you, babe—”

Sam: “I need to know how to keep you safe. And I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable - I know there are things that you don’t want to talk about and I respect that but-”

It’s the unfortunate combination of her desire to maintain control as a result of her Eight wing, and her tendencies away from interpersonal conflict and vulnerability as a Nine with an Eight wing specifically, that lead her to violate Mark’s privacy in the manner that she does- time travelling into the past to observe his personal traumas at the AM and contacting Damien, both without his consent or knowledge, rather than confronting him directly. She does come to realise that she’s becoming an embodiment of exactly that which she fears, undermining the autonomy of those she loves, and hurting them in the process;

Sam: “This isn’t— I’m not this person. I don’t want to be this person.”

Damien: “And what person is that?”

Sam: “The kind that tries to make decisions for other people. I can’t do this.”

Returning, even, to the armor metaphor, realising at last the fundamental flaw in her approach;

“I’ve just been grasping at anything that I could use as armor even if it meant leaving somebody else defenseless.”

“I don’t want to lose him but, even more than that, I don’t want to hurt him.”

What this fear of and desire for control betrays is an unusually well developed Eight-wing, most likely forged in the crucible of what Dr. Bright describes as “loss, and wars, and repeated physical traumas in the form of time manipulation,”- the absence of safety that builds an Eight. It is this same set of experiences and traits that lends Sam genuine strength and willpower that allows her to lead and effectively protect her loved ones in better circumstances. In Safe House, her efforts to take charge of the situation offers a glimpse of her potential, and by the time The AM Archives takes place, she is able to call upon her assertiveness in times of crisis, encouraging Mags and keeping mostly collected in the face of extreme danger. But throughout most of The Bright Sessions itself, Sam’s Eight wing generally manifests in ways that ultimately cause damage to her relationship with herself and those around her. 

[toomanyfandomsorkinafs]

(I actually had reblog fed the original but I’ll send them again)

A Mask Of My Own Face - Lemon Demon

its about a person who thinks that the person they are pretending to be is the same as themself. They think that they are the only one in the world pretending to be themself.(SO TIMMY CODED CAUSE THAT BOY IS A WET CAT THAT PRETENDS TO BE BRAVE!!)

Fish in a bird cage - Fish in a bird cage 

The songs about the inherent wrongness and powerlessness of the fish and its situation, trapped worlds away from where it can exist comfortably and healthily. And it talks about how the ‘brother’ needs help the fish to actually live and have a normal reality.(Timmy and his godparents. Nothing else needed to be said.)

Slippers - Madilyn Mei 

It’s about wanting to do so much yet never being able to achieve them. Being so afraid of what would happen you never do it. (Every time Timmy does something for himself, it goes wrong. So he starts doing things for others and it still goes wrong.)

We’ll Meet Again - Frank Sinatra

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” (Timmy and his godparents when he has to lose them :( )

Disembodied Mind - Sparkbird

It’s about someone having trouble separating things that came from their mind and reality. So much that they start becoming consumed by their mind until they can’t go back. (Timmy and the secret wish. He can’t give up his fairies, he can’t. He can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore.)

Human Being (demo) - Emei

It’s about a person is just a dick. Not even trying to hide the fact that they’re almost inhumane. (Okay less Timmy but it’s more like Timmy to Vicky BUT!!! Still good song!!)

I’d rather sleep - Kero Kero Bonito

This song is referring to someone struggling to grow up. They are almost afraid to, wishing to stay dreaming in which there’s no stress of the world around them. (The secret wish!! Timmy is scared to grow up and lose Wanda and Cosmo! He’s stuck in a dream!)

Devil Town - Cavetown

It’s about parents who are divorcing causing trauma to the children. The parents aren’t good either, blaming the children for the divorce. But the child isn’t too afraid because they know they aren’t the only one to experience this. (Okay while Timmy’s parents aren’t divorced, they aren’t good. But Timmy’s coping with his fairies and the fact that he isn’t the only one person to need fairies.)

Boys Will Be Bugs - Cavetown

This song is about the toxic masculinity toward teenage boys that is portrayed in society. The singer recognises that he doesn’t fit in with this stereotype. He doesn’t wanna be mean and bully anyone; he just wants to play with bugs. (There are like two episodes where Timmy basically becomes trans. He’s bullied for being odd and dumb. Cosmo and Wanda are his bugs.) 

Unsweetened Lemonade - Amélie Farren

Self-destruction, bitterness, and the decay of love and relationships. The lyrics contain a mix of dark, metaphorical imagery and introspective reflections. (I can’t explain why this reminds me about Timmy. He gives the vibe of being a angry child who tries and tries to redeem himself, slowly giving up on trying at all)

Doctor - Jack Stauber’s Micropop

This song is about the importance of self-love and the healing power of acceptance and kindness. The lyrics suggest that love is the only medicine for whatever feelings of helplessness the singer is experiencing and encourages them to take 'three of these a day' - presumably referring to acts of kindness towards themselves. In the outro, the singer seems to recognize that the struggles they face may persist despite their efforts, expressing that they may become 'sick again', emphasizing the importance of repeating these self-care practices to ensure their wellbeing in the long run. (This is fucking Timmy when he finally loses his fairies. He’s alone, he’s got no one. There’s no one that understands him like his fairies. He’s ‘sick’ again.)

Good Kid - Chris McCarrell, The Lightning Thief company

The character, Percy, explains his story from his point of view of trying to do and be good yet it never being enough. Always trying to be a ‘good kid’ yet no one believes him when he says he can be better. (Timmy?? Every time he tries to help, to do good, it back fires. It’s like putting out the fire with water but someone swapped the water for gasoline.)

Better People to Leave On Read - Emei The song is a reminder that you deserve better than people who only want to use you or take advantage of your generosity. (Timmy 100% only learns this as he gets older. He doesn’t NEED to be around people that make him upset. He doesn’t NEED to listen the ones causing his trauma.)

OK I HAVE MORE FOLLOWRS. SO IM GONNA ASK AGAIN LOL What songs would fit timmy turner? it could be about him, or the vibe, or from someone else's perspective IDC, I have a Timmy Turner playlist that needs more songs so PLEASE tell me some that would fit

[ofsvges]

cailin russo. cisfemale. she/her.  ／  sage morrissey just pulled up blasting girl anachronism by the dresden dolls— that song is so them! you know, for a twenty-three year old singer/songwriter / AGT judge, i’ve heard they’re really -cavalier, but that they make up for it by being so +self-reliant. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say lipstick-stained cigarette butts, irreverent lyrics screamed into a microphone, and neon lights reflected on pavement. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble! ( cailin russo, kiiara, & the dresden dolls/amanda palmer vc )

hello angels it’s ya girl lainie w my Edgy gay daughter !! i haven’t played her in a hot minute n i’m so.....excited come hmu for plots or like this and i’ll come @ u. also this got rly long i feel like so i apologize in advance yfteygrhujs

tws for: death, drug use/abuse, minor mention of/allusion to child abuse

so FIRST of all, sage is marnie’s half-sister; when their dad left marnie’s mom, it was because the other woman he was seeing in secret--sage’s mom--had already had a kid two years ago, and he was just narcissistic and gross enough to decide at that point that he didn’t wanna deal with kids from marnie’s mom too, thus leaving her to fend for herself while he finally prioritized (if that’s what you want to call it) sage and her mom. sage had no idea growing up that somewhere else in new york, her father--whom she hated--had an entire family he’d chosen to neglect in favor of making sage’s and her own mother’s lives hell.

he was an angry, aggressive person, and though he'd never done more than squeeze sage’s arm too hard when he was mad, he often threatened to, and the way he screamed at her was traumatizing. the whole thing scared the hell out of her when she was little and she developed a deep loathing for him because of that and because of the way he treated her mother. it was just wildly misogynistic and demeaning and even as a kid sage felt it in her bones that it was wrong.

he passed away when she was eight years old and it fucked sage up big time. not because she loved or missed him, but because she felt relieved. she was glad, and it scared the shit out of her to realize she could feel that way about her own father's death. for a long time it caused huge internal conflict and sage spent her teenage years acting out; she was having sex and doing drugs at a young age, ditching classes, doing dumb shit and running from the cops, etc etc. meanwhile her dad hadn’t left them much money and her mom was estranged from her own parents, leaving her to work two jobs and deal with sage’s rebellion on her own. 

she’d been teaching herself to play guitar since she was eight and piano since she was eleven and in high school, sage’s teenage angst and inner demons finally pushed her to start writing music as a coping mechanism and outlet. it wasn’t until she was twenty, however, that a girl she was dating got her to start putting that music online; long story short, she got discovered on youtube, had a huge first hit with her single “gold” (kiiara), another with her second single “pink sand” (cailin russo), and the debut album itself went platinum. she’s grown up a lot since high school but still retains that rebellious fuck-you aesthetic and is known for the biting sarcastic wit of her lyrics and the chaotic way her sound jumps from one style to another. like her Pop music is the kiiara and cailin stuff and her more irreverent (and probably less popular) stuff is the dresden dolls/amanda palmer stuff. they’re all mixed up together on the two albums she’s released which i have yet to sort out yfgdhjs

she laughed so fuckingugyfsegdhus hard when she got asked to be an agt judge this season but then she did it ??? and she gets such a kick out of it. she’s so ruthless but like. ya girl keeps it real

she doesn’t do hard drugs anymore; she did two stints in rehab, once when she was 19 and then again at 21, and the second time it actually stuck. she smokes a huge amount of weed so she can be kind of spacey but it rly just....keeps her grounded oddly enough. part of it ofc is that she still hasn’t fully healed from everything with her dad--and then finding out about his second family--but she’d never admit that and has talked about it in interviews MAYBE once very vaguely.

big top energy

she can come off like kind of a pretentious bitch but like she’s actually not tsyyeguhs lowkey she’s v non judgmental and chill she just like. has an attitude sometimes idk. she’s extremely extremely independent, doesn’t like relying on other people, needs to feel like she’s in control of her own life. i see her having had problems with record labels bc of that

overall she’s a rly good friend if she’s invested in the relationship but if she gets annoyed or starts catching the wrong vibes she’s pretty quick to cut someone out of her life. some of that is an actual maturity where she’s able to do what she needs to do for herself to be emotionally healthy, but part of that is also a defense mechanism and can end up ruining relationships that could have been fixed

also she’s very close to her mom now (they had problems when she was a teenager but after her second time in rehab, they put the effort into healing the relationship through a lot of therapy) and takes care of her now so she doesn’t have to work. there’s some part of her that feels like she needs to make up for what her dad did and tries to make her mom’s life as comfortable and luxurious and stress free as possible. her mom is a cute supportive twitter mom getting excited about sage’s music

connection ideas

music collabs!!! pls!!! and people she’s toured with maybe?? gimme all that stuff

a past pr relationship from when she was still newer to this whole Fame thing and thought it was a good idea, but it probably just ended rly badly bc eventually sage was like ???? lmao no

a good influence ! somebody who’s always there encouraging her to stay off the hard stuff and do her best :(

also a bad influence i love angst

someone SHE’S a bad influence on. either in the past w hard drugs or currently where it’s just like......they’re too soft for how wild and blunt and controversial sage tends to be

ex girlfriends thank u. also maybe a........guy she dated in hs before she came out. it would be so soft if they were rly good friends now 

fwb, ewb, one night stands that turned angsty (or not), literally anything along those lines

her RIDE OR DIE she would literally do anything for and would probably be her roommate too

[theyuniversity]

My Relationship with Writing (And how my passion has sometimes done me more harm than good)

This year has been rather challenging for me — socially, emotionally, and perhaps spiritually. I have gone through adversities that firmly instilled in me the understanding of the value and significance of healthy relationships. I was experiencing, first-hand, what it meant to be in a toxic friendship, which caused me to bitterly reflect on my past for a month or so.

Gradually, I realized that the majority of my past friendships have been unhealthy — they caused me unnecessary emotional exhaustion that I was, stupidly enough, willing to put up with, for the mere sake of the few moments of joy I sometimes shared with these individuals.

With even deeper and broader reflection, I realized something else which was rather difficult to swallow: my relationship with writing has been no different.

Writing, the one thing I’ve always done diligently and tirelessly, the one thing I was known by everybody for admiring, and encouraged by friends to pursue as a future career, to be one of the causes of distress and agony in my life?

No way, but yes.

Because I handled it the wrong way, my passion has been weighing me down in ways I did not think possible.

Time for Myself

I had gone on a break from writing to take some time to develop the ‘observant’ part of the writer in me, as well as for my mental health. It was a slow process that my writing ‘hiatus’ was taking the form of quitting altogether. In fact, I was eventually growing delusional about it being a hiatus as the days passed by. And, oh, the Q-word! Deep down, the Q-word frightened me, but never to the point of reality, because I was simply certain that my passion was incontestably too invincible to ever be vanquished.

Yet, one day, I had to stop denying the manifest practical application of the Q-word onto my writing life. As I wandered alone and wistful one morning in the narrow underground tunnels for hours and hours, I broke the deathly 4 am silence by unfeelingly uttering the defeated phrase: I quit writing.

It almost hurts to say, but it was a truly liberating moment, albeit fleetingly. I felt immensely happy, unbound, and weightless enough to jump from rooftop to rooftop. I did not feel that I had lost a part of myself, but rather discovered another latent, budding part in me I did not even know I’d possessed.

I had gone from writing often to seldom, not because I had too little to say, but rather because of a lot of fear and a bit of apathy. On the contrary, I in fact have so much on my mind nowadays which, with even a modicum of inspiration and willpower, I could easily make use of to create poetic masterpieces.

What Caused This Toxicity?

My attitude towards writing, my love for it, and sometimes lack of it, poisoned my passion like a drip of ink in water. I had the tendency to look at writing as both an enemy and a friend that sometimes made me laugh and sometimes cry, made me feel worthy as an artist one minute and worthless the next. I oscillated from believing it to be my main source of hope for a blossoming future to fearing it to be the path to a lifetime of imminent failure and rejection.

Like my relationships with people, there are blissful days in my writing life which imbue me with temporary euphoria, such as the day I finally finish writing an article or a poem, or the one lucky day out of a week or two when I’m able to articulate my thoughts with seemingly impeccable eloquence, or the day my deeply thought-out ideas for my story seem to finally fall together, like stars that align in the darkness of my indecisiveness. These are comparable to the days my toxic friends (remember to) invite me when they go watch a movie, or spend an evening in the cafè, or simply the days they check up on me to inquire about my quietness with concern.

It would be a lie, however, to say that those euphoric days make up for the nightmarish ones, when writing behaves like a malicious enemy by reminding me daily that my efforts are not enough, and have never truly been.

Oftentimes I feel that my writer’s block is the equivalent of an amazing friend who deals with conflicts by giving me the silent treatment. This reminds me of another friend I once had who ignored me for so long that I’d now forgotten how his voice sounded like, just as I had forgotten how writing felt like.

Writing Culture

Unfortunately, if you familiarize yourself with the world of writing, you will notice some kind of palpable negativity embedded into the advice and tips that some writers give to amateurs and professionals alike.

There is always the belief that writers are essentially miserable, frustrated, and may go eons without producing meaningful work, or any work at all.

And there is the belief that writers are never satisfied with their work, and that they are, for every 60 minutes of an hour, banging their heads on their keyboards to reprimand themselves for their ineptitude and inability to live up to average expectations.

And then there is the belief that writers, every so often, seriously regret their past career decisions and question their future career plans in that field, and have this heated, full-on mental debate as to whether writing was ever created for them.

Positivity from Stephen King

I often felt the very same way, but my outlook changed drastically after I came across this interview with Stephen King and George RR Martin, where King shuts down these self-doubting thoughts with force and vehemence.

And I couldn’t help but think, What a Legend!

The unequivocal confidence he has on his place as a writer, and his choice to write, and his healthy attitude towards that choice, left me in awe.

So, after watching that, here are some of the thoughts I had to continually remind myself of in order to keep myself from falling off the ledge of sanity and into the abyss of despair:

Writing is not supposed to make you feel negative about yourself. Your passion has to be a door for your creativity and productivity. Your passion must serve as a main source of inspiration, catharsis, and a big part of your self-identity. Yes, it has to be difficult and challenging every once in a while. No, it is impossible for such a hobby to come free of hardships. But what we should not be doing is normalizing and romanticizing the constant mental/nervous/emotional breakdowns and feelings of self-doubt and self-loathing that many writers experience along with these challenges. This is not normal. This is not healthy. These experiences can, and should, inevitably happen every now and then; however, with regularity, they can weigh you down till your breaking point. They can mercilessly exhaust your passion and turn it into pure apathy or, better yet, resentment. And with an attitude that deems them as typical and welcomes their steady occurrence, you will end up either writing yourself stupid, or crumpling your empty papers into your fists with rage before calling it quits.

It took me a while to realize that while writing requires sacrifices, these sacrifices should never limit your overall quality of life and throw you into a zombie-like state of mind. I mean, at some point, I was missing classes, cancelling social plans, and skipping meals for the mere sake of productivity, because I was still unfamiliar with the heaven-sent concept known as balance.

Moreover, I believe that the main reason I agreed with these negative ideas about writers was because I was adamant about not changing my detrimental writing techniques (they felt … just right) and generally sought ways to justify them and regard them as the normal benchmark for artists.

The knowledge that I was not the only ‘writer’ who was unskillful with words, forever stuck in the void of writer’s block, brought me immense temporary reassurance, but in the long run made me feel that it was absolutely typical to feel listless, yet pensive, and frustrated at reconciling the two.

Writing the Pain Away

It is funny, because it took me a considerably long time to deduce why and how writing was causing me so much agony. It was not until two weeks ago when I decided to do some 3 am writing on my recent loss of friendship and unfathomable decision to quit writing (the irony) that I realized and accepted that the fault was on me and my poor coping mechanisms all along.

I’ve always said that writing was a revelation: it reveals feelings and thoughts in your heart and mind which you don’t even know are there. The more you write, the more you know who you are.

It might had been writing that caused me pain, but it was also writing that revealed to me why this was happening, and it’s also writing that I am, right now, using as an outlet to release the waves of ambivalent feelings flooding from my tightening chest.

So, depending on how you deal with it, your passion can leave you confused for months or it can decipher your most heavily complex feelings in an hour. And perhaps I should do less writing on the corner of my unmade bed and more on that bench outside in the grass and beneath the light of the sun.

Treat your passion like a benevolent friend who desires your success as much as you do, and you’ll be met with much more productivity and much less toxicity in return.

✍🏻 Written by Sanbella, writing intern at The YUNiversity

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[drtwit]

Lancaster: Not Alone - RWBY Fanfiction

Summary:

After the Battle of Haven, relaxation is the one thing on the mind. But while everyone is celebrating victory, our favorite dorks are wallowing in nostalgia and self-pity at their lackluster performance in battle. In moments of weakness, it's good to know that there's someone slumming it with you. Ruby thinks she failed. Jaune thinks its time for slumming it with some old memories.

It was a depressing sight as night came to pass, every last ray of light swallowed whole by a sea of shadows that polluted the sky. Clouds became thick with a toxic sludge that left it a paralyzed witness to the tragedy taking root under its solemn gaze. Water leaking from the depths of the clouds. The sky itself weeping. The only remnants of light were the short lived licks of the burning fire in the middle of the make-shift campsite, blazing sparks taking flight for the first time only to fizzle out their five seconds of life, only producing a small morsel of warmth for the people around it. 

Jaune sat close to the fire with his knees brought up to his chest, his scratched chin dragged down, making the boy look akin to a turtle shielding itself from view. If there was one word to describe what the seven year old was going through for the moment, it was confusion. The emotions that burned within him reflected the sky, murky at best. Fires of anger, cold daggers of sorrow. A yearning deep within, screaming at him to cry. But he didn't want to. They wouldn't want him to cry. 

He ran his grimy fingers through his previously blond locks, staring directly into the fire as his mind wondered. Today's events pass through his mind as a series of vivid and painful images, his uncle was probably looking for him now, worried about where Jaune had ran off too. He just couldn't take it, all the black suits and rain, staring at the names on the stone. The boy needed to be alone to... Cope. 

It felt akin to a trance, a teasing dream that just couldn't be real. The sky felt fake in it's sympathies, the water was dry against his skin, the fire gave off falsehoods of heat and every comfort was a hollow lie that only that voice in the back of his mind cared to call out. The rest of him wanted to believe. For even a second.  

There was a loud thumping noise beside the boy that ripped him from the painful memories clawing away for his attention, alerting him to the person that had seated themselves beside him. "Did the Blue Beetle get to you?" The high pitched female tone surprised him, turning his head slightly he was met with the sight of a very small girl, staring up at him through short raven locks. She looked to be much younger than him, her red beaten up shirt much too big for the girl and covering up her pale legs. 

"B-blue Beetle? What's that?" He blurted out, not exactly sure how to talk to the little girl. 

The girl met his confused stare with a wide smile and an unusual giggle, showing a missing tooth in her rows of white-ish chompers. "My momma says that they're small and nasty bugs that crawl into your brain and make you sad. She told me a lot about them" 

"Uh… You think so?" Now he had the worry that there was a icky bug sleeping inside his brain.

"Well, you do look pretty sad…" Her lips faltered and eyes aligned into a thinking expression, as if inspecting Jaune. "I know! Let's ask Dr Chopper!" Before the boy could finish he found his vision clouded with dark blue cloth, soon making him realize that a large blue stuffed animal had just been shoved in his face. Pulling back slightly the boy saw a very worn out stuffed wolf, it's dark blue fur covered with stitches, an ear half chewed off and one eye missing. He certainly did not look like a certified doctor. 

"Yep!" Proclaimed the wolf in a slightly higher pitched version of the girl's voice. "Big case of BB!" HIs paw found its way over Jaune's mouth as the girl pulled him back with a gasp. 

"What are we gonna do, Doctor!?" 

"There's only one thing we can do… HUGS!" And with that the doll was thrust upon Jaune as the girl practically pounced on the boy to wrap her arms around him. Despite the situation and the suddenness of it all, Jaune couldn't help but laugh out loud at the girl's antics. 

"I think it's working, Dr. Chopper!" When Jaune simply nodded in response he received a very generous kiss on the nose from the Wolf Doctor, something about them being out of lolipops. "Another successful day for Dr. Chopper!" She held the wolf up in the air, which the nine year old marveled at. "Yep! Hugging is free of charge!" Before bringing the stuffed animal back into her chest and continuing to give the boy a cheerful stare. "I'm Ruby! What's your name?" 

"O-oh, its... Its Jaune" Glancing away from the girl's practically shining face, his gaze returning to the ground. The cold touch of the rain water dripping down his back reminded him of why he was here, alone. Alone. Despite his best efforts tears started manifest in the corner of his eyes yet again, blending in with the rain pelting against his body. The stone. The names. The rain. The cold. It wouldn't leave his head. 

“The BB got you good”

“Have your ever gotten bugs in your brain?” He was curious, how did she know so much about beetles? Or did her mother really tell her everything?

“Tons of times. Like, when I stubbed my toe on the door frame. Or when daddy caught me stealing cookies. Or when my big sis called me stupid, but that didn’t last long because she said she was sorry and stole a cookie for me” She talked in an energetic voice that just dripped with pure joy, swinging her legs back and forth as they were too short to read the ground. “And there was that one time I got a big case of BB, when my mom…” She stopped talking, but she didn’t stop swinging her legs.

Jaune understood the feeling. “Oh. Aren’t you sad about it?”

“I cried a lot, even cookies couldn’t help me, but then I told Chopper all this and he fixed me right up” Chopper was held up once more, slouching on the job. “He reminded me that it might look like she’s gone, but she’s here. Always here.” She nodded to herself, grinning.

Jaune jumped up, his eyes darting around them in shock, only to become confused when he couldn’t find anything. “I don’t see her!”

“She’s not there, dummy!” Ruby reached forward to poke her own chest. “She’s living in here, because that’s where I always kept her. And as long I don’t forget about her, she’ll stay there”

Jaune squatted, eyes wide in amazement. “Wow! Your mom must be really small!”

“She’s not small!”

“Then how does she get into your stomach?”

“That’s the heart, not the stomach”

“Nu-uh”

“Ya-huh!” She crossed her arms. “Its magic an’ stuff. Heart magic!”

“So, she’s always there?” The boy scratched his chin, barely registering what she was saying. Why did life have to be so confusing. “Wait, do you think that maybe my mommy and daddy are living in MY heart!?”

“Duh! Where else would they go?”

“What about my seven sisters?”

“They live in all of those too!”

“Wow...”

"Here." Again, Chopper found his way into Jaune's lap, despite how much it exposed him to the rain. For a moment Jaune was confused, but Ruby simply showed him her bright smile and told him ''You can have him, but not for keepzies! I mean, you gotta make sure that the BB is away for a while..." 

"But... He's yours" 

"Then you take extra special care of him! I need to keep BBs away too" She waved around her finger as if to illustrate her point, but even to the nine year old it was clear. She didn't ask what happened, she didn't ask why. She just thought how she could help. "Friends share. We are friends, right?" 

It was then he heard it, it was subtle and quiet at first, but soon the sky's laughter rose into an earth shaking roar. There wasn't any sympathy as the clouds descended upon the two, like a large serpent of emotion it slivered across the wind, rain unaffected by its presence. Shadows drowned out the scene, dragging his body far away from the moment, a familiar hollow ring inside his ear. 

"The best." 

"Promise?" 

And like that the darkness shivered for once, her voice just as loud and just as distracting as the bitter memory. It was as if a light pierced through the veil of cruelty and took his tired body in its embrace, a warmth drying away the tears, dissolving the cold daggers stabbing into his heart. 

He stuck his pinky finger out to wrap around her own, the rain finally starting to calm down and raise the sun for a while. The cold tears still stained his cheeks, but something about her smile made it hurt less. It still hurt, but he didn't have to go through it alone. "Pinky promise" 

The darkness sneered, of course. But it's grip on his mind loosened, the weights on his heart became a bit lighter, and the shadows parted to return to the sky. The dissolving sea of emptiness revealed a new scene as it took its place back in the sky, glaring down and mocking him. He was greeted solemnly by reality in a empty haze.

He was back at Haven, sinking into the fabric of the most comfortable couch he’d ever rested in. Though, the feeling of relaxation might have just been a side-effect of resting after such an arduous drain on his aura the night before. Pooling his aura into Weiss’s bleeding body with a power he’d only found out he had at that moment was not the smoothest moment in his life. 

The first order of business was to start stretching his bones, testing his body, clicking his limbs; it felt better. To his right, he observed that Ren and Nora had left the comfort of the couch and gone off somewhere, maybe to get some air, maybe for some private time. I wish I knew the time. The blinds on the windows were closed, keeping the room strangled by darkness, making the raging fireplace look even brighter in comparison. But he was still not bothered enough to get up and close them.

After the battle of Haven all Jaune had heard from Qrow was how everyone needed to ‘rest’, how the journey’s been hard, how he needs to drink a whole bar’s worth of alcohol before he steps one toe in Ironwood’s territory. Don’t get Jaune wrong, he agreed wholeheartedly with the idea, its just that after a year of traveling across Remnant, he’d learned that relaxing never really felt right. At least, not until you finish the conflict that put you in that position in the first place. Every second on your ass felt like a second wasted.

At first he’d tried reading, but he was still distracted by his thoughts, when he realized that he’d spent two hours trying to get through one sentence in ‘Ninjas of Love’ he called it quits. Next was simple, throwing a ball back and forth. Noise complaints and property damage abound. Stretches, eye spy, banging his head against the wall, ect. Everything came back to the same line of thinking from that voice. That voice saying he should be out there. That voice saying he’s losing ground. That voice that it doesn’t care if their transport to Atlas is delayed by a week, if they can’t fly there, then they should be swimming.

Maybe on some level, it was guilt. A need to make it up to Pyrrha, for failing to save her, for not being the one to make Cinder pay. He always had that guilt, a trace of thinking to what he should have or could have done. But it wasn’t that prevalent anymore, strangely enough. Maybe even Jaune Arc can get tired of beating himself up. 

“Oh, did I wake you?” He didn’t have the energy to jump, only now noticing the small figure that crouched by the fire, her red cloak making it very easy to blend in with the walls.

“I was just having one of those dreams” He yawned, leaning forward to allow the fire’s warm embrace trickle down his cheeks. “Did I miss anything while I was out of it?”

To her credit, Ruby Rose managed to still keep her signature cuteness even while grimacing in fatigue. “Nothing important, unless you count my Uncle falling through a table after taking his eighth shot of alcohol” She sighed, sipping silently on a cold looking cup of hot chocolate. “Oscar’s still out of it”

“He’ll be okay. Oscar’s a fighter who’s been roughing it since he got involved in this mess” In all fairness, consider all that transpired in Haven’s corrupted walls, having the only casualty being one guy exhausted into a mini-coma… Well, it could be worse. “Ozpin trusts him, so we know he’ll pull through” She turned her head slightly, letting more of the fire flash her features every few seconds, her silver eyes sheltered by lowered ear lids. “Come on, sit with me”

An eyebrow raised in amusement. “What?”

“Sit with me. I’m gonna work my Arc Charm and turn that frown upside down, Craterface” While annoyed at the mention of her one-time nickname, she didn’t spare much hesitation before she walked over and plopped herself on the free space on the couch. 

“Seriously?”

“What? Yang’s the only one who can bring back nicknames?” He reached forward, brushing his hand over her hood, pushing the obstructing clothing down so he could see her face completely. “Now, what’s wrong?”

She just shrugged, pulling her legs up to her chest. “I’m just bored”

“We have the relic. Cinder is dead. Lionheart has been outed as a criminal. The big bad bulky guy and his two cronies have been sent running home to Salem. And apparently, the White Fang was getting crushed just outside all the action we were getting” Jaune tried his best to make himself look more… Professional, crossing one leg over the other, sitting straight and looking down at Ruby with such a mockingly intense expression that she could help but crack that blinding smile of hers. “But you’re still blue. Got a bug rattling in your brain?”

Her giggle was short-lived, a hint of recognition flashing across her face. “I don’t know, Jaune. I mean, yeah, we’ve done a lot of good here and all, but…” She looked back to her knees, holding them tightly. “It just feels so empty. It feels lucky”

“Luck is bad now?” Jaune tilted his head, lost for what tone to speak in. He wanted to make her smile but feared that trying to joke would upset her. “Saved us, didn’t it?”

“That’s the problem!” Her voice raised, making Jaune instantly regret his words. “We survived because we were lucky. We ‘won’ because we were lucky. We were too weak too beat Cinder, too weak to stand a chance against Hazel, too uncoordinated to take care of Emerald and Mercury. We had to be saved by Raven. By the Mistral Police Force. We weren’t good enough…” She spoke in a voice laced with disappointment, not teary-eyed or emotional, just unenthused. “We didn’t work together as a team, we didn’t even put a dent in Salem’s plans. I spent most of the battle knocked out while you were at Cinder’s mercy”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed Cinder like that…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, attempting to lighten the mood. “At least I took her attention off you”

Her hand squeezed his tightly. When did that get there? “You could have died”

“Yeah, I’m a Huntsman. It comes with the territory” Instead of questioning it, he squeezed her hand back, embracing the softness of her pale fingers. “We’re always risking our neck, the only thing we can do is try our best”

“It’s just…” Her body tipped over, letting her cheek rest against his shoulder. As friends, the two had shared similar gestures often, but never found it as strange as others might. “I feel like we haven’t accomplished anything yet. Like we’re… Insulting those who died for us” His free hand came up to cup her cheek as the thoughts of Penny and Pyrrha began to flood in. “I feel so scared. We all do, it’s natural. I can ignore that,  I can get through that, I can still fight even if I’m afraid. I just don’t feel like I’m doing as much as I should be doing. After Penny and Pyrrha, I just wanted payback, to make things right. Every time I try to ignore the feeling it just gets worse” Her eyes returned to look at him. “How do I save people from monsters, if I’m not strong enough to fight them?”

Jaune had never seen Ruby so vulnerable before. Sure, many times before she’d let her heart leak out her fears and doubts, but she usually managed to carry that aura of optimism and confidence even when saying how scared she was. “Hit them harder?”

“Jaune, I’m serious!”

“I was just spitballing…” He let out a sigh, as much as he liked to pretend, he was not good at heart-to-heart talks. Never knew what to say. Maybe he just needed a little inspiration. “You know, Pyrrha once told me about how much she hated her success” Ruby didn’t interrupt, but her eyebrows were raised as Jaune hesitantly continued. “She hated being the ‘Invincible Girl’. It made people treat her differently, it put her on a pedestal she didn’t want to be on, it scared her. She wanted to fight and train hard to help people, but then she felt like she had to do it all, put herself at risk, train every day; just to live up to a title other people gave her for being good” 

His hand came down to squeeze her shoulder. “She was scared. So, so scared of not living up to that expectation, of failing everyone. Afraid that she just wasn’t good enough and her life was a mistake because of that. She was so scared she…” His breath hitched, pain sinking into his words. “She made some decisions that led to her being taken away from us”

“Jaune-”

“Let me finish” He fought to stop his voice was cracking as he recalled his final moments with Pyrrha “I might never fully understand why she went to fight Cinder, but I do understand that I never want to go through that again and I fear that happening to any of you…” He paused, pursed his lips and shook his head. “Believe me, Ruby, I know how you feel. There wasn’t a day after that where I didn’t think that I’m not doing enough to make up for it. I’m sick of losing people and being powerless to stop it. I want to take the battle to Salem and give her a few bruises, maybe we’ll get to do that someday, but just because we can’t do that now doesn’t mean we haven’t accomplished anything”

“I suppose that surviving means something…”

“We’re Huntsman, Ruby. Weiss is still alive. Haven is still standing. Blake is back and thanks to all this a few more families in Mistral are still whole tonight. That is an accomplishment, that means we’re doing something right” He managed to coax a smile out of her, all teeth showing this time. “I’m just saying, it isn’t a failure to not save the world with one battle. My dad once told me that the best victories can be the ones that just remind others that the world isn’t ending today”

“The world isn’t ending today?”

“And the weather forecast says that the skies are clear for at least the rest of the week” Silence fell between them, the two just sharing an awkward look as either waited for the other to say something.

“Jaune… Does it still hurt? With Pyrrha not being here anymore”

“It always hurts to think about” Another pause, his eyes narrowing as a thought came to mind. A memory. A phrase to steal. “I cried a lot, even cookies couldn’t help me, but then I told Chopper all this and he fixed me right up” The blatant stealing did not fall on deaf ears, Ruby’s eyes widening in recognition. “He reminded me that it might look like she’s gone, but she’s here. Always here”

“C-Chopper?” She could barely speak, hardly believing that Jaune was the same little Jaune she’d comforted back when she was… What, five?

He had to admit, years had past after that fateful meeting, but the two really should have recognized each to when they reunited at Beacon. In Ruby’s defense, Jaune had gotten much taller and hairier. “Hold up a sec…” Jaune reached beside the couch where his bag sat, his hands digging through the contents until it pulled out the prize.

An old stuffed blue wolf, with one chewed off ear and an eye hanging on to the fabric of the left temple. “He’s seen better days…”

“Heh, I did the best I could to keep him together. He’s helped me through some rough times” Jaune patted the stuffed animal’s head playfully. “Now, I think somebody has a bad case of BB-”

WHAM!

“What was that for!?” Jaune’s cheek burned red with pain from Ruby’s slap, the girl suddenly looking very childishly angry. Not like the fury of someone offended, but the glares of a child teetering on the edge of a tantrum. 

“You never gave him back, you jerk!” Ruby puffed out her cheeks, poking him harmlessly in a way that only made him smirk. “You’re lucky Dad got me Zwie afterwards, or I would have hunted you down!”

“Oh, common, I didn’t know where you were!” Their heads collided in a rather ridiculous looking pushing war.

“You could have called” She pushed him down, their noses pressing against one another.

“I was seven. We both know I didn’t know how to use a phone”  He pushed back, gaining some even ground with his ‘rival’. 

“I thought he was torn up and made into a bean bag chair!”

“I took good care of him!” The two began to raise their voices in a needlessly aggressive manner, no matter what they were actually saying.

“Sowed him up?”

“Every week”

“Stuffing?”

“Plenty!

“Well, THAT’s good to hear. Good job!” She spat.

“Thank you!” He growled

“YOU’RE A COOL GUY!”

“YOU’RE NOT SO BAD YOURSELF!”

“OKAY!”

“RIGHT!”

“THANK YOU!“

“YOU’RE WELCOME!“

“Wanna stop knocking our heads together?” Jaune groaned as his head began to ache.

“Yeah, it kind of hurts” Ruby admitted quietly.

The two fell into silence as well as each other’s arms, shuffling in their position, but making no effort to actually separate. Ruby was the first to speak after a while, an idea coming to mind. “So… Jaune Arc, huh?” Jaune looked amused. “Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it ”

“Do they?”

She pressed her lips against his cheek, curling up against him as crimson splotches stained both of their cheeks. “This one does at least”

After gaining some more confidence, Jaune cheekily asked: “So, this is a thing now?”

Ruby giggled, that previous weight of the past few days seemed to finally break away from her face. “I don’t know, want to play ‘Will-They-Won’t-They’ for a while?”

“Nah, sounds like a lot of effort” He leaned back, pulling Ruby up to let her smaller body rest on him. “I feel like relaxing with a cute girl today”

“I’m cute?” Ruby flushed, the two’s lack of social skills rearing it’s head.

“Very”

“Wanna… Do you… Maybe… Uh… Kiss?” She coughed into her hand, stammering out an adorable display of stutters. “I mean, that’s what people in a thing do, right?” She laughed nervously, of course they did.

“Well, we can try” He gulped as she all-to-eagerly leaned closer, their eyes locked on one another, trading whirling emotions of nervousness. They inched closer at a snails pace, to a point where if there was any witnesses to this event, there’s be a rampant complaint for them to ‘Get on with it’. Lips trembled, breath could be felt and the magic was in the air… 

So, of course, both awkward teens shrank away from each other, leaving the kiss incomplete before it even started. “We can work up to that”

“Yeah, we have time” The two took a moment to laugh, managing to surprise even themselves with how awkward they still were in their spare time. “Not like the world’s ending today” She went back to resting her head on his chest, happy to just sit and cuddle. They didn’t have to pick up the pace or anything at the moment. They just needed to be comfortable. 

“Glad you feel the same way”

It was relaxing, for both of them. A weight off the mind. A comfort that didn’t even fade when the fire eventually faded out, leaving them in perpetual darkness. Sometimes, you couldn’t win. Sometimes you can’t get the results you wanted from the day. Sometimes, the people around you won’t have the answers you want. But sitting here in each other’s arms, on an equal playing field, the two were reminded.

Sometimes it’s best to simply make someone see that they’re not alone in this.