#especially the issues are BAD dissociation

[icharchivist]

i mean i get why it sucks but i've been having an existential crisis that keeps me up at night for most of my life too and i'm not producing people expressly to abuse them and use them as tools about it. Astrals are just on something else i guess

i'd say it's a question of scale in general, as in an existential crisis coming so deeply from a whole different life in your head would fuck someone up much more. but anyway i keep saying Lucilius' way to treat other is bad, in those same posts in fact, just that his issues with depersonalization/derealization are also extremely compelling and actually make me feel bad for him. Those two feelings can coexist, and i don't mean that you have to be nicer to him or anything. i'm just saying he's still an interesting character.

[meowdei]

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

word count. ❤︎ 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you with that heartfelt, fairytale sort of devotion, and you thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship. 

And then he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak. 

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice. 

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long. 

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink. 

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully. 

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice. 

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room. 

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough. 

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper. 

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being. 

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips. 

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all. 

────────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei. 

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known. 

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn���t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly. 

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him. 

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward. 

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse. 

“So…” you start awkwardly. 

“So…” he echoes. 

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes. 

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood. 

And then it starts to happen everywhere. 

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work. 

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen. 

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more. 

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it. 

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily. 

Phainon snorts at that. 

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you. 

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.” 

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle. 

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you. 

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally. 

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes. 

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast. 

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage. 

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don’t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction? 

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree. 

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you. 

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together—you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly. 

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that. 

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot. 

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease. 

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you. 

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you. 

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it. 

────────────────────────

LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon. 

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work. 

And then it slowly starts to click in place. 

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters. 

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already. 

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face. 

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it. 

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon. 

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time. 

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile. 

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not. 

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can. 

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. 

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.” 

He says it so seriously. 

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn. 

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of. 

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough. 

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free. 

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet. 

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay. 

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good. 

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side. 

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own. 

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters. 

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him. 

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.  

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you. 

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door. 

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good. 

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared. 

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly. 

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you. 

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling. 

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling. 

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer. 

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper. 

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.” 

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence. 

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him. 

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone. 

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon. 

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours. 

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time. 

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him. 

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look. 

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock. 

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him. 

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently. 

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer. 

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture. 

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world. 

For you. Everything was always for you. 

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily. 

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it. 

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy. 

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you. 

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget. 

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans. 

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone. 

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning. 

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door. 

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, Part 5

WC:1063, Masterpost

CW: dissociation, self esteem issues, (past) dehumanization, referenced torture and experimentation

Danny flinched, again.

He felt bad for it, Red Robin was being as careful as possible sliding the rubber fabric between the collar and Danny’s skin, but it was just that having hands on the collar like that freaked Danny out. He closed his eyes and mentally ran through the numbers of pi. He used to know over a hundred of them. Now he was only certain of about seventy-six or so. There were a lot of things that used to be so much clearer in his memory than they were now.

“Just the overlap now,” Red (the others just called him Red), said.

He flinched again as Red pressed lightly against his neck to overlap the fabric, but the hands pulled away after.

“Do you need a little break?” the other one, Nightwing, asked.

“No. I just want this off, please,” Danny begged. He had gotten used to begging in the last year. Years?

“We’ll get it off,” Red said confidently.

Danny tried to trust that. He kept his eyes closed.

A gloved hand slipped into Danny’s, giving him something to cling to other than the sheets. Danny recoiled at the touch at first, but when the hand started to pull away, Danny twisted their fingers together and held on tightly. He didn’t open his eyes to see who’s hand he was holding.

As Red started to work on the collar, Danny couldn’t help but tense. He’d been shocked by it so many times. He was like Pavlov’s dog, collar and all, he thought bitterly.

“Almost there,” Red warned.

Danny could tell the instant that the seal of the collar was broken. It was like moving a limb that had fallen asleep, but the pins and needles were everywhere, inside and out. It was agonizing.

It was a relief.

A damp cloth was dabbing under his nose.

He blinked rapidly and Nightwing came into focus. The hero looked so concerned.

“Wha…” Danny croaked.

“Nose bleed,” Nightwing explained. He folded the cloth and set it aside.

Moving slowly (though Danny still struggled to follow the motion) Nightwing reached out and places his hands on either side of Danny’s face. Gently, he tilted it this way and that. “You didn’t exactly lose consciousness, but you… went somewhere else.”

“I do that, I think,” Danny said. The hands started to pull away and Danny swayed after them. One returned to help keep him upright. Danny’s eyes fluttered closed. “It was easier… to be away than there.”

The thumb stroked gently across Danny’s cheek.

He could feel himself tearing up. When was the last time he had been touched with kindness? Why was he now? They didn’t know what he was, that’s why.

“You’re safe here, I promise. You don’t have to go away anymore.”

-

Jason looked up from the cutting board when Dick came out of the bedroom. Dick did his best to offer his brother a smile as he took a seat on one of the slightly rickety stools at the kitchen counter.

“How is he?” Jason asked. He had swapped his helmet for just a domino. (To Dick it was a pretty clear sign that Jason has already claimed the kid as theirs.)

“Better. The nose bleed stopped and he was fully conscious again,” Dick said. “He says he does that, goes away like that. It sounds like it was a defense mechanism for whatever those bastards put him through.”

“Fucking hell,” Jason muttered.

“Yeah. I’ll let the others know so that anyone looking over him knows to watch out for it. Especially if anyone takes him out shopping or anything…”

“Right,” Jason said with a grimace, clearly picturing how badly that could go.

Dick just gave a little nod. He dragged the table that Tim must have been using close and opened it to check on the rest of the family.

“You, me, and Cass?” Jason asked a few minutes later.

“What?”

“One of us three should always be here, right? Or Babs if we move to a different safe house.”

Dick hummed thoughtfully. “There’s something to be said for moving safe houses if the kid plans to wait awhile before wanting to see Bruce.”

This safe house was bearable, but it really was one of their worse ones. It didn’t even had a table to eat at or a television. They could deal with the one bedroom and a couch, but Dick got the feeling there would be a lot of Bats stopping by whenever possible and that it wouldn’t quite cut it.

“We can see how Kid is tomorrow after rest and food,” Jason said. “If he’s up to being in a car with us we can easily move to any of them.”

“Maybe the one on Rosserie Street?”

“Which one is that?”

“Upper East Side.”

“Ah, yeah,” Jason said with a little nod, pushing the things off his cutting board and into the large pot on the stove. “That one would work. More space and better stuff.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Dick said. It was one of their apartments set up for a long term hideout if one of them was too injured to be seen in public or supposedly out of town as cover. “And big enough beds people can share.”

Jason snorted. “I’ll stick to the couch. The demon brat kicks.”

“Do you think he’ll stop by?” Dick asked as he picked at the thick rubber case on the tablet.

With a heavy sigh, Jason crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the counter. “Yeah, I think he will. I think he’ll need to, for his own sake. I’d rather it be when you were here, you’re the only one of us who can really control him if he gets… territorial.”

“He’s been better,” Dick pointed out.

“This is different and you know it. This is blood, even if it’s green. Hell, it being green might actually make it worse.”

Dick groaned and let his head thunk onto the tablet. “Yeah… I’ll talk with him and try to get B and A to also.”

“Yeah,” Jason said and reached over to pat Dick on the back.

Why did being a the oldest have to be so exhausting? And now there was another one. Not that Dick would trade any of them away, but he could really use a vacation, a drink, and a long nap.

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost.

---

AN: Dick really really wants to hug Danny but is really really afraid of scaring him. Don't worry, he'll get hugs.

[rokkucha]

crashing out over hiroaki nakamigawa being genuinely the best bpd rep i have ever seen in media. i’ve been in this fandom for barely 3 weeks now but he’s already come to mean so much to me as a character and i’m so so attached to him, like i will never stop being amazed by tetro danganronpa and how honest it is when it comes to underrepresented topics that are an uncomfortable reality for so many people that never really get to feel seen that way.

(impassioned analytical rambling & tons of spoilers ⬇️)

so many things that often get glossed over in fiction or get left implied are CONFRONTED in tetro, bluntly and unapologetically, while showing the consequences in a way that’s so raw but still so empathetic. especially things like the less “palatable” aspects of disabilities, like how dissociation is fucking annoying and severely inhibits your life and makes people see you as helpless when you cant even do anything about it with ojima, and how humiliating it can be to ask for help even when you really REALLY need it with kamimura. especially gendered issues like misogyny in teen girls’ home lives and being forced to grow up too quick with watari, male relationship abuse, its normalization & dismissal, and its effects on self esteem (not to mention when combined with child abuse) with yanagi, and how strong women realistically often have to become strong out of necessity (rather than just being built different girlbosses by nature) with hayashi. tsuno was also an amazing portrayal of ongoing successful recovery while at the same time one of self-imposed pressure and burnout.

then there’s some that become more apparent with outside perception, like isono getting straight up mischaracterized for being A Woman and not having enough screentime to be really understood, and sasaki. oh my god sasaki. sasaki being a victim of SA in school, then vilified for taking on a MUCH needed leadership role in an otherwise unruly group of equally scared teenagers, and fuck, of course she did some awful shit, but she was scared. all of them were. and hiroaki, her most dedicated hater, was the only one to realize that wasn’t who she truly was afterwards and empathize with her.

hiroaki specifically is such painfully and uncomfortably realistic bpd rep, but honestly? it’s a needed perspective. definitely for me, at least. a lot of the vile shit both other characters and fans say about him, real people in my life have said to me, and he’s not exactly recovery goals by any means but god dammit he is TRYING when all odds are against him and holy shit is that difficult enough as it is. he’s trying so fucking hard. i saw myself in him, a version of myself that struggled and felt how he felt, and i was rooting for him the whole time. i cried with him and i cheered when he made progress and i got emotional when someone empathized with him and was patient and forgiving like i wish someone had been with me.

what i love especially about hiroaki is how well-rounded he is in terms of bpd portrayal. he doesn’t just have splitting episodes or obsess over an fp or have super black and white views/opinions, but he also has horrible self-esteem issues that he hides behind an exaggerated ego and lashes out to hide how much he cares and feels crushing, overwhelming self-hatred because of things other people say or think. and even then, we see the less discussed aspects of more acknowledged symptoms with him too. when he splits, he feels immense remorse after. case in point, the sheer horror he felt at the end of [low talk]. he still sometimes tries to make things right where he can even though he can’t stop self-sabotaging. he has moments of kindness with multiple people to varying degrees of closeness.

and despite all this awful shit happening to and around him, he is making a valid fucking effort and god i will always defend him for that. he’s emotionally self-aware and he has goals and values and he cares about people in his life even if he’s bad at showing it. sure, he’s trapped in bad habits and a bad lifestyle, but also… he’s just a kid. he’s 17 years old doing and believing and enduring things no one should have to at that age. he’s been on his own since he was even younger too.

people fault him for backsliding in his attempts at Being Better but that is so fucking unfair, because it is never that goddamn simple. ever. you hear “recovery isn’t linear” just about everywhere, but it’s so rare to see that process explored so thoroughly in fiction and when it’s just brushed under the rug to make him out to be an irredeemable villain because it’s annoying or not entertaining enough, it’s… so painfully real.

the [stairwell] episode in particular was fucking brutal for me. i’ve been him in that situation, except instead of someone like tamba it was someone much closer to me than that. it was such a personal gut punch hearing her scream at him that he just can’t be a better person no matter how hard he tries because that’s just who he is. because he doesn’t want to change bad enough, because he’s innately selfish and cruel and evil and doomed to die alone and unloved. and he stands there and takes it while she hits him everywhere it hurts most, and while i will acknowledge tamba is just as scared and flawed as the rest of them, she says some of the most deplorable shit to him a person can say to someone until he just can’t take it anymore and proves her right. and just like that, he’s regressed back to square one again.

and tamba is never held accountable for how horribly she treated people, or even truly acknowledges how fucked up what she said to hiroaki was. it’s not even clear if she realizes the depth of it. that part is uncomfortably real for me, too. tetro is such peak fiction dude because the only reason i can’t like her is personal beef with her actions related to me and not her.

anyway i’m a shameless tetro glazer, hiroaki is my beautiful & beloved bpd princess, and everyone should be nicer to him and should also keep in mind that some of the shit you say about fictional characters you could inadvertently be saying about someone close to you as well. this fangan is doing something extremely rare and extremely valuable, and at the same time creating such a vulnerable space for people, so always be nice & be considerate <3

[smallpwbbles]

ngl as someone with d.i.d. (dissociative identity disorder) the tiny jax au is really, comforting? honestly? even tho thats not at all whats happening and the situations are completely different its kinda nice seeing something similar being portrayed where the "second personality" isn't "evil".

the fact regular jax causes all the issues because hes a little bitch™ and tiny jax is just along for the ride (while being scared) is just a really refreshing take on this sorta idea. regular jax may be a victim to the circumstance hes under, but so is tiny jax. neither asked to be in this situation, and whether regular jax likes it or not he's stuck with a second person in his body. he's gonna have to adjust to it if he wants things to stop getting worse (even if adjusting to it is only temporary since in doing so might cause it to go away).

it is stressful to deal with sharing a body with even just one person. communication is key to make things work without causing a massive headache. it is scary to suddenly black out and not know what happens when you aren't in control. it is also terrifying to be threatened and yelled at for existing when you didn't ask to. the only way to get better is to communicate and accept the situation you're in instead of fighting it (more of a lesson regular jax needs to learn then tiny jax. especially since tiny jax is literally just a kid who did nothing wrong).

even tho its all unintentional, a lot of stuff just kinda hits. ofc this isn't me claiming this situation is d.i.d., im very aware its not. just wanted to share how despite it being a completely different thing, it's still relatable. really good au 10/10. my bad for the accidental mini essay. i'd be doing our english teachers proud right now with this shit.

skibidi toilet ohio rizz fortnite battle pass or whatever the kids say

- @carnivalcentipede

Yoo, I really appreciate this, like I defo don’t wanna dismiss the themes of DID I may have accidentally put in this AU especially if yall see it that way. So I’m glad I haven’t done anything disrespectful in how I portray Jaxs inner turmoil of having a part of himself be open and vulnerable with the others

I hate that I’m becoming so old that I only get half of the references kids be making nowadays

[theanimatingfanatic]

ITS MORE DOEY THE DOUGHMAN!!!!

Some more doodles of Doey the Doughman the bestest little guy ever!!! Well I guess he’s like what 10ft tall? So not little but he’s little to us cause he’s son.

More of these are related to Matthew, Kevin, and Jack being in more control. Also some cute outfits and him interacting with my persona! I know the skin tone isn’t accurate I was doing this late at night and it looked good then but now it’s kinda ass. I might do a Player design later, either my persona as the player or my take on the player.

SOME HEADCANON TIIIIIIIME

Doey is on the Autism spectrum, with more traits of towards aggression, social difficulties, and fixations. I see him having social issues from all three kids on account of the trauma they have faced. And his main fixation is protecting people but also reading!

He mellows out best when he’s alone, where all the kids can talk internally to each other

He enjoys fidget toys, especially Kevin. He’ll use his play dough body if need be.

I can also see him having DID (dissociative identity disorder) and each child as a system. I’m more so getting this from my friend who headcanons this.

—if I am inaccurate about these please let me know. Much appreciated.

He can’t really wear cloths because they stick to his playdough body.

Matthew is definitely the leader of the three and most of the time he can get them all to cooperate as a unit. He sets goals does the job and so on. He does stress out when things don’t go to plan and holds a lot of weight on his shoulders. His favorite things are reading, drawing, and meditation.

Kevin isn’t a bad kid, he just needs some guidance on how to regulate his emotions. He is the one in control of most of Dory’s movements as he’s the best st doing so. His favorite things are napping, video games, and fidget toys.

Jack is the quietest out of the three. He is often scared and confused but when they hang have some down time he shows up the most. He relates to the other children the best and is best at playtime. Surprisingly he is the one to solve most mechanical problems with the generator as one of his favorite kinds of toys were creative robotic ones. He also loves Doey, even more that he is his favorite character, he enjoyed all the sculpting he could add on top of his toy robots. His favorite things are video games, imaginary play time with friends (think house or war scenarios kids play out), and tinkering with machines

[calebs-anchor]

Caleb Character Analysis part 1: The Ever Experiments

(This is mostly lifted from a video I posted on tiktok, with some slight changes/clarifications)

The first and most important thing to keep in mind here is that, according to his anecdote 'Pathless Realm', Caleb has suffered from dissociative amnesia throughout his life. I'm obviously not a psychologist, but based on some light research this basically seems to mean that he has mentally blocked out a lot of the traumatic memories of what happened during the experiments, so while he is definitely aware of them he doesn't remember exactly what happened.

This isn't the same as MC, who loses all or most of her memories every time she is killed and resurrected, but it's worth noting they both have issues with their memories & remembering the details of their trauma, and neither can give us the full picture of what happened in their childhoods.

We can also make note that Caleb was recorded to be 9-10 years old while the experiments were happening. This adds an interesting layer to the fact that Caleb constantly tries to take blows for MC and endures trauma so that she doesn't have to. Throughout all of this he was barely less of a child than MC was, but because he is the slightest bit older (and also because it seems that Josephine often left her under his care growing up while she was working) he sees himself as responsible for her wellbeing. This, in some sense, causes Caleb to see himself as older and more mature than he actually is. He was forced to become a caretaker/guardian figure and take on a lot of adult responsibilities at a very young age, which is why he's also so averse to showing vulnerability like we see in 'Hidden Waves'. He feels that if he can't be the mature, unwavering "pillar of strength" that he thinks MC needs him to be, he is failing to be good enough to protect the person he loves the most.

Now let's get into the actual contents of the experiments. We already know what happened to MC from World Underneath, but for anyone needing a refresher she was used for the Aether Core in her heart and her Resonance Evol, and was repeatedly killed so that the researchers could observe her coming back to life with the intention of using her to unlock the secret to immortality. However, things aren't quite as clear cut for Caleb. The only main sources we have are from his first trailer, which says that "They are the optimal weapon for destroying one another" and a few passages from his anecdote, such as:

"He knows he's always been good at destroying delicate things. The people behind the observation window say that the test subject will become a force comparable to a black hole given time. Not even light could escape it."

From these sources we can gather that Caleb was also used for his Evol with the aim of creating black holes (something we know he is able to do as of 'Homecoming Wings') and that he and MC were made to be able to counter each other, likely as a safeguard. Since they were both extremely powerful, the idea of them being optimal for destroying each other perhaps suggests that they were designed so that if MC's power became too dangerous Caleb could be used to destroy her and vice versa.

We can also gather that Caleb was labelled/labels himself as inherently destructive and dangerous. This seems to have had a long term effect on his self image, as the line from his anecdote establishes that this is something "he knows" and believes to be true, affecting the way that he sees himself especially in comparison to MC. I have a video going slightly more into this on my tiktok page, but essentially Caleb seems to see himself as inherently destructive and bad, while MC is an embodiment of goodness and warmth: the "black hole" that even light can't escape VS the "Unicorn" that brings eternal life. This is potentially why he takes on the role of protecting MC so intensely, as he thinks he deserves the suffering more than she does and is willing to take abuse on her behalf to protect her.

It becomes even more interesting if we consider the religious themes of their storyline with all the references to Adam & Eve, paradise and sin. Caleb views himself as inherently "sinful", just like the original sin described in the Bible that all humans are born with because of Adam & Eve. The only way to cleanse oneself of original sin is to submit to God, the embodiment of goodness and purity, and so Caleb, in a way, submits himself to MC. We have seen how highly he thinks of her, as he frequently describes her as "the best of the best", says that he thinks the world doesn't deserve her, and on multiple occasions comments that he thinks that anything that stands against her shouldn't exist or should disappear.

In short Caleb doesn't just love MC, he reveres her in a way that borders on religious and is willing to devote himself entirely to her service. That's why even from a young age he has taken on the role of protecting & serving MC, giving her almost anything she asks for, doing almost anything she wants, and making sure that no matter what she always feels like she is safe and happy and that he will always be there for her. I think he feels that by doing this, he is atoning for his "original sin" of simply existing as himself. He feels that if he can adequately "serve" MC, if someone as good and pure and warm as her can love or even just approve of him, it can make up for all of his feelings of guilt and sin and destructiveness. She is his salvation.

This is already a lot on his shoulders, but if we go back to the experiments I think there is one more thing at the source of Caleb's guilt, one big example of his destructiveness that serves as the main reason he sees himself the way he does: the Chronorift Catastrophe.

As we've already established, Caleb's Evol is capable of creating black holes/wormholes, so it's not unreasonable to think that he could have been used to open the Deepspace Tunnel (intentionally or not). However this would take a lot of power, more than I think a 9 year old boy would be able to achieve, unless we consider the fact that MC may have used Resonance to boost his power to the necessary level (and likely killing herself in the process). This then is their shared sin, like the sin shared between Adam & Eve when they both bit the apple, and it's one that neither seems to remember due to their respective memory loss issues. If this is the case, it gives us yet another reason for Caleb's inherent feelings of guilt: whether he knows it or not, he was directly responsible for the event that almost destroyed humanity and caused MC, the person he cherishes most, some of her deepest lasting traumas. It's yet another thing he feels the need to make up for by protecting her.

It's also how they both manage to escape the labs before later reuniting at the shelter (although I have seen speculation that the "shelter" actually was the experiment facility and that Caleb is lying to MC about it, but I'm not sure whether I agree with this based on what we've seen). When they do reunite MC doesn't remember who Caleb is, marking just one of many times that he has to reintroduce himself to her. This is another one of the "duties" he takes on for her, promising to always be there to remind her who they both are and swearing to be by her side forever. I think this is another reason that Caleb is so obsessed with having MC by his side: not just because that's what he promised her, but because he's afraid that if he's not there to remind her who he is she might one day forget him forever.

He also chooses never to remind MC of what happened to them during the experiments, or at least what he remembers of it himself. The reasoning of this is obvious, Caleb doesn't want her to be upset or in any way traumatised by it, so if there's a way to let her forget all about it he'll let her. However, I think it's significant that from a young age he chooses to take on this burden by himself for the both of them, as this will become a running them as I cover more of his cards & storylines.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Mmm. young Kagami accidental time travel gone wrong when Danzo is the first to find him,,

Danzo wants him as a loyal ROOT shinobi soooo baddd, it would fix all of his issues and give him 30 new ones and also make all of his everything so much worse

Ichigo comes with him too, but Danzo doesnt really give a shit ab her she's only here so that Danzo can make Kagami kill her to further his own ROOT training. She is having the worst time ever in the bg and also really mad that she's being ignored

Both kids have so much clan pride too,, the time they're from, they're only a couple years into Konoha being a thing, their clans make up the foundation of their personalities and lives. So them being forced to "forget" ab it,,, ough,,,

Being put through the process of forgetting themes to devote everything to ROOT, made so much worse because they don't even have 'true' Konoha loyalty to amplify like a modern shinobi kid might,, their clans are all they have,,, u cant just take it away,,

Ichigo especially I think would react SO violently to the concept of being forced to forget her clan. She is a HATAKE, she was raised in isolation and her clan is literally all she's ever had. They are raised into insane levels of loyalty to eachother and the spirit of their clans, Ichigo herself would have one day become her clans spiritual leader—in general too shes just. Very, very clan focused. All warring state era kids are.

Anyways, Kagami and Danzo

I think Kagami doesnt want to believe it's Danzo behind all of their suffering. And Danzo also probably does not present himself as the cause of it, at first anyways.

As is, Kagami is PRIMED for being groomed and gaslit tbh. The power imbalances are off the charts— he wants to be loyal and put his trust in Danzo so bad bc thats his best friend but also a whole adult now. A big, strong adult who Kagami is predisposed to trust.

Danzo is in the perfect position to present himself as a saving grace to Kagami. Slowly easing him into the realization that he's the one forcing him to go through all of this,,, by the time Kagami fully understands it was all Danzo's plans this whole time, he's already too thoroughly wrapped in his web to really see the facts straight

He also just has like. NO one left. Danzo is his only source of comfort in the darkness he carefully designed and submerged him into </3

Mmmm. Just Kagami and Ichigo depression hours up in ROOT club. They are having THE worst time ever in the world. When they're first caught, Ichigo tries to howl for help (with howling being a legitimate chakra technique all Hatake are taught as kids, often used to signal and communicate over long distances) so they have to fucking muzzle her as they go to get the chakra suppressants (its probably mostly a statement tbh, they could totally just get the suppresants and leave it at that)

Only a bit away, Kakashi hears the howl of a wolf in the distance and for a second, he is filled with the urge to run towards it. But the howling stops, and with it the strange urge. How odd. He'll have forgotten about it, not even a week later.

No one is coming for them btw, back in their time they're presumed dead in the lab explosion that sent them here. They're stuck in the torture machine with no rescue in sight <///3

I do wanna to see them escape together ,, but like Ichigo is now half feral and ready to fucking bite anyone who so much as looks at her and Kagami is now dissociating 80% of the time and cant seem to recognize anyone anymore

meanwhile the Uchiha massacre is only a week or two away, and their escape and subsequent discovery is a tipping point for the uchiha that makes them do the coup sooner rather than later,,,

No one other than Danzo knows ab the time travel and both the kids are a) very disoriented + dont super understand whats happening themselves, and b) filled to the fucking brim with trust issues now, thanks Danzo, so when they show up it's just. Kind of understood that Danzo was kidnapping actual babies. Like, no one recognizes Kagami, but he's clearly an Uchiha and the girl with him is insisting he's part of the clan (Kagami himself is fucking dead to the world and way too deep in his head to hold a conversation rn)

Meanwhile someone goes to get Kakashi and now Kakashi is understanding that Danzo was straight up kidnapping Hatake babies.

This is around the point where Kakashi was debating killing the Hokage for Danzo anyways so he's just kinda. Throwing down the towel. Man, FUCK this shit. Fuck ALL of this shit.

Uhhh Kakashi joins the Uchiha in their coup anyone? Anyone? No? Ok well he's doing it anyways.

The Uchiha overthrow the government and they peer pressure Shikaku into being new Hokage bc he serves as a good neutral figure for most in Konoha (and itd look bad if an Uchiha took the seat directly) and Ichigo and Kagami get to heal in the Uchiha compound, yayyy <3

Only they spent a few solid years with Danzo so they are for sure irreversibly fucked now. There is no true recovery because they have been changed as people at their core, and even free they've been permanently separated from the time, clans, and people that they once knew. They lost their childhoods and are now being forced to start from scratch in a world they can't fully recognize.

Eventually the time travel thing will probably be found out, but by that point shit already hit the fan and the walls were repainted anyways, so no one. Really cares. All's well that ends well...?

Then ofc, obligatory bad ending where they dont escape, Kagami kills Ichigo as part of his ROOT trials and becomes a full-fledged ROOT shinobi fully loyal to Danzo (and also gains his mangekyou)

The uchiha massacre happens and things happen as they do in canon— and when ROOT is finally "officially" disbanded, a curly haired Uchiha shows up among the ex agents struggling to relearn how to be human

Yayyyy <33 the end

Anyways the entire time I was typing this I was listening to Sub Urban - DIAMOND on loop, which is a really good song so Im gonna go ahead and plug it here bc like. It's really good. Highly reccomend.

[psychotrenny]

While I don't think much of the overall USamerican population cares about the genocide in Gaza, the scale of the recent protests show that it's a pretty important issue for the more progressive and politically active segment*. A segment which assumes a disproportionate electoral importance in a nation like the USA with non-compulsory voting and generally low voter turnouts. Like your "average" Yank might not give a shit about Palestine, but said average Yank wasn't gonna vote anyway. And the people who actively support the Genocide are mostly gonna vote for Trump no matter what; Harris's stance on Gaza did a pretty good job of driving off people who might have voted for her without attracting new support.

It's not as though Trump is very popular; he just managed to maintain some sizeable base of supporters by doing the bare minimum job of a politician and "promising them things they want". Like Trump managed to win this election with fewer total votes than he had in his 2020 loss; you could say that he's "more popular" than Harris but that's really not a high bar. The electorate less voted for Trump and more didn't vote for Harris because why the hell would they? She had nothing worthwhile to offer so Trump more or less won by default. While Gaza wasn't necessarily decisive in this, it certainly fucking hurt especially among the demographics (i.e. Ethnic Minorities, Young People) that Harris was trying hardest to reach. At the very least, a more popular Gaza policy could have made her loss a lot less humiliating.

But the US DP doesn't seem that interested in victory anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter. They get paid for putting on a show, creating a nice distracting spectacle; actually winning seems secondary at best. I doubt they'll learn any lessons beyond "We need to get more Racist". And considering the recent surge in posts to the effect of "I can't wait for White Supremacists to brutalise you as punishment for not Voting Blue", it's a lesson their online supporters are already putting into practice with enthusiasm

*I must emphasise that I'm defining this "segment" very broadly; It's not as though you need an especially principled or coherent ideology to conclude "Explicit Genocide is bad and we should at least dissociate ourselves from it"

[v0rtex-sys]

TMA disability headcanons time!! this is only michael, gerry, jon, and martin but i will add more later. mild CW for talk of disorders :}

lots of these are based off my own experiences, especially michael </3

also i literally read the DSM-5 for this.

michael:

Cyclothymic disorder - a bipolar disorder. michael definitely has mania + depressive episodes that only last a day or so at a time

separation anxiety - probably been left before, finally found someone he trusts so now (gerry) he’s obsessively worried

ocd - probably caused/related to some of their other issues, i think they have very strict schedules and they freak out if it gets messed up

persistent vocal tic disorder - i think they’d only have vocal tics (until they get spiraled). probably a whistle tic, cursing mayhaps, echolalia

probably was selectively mute as a child

panic disorder - do i even have to explain myself?? i headcanon that it is worse during hypomanic episodes

Hypersomnolence disorder - i bet he is an eepy eeper and regularly falls asleep in weird places

borderline personality - worsened by mania + depressive episodes, their self image is regularly changing and also spiral avatar

visual snow - again, spiral avatar. i have this :} i also just think it’d be interesting

some sort of joint issues in their hands, maybe arthritis but i haven’t decided

gerry:

NPD - this solely of vibes (not in a bad way!!!) i dont have NPD so i can’t say too much ab it, would be down to expand on it but i don’t want to spread misinformation:,}

reactive attachment disorder - i think this is only a diagnosis for children but i'm not certain. mary definitely fucked his mental state up and he avoids people in caregiver roles (might have presented as being extra rebellious as a teenager)

insomnia - it’s essentially canon. i also think he and michael having opposite sleep disorders would be funny :}

ADHD - hyper with zero attention span

chronic fatigue - cane user because of it, can’t walk for too long. fainting/dizzy spells. worsened by the lung cancer

epilepsy - also worsened by lung cancer. probably has migraines bc of the seizures. i bet he regularly has petit mal seizures

jon:

autism - no explanation needed. although i hc that he learned bsl in college cause he kept going nonverbal (or maybe georgie taught them? she seems like she knows bsl)

brief psychotic disorder - literally him all of season two. plus maybe the end of season 4 & the end of season 5.

hoarding disorder - idk they seem like a hoarder to me. but only a little? like they hoard but they’re so anxious about people judging them for it so they force themself to get rid of stuff which results in more horading

ARFID - sensory issues make it hard for them to eat:(

paranoid personality disorder - essentially canon, literally them all of season 2

schizoid personality disorder - ik it could be their autism but still, i think the relationship avoidance (especially with martin) is a bit more than just tism

schizotypal personality disorder - worsened by the eye.

(yes i know that’s all the cluster A personality disorders, it’s not my fault they all fit him!! /lh)

chronic fatigue - probably bc of the eye bullshit, they probably faint a lot

cane user - i dont know what physical disability they’d have, but i like the cane user jon HC soooo

i also think they’d have some nervous tics, not a tourette disorder tho

martin:

dissociative amnesia + derealisation/depersonalization - brought on by the lonely. probably struggles to recognise people (worsened by not-sasha)

rheumatoid arthritis in his hands (+ his feet from the walking in the fearpocalypse)

major depressive disorder - had since he was little, worsened by the lonely

[tealottie]

What are your headcanons about Della?

I have so many, but tbh my favorite headcanons have to do with her having PTSD - so i can't promise this will be a fun post

MASTERLIST OF DELLA HEADCANONS BELOW:

Appearance:

Scars from the Moon

One across her beak on left side

Scars on her arms and legs

Other markings

Stretch marks especially on her tummy and butt

A few stretch marks on her chest and thighs

Freckles on her beak (because she had triplets and ducks IRL sometimes get freckles after pregnancy)

Other

Chubby pear shape

DD cup size

Squishy belly

Big eyes

Fluffy unkempt feathers (she's bad at preening)

Thin hair (also bad at taking care of it)

Short beak

Queer Headcanons:

Homoromantic

Bisexual

Prefers to just call herself a lesbian

Ciswoman (doesn't mind they/them pronouns and probably finds it entertaining if she's referred to as he/him)

Supports all of her queer babies

She also does not actively seek out romance, but she isn't offput by the idea entirely

Mental Health and Neurodiverse Headcanons:

PTSD

Hates being alone at any given moment and had to ask Donald if she could room with him in the houseboat for a few months

Genuinely cannot look at her reflection and will be needing exposure therapy

Does not like the feeling of movement underwater because it reminds her of the moon's gravity

Terrified that she'll never be fully capable of being a mom because of the 10 years she missed

Cringes at any moon or space themed items now - sometimes triggers her on a bad day or if she looks at them for too long

Her hair being too long is a trigger for her, so she always keeps it shoulder length or above

She ALWAYS feels cold even if her body temperature is normal and sometimes it drives her crazy

Lots of nightmares about what-ifs - what if it was my kids instead of me, what if it was my brother instead of me, what if i didnt have oxychew, what if i never met the Moonlanders, etc etc etc

The taste of black licorice will genuinely send her spiraling, and because it lingers - it wrecks her for days (she hates similar flavors such as rootbeer)

Finds a lot of joy in warm places so she now loves to be out in the sun

Had a period of time where she wasn't really talking with Penumbra because of the severity of her triggers/ptsd

Both finds peace in dead silence, but it also brings her back to the moon as well - she has a very complex relationship with isolation

Prefers silver over gold (even though she doesn't wear jewelry, she likes silver on others and silver on things such as zippers and buttons)

Spent quite a few years terrified of flying after the horror of her own trauma set in, but it threw her into a big depression since piloting is her passion

Hates taking care of her stump because she doesn't like taking her prosthetic leg off - she sees it as her own, so she hates taking it off even though she knows she needs to when sleeping or showering

She has a hard time looking at her stump and scars because on one hand; sick as hell battle wounds, but on the other; damn was that the worst time in my entire life

Depression and Anxiety

Even before crashlanding on the moon, she dealt with depression and social anxiety

She has a bit of a hard time keeping her room tidy and taking care of herself, but she's phenomenal at putting other people first

Feels as though she's not attractive enough

Wants to be a ray of sunshine in other peoples' lives

She's very scared that she won't be enough for people and therefore she must put 110% into everything she does for others

ADHD and Autism

Her sensory issues tend to directly conflict with her PTSD issues - like she hates silence because of the moon, but sometimes she gets overstimulated by noise and needs the silence or alone time

She does not sleep until her body physically passes out because the change in activity is hard for her to deal with

Goes insane if she feels understimulated because her brain begins to shut down and she dissociates

Many, many stims (sometimes doubles as grounding with PTSD): bouncing her leg, various hand motions, feeling the fabric of her clothes, physical affection with her loved ones, playing with the tightness of her prosthetic (loosening and then tightening it over and over), shaking her head to feel her hair around her shoulders (and solidifying that what she's feeling is earth gravity)

Really hard time understanding social cues that makes her come across as rather ditzy

Special interest in aircraft technology and was a top student at her flight school

Love/Hate relationship with reading because if she enjoys what she's reading she gets invested, but if she's understimulated, the words jumble together in her mind

Not good at math for a similar reason

Fish are a huge sensory nightmare for her; the scales, the smell, the taste, etc

Is generally pretty sensory-seeking, but has a few Hard Nos on textures (such as slimy scales)

Other:

I headcanon Della having compulsive sexual behavior disorder, and her libido especially spiked after being on the moon for 10 years, and it makes her feel really gross at times

Due to said hypersexuality, she gets intrusive thoughts that piss her off

Because of the moon not really having a clear indicator of night and day, Della lost her circadian rhythm and struggles with a Hell combination of non-24 and ADHD insomnia

The lack of general sleep makes it hard for her to lose weight and so she's insecure about that

Physical Disabilities:

Because she was on the moon for so long, the zero gravity and lack of proper breathable oxygen took a huge toll on her, physically

She developed really bad asthma and will likely be recovering from it for the rest of her life

Her lungs can only intake so much oxygen at a time, so she also struggles with shortness of breath

Upon returning to earth, her body was really broken down from the cold atmosphere - causing her to not be able to regulate her body temperature properly

Her bones were weakened upon arrival, so she has to spend years recovering physically from it

Her stump is irritated a lot because she doesn't like taking care of it properly

She owns crutches for when she needs to take breaks from her prosthetic just because of the discomfort when wearing it

She is not afraid to hit Donald with a crutch BTW

IF THERE ARE ANY OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS THAT YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT, SHOOT ME AN ASK! <3

[cannedravi0lii]

hello! i'm apart of a DID system and i saw the post about liu's DID, and i thought i'd throw some of my own two cents into the pot (one of my special interests is also psychology, specifically dissociative disorders + trauma disorders) i do apologize now though because i don't know all of the liu lore, and i'm not entirely sure which jtk lore we'd be considering for this (also not entirely sure which one is older in your headcanons).

i definitely agree with the system you reblogged previously, but i do also want to make note of something else. the headcanon some people have that sully is a demon would be an incredibly interesting thing to touch on with the DID. it very well could be that sully is a demonic-based alter, but instead of being 'ooo spooky demon' it's more of a.. thing born to comfort liu? imagine if you will, neglectful + abusive parents for liu and jeff, and liu is repeatedly dubbed a bad child. sully takes on a demonic form in their mind to help liu section off the trauma, effectively cementing sully as the bad child Instead of liu. but when they're older, sully being the Bad Child no longer particularly helps liu. sully would just be doing what he has always done to help- he'd be taking the place of liu, doing the bad things. but these bad things are no longer just what their parents tried to pinpoint as evil (which was a bunch of lies), this is now Actual Manslaughter. at the end of the day though, sully Isn't an 'evil alter.' he's just a little kid trying to protect the kid that made him, the kid that was so so scared and alone who thought that the only way he could survive his childhood was by becoming someone else, someone more inhuman, someone willing to take the hurt and turn it into fuel for the fire.

i also say this mainly because i am also psychotic, but trauma tends to allow for psychosis to form more easily in people. if liu attached to religion as a coping mechanism, and gained a delusion that sully was Possessing him, it'd give a good foundation for angst; especially when sully is a Kid. all he'd ever done was try to help liu, and now liu is calling him a monster and telling him to get out of his head.

additionally, if you wanted to explore the idea of liu and jeff eventually reconnecting: while liu may eventually reach some kind of understanding for jeff's actions (i mean, jeff Was having an entire breakdown and there was literally no support for him. maybe he was trying to 'save' liu. i don't know) sully would be MUCH harder to reason with. sully is a little kid who's just trying his best. jeff Hurt them. sully was most likely triggered out almost immediately whenever they became conscious again after the Incident. sully still feels it all Raw. it still feels like yesterday for him. his hands will shake around jeff out of fear and anger, they always will; he trusted him, how could he do this?

(i do apologize if this is incoherent- my psychosis has been causing a few issues with organizing thoughts but i got excited when i saw the post on my dash and wanted to talk about it)

OH I ROCK WITH THIS. I ROCK WITH THIS SO HARD.

[disaster-guys]

Assorted jercy head canons from yours truly

both have zero self worth, they reassure each other and built each other up over time

both have a hard time expressing emotions. especially: Percy worries over things he thinks will make him look stupid (or, more recent fear, scary), and Jason anything that would make him look weak

Percy has bad internalized homophobia, no matter how accepting his mom is, Gabe's insults left a mark on his brain, he just feels gross and wrong and doesn't know what to do (yes, it gets better, but it's rough)

feral motherfuckers, the both of them, they bite, they growl, there's so much here but there's already a post...

Percy thinks Jason’s glasses are very cute, he steals them sometimes and Jason thinks he’s fucking adorable, unfortunately, to see this, he has to get pretty close. like kissing distance close

Jason is 6’4. Percy is 6’3. There is fucking relentless short jokes.

Percy, despite being only ~10 months older, is also teased about being old. He tells Jason to respect his elders.

Jason has abandonment issues. And autism, among other things

These two are so fucking cuddly. Like, it took a while before they were both on the same page, but now they're both so constantly in each other's space. always touching, always just near each other

Jason is a nice guy, he grew up trying to be Approachable and Nice, he tends to give out compliments bc people seem to like that (see above: autism), so naturally he compliments Percy and Percy 404's. he does not what to do, no idea how to take compliments (from his mom is normal but anyone else? weird). Jason does it even more just to see him blush (guaranteed result)

Cuddle and listen to audiobooks/podcasts together

Whoever introduced them to audiobooks/podcasts either thinks it's adorable or regrets everything, maybe both

Jason lighting round: cannot cook, can draw, bites his nails, king of lil kisses, car trauma, loves to play with Percy's hair, is scared of thunderstorms, the really loud ones that shake everything, likes to wear beanies (good sensory on his short hair)

Percy lightning round: best cook, loves gardening, grows some of his own food/veggies/spices, has so many fun piercings (pls hc your own favorite ones for him, I can never pick), has a weird relationship with food post-tartarus, also really sensitive to light post-tartarus, has long hair, dissociation problems and rsd, steals Jason's clothes (they're grounding)

@queer-brainrot I did it!! Hope you like it <3

[candy8448]

Reading more nightwing 96: *the* blockbuster arc

Bro i binge read over like 20-30 issues today i was invested in this it was crazy. Read up til #95 during my free period and when i finally looked up i totally forgot that i was in the college library and it was so jarring to see the desk in front of me and people moving around behind me, i was absorbed. My soul was crushed going into my lesson after this

Ough

Ohhhh she totally know about nightwing

Oh no you dont back, away girlie

Eeeeeeeeeee bro this is so exciting, you guys know how much i love the dick and slade dynamic aaaaa i love how slade just picks dick up and is just chilling in dick's house to warn him aaaaaa

Oh i love this

Cass HYPE

... i guess she didny know then, love how she found ot just cuz of the voice

Oh man this entire arc had me vibrating and smiling with giddyness it was so fun, i was kicking my feet

Once again i always love how at every moment this comic shows dick doing flips and acrobatics whenever they can, its just instinctual to him in the comics and i absolutely love it

Oh...

I understand where she is coming from but i feel so bad for dick

Also gannon vouching for dick and trying to get him not fired :(

Oh SHOOT

This is such a sick cover

Devious little man

Oh- oh no. As soon as i saw this cover i knew what this was going to be

My heart hurts

(Noticed the shadow on that third page too)

Another amazing cover. All these covers for this arc is truly amazing

I have no words

I stopped downloading more pages because i got so absorbed into the climax in this arc

This is such a well written arc. Even though i knew basically what happened and who blockbuster killed, nothing prepared me for how hard the actual comic was to read. It also helped that i was so invested that i didnt realise the issue number or that i was in the arc until i had rushed into the middle if it. The art is spectacular, and Dick's emotions, his grief, trauma and dissociation were portrayed so well, especially in #94, and this arc was horrifying and disgusting and so well written and drawn

[ludolka]

More H&HAU thoughts !! Now regarding Grian/Xelqua and identity issues

H&HAU Grian is an interesting character when it comes to identity. He has three personas that he switches between

The first and “true” one is just Grian, the one he most sees as his authentic self, the one he identifies with the most. This is the one he only shows around people he feels the most comfortable with. He’s affectionate, very jokey, unhinged, blunt and honest to a fault. He’s also confident and kind of arrogant, but he doesn’t overestimate or oversell himself or his abilities. He’s very expressive and gets passionate very quickly. He also demands respect from anyone who expects to be respected by him and he doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He can easily stand up for himself or others

The second one is PR Grian. This is how the public sees him, he acts this way in all of the Bad Boys interviews and on camera. This version of him is very reserved, private and while he seems friendly enough, he’s also very unreadable and appears bored or uncaring most of the time. He also seems arrogant and confident, but kind of in an untouchable and admirable way

The third one is Xelqua, the one Grian swears is the least like how he views himself. Xelqua is the identity his cult gave him when he was a part of that as a teenager, so it makes sense that he’d dissociate this part of him from himself. Xelqua is unserious to a fault, he’s very eclectic and overall very all over the place. He’s arrogant and overconfident that is bordering on a god complex. He’s untouchable and unattainable, keeping everyone at an arm’s length, but at the same time keeping everyone hooked. He’s rather confrontational, he acts like he’s either above or on the same level as everyone, no matter their status

But the thing is that these three personalities aren’t as distinct as Grian would like to believe, there are a lot of similarities, especially between the “true and original” Grian and Xelqua. This is rather clear for everyone who knows him enough to have seen or known both sides of him for a longer time period. Xelqua is like an exaggerated version of his “true self”, the one where he feels safe enough to act however he wants without any real consequences because only a handful of trusted people know his civil identity and he’s clever enough not to get in too much trouble with the police to get him arrested. The one he feels most in power and control in, the one he feels he truly is safe from harm. The one where he can pretend he is someone completely different, without all the troubles and traumas of his actual life

So, piggybacking on that last sentence, Grian is very careful on keeping these personas (especially his civil vs vigilante identities) separate. They don’t mesh, they are in different worlds, they are different people. Because if they bleed into each other, he will break. All of these personas are their own respective safe spaces and escapisms from the others, keeping them so far from each other is self defense for him

Mumbo, Jimmy, Joel and Lizzie know that he’s Xelqua and no one else from his civil life does. Doc, from the hero/villain side also knows that he’s Grian as they have been working together pretty much ever since Grian started doing vigilante stuff. And Doc is clever enough to know how much of a taboo this is for him, that Grian is more than willing to go scorched earth and burn every bridge built between them if he is even threatened with his civil identity being revealed or leaked. This is also the biggest and pretty much only rule Xelqua has for working with Doc, respect his private life and don’t get any people he cares about involved. So Doc has the Bad Boys (+ their manager) and Mumbo on their protective/do not go after list that everyone in his guild is required to respect unless they want to be kicked out and handed to the police or killed

Xelqua is dangerous and deadly when he wants to be, but for the most part he doesn’t care enough or take this whole vigilante thing seriously enough to want to. But as soon as his “real” life is involved, he switches and no one is able to stop him from tearing everything and anything apart

[reimeichan]

So you're trying to help someone through system discovery. What to do?

Was talking to my singlet partner, who at this point has, somehow, netted 3 system partners and another highly-dissociative-but-does-not-necessarily-have-a-CDD throughout their life, about what it's like to help us through dissociation and system discovery. I honestly don't remember much of my own behavior and actions throughout my early CDD recovery journey because my dissociation was that bad, and I really appreciate them taking the time to sit down with me and talk about their experiences with me. And I figured I'd share some of their wisdom that they shared with me here, along with wisdom others have shared with me and wisdom I've managed to pick up myself.

Let the person define their experiences however they want. You can offer them example and perspective based on your own knowledge and experiences and offer up wording if they're struggling with explaining something, but avoid trying to deny or "correct" anything, especially early on.

Go slowly, and at their pace. Don't push for them to learn more about their system, don't ask them to go digging for trauma memories (please, god, please don't do this), don't force them to stay grounded for extended periods of time if they can't. Sometimes a gentle nudge here and there can be helpful, especially if you know the person well and know what their limits are or at least know what to look out for, but be careful how far you push and at the end of the day it works better to trust that they know themselves better than you do.

Accept them for who they are, yes each and all of them. Not every member of the system will be all sunshine and rainbows, some parts may even be "cringe" in some way, and especially when dealing with someone with a CDD you're almost definitely going to be dealing with traumatized parts or parts that are otherwise unpalatable in some way. If a part comes forward with an identity or experience you're unfamiliar with, give them the same love and acceptance you would any other part.

Similarly, do not push alters away simply for existing. Many people make the mistake of thinking there's a "true" personality in the system (ie. a core/original, sometimes attributed to the host alter) and thus only want to interface with that specific alter. In truth, every alter in the system is just as real as each other and it's important to treat all of them as valid.

Understand that this is probably just as if not more confusing for the system going through system discovery than it is for you. Realizing you're a system or a part of a system can cause massive identity issues and shifts in the understanding of the self. Be patient with them as they may be experiencing a lot of conflicting emotions during this time.

Check what's helpful for them or what they'd like you to do to help them through system discovery. Do they want you to help point out potential switches? Do they want you to help with grounding? Do they want help remembering things that may have gotten lost in their amnesia? Would they prefer to explore things by themselves (or with just their therapist) with little to no outside help? Every system is different and what may help one system could be detrimental to another.

Above all, take care of yourself and know your limits. Step back if things are overwhelming, set boundaries when you need to. You can be there for your loved one when you're in a better place to help them.