#guess abusive tendencies isn’t just passed down through families

[riahlynn101]

"Just Breathe" (2).

This is my second attempt at writing the second chapter. The other one included All for One not being beaten up, Izuku not in pain, and the tasing of a certain, annoying vestige.

Be forewarned, Izuku does not have a good time here.

Trigger warning: Extreme violence, major character death, possessive behavior, and implied child abuse.

Chapter 2

--

“You aren’t Yoichi,” All for One says.

“An astute observation.” First kicks at the ground. “Actually it’s a lot more nuanced than that. I guess I’m as similar to your brother as you are to the All for One quirk. So, I suppose it all depends on how you look at it.”

“You aren’t Yoichi,” All for One repeats. “He would have stopped this. Izu- Deku wouldn’t have ended up like this.” It doesn’t escape his notice how Yoichi’s brother cringes slightly at Ninth’s hero name. 

“I’m not, though, as you have bluntly pointed out.”

“This is between me and you.”

Nana stalks forward, hackles raised. 

“Tell that to my husband!” She yells. Banjo and Third hold her back from attacking. “Tell that to my son!” She continues to shout, tears streaming down her face. 

All for One watches her display with a hint of amusement in his blood red eyes. Even bargaining for his son’s life, he can't help himself. 

First sighs, tired.

Once a bastard, always a bastard.

“My family!” Nana sobs, sliding to the ground. Banjo pats her on the back. 

First steps in front of Nana, blocking All for One’s view. “Enough,” he starts, succeeding in getting the man’s attention back on him, “we’ve waited a long time. Passing this power down in hopes of destroying your- you….in hopes of destroying you .”

“I see,” All for One drawls out. “Took quite a long time.”

First shakes off Yoichi’s brother’s comment. A dig at their individual and combined abilities, as well as a subtle way to burrow under his skin. 

“As fun as that sounds, I have other obligations,” All for One says. 

“What?” Second asks, and First sends a glare his way that he pointedly ignores, “to retrieve your son that you abandoned ?” 

All for One flinches back as if burned. A hurt expression takes over his face. He clenches his teeth, eyes burning craters into them. “Do. Not.”

“But that’s what happened isn’t it?” First pushes further. Nothing like this-in all their shared memories-has ever happened before. 

Sometimes he watches the others' memories - nothing super personal or gross. They act as long movies, offering little tidbits of information about his fam- co workers. Like, through watching her memories, he learned that Nana originally had a fear of the dark. So, he makes sure that there’s a light source always on when she’s around. 

Or when he learned that Banjo feels proud of ‘Black Whip’ and loves sharing it with other people (though a little less literal when he was alive). And-since his own passing-is always the first to greet a new arrival, so First may have, potentially allowed him to speak with Ninth first. Of course there’s the matter of Izu- Ninth manifesting Black Whip before any others, so really it’s smart to have Banjo greet him first. 

But you should have seen the fight that that decision caused…..he nearly smiles at the memory, but stops himself. 

That, he reminds himself, wasn’t real. None of it was real. 

He swallows, the action unnecessary, and smirks at All for One. A near perfect mirror to the one the man had been wearing not three seconds prior. 

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Truth? What truth?” All for One scoffs. “I didn’t leave them, because I wanted to. I left them because someone, not going to name names, punched my face off!”

“And?” Second asks. “Based on the kid’s feelings and tendency to attach himself to any and all adults that show the tiniest bit of care towards him, you never made an effort to keep in contact with him.”

“I…I thought he was better off not hearing from me. I wrote to my wife often, and she gave me little updates here and there about his well-being.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s doing everything in his power to not show how much this situation is affecting him.

First’s nonexistent heart clenches painfully. He pushes it down. “Regardless,” he starts, “of how we got here, it all ends today.”

As Second turns back around to face their collective nemesis, First reaches down to where little Ninth lay. He kneels next to the boy. His face looks so peaceful, and not for the first time he is reminded of how young the latest One for All successor is. He comforts himself with the thought that, after all is said and done, they can see the boy again in the vestige realm. Yes, he thinks to himself, stroking the boy’s face, they’ll comfort and soothe little Ninth. They’ll care for him better than the boy’s own parents. 

(Not that that’s necessarily hard, considering their competition is a supervillain and a woman who isn’t here right now. Unfair, a voice whispers in the deeper part of his consciousness, of course she isn’t here. She’s a civilian! ) 

These thoughts comfort First enough to proceed with the plan. He daydreams of holding the ninth, cradling the boy - younger than he appears right now - in his arms. He’s always wanted a child, and he’s not averse to taking Yoichi’s brother’s. Besides, he reasons, after Ninth passes away he’ll need a lot of extra comfort. 

“I do apologize for this, Ninth.” 

He clamps a hand over the boy’s forehead. 

In the second between tightening his hold and the next, Ninth is writhing in agony. A scream escapes from his mouth. First murmurs another apology, loosening his hold, and carding a deceptively gentle hand through Ninth’s curls. 

A bright light radiates from the boy. It draws everyone’s attention, including All for One. 

“Izuku!” The fiend yells out, forgetting their current situation. “My son!” 

Something deep, deep down within First reacts to his tone of voice. A small voice in his head whispers that this isn’t right. That the price to be rid of such a terrible person shouldn’t include the blood and sacrifice of someone they all hold so close to their hearts. 

He smirks, but the smug feeling is only surface level. Again, he runs a hand through the boy’s hair. Ninth winces away, face scrunching up. A whimper escapes him.

First ignores this, powering through. Already he can feel Ninth’s life force giving him his physical form back. Judging by the pleasantly surprised faces on the others, it’s safe to say they’re feeling similar effects.

“Leave him be!” All for One holds out a hand, threatening them. “Get away from him!” 

“No,” First says, starting to hum a lullaby under his breath to Ninth. Just because this is necessary to beat Yoichi’s brother, doesn’t mean that little Ninth has to suffer alone. He remembers, from Yoichi’s memories, a time where he himself longed for the times where his (read: Yoichi’s) older brother would comfort him. Singing lullabies and reading stories to distract him (again read: Yoichi - because he isn’t Yoichi; he can’t be. He refuses to be. Being Yoichi means he’s willing to hurt his nephew; his only family member that isn’t dead or batshit insane.) from the pain of being chronically ill. 

“Must hurt, huh?” First taunts, secure in the knowledge that he’s finally getting under All for One’s skin. “Finally being on the other side of all the pain you’ve caused. Because be rest assured, this all could have been avoided. All of this pain and suffering that Ninth is going through is simply a testament to your legacy of blood.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku cuddles up to Tenko. The two boys sit up against a wall, trying to keep each other somewhat warm. 

Izuku has almost fallen into a second dream state, head lolling onto Tenko’s shoulder, when a sudden spike of pain hits him like a freight train. Now, he’s no stranger to pain. Breaking his bones is practically a hobby to him. But this is different, it’s somehow worse in every single way. 

A terrible white hot sensation fills his entire being, deeper than his skin and bones and blood. It burns and burns and-

A scream is ripped from his throat.

Tenko jumps back, an alarmed expression on his face. “I-Izuku?”

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” He shouts, writhing around in agony. The cool floor of the vault is just barely enough to ease the heat consuming his very soul. 

“Make what stop?” Tenko asks, hands hovering above Izuku’s body. “What’s happening?”

Another stab of pain leaves Izuku breathless and fighting to speak. “Mommy! Daddy! Help me! It hurts! It hurts!” His body wracks with sobs.

Tenko takes one of his hands, and then places his other hand on Izuku’s forehead. He hums a song he’s pretty sure his momma used to sing to him before…..

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmurs. 

Izuku whimpers, the noise subdued in comparison to the ear-piercing screech he gave. “Mommy…..daddy…..help….” his voice is hoarse and very weak. 

“Shhhh….rest.” 

When the noise has finally petered out, Tenko lays down next to his former-nemesis-turned-friend. He stays awake, watching for any more signs of discomfort. 

In the dark of the vault, someone else watches the exchange. Their teeth gritted and nails digging into the palms of their hands. “Izuku,” they whisper. 

-x-x-x-

Hisashi isn’t a man of many regrets, but as he watches his only child slowly die in front of him, he has at least one. 

Izuku screams again, head rolling from side-to-side. His eyes are closed, which probably means he’s asleep. A good thing considering the circumstances. Hisashi hopes his son is having a pleasant dream, and is not just trapped within the vestige realm. 

Yo- First should have enough empathy not to do that.

He watches with mute horror as they all begin to become more tangible. Heroes, still not moving a muscle to arrest him or save Izuku, chatter amongst themselves. 

First stands up, joining the brother-stealing-pest at his side. A smug smile on his face. He taunts Hisashi once again, but all he can focus on is his son’s prone body. 

Izuku’s breath is coming out in ragged pants. His skin has a bluish tint, like someone is actively strangling him. 

He moves forward. The second One for All user blocks him, but Hisashi is ready and uses air cannon to shoot the pest(s) out of his way - at a slight angle of course, they’re all going to die but not right now. 

He’s nearly there, just another couple of steps. He reaches his hands out, ready to pull his son into his arms. They can all go to hell. Hisashi needs to get Izuku somewhere safe. 

If they need energy so badly, they can find a way to take it from the Shimura brat. 

He’s just about to kneel down when he’s being pulled back. An appendage-looking like a cross between a tentacle and whip-wraps around his middle. He’s flung back, closer to the useless heroes. 

They scatter upon him landing. 

He scrambles to stand up; his thoughts focus on one thing and one thing only: save Izuku. 

If he can just-

Hisashi locks eyes with Yoichi-and he’s only known two people with those eyes, one being his son and the other being his brother-he’s hit with a sudden understanding. 

His son would not be leaving this battle alive. 

What remains of Hisashi’s soul dies with this knowledge. 

-x-x-x-

Tenko wakes up with his arms empty. He shivers, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. It doesn’t make much sense to him why they can fall asleep when they’re already asleep, but he supposes it gives them an escape from their current predicament. He looks around for his friend. 

“Izuku,” he calls out. 

A soft shushing gets his attention. Tenko looks towards the furthest corner. He can’t see much as it’s bathed in darkness. 

“Izuku?” He asks, an odd feeling welling up in his chest. 

A figure emerges from the corner, imposing and familiar. Izuku lays limply in his arms. “Shush, I said.”

“Sensei?” Tenko gets to his feet. His hatred for the man in front of him is temporarily overshadowed by the fact that his new friend is at Sensei’s mercy. Diplomacy has never been Tenko’s forte, but for Izuku, he’ll try. 

“Hello, Tomura.” He continues to rock Izuku back and forth, shushing him when he makes a pained noise. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“My name’s not Tomura,” he protests, all the years of bottled resentment coming to the surface. “I’m Tenko.”

“That you are,” Sensei retorts, a condescending edge in his tone. “Well, Tenko, how about you fill me in on how you two got here. Usually I can sneak a peek or convince one of the vestiges to fill me in, but it’s been radio silent for the last year or so.”

Tenko grits his teeth. Why does every action have to be like playing chess? He hates this! He hates being near Sensei! He hates him! He hates him so much!

Izuku cries out, bringing him back to his senses. 

Tenko takes a deep breath. “It all started when I tried to beat up Gigantomachia…”

-x-x-x-

Izuku screams out. First spares him a glance. Soon, he tells himself, it will all be over soon. 

All for One stares him down, positively seething in rage. He lunges for him, making his way from across the battlefield with several different quirks. First side steps his pathetic attempt. 

Banjo uses black whip again to fling the resident supervillain around. At Third’s signal, he allows black whip to dissipate. All for One lands on his stomach, hitting his chin on broken concrete. 

Third pulls back his arm, using Fa Jin he punches All for One six times in row. Each hit is harder than the last. 

First makes his way back over to Ninth. The light is slowly dimming. They don’t have much time left - Ninth doesn’t have much time left. He watches his found family finally get a smidge of the revenge they deserve, petting his son’s hair. 

Second uses his ability on a piece of broken ply-wood, sending the shards deep into All for One’s skin. He looks to First; his eyes flicker to Ninth. His expression softens. “Ours now?” He mouths. 

First nods. 

The light dims further. Some of the attacks don’t land as they should. It won’t be long now. 

Nana picks up All for One. Using float she carries him up and up and up until they’re high in the sky, and then lets him go.

-x-x-x-

The All for One locked away in the vestige realm, cringes back. For some reason he feels oddly disappointed. He shrugs it off as the weirdness of the day. 

He regards the small boy in front of him. “And then, you beat up the leader of the Meta Liberation Army?” 

Tenko gives a hesitant nod. 

He can feel the pure, unadulterated hatred coming off the boy. Some people can be so ungrateful. It’s not like he had to take the Shimura brat in. He did it out of the kindness of his heart (and to spite All Might, but that hardly matters in the grand scheme of things). 

“You know, back in my day, Destro was a real pain in my-”

Izuku shifts in his arms. He shushes him. 

“Sensei? Why are you holding Izuku?” Tenko asks, anxiously looking between Izuku and All for One. 

“You don’t know?” 

Tenko shakes his head. 

All for One chuckles, slinking back into the darkness. The boy could follow him into the corner, but he knows Tenko won’t. 

Finding his place against the furthest wall, he sits down with Izuku. He ignores Tenko’s calls for him to come back, instead focusing on his son (is this his son? Technically speaking, he’s only an impression of All for One’s personality from hundreds of years ago. They aren’t the same person. But yet, yet he feels a need to hold and protect and hide-)

A hand slaps him upside the head. “Give him back!” Tenko demands, tugging on Izuku’s arms. 

The smack leaves him stunned. He never expected little Tenko to have the gall. When he finally gets his bearings back in order, a large grin takes over his face. ���How about, no.” Using a small percentage of his power he pushes Tenko back. 

He listens intently for the groan of pain or heavy thud but it never comes. Curious, he peeks out from the darkness. 

No one is there. 

“Huh, that’s-”

A kick to the side of his head makes him drop Izuku. Tenko pulls Izuku into the furthest corner before he turns around to face All for One. A feral grin has taken up much of his face. “I told you,” he starts, charging forward, fist pulled back, “to give him back.” 

-x-x-x-

As the light dims even more, their attacks get weaker. Some even pass right through the super villain. 

All for One has long since passed out - En’s smoke screen finally did him in. Nowhere near dead but definitely out for the count. 

Izuku screams once more and then goes very, very still. 

“It’s time,” First announces. 

The others gather around. 

“We’ve fought for centuries for this moment. I hope you all feel just the tiniest avenged.”

“But All for One isn’t dead,” En pipes up. “What if he breaks out of containment again?” 

First motions to Tenko’s motionless body. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬2

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: Still working a lot but here’s another chapter. I work gaming and the console launches are just killing me for real. Why do (some) gamers have to be idiots?

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You awoke stiff and cold. Your legs were tucked up under your nightgown as the early spring turned frigid in the night and your muscles ached as you fell onto your back. You were still young but you didn’t feel it. The deep snores still rose from the bed as you sat up and the soft light of dawn broke through the curtains.

You suspected that Roy would be just as unpleasant once it came time to rouse him. You got to your feet with a grumble and rubbed your tender stomach. You could feel the bruise and winced as you went to the closet to gather your clothes for the day. The usual; a plain blouse and dull skirt. Then you took a pair of old nylons, some underwear and your brassiere from the chest of drawers.

You wrapped yourself in a robe and crossed to the washroom to quickly clean yourself up before you dressed. You stared in the mirror, your eyes puffy with fatigue. You sighed and dumped your robe and nightgown in the bedroom before you continued on downstairs.

If there was anything that would placate your husband, it was food. Since your wedding day, he had put on quite a few pounds, not that he had ever been particularly slim. He had also aged more than three years of your union, though he was ten years your senior already. Well, your father and mother had about the same difference between them; it was far from unusual.

You took out your iron pan and placed it on the stove, a relic of the Depression era but still able to catch a flame. Your father was always proud of his old appliances. Before you were born and in the early years of your life, he’d worked hard to build not only the farmhouse but a home for his young family. Those years before the war had remained his most precious until the end.

You took out the tray of eggs and the small sausages bartered at a discount from the butcher. You hated to think of replacing the puttering fridge but you doubted it would hold up another couple decades. That in itself would be a battle with Roy. He worked hard for his money. It was difficult enough to negotiate a pair of nylons without holes from the terse man you called your husband.

You were startled as you heard a footboard whine. You turned and accidentally cracked an egg onto the floor as you did. Arvin was dressed in jeans and a plain tee. His overalls were slung over his arm as he entered.

“You’re up already?” You asked as you bent to clean up your mess. “Hope it’s not ‘cause of me.”

“I’ve always been an early riser,” he assured you, “Need any help with that?”

“No, no,” you stood with the egg and shell in your hand, “I think I can manage.” You went to the bin and dumped your handful. “You drink coffee? Orange juice?”

“I wouldn’t mind some milk, if it isn’t too much a bother,” he smiled. “But I can fetch it myself.”

“You don’t have to--”

“You keep saying that. I respect that this is your house, ma’am, and you’re used to doing all the upkeep but I don’t mind at all.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. You wiped your hand on a dish cloth and went back to adding eggs to the mixing bowl. You listened to his footsteps as they continued onto the dining room and he returned to search for a glass among the cupboards.

“Here,” you reached up and opened the cabinet, “Milk’s on the middle shelf in the fridge.”

He neared and grabbed a tall glass from the rows. He was awfully close as he did. He set the glass down on the counter and went to the fridge. You listened as he struggled with the handle.

“You gotta wiggle it. Don’t be afraid to put some muscle into it.” You chuckled.

The door popped open and you heard him grunt. You whisked up the eggs as he approached with the milk jug and filled his glass. He paused as he watched you work. A long silence rose between you, interrupted only by the clink of the whisk on the bowl.

“You got any laundry?” You asked suddenly. “I can manage another load today.”

“If it’s not too much,” he lifted the jug and slowly backed away, “The laundromat isn’t much for efficiency. Sometimes I think my shirts come out more stained than before.”

You listened as he put the jug away and took his glass from beside you. You felt his lingering gaze before he left you but ignored it as your tendency to overthink. He was a kind, young man and you had grown unused to that. 

You loved Roy, tried to at least, and you reminded yourself that he hadn’t always been bad. You hoped that he could be good again. Perhaps Arvin could help with that.

You moved stiffly around the stove. Your muscles strained more with each stretch of your arm or bend of your leg. The floor never left you in very good shape and your apron reminded you of the bruise that deepened along your torso.

When the eggs were fluffy and the sausage browned, you climbed the stairs to wake your husband. You stayed in the doorway as you called to him. It was best not to get close when he was hungover. 

He grumbled and threw a pillow. When you reminded him he would be late to work, he lobbed the lamp. It landed a good foot from you but still caused a thunderous thump on the floor before the bulb shattered.

You left him. He would rouse himself and be too late to bother much with you. He would also have an audience to keep him in line.

You went back downstairs and plated the food; you covered Roy’s before you laid it out on the table along with your own and Arvin’s. You sat across from your houseguest as he greedily eyed his breakfast.

“What was that?” He asked as his brown eyes flicked up to the ceiling.

“Silly me,” you twirled your fork nervously, “I tripped over the cord of the lamp and brought the whole thing down.”

Arvin nodded and his cheek twitched. He said nothing as he cut into a sausage and you pushed around your eggs without eating. Your appetite was soured by memories of the previous night. If fate and alcohol favoured you, Roy would not recall it so well.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked suddenly as you tried to distract yourself. “I know the attic gets a bit gusty, walls aren’t very thick and that couch is old…”

“I slept finer than I have in months,” he replied, “Thank you.”

“You’ve been down at the motel, Roy said. You new in town?”

“Was meaning to just pass through,” he swallowed, “But a few odd jobs turned into a full gig down at the garage. I used to fiddle around with my aunt’s truck when I was a kid and… guess I figured a few things out.”

“Oh? And where’s home? Is that where you were headed?”

“Leavin’, actually. Sometimes you just outgrow where you’re from.” He said wistfully, “Life shakes you awake and says ‘go or die’ and you’re too restless to wait around for the inevitable.”

Your mouth fell open. His face had fallen, a lifetime worth of worries and tragedies set in his thin lips and squared his jaw. He looked through you at the past that had chased him all the way to your doorstep. The naive boy fractured before you to the frightened young man. And then, he was gone.

He smiled and was once more firmly sat in the present.

“I know what you mean.” You said quietly.

“So…” He set his fork down, “You from here then?”

“Daddy’s house. Never left it.” You confessed, “Never had the courage to stop waiting, I suppose.”

“You got lots of time for that,” Arvin said, “You know, when life’s seemed to slow down, it starts back up all at once.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the tablecloth. You looked at your plate, your food barely touched.

“You okay? You’re not eating.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, “I didn’t sleep too much…. there’s this shutter that just knocks against the house when it’s windy, you know?”

He leaned back and considered you. He grabbed his glass of milk and drained it.

“So, how long have you and Roy… been married?” Arvin asked.

You heard the stairs creak and stiffened in your seat. You tapped your fork on the lip of the plate and cleared your throat.

“Three years,” you said as Roy’s grumbles grew louder. 

“Oh,” Arvin glanced over as Roy stumbled in and caught himself on a chair. You stood and uncovered his plate as he sat. He waved you away groggily and swiped up his fork. “A long time and not very long at all, then.”

“Mhmm,” you sat and watched Roy nervously. He said nothing as he shoved a whole sausage in his mouth and groaned. 

“Coffee,” he choked out.

You diligently went to the task of pouring him a mug and returned as Arvin watched him with a placid awareness. You set down the cup and Roy emptied it just as fast as it appeared.

“Too much beer, huh?” Arvin chuckled.

Roy tilted his head and gulped down his mouthful. “Maybe you’ll join me tonight,” your husband challenged. “Boy your size, one bottle’ll have you on your ass.”

“Probably,” Arvin said coolly. “Maybe I’m better stickin’ to water.”

You sat gingerly and looked between the two men. You realised how easily Arvin had distracted Roy. How he kept the temperamental man from his usual morning rage with a few words. You wondered if he had dealt with men like Roy before. Or maybe he had no idea what he was doing at all.

“You want me to drive today?” Arvin ventured, “You can close your eyes on the way.”

“Probably best you do,” Roy smacked his lips, “Don’t know I’ll be very useful at the garage.”

“Ah, just keep your head under that old Chevrolet and no one can tell you’re napping,” Arvin laughed at his own joke. “I won’t tell.”

🚬

You filled your day as any. Your chores kept you busy; laundry, sweeping, dusting, prepping dinner for the return of your husband and the houseguest you kept having to remind yourself of.

You made certain to fold Arvin’s clothes and stack them neatly in a basket for him. He didn’t have much; a few pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, two sweaters, and a denim jacket. You would search through your father’s stuff and see if there was anything worth salvaging.

When the old truck rumbled in front of the house, you were shoving a glazed ham into the oven. You wiped your hands on your apron and strode through to peek through the window. Arvin was quicker than Roy, smaller, younger. Your husband stomped across the gravel as the other man kept a deliberately slow pace behind him.

You opened the door to greet them as they neared the porch.

“How was your day?” You asked as you held open the door.

“A day that calls for a beer,” Roy snarled as he brushed past you. You couldn’t remember when he’d stopped kissing you; sometimes, you were certain you’d imagined he ever had. 

“It was good,” Arvin said softly as he smiled at you. Roy ambled into the front room and fell onto the sofa. “How was yours, ma’am?”

“Well enough,” you replied pensively as you watched your husband, “You want a beer too?”

“No, it’s still a bit early… Actually, I’ll get his beer.” Arvin said, “Why don’t you take a break?”

“She can do it herself,” Roy growled. “What else she gonna do around here?”

“I’m goin’ that way anyhow.” Arvin said. “Think I’ll get myself some water.”

“She’s my wife. She can serve me. Well, you would think she could.”

“Please,” you looked to Arvin pleadingly, “Just sit down.”

He stared at you and nodded slowly. His arm jerked as if he was going to touch your elbow but he backed away and turned to drag his feet into the front room.

“I have some Coke?” You offered, “If you prefer that.”

“Water,” Arvin said dully, “Thank you.” 

You slowly retreated but didn’t miss the way Arvin glared at Roy. He sat in the armchair and bit his thumb as he watched the other man. You spun before you could overthink it and scurried into the kitchen. You grabbed a bottle from the fridge and poured a glass of water. You hurried back to offer the refreshments and rung your hands as you hovered in the doorway.

“Your laundry’s on the landing,” you said meekly, “And Roy, I fixed the lamp.”

Roy merely belched as Arvin lifted his chin and sighed.

“Thank you,” Arvin uttered and set aside his glass, “Show me where that bed is and I’ll move it after dinner.”

“I--” You hesitated and looked at Roy fearfully. He was entirely unconcerned with anything but his beer. “Sure.”

Arvin stood and you led him to the stairway. He followed you up and bent to lift the basket from the landing. You turned to him and he was quick to take the clothes from you.

“I didn’t want to go up there without you knowin’,” you said, “Since it’s your space now.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done.” He hugged the basket. He pressed his lips together and peered back down the stairs. “Are you alright?”

You frowned as he looked at you again. You turned your hands out and shrugged. 

“I’m just fine.” You lied.

He squinted then his eyes fell to the clothes. “Well, you let me know if you need help. With anything.” He slowly edged away from you, “I might be payin’ Roy but I won’t be living on your hard work, ma’am.”

“I-- It’s my job to--”

“It’s his job to love you, with all due respect,” Arvin set down the basket and grabbed the cord of the attic hatch, “Ain’t no work hard enough at the garage that he can’t do that.” The stairs slid down and he picked up the basket again. He placed a foot on the bottom of the latter as he cradled the laundry in one arm. “I’ll be down for dinner.”

🚬

Several days passed with little change. Arvin barely seemed to affect things around the old farmhouse; he kept to himself mostly but helped where he could. Roy didn’t change either. His moods, his brutality, his demands. As you always had, you distracted yourself with your chores.

On Saturday, Roy announced that he was going fishing. Arvin refused an invitation and it didn’t seem to bother your husband. It did, however, make you wonder. Most men in the area were eager to be away from the homestead with a rod or rifle in hand. Well, it didn’t seem like your houseguest was most men.

You bid Roy goodbye. He was in a happier mood and let you kiss his cheek as he packed up his bait box. When he was gone, you went about your usual. You would sweep and dust the entire house before you started lunch; a small one as Roy took his with him.

When you got to the dining room, Arvin was at the table. He had a small, leather-bound notebook before him as he scribbled in it with a stubby pencil. He smiled as you hit the doorframe with the broom and apologized under your breath. He went back to his work and you went about your own, quietly, carefully.

As you bent to sweep up the dirt into the pan, you looked at him. His reddish-brown hair hung forward, the strands dangled along his nose. You stood and neared the table.

“I don’t know how you see anything,” you remarked.

He lifted his head and his hair tickled his cheeks. He chuckled and closed the notebook around the pencil.

“Guess I’m just used to it,” he said, “Do you ever sit down? Don’t think I could run around like you in those heels?”

You glanced down at your kitten heels. Not very high or fancy. You gripped the broom and leaned on it.

“I just think my feet are naturally curved now,” you kidded. “Sorry, if I interrupted you.”

“No, no, you’re right. I need a haircut,” he pushed his hair back and stretched as he bent his arms behind his head. “Been a while.”

There was silence between you. You weren’t sure why you’d broken it in the first place. Usually, you wouldn’t dare bother Roy. He always had the first word. And the last.

“I cut Roy’s hair. I could do yours.” You were shocked at your own words and snapped your mouth shut bashfully. “Or you could go down to Hannon’s and get him to give you proper trim. I’m just… offerin’.”

“Really?” He sat up, “If you wouldn’t mind. I’m tryna save my money for a car of my own right now. I’ll pay in labour? Got this old batter recipe I learned as a kid. Roy brings back some good fish and we’ll have some filets.”

“You don’t--” You voice died as he gave you that look. How many times had you said those words? ‘You don’t have to do that.’ You took a breath. “Bring a chair in the kitchen and I’ll get the scissors.”

You went to the kitchen and dumped the dustpan. You leaned the broom against the wall and searched for the scissors in the second drawer. You heard Arvin behind you as you took a dish cloth and turned to him. He placed the chair in the middle of the floor and sat.

You tucked the scissors into your apron along with the comb you kept with the old silver shears. You neared him and held up the cloth. “I’m just gonna tuck this into your shirt to catch the hair.”

“That’s fine,” he smiled at you as you bent to wrap the dish cloth around his neck and tucked it into his collar carefully. Your fingers grazed his neck and you saw him tense.

You backed up and took out the comb. 

“Where do you usually part it?”

“I usually just comb it back but then it just kinda… falls,” he snorted bashfully. “So, just wherever.”

You rounded him and combed his hair back before parting it along the left side. It split naturally from his crown and you did your best to be precise. You pulled his hair up with the teeth of the comb and began to cut away the length. The chopped ends fell over the towel and the shoulders of his tee. 

As you came around the front, he watched you with his deep brown eyes. You tried not to fidget against his intent gaze.

“Close your eyes,” you said and he seemed reluctant to do so. You began to snip as you let the hair hang to see the length and lifted it again to cut away more. 

“So, you got any records for the player?” He asked. The question surprised you but eased you.

“My daddy loved Sinatra and Crosby.” You said. “But I don’t suppose many listen to that anymore.”

“Well, some,” he said, “You ever listen to Ray Charles? I was down at the general store and they… they were selling his album at discount.”

“Oh?” You leaned closer as you softened the blunt ends of his hair, “I think… on the radio. Sometimes, I turn it on when Roy’s workin’ but I always make sure to turn it back to his station before he gets home or he--”

You stopped yourself and focused on your task. You didn’t want to mangle his hair. He had such nice hair. Soft and thick.

“Or he what?” Arvin opened his right eye.

“Or, you know… he just gets real upset. The dial on that old thing is so fussy,” you moved around him so the heat receded from your cheeks. “Just don’t want him breakin’ it.”

“You think he’d break it? Over that?” Arvin asked gently.

You chewed the inside of your lip. “No,” you said after a pause, “No, Roy can be grumpy but he wouldn’t…” You sniffed and combed his hair, “Maybe we can dig out some of my daddy’s records when I’m done.”

“Maybe,” he said evenly as he tapped his fingers along his thigh. “A little music might brighten this place up.”

[bigskydreaming]

I was about to say, I can't see Jason letting his guard down as much as intoxication would. I CAN see Jason drinking apple juice and pretending to be drunk. (Funny how I can remember Dick drinking, never more than one or two drinks, and Jason refusing wine, but the fanfic writers get it al wrong.)

Yeah, tbh, I don’t really see any of the Batkids ever being or becoming even casual drinkers. They all value control too much, and have too much experience with mind and mood-altering substances for it to be appealing to them in my personal opinion. 

Just my personal headcanon is like, they tend to treat drinking as like, another skill to acquire. They try it to maybe just have enough experience with it that they can fake it undercover and know what they’re doing, or that if they end up in a situation where they have to take at least a quick drink to sell their cover like, they’re not going to be totally blind-sided by the taste or sensation, especially because most of their reputations don’t or aren’t likely to lend themselves to being completely unfamiliar with alcohol. And maybe they occasionally make an point to build up a tolerance in case for some reason they need it, but I honestly can’t really ever buy any of them as casual drinkers.

I mean, I focus a lot on Dick’s times brainwashed or under someone else’s control, and also his rigid insistence on self-determination in his life, and I just can’t honestly see any mindset where he’s like yes, lowering my inhibitions and lessening my ability to be in control of myself is exactly what I’m looking for. Its kinda like how I drastically disagree with takes on him as submissive in any kind of dom/sub fic, lol. Its not about the partner, its about the fact that Dick isn’t the kind of control freak who looks for opportunities to take a break from the stresses of holding such an iron control over his self.....rather, IMO, Dick is that way BECAUSE of how often he’s had virtually NO control of himself or what happens to him, and how much that always....sucks for him. 

He tries to maintain self-control and control stuff in his life wherever and whenever he can because he’s not about to lose any of the basically rare opportunities to not HAVE to push back against someone else’s will or expectations for him, where he can just be uncontested in being in charge of his autonomy and own destiny. And I honestly have never seen anything in his character that suggests he’d ever remotely be looking for or welcome to opportunities to basically just....willingly hand over the control of himself that he fights soooo damn hard to obtain and maintain....because when has that EVER ended well for him, you know? So I just....don’t buy sub Dick and never have, and I don’t buy Dick as a casual drinker even, for pretty much the same exact reasons.

Jason I see as a bit more complicated, because of a couple factors. First, there’s the presence of drugs and alcohol in his early life and how much that affected his life as just a bystander, essentially. And its not like every child of an alcoholic parent grows up to be hostile to alcohol, etc. But in Jason’s case I feel that he would be, like he’d almost personify drugs and alcohols as an actual antagonist in his life that have made him suffer, been the actual enemy that prevented him from having a real go at a family with his first parents. And thus he’d just be viciously opposed to them in their entirety, like even as a expansive, nebulous concept of them and everything related to them. Which would also play into things like his insistence that drug dealers in Gotham not sell to kids, etc.

Also, there’s the fact that Jason kinda ended up with....gap years in his development, where the normal linear timeline of developing as a teenager was derailed by his death and then supplanted by a very unorthodox later development that was guided by assassins and influenced by an external-turned-internal force that had a definite influence on his emotions and thought patterns at times. So Jason kinda missed out on a number of years where he could have potentially worked through a lot of his childhood issues with abuse, his parents and drugs and alcohol to a degree further than he did in canon, but just......never got the opportunity to. So it was like....hitting pause on all of that and then unpause when he actually came back to Gotham and rejoined society in his own way, as that put him around these kinds of things again and forced an internal confrontation with how he felt about them now.

And then there’s also the matter of the Pit itself.....much like Dick, but in entirely different ways, Jason has been extremely impacted by things that are not his fault or choosing, that originate OUTSIDE of him and end up controlling or influencing him internally, again through no choice of his own.....and thus, same as Dick, I don’t see how any substance that lessened his control over himself during the times he actually HAS it, would like....remotely appeal to him.

But then again on the other hand, I do think Jason is very self-destructive at times, not more so than Dick, as he can be very self-destructive as well, but just in different ways. Like, Dick IMO is someone who self-destructs quietly and over time. Suffering in silence, not availing himself of any of the opportunities he has to get help from others in various matters because he either doesn’t trust that they’ll prioritize him or he doesn’t feel that he deserves to be, or a combination of both. Jason, IMO, is neither innately more self-destructive or less, its just that....his tendency towards self-destruction manifests pretty explosively, like, in singular burning bright kind of instances that flare up, are just colossally bad decisions that he very quickly regrets, but then die back down and leave him cleaning up the aftermath, but at least having gotten whatever caused that particular turn towards self-destruction like, kinda out of his system.

So his means of self-destruction tend to just be LOUDER, and more.....in your face...but they also come and go more quickly, IMO. And one of those are pretty much the only time or reason I can see for him ever engaging in drinking or voluntarily giving up control.....like, the appeal specifically is a kind of self-punishment, and thus makes for an ideal weapon of choice at least once.....BUT again, the caveat there is like I said, I view Jason as someone who cycles through periods of self-destruction, but then he like...moves past it (or at least on a surface level, like, he FEELS like he has, though the initial problem often stil remains under the surface). But the point is, I think he regrets these instances of self-destruction soon after they happen....and I also think he’s someone who believes very strongly in not making the same mistakes twice. 

Like, he knows not to take things for granted better than anyone. Shit doesn’t go according to plan, my personal headcanon for him is his ideal followup is the immediate realization well, that didn’t work, time for something completely different....and then he does something completely different in the hopes of getting closer to his actual desired result. So I could see him doing something like getting black out drunk, etc, as one of these bouts of self-destruction....but the key in my mind, is I could only see him doing that ONCE. Once he’d done it and regretted it, it’d be crystallized in his mind as a Mistake and like, nope, not doing that again. Even when having another tendency towards self-destruction at a later date....I think he’d do it in a different way.

Also, I’ve never bought Jason as a smoker, like, I could see him faking it for The Mood or whatever, lol, but like.......this is a kid who grew up malnourished and thus had to take on criminals as a very under-sized Robin. He comes back after the Pit like, over six feet tall and well-oiled muscle that makes it SO much easier to kick ass as a vigilante? Why the FUCK would he ever screw that up by messing with his lungs or anything else, you know? If anything, I see Jason as being like, as much a ‘my body is my temple’ kind of guy as Dick is, just for different reasons.

I’ve always said I see Dick and Jason having a lot more in common than they’re usually credited with, and all of this is a huge part of why. They both just have HUGE issues with control in regards to themselves and their lives, and just being able to HAVE it and to take advantage of it, do what THEY want to do rather than constantly being moved about by the whims of others and having to always adjust or adapt to whatever everyone else was doing or the box they were being forced in by situations, etc. They’ve BEEN without control, self-autonomy, in ways and to degrees most people couldn’t imagine, so, like....its IMO more likely to be that much more precious and valuable to them than it is even to most people? Like, these are two men who I don’t see ever giving it up without a fight, and thus, they’re just like.....I’m gonna hard pass on the alcohol, etc.

And its got nothing to do with judgment on their part, I don’t think, like, other than the fact that they can’t personally relate to seeing the appeal. Its just the end result of lowered inhibitions/loss of self control or autonomy that they’re like...yeah, that’s what we’re not on board with, thanks but no thanks. Not for us.

I don’t have as strong of headcanons about the other kids just because they’re either too young or it just doesn’t come up as much, such as with Cass (though you can probably guess my headcanon for Cass there given that I talk about the similarities ALL three of the eldest Wayne kids share in a lot of ways, lol) but honestly I think it’d be more of the same with all of them, even if not always for quite the same reasons or quite as strong of reasons. Like, they’ve all been raised with too much reason to value self-control and too little cause to see lowered inhibitions as appealing, so the Batfam as a whole I personally headcanon as being nah, we get our highs from adrenaline and being weird as fuck, thanks though.

[csa-survivor-confessions]

(1/2)🐛? (on mobile cant find your faq sorry) My mom raped me for years and i recently escaped now that im 18. I didnt remember the sexual abuse when i made the decision to leave but i randomly realized it a few months later. I have found little support and therapy for an hour a week is all i can afford but is not enough. I am at the end of my rope with my trauma and DID and i dont know what to do. The biggest issue is the overwhelming shame, and feeling like i deserved it.

(2/2)🐛 I keep falling into saying it didn't happen/wasn't that bad/others had it worse to the point I get sick when I deny it too much. An alter keeps saying the rest of us are lying and mom is a good person and we should go back. I feel like I made everything up because I read a lot of noncon fic to try to punish myself. Every grounding technique I have tried has failed. Sorry, I know this is a lot. Any resources for female survivors of maternal incest? Or any advice at all? I feel so alone.

Hello,

I’ll separate this into parts to hopefully help with converting clear information. 

Denial, believing it’s fake. 

Fake memories, or just “made up” memories do not happen commonly,  [information here The False Memory Myth & Memory Repression].  there is nothing wrong with feeling that way however, self-denial and downplaying of our one trauma is really common. 

Having “denial of parts/alters” is really common. I personally have DID as well and we have alters who deny our abuse, blame our abuse or have a deep attachment to our abusers. That is so normal! You are not alone, In this struggle. If you have any internal communication you can talk to the other alters who share this trauma for support these internal connection are god for recovery. 

If you have the stability or any parts wh are good at working with there might also am them why they feel the need to defend the mother. communicating can also help ease your feeling of overwhelming and denial. 

One key way to help with downplaying of abuse is to imagine a friend came to you and told you what happened to you happened to them. And think about what you would tell them, I bet it’s not. “it wasn’t bad” or “well other people got it worse”. 

When you have worked out the kind of compassionate language, start picture the little girl inside you who went through the trauma. This can include talking to some of your young alters if you have any communication methods with them. Sometimes pulling them forward through focusing on your internal child might happen and sometimes those with DID can access the internal child through more basic IFS (internal family system) and Part Work methods. And offer them compassion for what they are going through. 

Shame

When you find thoughts of shame start to spiral, not the thoughts and the feelings in your body. But then take a long breath and work to not identify with that thought. The emotion and thoughts exist but you don’t have t push yourself to think about it r feel it. Picture the emotion and try and let it pass.

Working towards self neutrality is also a good goal. Refraimging the language you use to talk about yourself, and in your case, your alters, to something that lacks overly negative connotation ill help change the schemas of shame.  Coping Skills: Ditch Value judgments

Those words of compassion we talked about early when you find yourself starting to feel so down on yourself and shameful try saying these words to yourself. Along with some positive self aspirational mantras, you can help start to reshape the patterns your neurology follows. You won’t believe them at first but saying these will help with healing. 

Practising good self-care can be super important. When we can treat our body with honesty and respect that helps shape our internal sense of being respected and being care for. It’s also just good for general depression and health. [Coping Skills Masterposts: Self-Care]

I know how hard things like showers can be but starting with just tooth brushing and face washing can be important. If brushing of teeth is a trigger I suggest buying a smaller toothbrush like a kids size and changing toothpaste to one tat either foams less, is another colour or if the taste carries. Using baby whips or a wet cloth to areas like the groin, armpits, under breasts and behind knees would be another important step towards overall health. 

Keeping the living space as neat as possible also counteracts feelings of overwhelming shame and self-esteem issues.

The use of sexual material to cope

When we struggling to deal our tendency to self-harm is very common as it’s a maladaptive attempt to cope. Using the stories as a way to in your words punish is a form of self-injurious behaviour. Factors like lack of regulation, compulsive behaviour, intrusive thoughts and being manipulated by users to believing this is a reaction to perceived threats. [Coping Skills: Combating Self-Harm Urges]

This doesn’t invalidate abuse as having been abused is not contingent in never interacting with sexual content, up to and including having sex, afterwards. CSA often predates other unhealthy sexual behaviours as a reaction to our sexual traumas. No way our trauma reactions show mean our abuse didn’t happen or didn’t hurt us deeply. 

Coping Skills

 It makes sense a lot of the mainstream grounding is hard and lack effectiveness. Much of the meditative type skills intensify dissociation. We also often struggle with our automatic nervous systems being even more fractured than those with PTSD. Our neurological behaviour will also be more likely to take any stress or confusion and push us to dissociate. Visualization also tends to work poorly for many of us with dissociative disorders for the same issue of a tendency to dissociate. Focusing on a singular self to ground into can also become hard for us too and trigger depersonalization. 

If there are skills you liked in theory and didn’t have direct negative effects it might be worth trying them again. I do understand the frustration I really really do but it can be worth it. especially as you learn what coping skills can work with different somatic sensations and cognitive distortions. 

I would suggest using some of the most basic coping methods of deep breathing. I would guess this already takes a lot of brainpower as even basic things like breathing regularly can be hard for those who have extreme dissociation. So it takes a huge amount of practice for us and time for it to be effective but it’s so very important. 

I would suggest still trying to practice focusing on our body sensations even if we don’t add the subsequent suggestions for grounding. Knowing what sensations tend to present themselves when certain stimuli and thoughts are present is really important for coping. It can be true that the coping skill you are working at isn’t addressing where you are. For examples, our nervous system can be in hyperarousal but many grounding skills counteract hyperarousal. So try and look for engagement over relaxation or visa versus.

I am a big believer in the body-mind connection and import of the brain-body connection and coping that is body focused. Cogntive skills like thought stopping and replacing can be truly helpful in the short term for trauma survivors.   

Talk to your alters as well, coping can be influenced by the emotions land somatic states trauma we are carrying along with the ones within our consciousness. They might also just have opinions on what you ought to do. This can be done internally or through other means like writing notes. 

Mother-daughter incest

I have found very little survivor orientated material that could be helpful, I found mostly news sources about how it exists and academic texts.  

If any of our community knows of survivor focused materials for survivors of mother-daughter incest please reply or submit them. 

We do have a discord that you could join and we have an incest support channel we are still growing the members of the server but it might be a place to have peer support. 

Be Blessed,

-Admin 2

[striker-brayden]

Location: On a bench on campus Date: Graduation Trigger warnings: Mentions of anxiety, neglect, addiction, relapse, death, and drug abuse. (I get into how Brayden’s addiction affected his family, and Landon’s POV during that time, so it gets a little sad and dark. Please proceed with caution!)

Brayden’s graduation gown is draped over the back of the bench from when he shucked it off the second he was free. The crowd is long gone, probably at their post-graduation lunches, but he hasn’t found the will to go back to the Tower yet. His shit is already packed, and while he’s still staying with Betsy over the summer, it still feels too real. In July, he won’t be in the Fox Tower anymore. He won’t pick up his racquet again, and he won’t have that strict schedule he’s had to follow for the past five years. It makes his chest tight with anxiety, and the fact that he’s walking out of here without the win he tried so hard for, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t regret his choice. He talked it through with Besty, and he’s trying to not to put all his self-worth into whether he beat Landon or not, and he thinks he’ll eventually look back on this year and accept the end result, but it’s too soon right now. 

It’s time to move on, and start building up his portfolio so he can do what he really wants. He’s pretty sure if he stayed on the Foxes for a sixth year, he would’ve run himself into the ground. It’s bittersweet. Brayden never thought he’d leave this place with any kind of reluctance--he didn’t think there’d be anyone to miss. When he first signed on, he figured he’d spend the next five years keeping to himself until he got his degree. Instead, he’s sitting here, thinking about how much it’ll fucking suck to say goodbye to his roommates, his friends...Arlo. He has a phone, and he’s not leaving Palmetto right away, but it won’t be the same. 

Brayden looks up as a shadow passes over him, letting out a resigned sigh when he sees his brother looming over him. He’s dressed for the occasion and everything, hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants as he hovers nervously. Brayden had a feeling he’d show up, considering he texted him asking for the date and if he could set aside a ticket just in case. He’s given up on trying to block Landon’s attempts at whatever it is he’s doing, though he still doesn’t trust it. His brother wants something, and he knows that once Landon has his mind set on something he doesn’t give up. 

“Lucky me,” Brayden says flatly, “and here I thought I wouldn’t have any family trying to get pictures of me in my hat. Mom isn’t here too, is she?”

Landon sits heavily beside him, letting out a frustrated sigh. “No, I didn’t tell her about it. She’s still in California. She keeps trying to put the idea of moving to West Virginia in my head though.” 

That doesn’t surprise him. He tries not to think about what she’s been up to since he left, but he doesn’t imagine she’s doing well in that house by herself, especially without Landon. After Brayden pulled away, she latched onto her prized, eldest son--who defended her every time Brayden said something particularly nasty about her. 

“What’s the hold up? I figured you’d be all over that. You and mom were like the fucking dream duo, giving me shit when I wouldn’t worship the ground she walked on,” He snaps before he can stop himself. It seems like it doesn’t matter how many years pass, it’ll always be a sore spot for him--how isolated he felt back then. 

“No, you were my best friend,” The change in Landon’s tone is so sudden that it causes Brayden to reel back in surprise. It’s not like he hasn’t heard him snap before, they used to get into some pretty terrible screaming matches back in the day, but during all those fights, Landon never said anything like that. He watches his brother’s jaw clench as he tries to reign himself in, much like Brayden does when he’s pissed, until his shoulders suddenly slump. “God, I’m so tired of fighting with you. That’s not why I came.”

“Then why did you come?” Brayden mutters.

“Because whether you want to believe it or not, I’m proud of you. I could tell from your games how hard you’ve been trying this year, and you graduated on time. I know you don’t want me here, but I’m still your brother. Families are supposed to go to graduations,” He trails off with a sigh, staring down at his hands as he wrings them nervously.

Brayden isn’t used to seeing Landon like this. He was always everything Brayden wasn’t--confident, talented, carefree. Everything always came so easy for him. It was impossible for him to live up to, so he stopped trying. He became the opposite of what people expected from Landon Sykes’ younger brother. He was angry, lazy, an addict--a disappointment. And then he was lost and desperate, and had no one, so it doesn’t sit right with him that Landon is suddenly here now when he doesn’t need him anymore.

“Why now?” He asks, wincing when his voice comes out like a hoarse croak. “Why now when I have my shit together and not then? If you were my best friend then where the fuck were you when I actually needed you?”

It’s the question he’s been wanting to ask for so many years, but didn’t have the guts to, because it’d mean admitting that he was weak enough to need his family after he made the choice to push them away. Maybe because he also didn’t want to hear the answer, in case it confirmed what he’s known all along. That they didn’t care about him. 

Landon is silent for a long time, studying his hands like they’re most fascinating things in the world, and the longer it goes on, the more the anxiety claws at his throat. When he finally looks up, Brayden is shocked to see there’s tears building in his eyes. He hasn’t seen his brother cry since they were kids, and it makes his own burn automatically. 

“I was scared,” Landon admits, his voice wobbling dangerously, “Seeing you like that. God, Brayden you just looked so sick, and you were so out of it all the time, I didn’t know what to do. I was just a kid. I had no fucking idea what I was supposed to do.” 

A kid. Somehow, Brayden never thought of him like that back then. He was his big brother. Larger than life Landon. And suddenly he realizes he always looks back at that time and thinks of himself as a stupid teenager, but never gives Landon that same patience.. He’s only a year older than him. If their situations were reversed, he’s not so sure he would’ve handled it any better. 

Landon uses Brayden’s contemplative silence as an excuse to keep going, sniffing and blinking back the tears building before he speaks up again. “And I know it’s not a good excuse, but I was pissed at you. We were best friends our whole lives, and then one day, out of the blue, it was like you were done with me. No explanation. Nothing. You wouldn’t hang out with me anymore, you’d barely say a word to me. It was like I meant nothing to you, and that hurt,” He breaks off suddenly with a shaky breath, and Brayden is really rendered speechless this time, staring at Landon with wide, confused eyes.

Brayden was so tired of living in Landon’s shadow that he took all that frustration and anger and attached it to his brother. He never considered how pushing him away might’ve affected him, because he was so convinced it was his brother’s fault. Now he’s hearing that Landon didn’t even know why he did it. Like he was so oblivious to being the superior brother that Brayden’s actions made no fucking sense to him. Maybe they didn’t. He just can’t understand how Landon didn’t see it.

“You said I ignore my problems and that I let you push me away too easily,” Landon speaks up again when Brayden fails to. “And you were right. I should’ve tried harder to reach out to you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t. I’m sorry that I was so hard on you when you clearly needed help. I thought you wouldn’t want it, I guess. I thought you hated me--that you still do,” He confesses and finally looks up, giving Brayden a defeated looking shrug. 

“I did,” He admits, and even though he was only quiet for a few minutes his throat still feels rough from disuse, probably from being so dry. Part of him wishes Betsy was here to facilitate this conversation, but he actually thinks he’s in a good enough place to deal with this himself. Maybe, Landon’s weird stalker tendencies paid off after all. 

“Being your brother wasn’t easy, man. Everyone, and I mean everyone, loved you. All your teachers, your coaches, the fucking janitor, and maybe being awesome comes naturally to you, but it sure fucking doesn’t for me,” He lets out a short, bitter laugh. Landon gives him a confused look, but doesn’t interrupt, and he knows he’s going to have to actually spell this out for him. 

“So, imagine all those people then meeting me and wondering how the fuck I’m related to you,” He says slowly. 

“What was wrong with you?” Landon counters, still sporting the confused, puppy look, and Brayden doesn’t know whether to laugh or punch him, at this point. “You were a little shy, I guess.”

“More than a little, dude. I didn’t have friends. I couldn’t just do anything and be god tier at it like you. I was average. Below average--” Landon cuts in before he can finish, “Okay, I think you’re building me up a little too much.” 

“I’m not. I think the only thing I was wrong about is that you apparently didn’t see yourself like that. But the point is, people had high expectations for me that I couldn’t meet, and then they were disappointed. I couldn’t do fucking anything without being compared to you. And mom--” He stops abruptly, shaking his head. He needs to get this out in the open, whether all contact ends today or if he actually keeps up with this tentative thing they have going on. “She was the worst of them all. ‘You should be more like your brother,’ she’d say. Like I wasn’t good enough for her as I was.”

“I’m sure she was just worried that you were lonely, Bray,” Landon offers quietly, and the combination of the old nickname and Landon defending her strikes a chord in him, and suddenly anger is burning in his veins. 

“And then you’d fucking do that!” He snaps, his voice cracking. Thank fucking god everyone already left or else they’d be causing quite the scene. “You’re always defending her instead of just trying to understand why I was mad at her. Yeah, I was fucking lonely, but it wasn’t because the kids at school didn’t like me or whatever, it was because of that. Because mom was so fucking proud of you that I felt like her extra kid half the time, and you were always taking her side. I didn’t fit in there, and I was so fucking tired of trying. So yeah, I pushed you away.”

Landon looks like he has an argument ready but he lets out a long sigh instead, running a hand over his face, “I wish you said something.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to have to,” Brayden mumbles, pursing his lips as his conscious fights him on that. It sounds like Betsy. “Which I realize now isn’t a healthy approach or whatever. And I guess I should’ve told you all that instead of taking it on you like I did. It was kind of hard not to hate you when I was living in your shadow.” 

“There’s a lot we should’ve done differently,” Landon concedes with a tight, weak half-smile. “We were just kids, dealing with things we didn’t understand. But do you get why I’ve been reaching out to you all year, right? We’re not kids anymore. You just graduated, I have a full time job. I guess I just want my brother back,” He admits. 

“It’s a little too late for that. Don’t you think?” He stares down at his feet, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to do with all this. He never thought this was a conversation they’d ever had. He thought all this time Landon was trying to reach out to fuck with him, not to repair their relationship. Brayden just doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to not associate Landon with the darkest point of his life.

“No,” The broken tone in his voice prompts Brayden to whip his head up in surprise, furrowing his brows when he sees Landon’s eye are glassy with tears again.

“You don’t get it, do you? Do you know how relieved I was when you joined the Foxes? How good it felt to see you on the court. Sober? And then you relapsed. That’s when I thought it was too late. Brayden, I thought you were going to die,” Landon gets too choked up to go on, and a few tears slip down his cheeks as he takes a heaping breath to collect himself. 

“Come on, man. Don’t do that,” Brayden shakes his head and braves resting a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He feels a tear trickle down his own cheek, and realizes Landon must’ve set him off. Stupid sympathy tears. They must look ridiculous--two dudes crying on a bench. “I’m fine. Like actually fine. Five years sober and everything.”

Fuck, was that really what it was like being on the other side? All these years, he’s built Landon up to be the enemy. He was so hurt and angry with him that he never put himself in his shoes and wondered what it was like to see himself in his eyes. Now, Landon’s pain is written all over his face, and while he still wishes he knew this back then, he’s glad he’s learning it now. His brother cares. 

“I’m so sorry,” Landon shakes his head violently before wiping his eyes, “I wish I could go back and change how I handled it, but I can’t. So, I’m trying to fix it now, I guess.”

Brayden nods quietly in understanding, giving him another pat on the shoulder before dropping his hand, “Yeah, I get it. And look, I know I was an asshole and exactly wasn’t easy to deal with. So, I’m sorry too. For cutting you out. I guess we could start like--calling each other and shit, if you want.”

Landon looks stupidly hopeful at that, perking up in his seat, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, why not? I mean, I don’t think I’m ready to be best friends forever or anything yet, but we can take it slow,” He shrugs, playing it nonchalantly even though he feels a weird mix of panic and relief. Talking like this, actually trying to understand each other, is making him realize he actually missed Landon. He was so caught up in beating Landon and trying to keep him out of his life that he forgot why he was his best friend in the first place. 

“Do you have plans yet? You could always stay with me until you figure it out,” Landon offers causing Brayden to snort. 

“That’s not slow, dude. And I’m staying with our team therapist for the summer, and after that I might get an apartment nearby while I save up money and figure shit out. I’m--uh--trying to be a tattoo artist,” He admits.

“Awesome,” Landon grins. “I figured you’d end up doing something artsy, since you were painting all the time. Think you can give me one for free?” 

Brayden raises an amused brow, his gaze shifting to Landon’s ink-less arms. 

“A small one,” Landon adds with a laugh.

“Discounted, maybe. Unless, you’re getting a Deathly Hallows tattoo. Then it’s full price,” Brayden pats his shoulder before pushing himself to his feet, gesturing for his brother to follow.

“Uh--where are we going?” He asks as he hesitantly stands. 

“My dorm. I’ll introduce you to my teammates, and I’ll reintroduce you to my boyfriend. I was kind of asleep the last time you met him,” He shrugs.

It’s a simple offer, but Landon looks like he just told him he won the lottery with the big grin on his face, “Yeah, that’d be great. I was watching you guys so closely all year I feel like I already know them, so it’d be good to meet them officially.”

“Creepy, dude,” He snorts before leading the way. 

Brayden feels weirdly light and at peace. Like the last chapter of this crazy, five year adventure came to a close. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so freaked out to be leaving. He has Arlo and his friends, he can always call Betsy if he needs to, and even if things with Landon aren’t ever really the same again, it’s getting better. For once, he can picture the future, and it’s looking pretty fuckin’ good.

[cursed-ice-spirits]

Rebecca’s First Year: Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Duel

Prev: Chapter 5

First: Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 7

TW: Small mention of abuse

The next few weeks pass by quickly. Lockwood is a pain in the arse but that’s nothing new. Ben Copper, who used to be scared of her because of the rumors around her, started following her like a lost puppy after she punched Chung in the face and chased him away. 

(She also got like 10 points taken off but who cares about that when she’s hated by most of the school’s population anyway?

Most, she said most)

She also got Rowan Khanna (you know, the Ravenclaw Merula was trying to bully into calling her the most powerful witch of the school before she decided to intervene by getting Lockwood to splash her in the face with water? Man, that was great before that little stunt decided to bite her in the arse) seeking her out as well for whatever reason. 

(Probably because she got Merula soaked in water. She doesn’t know how Rowan found out but it’s the only conclusion she can think of)

She’s certainly not gonna complain, even if Rowan’s ramblings get her a little cross-eyed and Ben’s tendency to jump at every noise makes her jump, it was nice having people who don’t talk about her behind her back or push her around.

(She should not be complaining about Rowan’s ramblings when her own prattle can last 6 hours. Maybe more).

Bill has been watching out for her. They haven’t talked since Veronica told them about Lockwood’s plans but he stopped a few of their peers from gossiping about her and that’s highly appreciated.

It also didn’t take her long to figure out Chiara’s furry little problem. It was suspicious enough that she disappeared a few days after school began, but it was even more suspicious when she disappeared again a month later, right on a full moon. Rebecca doesn’t bother to mention it. Chiara is one of the nicest girls in Hufflepuff, why should she care if she’s a werewolf? Meadows would probably make a big deal out of it but then again, it’s Meadows. She makes a big deal out of everything.

(Rebecca’s taken to tuning her out the moment she sees her opening her mouth. It’s so much better than listening to the shit that comes out of her mouth, although it’ll be a plus if she punches her teeth in too.

Focus Rebecca, you’re not a violent person. Sort of).

On the matter of Hufflepuff, she hasn’t talked to the boy, Diego, who got Hagrid to rescue her from the Devil’s Snare. She should thank him but… the fact that he saw her in one of her more vulnerable states just gives her an icky feeling. He knows about her panic attack, he knows what set her off, and when he doesn’t even say anything about it, it drives her crazy because she doesn’t know what he’ll do with that kind of information. 

Call her paranoid, but that’s how she survived for so long. 

All that aside, look who wrote to her?

Evelyn.

Dear Miss Lord, 

Hello from Thailand, I suppose you’re curious about my knowledge on your mark. Fear not, I have not told anyone. The knowledge I have of you belongs to me and me alone. My grandmother would know of you though, mainly because her maiden name was yours, but she has passed a year ago so your secret is safe with me.

It’ll probably be late September by the time you receive this but I congratulate you on your birthday nonetheless. It isn’t everyday one turns twelve.

Attached to this letter is a book all about dueling tips and tricks. I think you’ll need it for the years at Hogwarts. 

I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have in another letter. 

Take care, Miss Lord.

~E. Parrish

Dear Miss Parrish,

Your grandmother being a Lord explained a lot. You gave me a heart attack when you can see my mark freely. I suppose with our circumstances, I have to trust that you kept your word about my curse.

I’m surprised you wrote to me. I would have thought you stayed away when you figured out who I am. That’s what everyone’s doing here except for a selected few. But seeing as you are technically family, I guess you are obligated to stick around. 

Thailand, you say? How is it like? And thank you for the book, I’m definitely going to need it in the future.

~RVL 

P.S. I need somewhere where I can hide without anyone bothering me. Do you know such a place?

—————

“How can you do that?” Ben whined as he held on to his broom, watching Rebecca zoom around in the sky. 

“Do what?” she asked, stopping briefly to look down at him. 

They were finally moving on to flying. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was a great flyer and didn’t need any assistance from Hooch. Others, though, she can’t say the same about.

“Fly,” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts. He held his broom tighter and gulped. “How are you not afraid of falling to your death?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and righted herself. Ben proved himself to be afraid of everything and anything. He was raised in a muggle family, so that may be the reason why he acts this way, but still. 

“I think it’s because I’m used to flying,” Rebecca said out loud as she turned to face him, swinging her other leg over the broom. One hand on the broom and the other propped on her knee to rest her chin in her pale, she stared down at him, analyzing his pale face. “You never flew before while I have flown for nearly my entire life. Understandably, you may be uncomfortable with the idea of flying.”

“Just,” she paused, glancing away and smirking at the sight of Merula getting hit in the face with her broom, “don’t think about falling, and focus on flying.”

Still, despite her words, he looked nervous, shoulders hunched. “Do you promise to catch me if I fall?”

She cracks a tiny smile, then lets it fall seconds later. “I promise to try my best.”

“Not very reassuring but I suppose I have to try sooner or later.”

Thankfully, she didn’t have to fly down and catch him from falling, but as she reached up to ruffle Ben’s hair and congratulate him, she notices Merula staring at them with a sneer, then leaned over to whisper something in Lockwood’s ear. 

Rebecca’s lip curls into a frown when Lockwood looks over at Ben, a malicious glint in his eyes, and decides that she needs to keep an eye on Ben and move up her plans for revenge.

Bully her all they want, if they’re going to drag Ben into this, she’s not having it. Mad as she is, she is a Hufflepuff for a reason.

Perhaps she’ll take another look at the book Evelyn gave to her.

—————

She received a list of hiding places, which wasn’t needed because she didn’t have to wait long for a room. Not when she’s being chased by Lockwood again. Bill may be looking out for her but that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to all the time. 

It doesn’t mean the tears that leaked out of her eyes weren’t real when they insulted her mother. Or the way she tore through the corridors until she fell through a tapestry didn’t matter.

She hates it here. She really does, but it’s better than home. Even with the harsh words and slurs thrown at her, at least she’s not being starved or shoved into small, dark spaces, or fearing for her life every single day.

She hates it but it’s not like she has a choice. Either she has to bear Hogwarts and home life, or she gets chucked to the Caldwells.

The Caldwells. Even thinking of them makes her sick. She shakes herself out of it. She can’t think of it now. 

The passageway led to a cozy room. It was nice. There was a fake fireplace to give off warmth, even if she didn’t need it. The walls were empty of any decorations, and plush couches were scattered over the room. 

It felt like home. 

Almost. She runs her fingers over the empty walls and frowns to herself. It doesn’t feel the same without the portraits of her ancestors hanging on the walls.

Always a pain to speak to Diniarchus though. He was a dick back when he still lived but doesn’t make it easier to deal with a sexist pig and it’s hard to believe that he’s related to her. He deserved what he got in the end but she’s still pissed that his curse got passed on to her when she didn’t even do anything. 

Whatever.

Her frown fades a bit when she finds a few boards tucked away in a corner. It’s dusty and it hasn’t been used in a while, but it should flare well for her plans. 

With some ink and a handy quill that she found, she writes Jacob on the top and hangs it up on an empty space (because there was no way she was going to do the other way around, she is not that stupid).

On another, she writes Revenge.

—————

It was a very good idea to keep an eye on Ben. 

A pity she didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. Maybe he wouldn’t be pushed around and she wouldn’t have lost her temper. 

In her defense, it was justified but it seems like it wasn’t in Snape’s eyes. 

Ugh.

It all started when she forgot her sketchbook in the courtyard. Not that that was bad but the events that took place when she arrived is bad. 

The moment she walked in, she saw a huge crowd surrounding two students, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin.

Rebecca wasn’t surprised. The two houses are always at each other’s throats and Merula and Lockwood only teamed up to bring her down, but it’s only a matter of time before they broke off the truce. She was going to walk past the crowd too and get her sketchbook anyway… if it weren’t for the fact that she spotted Ben’s blond hair right in the middle. 

It’s not like him to be the center of attention. He usually tries to avoid it. Hazel eyes zoned in on Rowan, and she brushed past to get to her, not bothering to apologize at the angry shouts that followed her. 

“Rowan,” she spoke, touching her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Rowan jumped and turned around, but upon seeing it was only Rebecca, she relaxed said, “Merula is threatening Ben Copper. He keeps trying to walk away, but she won’t let him.”

Rebecca blinked, then scowled. “Oh for heavens’ sake,” she muttered, brushing past her to approach the two. 

“You’re an embarrassment to everyone in our year!” Merula was snarling as Rebecca approached. There was a circle of people around them, and Merula was pointing her wand firmly at Ben, who was leaning away as far as he can. None of the students in the crowd weren’t any help at all. 

“Just leave me alone!” Ben begged, his voice quivering. 

“Disgusting Mudbloods like you shouldn’t even be allowed in Hogwarts!” She sneered. “Leave the magic to the real witches and wizards!”

Rebecca inhaled sharply and stopped in her tracks.

Mudblood. 

“Not so strong now, you filthy little mudblood—”

She blinked once and the flashback disappeared. She breathed in, rage replacing fear, boiling deep in her system, as hot as lava. It churned within, hungry for destruction, and she breathed out. 

Normally she’ll walk the anger off. The raging sea of anger will force her to act stupidly, act rashly, say things she doesn’t mean and express thoughts she suppressed for weeks. 

But this is Merula.

She checked her control on her ice and was satisfied to see that it was kept carefully under control. As long as that keeps up and she doesn’t freeze the entire area...

Go wild. 

Rebecca’s eyes hardened and her lips pulled back into a snarl as she continued to push forward.

“Oi! Snyde!” She called as she shoved someone aside, pasting on a smile. 

Merula turned around just as Rebecca swung back and punched her straight in the face. There was a series of gasps as Merula stumbled back, holding her cheek in shock, just where a large bruise was forming.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Rebecca said coldly, shaking out her fist. Her smile tightened at the corners but her eyes were cold, hard, and rigid. “I must have slipped.”

Shock turned to anger and Merula straightened up, glaring. “Lord,” She growled. 

“Hello Snyde,” Rebecca said, her smile disappearing. “Leave him alone. If you want to fight someone, fight me. It’s cowardice to fight someone weaker than you just to feel stronger.”

“You never learn, do you, Lord?” Merula said, sneering. “Why don’t you be more like your mad brother, and go missing?”

There was a splatter of laughter. Rebecca didn’t smile, nor did she flush when she heard a particularly cruel comment aimed at her. In the corner of her eye, she spots Rowan and Ben backing away, both glancing worriedly at her.

She ignored them. Tune everyone out, they’ll distract you. ��If I was my brother, then there wouldn’t be anyone for you to get lackeys to shove them into the closet and force them to get into a one-sided wrestling match with a Devil’s Snare, will there?”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “I’ll say this once and I’ll say this again. Leave. Him. Alone.”

Merula snarled, her eyes flashing dangerously and she raised her wand to point at Rebecca. “Make me, Lord,” she spat, before casting a Flipendo at Rebecca’s direction, who calmly stepped aside and let the spell fly past her, colliding with the wall.  

“Very well then.” Rebecca fingered her wand, then, as fast as lightning, shot a Flipendo in her direction. Merula, not expecting Rebecca to actually attack back, came flying backwards and landed roughly on her bum. 

Ignoring the gasps from the crowd, Rebecca focused all her attention on Merula, her eyes colder than ice. “You go on and on about how I’m a danger to Hogwarts but you never considered you may be the person everyone wishes would go away.”

Merula snarled as she shot back to her feet and fired another spell. “Flipendo!” 

Rebecca flicked her wand up and whispered, “Protego,” conjuring up a shield. The spell rebounded back to Merula and the Slytherin ducked.

“Come on, now, Snyde,” Rebecca said, faking a yawn. “Flipendo, Flipendo. Change it up a little, I’m getting bored.”

Merula let out a scream of frustration. “Flipendo!”

“Expelliarmus!” Rebecca shouted at the same time. 

[taruhcassidy]

❀ *ﾟ holland roden. female. she/her. ⇝ hey, isn’t that tara cassidy? i think that the twenty-four year old from savannah, georgia works as a police officer, but outside of that they spend a lot of time at henderson. i hear they are nosy + perfectionist, but they are also known to be compassionate + dedicated. consider giving them a visit at their home in buffalo mountain road apartments and get to know why they’re called the rookie. 

and last, but definitely not least: my sweet baby angel tara !! y’all know the drill at this point lmao. like this post if you’re down to plot with her and i’ll happily come to you ! or message me so that we can scream over plot ideas together.

stats

full name: tara lane cassidy

nicknames: n/a

height: 5′3

occupation: police officer

date of birth: september 6th

zodiac: virgo

mbti: isfj

ennegram: type two ( the helper )

alignment: neutral good

temperament: phlegmatic

positive traits: compassionate, dedicated, intuitive, perceptive, kindhearted

negative traits: nosy, obsessive, anxious, perfectionist, sneaky

biography

tara never grew up knowing her biological parents. her memories of them are nonexistent, as she only remained in their custody until she was just six months old. from then on was passed around to a few different family members, none of which could ever give her a straightforward answer as to why her parents had given her up, a question that frequently was asked as little tara grew into her own. the only thing that they would confirm was that they most certainly weren’t dead.

at four she moved to primm with some distant relatives and remained in their care for a little over a year. that is, until her temporary mother announced an unexpected pregnancy and the family decided that they just no longer had the space or money to care for tara, not with their little miracle on the way.

she was promptly placed into foster care and from then on became nothing but a number. no parents or family or documents to truly give her a sense of identity to build her life upon. tara was just passed along from one foster home to the next, never finding a family that was willing to take the plunge of adoption.

it was discouraging, to say the least, if not downright heartbreaking. tara learned how to shift and mold herself into what she believed people wanted her to be, all in the hopes of finally finding a family. a permanent place that she could truly call home. but she somehow always came up short.

time passed and she eventually grew out of the ‘cute’ phase, most families not wanting to adopt a young girl in her teens due to the fear of taking on the weight of the scars that the foster care system tends to leave behind. tara eventually gave up on her desire to be adopted and focused her attention elsewhere: making sure she didn’t become another foster kid that fell through the cracks. she slowly started working on pulling her act together, taking school more seriously and working shitty minimum wage jobs in order to save.

tara faced quite a bit of wickedness and abuse during her stay in foster care, but in spite of it she remained kind and warm, no matter what horrors she faced. she refused to let it break her and often took on a maternal roll with some of her younger foster siblings, finding comfort in the idea of being needed.

as soon as she graduated high school, tara enrolled in community college and set her sights on obtaining her associates’s in criminal justice. she worked a degrading waitress gig at a local truck stop diner during this time, every cent she made going towards her education or making sure she had a place to live. after college, she joined the police academy and began her journey as a cadet, eventually graduating and landing the roll of one of primm’s finest .

it’s no secret that the police force is a male-dominated workplace. to some, women simply don’t carry guns and a badge, and tara’s aspirations to do just that have been all but set on fire and tossed into the nearest dumpster. even now that she’s traded in her apron and notepad for a uniform and squad car, she’s been laughed at, shot down, and flat out told that such a pretty lil’ thing won’t make it out in the field. but every cruel remark and shred of doubt only forces tara to do better — to try harder. their lack of faith in her only causes the flames of determination to glow brighter, burning hotter and hotter.

bonus information

tara originally had no desire to become a cop. instead she wanted to be child psychologist until she was sixteen, deciding to opt for something more proactive when it came to helping people

she loves peaches and anything peach flavored. and if you couldn’t guess, that means peach cobbler is her favorite desert.

it wasn’t until she was nineteen that tara officially decided that she had no interest in seeking out her biological parents. over the years, she had created two figures to replace the void she was left with, figments that were almost childlike guesses at the parents she’d never known. they’d never once tried to reach out to her; not a single call, visit, not even a letter. by that point in her life, the lack of communication wasn’t worth destroying the image she’d built.

tara lowkey used to be a little bit of a wild child during her foster care days. at least, before she decided to get her shit together. she ran with a dodgy crowd and while she still had a good heart, she was nothing like the woman she’s become today.

while it’s her job to uphold the law and follow procedures, tara often has the tendency to “go rogue”. if she truly believes it’s for the greater good and she’s doing the right thing, tara will break rules and work with people on the wrong side of the law.

her deepest rooted fear is the fear of being forgotten. tara wants nothing more than to leave her mark on the world and the people around her, if only so that she doesn’t fade into obscurity.

she has an excellent memory and often enjoys people watching.

other favorites of hers include the color yellow, fleetwood mac, and sunflowers.

wanted connections

y’all already know what i’m about to say here lmao. i’ll update this very soon with some ideas, though two that immediately come to mind would be other characters she knew through foster care and maybe a couple of people from her wild child days. whether or not they’ve straightened up as well or gone down the opposite path is totally up to the mun ! but yeah !! if you have any ideas of your own or have a connection for your muse that you think tara would fit, im me and let’s plot !

[bemused-writer]

The Cain Saga Vol. 1 - Forgotten Juliet

I’ve been wanting to revisit some series I’d read in the past and I’m starting with The Cain Saga! This review isn’t spoiler free at all, so keep that in mind when reading. For anyone new to the series, I’m just going to put a content warning for the series; the themes are rated “Explicit” although this review itself is not.

This volume starts out with a one shot mystery following a character named Ariel. He works at a flower shop and promised Suzette, an aristocratic woman, he'd bring her some primroses. Unfortunately, it's not to be: she passes soon after. Regardless, Ariel's not our protagonist. Cain Hargreaves is and we meet him this chapter through Ariel's eyes. Honestly, at first it's a little puzzling why we're seeing all of this from Ariel's perspective instead of Cain's but I believe this is so we get an idea of how the outside world views him before we see his own opinion on himself. 

He's mysterious and rather edgy and he seems to glorify in that because it becomes swiftly apparent that society’s opinion of Earl Hargreaves isn't very high--he's gone and missed Suzette's funeral, which appears to be a typical thing for him. She's also his cousin, so there's a family connection. In other words, his own family isn't terribly fond of him and expects this kind of behavior.

While this is enough to make it seem like he’s a bit questionable we also quickly learn grave digging isn't all that unusual for him either, which should give you some idea of how things are going to go in this series. 

He then proceeds to mock his aunt later, saying she was always horrible to Suzette. We're not given nearly enough time with Suzette or her family to verify these claims but considering Suzette has come back from the dead to kill her I guess it's safe to assume things weren't great between them.

The whole thing is swiftly revealed to be a torrid love affair between Suzette, Ariel's uncle, Miles, and a Miss Claremont. In other words, Miles was a cheater. But Suzette didn’t just wake up wanting revenge; her plan to fake her death made her mad as she was forced to contend with being buried in a coffin for hours.

Furthermore, Cain was in on the whole thing and was hoping to help her do it right, hence the grave digging. Also, he was the one who gave her the poison to help her fake her death, which is now being used to kill a bunch of people.

Insanity is a common theme in this series, especially when mixed with love, so it makes sense that we start with it right away. Pulling a Romeo and Juliet proved to be a terrible idea though.

After going insane, she starts killing people including Miles, her would-be Romeo.

But the really pertinent part of all of this (at least for Cain) is the revelation that Cain himself loved Suzette.

Love becomes a very prominent them in this series and the fact that the very first person we see Cain admit to loving is his insane cousin who stages her death for the sake of romance only to come back and kill everyone who did her wrong is, uh, telling.

So, the first chapter is honestly pretty straightforward but it gives us some information that is going to be crucial later on: Cain doesn't have a good relationship with his extended family, he's not a stranger to "forbidden love" (loving your cousin in a romantic sense was hardly uncommon in the 19th century but I still count it as "forbidden" here because she had no idea how he felt), he's associated enough with poisons that his extended family comes to him for help faking their deaths, and, while it's brief, we see he has a servant that seems to stick close to his side.

Honestly, I wish we’d learned a little more about Suzette. As it is we only know she was super determined and, according to Cain, always had to have her way. I suppose that gives us a basis for the kind of person he likes but not a great deal more.

And with that out of the way we’re moving on to chapter 2! This one starts out from Cain's perspective, so it already feels like a more "proper" beginning to the series. And one page in we see that Cain has some serious Sherlock Holmes tendencies:

Riff isn’t paid enough for this.

Anyway, Cain definitely isn't overly concerned with treating animals well (although he claims the hen will be fine) and his servant, Riff, whom we saw in the last chapter, is apparently already used to this kind of behavior and has all but given up on expecting things to be any different. He's definitely the Watson of the piece (except that he’s also a butler).

This mystery is another family based one--Cain seems to have a constantly revolving door of relatives. In this instance it’s his uncle Leland who asks him to look into a letter he received from his deceased daughter, Maddy, whom Cain admits to not ever noticing much.

The shadow in question was Bibi, his uncle Leland’s illegitimate daughter that he had with a prostitute and it’ ultimately Bibi that we see Cain really grow attached to. 

Maddy didn’t seem to think too highly of Cain after all:

And the feeling was apparently mutual.

This is an important scene for Cain down the road though because we eventually learn just how much he’s suffered in his own life. For him to say he can’t stand other people who wallow in self-pity it means he doesn’t allow it for himself either. It means he doesn’t allow himself to consider his own sorrow and that’s a difficult thing to maintain.

At any rate, while Cain has done a lot of questionable things in this volume so far, the one area he's shown to be chivalrous in is he doesn't take advantage of Bibi even though she’s a prostitute herself just like her mother. Even though he paid for her time he doesn't demand sexual compensation and instead admits their similarities: neither of them had parents who loved them. Bibi was never loved by her father, Leland, and her mother is cold to her as well.

This statement could have easily come from Cain himself. While the ultimate resolution of this particular story is one I'm unsure how to feel about, it parallels Cain's own life quite well, though we aren't supposed to know that just yet.

The twist of the story boils down to "Bibi" was actually "Maddy" all along and Bibi was the one who died and while Leland was contacted by his daughter it was a daughter who had been hypnotized by his ex-mistress to kill him for mistreating the real Bibi. And before you think Leland’s had it rough, he wanted to marry his daughter, Maddy, and that is why he stopped being a playboy.

...There’s a lot to take in there but we don’t have time to unpack all that but there are some tidbits of information that will be relevant later.

Maddy was an aristocrat who was forced to demean herself through prostitution just to survive and she had a father who desired her sexually. In other words, it was an abusive relationship between parent and child even though this element of the story doesn't really get touched on much. Maddy was also taken advantage of by Bibi's mother. The similarity is that Cain was also demeaned and abused by his parents and this is already being alluded to pretty early in the series. It’s also becoming apparent that it’s not just Cain’s immediate relatives who are problematic (something this volume has yet to even touch on really) but his extended family seems cursed as well. Is it a message about the aristocracy or just this bloodline? We’ll have to wait and see.

Another important element to this story is we also see that Riff is one of Cain's only constants in his life and that he supports him quietly but firmly. He doesn’t say anything accusative after Cain reveals he ultimately killed Maddy. He did it because it was the only kind thing left to do and it was at her own behest. It’s a cruel revelation: the only way he can be kind is by being cruel.

The third story is ... interesting for sure but unless I'm seriously missing something here, it doesn't seem to feature Cain at all...? I suppose one interpretation could be he was undercover years ago at a boarding school but that seems like it would be stretching it. Still, the themes very much fit in with The Cain Saga: failed attempts at immortality, the abuse of the weak by the strong, and things of that nature.

The fourth story also doesn't feature Cain at all but the themes of one person replacing another and fame corrupting fits in with the series. I would say more but, to be honest, neither of these stories give us a lot to interpret regarding Cain or the other primary characters in the series. In this particular story there’s a running thread of homophobia, which I suppose could be argued as fitting in with the forbidden love theme but I feel that’s a little tenuous at best. This is kind of an unusual thing to do in a series. I wonder if, originally, this wasn’t going to be about Cain but more of an exploration of themes? Hmm... With the fifth chapter we're back to Cain (and the 19th century...) and we're thrown in the thick of it right away with Cain accusing a man of killing his brother, and Cain's friend, Cleo. This is a very short story but it emphasizes that Cain is ... not always that kind, although ultimately he was trying to avenge Cleo. He tricks Orlando into thinking he has poisoned him (a legitimate threat considering we have already gotten it confirmed he's well known for poisons in general) and Orlando ultimately kills himself.

Once again, I would really have liked to know more about Cleo. How close were they? Later in the series it feels like Cain doesn’t have any friends at all but this points out that isn’t the case.

Riff hasn’t gotten a lot of focus this volume either but his quiet presence is notable in how it’s one of the few consistent things throughout for Cain.

Anyway, this is a bit of a rough start to the series but I actually enjoyed it quite a bit! The gothic vibe is excellent, of course, and the conundrums presented are interesting to sort through. Since it’s been so long since I read I’ll admit I’d forgotten a lot of details but I’m looking forward to relearning them. ^^ I hope to get a review up of volume 2 soon.

[candidcanine]

A Sadness Runs Through Him

I listened to this song right here and was gross sobbing at the thought of 2D dedicating this song to a certain bassist. Couldn’t help myself; had to write a fic inspired by the lyrics of this song. Enjoy I guess :P

Fic Summary: 2D has always had a front-row seat to the self-destruction of Murdoc Niccals.

You're Stuart Pot, and you can't make heads or tails of the man named Murdoc Niccals.    

Your story starts off with your typical weekday shift as a minimum wage store clerk in a music shop: no customers in sight for hours on end. You've done nothing but stock shelves for the day. You're dangerously close to nodding off when a group of passers-by outside the shop scatter in panic like a herd of wild gazelle.

Then it happens.

The bright glare of car headlights blinds you. There's no other warning; just a millisecond-long flash of a driver's sharklike grin behind a steering wheel. The bumper of a battered Vauxhall Astra shatters the display window of your shop, colliding painfully with your skull. Your vision fades to black.

The next thing you know, you're waking from unconsciousness with your face pressed to the pavement and both of your eyes hurting like no pain you've felt before. Slowly you sit up, finding yourself sitting in a circle of strangers gaping at you in shock. Your confused gaze lands on a car with a broken windshield whose driver side's door opens. A strange man steps out of the car and saunters toward you.

He stops right in front of you and appraises your appearance openly.

Your world slows. Your vision is muddy, your joints are screaming for reprieve, and you are missing teeth you swear you still had the last time you checked, but the man standing in front of you is wearing such a hungry look in his eyes that it grabs your full attention despite your immense pain. You assume you look about as good as you feel right now, but he's staring at you like you're a celebrity who's come to personally give him a winning lottery ticket.

"Little Stuart," the stranger drawls, hooking an arm around your waist. "Finally back in the land of the living, I see. You look great with both of your eyes in the same color again."

He tells you that ten months had passed since you were last awake. That you were in a car accident that put you in a coma. That you were in another car accident that put you out of said coma. You don't question how he had known your name or why he was so nonchalant while giving you these details because you're caught off guard by the cheeky smirk that's on his face.

"If I hadn't had your head smashed in again, who knows when you would've woken up?" he said. "Be grateful I didn't leave you a vegetable for too long."

Then he pats your back and walks away like he's expecting you to follow.

You're instantly starstruck.

You naively assume he had saved your life by waking you up, and he does nothing to dispel the notion. Instead, he takes to the farce like a newly hatched duckling takes to water, stealing your misplaced gratitude and returning it by (barely) tolerating your existence and responding to your adoration with well-timed punches to the gut. He humors you at first, likely interested in you because of your unique pair of onyx eyes and blue hair, but gets so tired of your endless babble that he tells you that his "community service" has been "rendered" and he doesn't need to "babysit someone who clearly needs to be checked in a psych ward."

But then you sing for him in a last-ditch effort to gain back his interest, and he discovers exactly how musically talented you are.

His personality does a quick 180. He starts entertaining you again, showing you a charming side to him that you had never seen directed at you before. He subtly compliments your skill. He mentions that he had been in a few bands with keyboardists that didn't even have a fraction of the talent you have. He rambles about a band he wants to put together, which is sadly lacking a vocalist that it desperately needed.

He had to have you on board his still-nonexistent band. Never mind that you had a life, a home, and a family; never mind that you had plans for the future that did not involve music in any way, shape or form. You were useful to him, so you had to go, no questions asked. His perseverance is anything if not unparalleled. Soon enough, the conniving smooth-talker convinces you to pack your bags, nod to your skeptical parents, and set off to build a future with someone who was barely an acquaintance at the time.

It isn't completely his fault: you had chosen to go of your own accord, completely dazzled by his endless theatrics and his impenetrable personality. He is a man so confoundingly contradictory— from his blasé attitude to being threatened with bodily harm, to his intense need to be recognized for his talents by virtual strangers, to the way he seemed to simultaneously attract and repel people with his mere presence— that you, a fresh young face at twenty years old, couldn't help but idolize and desire to get close to him. Even when all signs had pointed to him being an individual more unpleasant than first meets the eye.

He dangles the promise of fame as your motivation to join his band. He thinks you want the same things he does— it's as if it never occurred to him that anyone would want otherwise. Fame and fortune is all he thinks and dreams about. You never cared much about fame, though, instead you care more about getting into the skin of the man who "saved" you; to befriend this interesting person who seemed not to know if he wanted other people to love or hate him. He craves recognition yet loathes commitment; he is aimless in direction yet focused with his goals. He seems to you like a man just tiredly going through the motions, like a puppet strung along on strings forced to dance the scripted beat of an unknown master. It's so fascinating that it made you want to take him apart and see what made him tick.

You want to understand him.

"If you want t'get famous, don't you have to make people like you first? Maybe don't be so... you, and start trying to be... likeable?" you suggest to him hesitantly. You cringe away from his returning glare.

"The day I change my ways is the day I start praying to God. Why in hell's name would I change to ingratiate myself to some cocks who I don't even know?" he informs you. "Why make people like you when you can get them to worship you?"

When Russel and Noodle later join the band they give you the same advice: stay away from him, whatever drivel he feeds you about owning your soul shouldn't be an excuse for the daily abuse he lays on you. But you don't listen. You're unconvinced.  He was rough around the edges but you had thought that maybe a good friend would dull them and bring out his shine. So you stick by him, expecting that your loyalty would be enough to get him to stop treating you like shit.

It isn't.

You're Stuart Pot, and you're starting to get tired of Murdoc Niccals.

Years have passed. And as the seasons change, so too do you hope he would. You hope that time would quell that rage in him that always caused him to lash out unexpectedly at the nearest available, convenient target (which, more often than not, happens to be you). You hope that an intelligent, street-smart man like him would learn to apply his goddamn knowledge to social situations and stop pissing off the wrong people. You hope that when, finally, he had fulfilled his dream of worldwide acclaim for his music, he would sooner or later stop finding unexpected ways to drive your opinion of him down further into the dirt.  

But he doesn't change. Instead, he disappoints you. Every. Single. Time. He disappointed you when he took your girlfriend Paula away in a show of spite, he disappointed you when he got himself arrested during the time Gorillaz had broken up, he disappointed you when he chose himself, time and time again, over the band that he claimed to prize more dearly than his life. He wears his newfound fame on his sleeve; uses it as an excuse to be even more self-centered and vicious. Gorillaz' release of two record-albums, widespread global appeal, and a movie deal that almost comes to fruition hardly hampers his destructive tendencies.

Your patience wears thin. And that little spark of something that you feel for him before becomes tainted, ever so slowly, by the very aspects of his personality that you were so fascinated by in the first place: his capricious attitude, his magnetic attraction to every single thing that hints at trouble, his admirable skill in provoking other people into action... his instinct to hurt people who get too close to him. There was no use being friends with someone so determined to make you their enemy.

You wanted to give up. But, like you always did, you soldiered on.

And then, eventually, you come to be aware of one simple fact.

In the years that you've known this man, you've never heard a single thing about his past or his family. Not one thing. You're straining to remember even one instance of when he had brought up the subject voluntarily. He never mentions them, and if he does, it's with a strained sort of flippancy that's obviously staged. As if he's hiding something.

So of course, upon this observation, you wonder: Was he hiding anything about his past? Maybe it held the key to understanding anything that went on in that mind of his.

You want to find out.

He regards your burgeoning curiosity with guarded suspicion and deflects attention from his past with practiced ease. He's a steel barrier, a wall of defense mechanisms and layers of hostility and snark. When all else fails, he simply gives in to an anger so intense you shy away from asking him the right questions.

But there are cracks; he's not as thorough as he believes. After many failed attempts, it got you thinking. When he empties those liquor bottles he loves, the alcohol loosens up his tongue so much that he scarcely seems like his sober self anymore. So if sobriety prevented him from divulging any details, would his drunk self—?

You take advantage of this one evening after a Demon Days concert, when he's plastered enough to lure you into his Winnebago under the impression you were one of his fans. He begins to reminisce.

You learn about the 'nice' diner lady he knew at age nine. You learn about his mother who abandoned him at birth. You learn about his apathetic brother. You learn about his friendless, bully-ridden childhood spent cowering in empty rooms and hiding in supply closets. You learn about his violent and larger-than-life father, who he spoke of with so much fondness that it made you sick to your stomach when he recounts the 'fun' times he had spent with him.

His shared memories paint such a bleak picture of neglect that it had been no wonder to you that he subconsciously adopts the traits of his abusers, even seeking similar people out and perpetuating an endless cycle. It was no wonder that he had initially despised you; he had probably seen himself as a child when he first came across your seemingly amicable, simple and defenseless personality. You were, to him, a mirror for the easy target that he once was before he had been hardened from years of living.

"You know how to listen," he slurs, oblivious to your realization. He stares at you with melancholic eyes and wraps his arms around you tenderly like you were a lover who he hadn't seen in years. "You're not like the other birds. Thank you, I needed this."

By the time morning comes he had seemed to have forgotten the whole night, refusing to meet your eye as you attempt and fail to strike up a conversation on the topic. You move on from trying to confront him and instead go for a more indirect approach. But still he shuts down every time you stretch your hand out to him in a show of kindness and understanding. The harder you try to draw closer to him, the more he did his best to pull away from you.

He knows that you had cracked his mask.

But you think he appreciated your gestures, in his own way. He seeks you out instinctively when he's in one of his fouler moods. He touches you often enough, gently enough, that it gives you the urge to wrap him in a consoling embrace. He gives an infinitesimal smile at you whenever you laugh at his jokes or praise his keen attention to detail in music. It's such a nice change of pace from your normally volatile dynamic that you seek it out like a crazed addict.

To you, everything was different now, you knew why he acted the way he did and you knew what was responsible for his nature, you could understand him now, and maybe you could steer him into getting the help he needed. But everything was also the same, because he still treated you the way he had always treated you, he made no effort whatsoever to acknowledge that there might've been anything that he needed help for. It was okay, it was alright. He clearly needed time and a bit of prodding. You'll be there with him, as his friend, and maybe you could work things out...

If Noodle didn't die in the aftermath of El Mañana, and you didn't remember who had angrily insisted that she did the shoot.

He did not show remorse at the news.

You feel your faith in the man finally shatter into a million pieces.

You're Stuart Pot, and Murdoc Niccals is someone you don't know anymore.

Russel had disappeared off the face of the Earth mere weeks after Noodle's death. You know why he had gone so quickly— being constantly reminded of the death of someone who was like a daughter to him would not have been a good idea. It was alright though; you didn't mind him leaving since you follow hot on his heels. There's no use in staying in a band with most of its members gone, and you would sooner grow your brown hair back than stay and be reminded of what had happened to Noodle. So you set off on a journey, a retreat of sorts, to clear your head of the fiasco that was Demon Days. Goodness knows you deserved it.

As for him, you have no intention of knowing. He had left before you could even hold a funeral for Noodle. You don't want anything to do with the man and would be content to never hear from him again for the rest of your life. It was all ancient history to you now.

Until it wasn't.

One moment you're basking in the view of Beirut, the next moment you wake up groggy, lightheaded, and shrouded in complete darkness.  You emerge from the dark confines of a suitcase, oxygen-deprived and seasick, and are graced by the baffling sight of a plastic island painted in an eye-searing color of hot pink. A terrifyingly familiar face smirks at you, with an expression that you instantly read as a mixture of derangement and malice. The expression on his face is so foreign and disturbing that you feel a shiver crawl down your spine.

"Welcome to Plastic Beach," he greets you, grabbing a fistful of your shirt collar and pulling you down to his eye level. You didn't feel very welcome.

What followed were some of the worst months of your life. He locks you in a tiny bedroom beneath the ocean, with no way to entertain yourself save for learning the sheet music he threw at you and forced you to practice. There's a keyboard in the room, a bed with warm blankets, and so much junk strewn on the floor, but nothing else that seemed to indicate that he expended more than the bare minimum to prepare this prison as a temporary home for you.

You've never gone so many days without your painkillers, but this time you go weeks without your precious meds dampening your experience of this nightmare-turned-reality. Your insomnia worsens by the return of your migraines, your rare sleeps are plagued by nightmares. But why would you want to sleep, anyway, with the ever-present eye of a monstrous cetacean lurking outside the porthole of your room? So you cease sleeping. There's no meaning to your nights and days, anyway, save for when he occasionally yanks you out of your room to record the vocals for his new songs or force-feeds you after you attempt a hunger strike to protest your living conditions. He sends that hunk of metal that was an insult to Noodle's memory every damn time he had to fetch you from the bowels of Plastic Beach, and the instant you hear her metal hand knocking on the door you automatically freeze up in fearful anticipation.

He becomes more cruel. So very, very, cruel. Whereas before, he had chosen to hurt you with offhand remarks on your intelligence and personality, now, his insults have become barbed with the real intention to humiliate and degrade you. If before, his beatings were done with little to no ill intent (if not done with the goal of amusing himself or others), now, his strikes and punches are heavily laced with meaning, as if screaming that this was all your fault, you caused him to hit you like this, why hadn't you stayed away?

You bleed more from the sharpness of his insults than the bluntness of his fist. He's not just a barrier anymore, he was a fortress, completely fucking impenetrable and armed to the teeth with a brusque and vicious attitude tailor-made to drive other people off. You can't even begin to place how he was doing mentally anymore; every single time you talk to him guarantees you of the surety that he had gone off the deep end and was left to fester in the confines of his ruined mind.

So you try to distance yourself from him for your own protection. You shut yourself off to him, you try to allow yourself to feel your own resentment and anger that had been simmering quietly beneath the surface, you try to refuse even the tiniest urge to empathize with him whenever he looked at you with those goddamn eyes that were still filled with a quiet melancholy. You focus on delivering the vocals for his songs, hoping that with the completion of the album, he would grant you your freedom and you could put the whole ordeal behind you.

But then you read, really read, the lyrics to "On Melancholy Hill", and you're left awestruck for the first time by anything he's written since your reunion. You get your hands on "To Binge", and you're left staggering by the loneliness practically wafting from the song. He shows you "Broken", and its imagery was so telling that it left you contemplating everything you knew about the man.

He wrote like a lost man who fell in love and was bitterly trying to change for a person who was no longer around to appreciate it.

You don't know what to feel. Did he fall for someone while the band was broken up? Maybe he fell in love with a(n) (un)lucky person after you and Russel  had left him. Maybe that was why he had become so unfailingly cruel. The mystery lingers at the back of your mind. You begin to take your assumptions as fact. You start resenting this mystery person, hating them, even, for breaking his heart like this and leaving you to be the one to pick up the pieces. You keep silent, but your suspicions grow with each passing day until you couldn't take the agony of not knowing anymore.

You confront him and steel yourself for a beating by asking him point blank who it was for. At first he reacts the way you expect him to, by punishing you with imprints of bruises all over your body, but he relents one night after you had steadily chipped away at his defenses by sheer persistence.

"Tell me the fucking truth, because I deserve to know," you yell at him in frustration. "because I'm singing your damn love songs. Last time. Are these songs about someone, and are they the reason you've gone off your rocker!?"

"Sod it," he curses after downing a whole bottle of rum and gripping your neck. "I don't care anymore."

He kisses you.

He tastes of tobacco ash and alcohol and spice, but you don't pay attention to this because holy fuck, he's kissing you. He's kissing you and you don't know how or why or what had prompted him to do this. Your mind goes blank. You freeze up like a deer in headlights but he doesn't even notice; he keeps his lips pressed to yours until he loosens his grip after a mere five seconds. But the damage is done, five seconds is enough to upend your entire world view. He watches you stutter uselessly while reaching out to caress your face, then says to you with an indecipherable look on his face:

"It's not that hard to guess, faceache. Yes, it's about someone. I wrote love songs about someone I used to know. See, I didn't value his friendship enough and took it for granted. I used him for years."

His thumb grazes your cheek. "This pillock had insisted on getting too close to me, even after I tried aaaaaaall the ways I could think of to get him to leave me alone. But he never let up. So I got too comfortable. Started to enjoy having his annoying face around me. When I started to... feel things for him, I couldn't take it. I locked those feelings right up like some hormonal bird does with her private diary. So when I disappointed him by committing the biggest fucking mistake of my life, I panicked and left him. Do you understand?"

You do.

And you're petrified.

So you run away from him, and barricade yourself in your room for so long that he had to have Cyborg Noodle drag you out.

You never bring up the incident and he obliges you by sharing your silence. The two of you never speak of it again. He starts treating you with more care, letting you roam around the island freely now, but he also avoids you like you've got an incurable disease. The sudden change makes you so conflicted that you almost prefer his old self. You aren't used to such a quiet side of him; aren't used to going entire days without being called down to his studio. At least he had spoken to you and you could guess what he was feeling, but now you don't get the chance. You barely even see him anymore.

You're confused, your heart was in shambles, but you were forced to drop the thought because you both soon find out that Noodle was alive, she's at Plastic Beach and back from the dead; Russel was back, he'd arrived at Plastic Beach too and he was fucking enormous for no reason. They are alive and you are happy; so, so, happy that your friends are back after all these years. They both hug you and laugh and ruffle your hair playfully, and you are overjoyed. Your worries are banished from your mind.

A lot of things happen and all of you leave Plastic Beach together. Almost like a family. For the first time, you're unbothered by the kiss that had overshadowed your mind for weeks.

You think that maybe this time if the four of you would be able to last some time together. You think that Gorillaz might have a bright future ahead. You think that a few days back in the company of other humans might be enough to clear your head, maybe help you understand what exactly it was you did to make him fall for you and why exactly you weren't so opposed to that idea.

But you hadn't noticed a certain someone shattering your hopeful reverie, ripping himself away from the group, until he's already vanished as quickly and as quietly as waves rolling over a plastic beach.

You're Stuart Pot, and Murdoc Niccals had once again crashed into your life like a car into a music shop.  

He shows up at your steps after nearly a half a decade has passed. He had seemed more subdued. Not quieter, not more thoughtful, and certainly not less vulgar, but more...stable. You don't know if the years he had spent by himself had been enough to unspool the massive tangle of issues swimming around in his head, but his new demeanor had been a complete 180 from what you were used to. You were stunned into silence when he asked you— instead of ordered you— to work with him on a new Gorillaz album. He gives you a slight smile as he waits for your reply, as if he had already anticipated the "no" that threatened to slide past your lips.

He immediately lights up when you accept his request instead.

You gather the rest of the band and quickly set to work, all the time observing him as he interacted with you and the others. You felt like you had time travelled back to the early 2000s again with you, him, Noodle, and Russel all in one house, together again, and working on new songs to unveil to a fanbase that hasn't seen you in years. So many things had changed, and others had not: you had gotten a lot older, a little more tired, but your passion for music remains the same. He's no different from you in that aspect. He's genuinely happy to work on creating new music for the band again, vibrating with the energy and enthusiasm of someone half his age.

You debut your album to overjoyed multitudes. The world may have kept turning after Gorillaz had gone on another hiatus, but it certainly did not miss you any less because of it. The four of you soon announce a global tour, formally kicking off the Humanz era. Your fans go wild.

The tour reignites your love of your profession. It's always been intoxicating to you and always will be. You own the stages of your concert venues with an aura that your twenty-year-old self would've envied, filling stadiums with the hypnotic sound of your voice. Your body slips into the beat with calculated grace aimed at a euphoric crowd; drives them into near anarchy. You lure entire audiences into a trance and listen to them sing the lyrics back to you. You're the ringmaster, the showstopper, the conductor of this beautiful orchestra. You're the frontman of your band, and you are born for this role.

He's always at the corner of your eye, plucking away at his bass as he watches you charm your fans with each and every song you sing. He doesn't attempt to hog the stage like he used to and instead goes for a more muted presence; a far cry from his old self.

Occasionally he directs a smile at you with a strange mind-numbing tenderness that whispered of an unplanned confession, a hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and the feeling of dry, chapped lips on your own. Whenever that happens, you zone right the fuck out and almost miss a verse of the song you're singing. Then the moment is gone; he's wearing another, more devilish smirk and directing his attention elsewhere.

He still hasn't brought up that night.

You wonder if you would ever get any closure on the subject. You two continue to dance around each other like you're both threading on eggshells; you attend interviews with him and pretend you're fine, you shoot music videos together with the band and think you're fine, Noodle and Russel start noticing and you both gesture that you're fucking fine.

But no, you're not fine, you're both lying to everyone, each other, and yourselves without saying a single word. You're frustrated and you know he's frustrated that you both can't seem to restore your relationship back to something that even resembles the casual (albeit abusive) one that you had in the past. But what can you do about it? You're terrified and he is in denial. So you choose the next best thing to addressing an elephant in the room:

Addressing a slightly smaller elephant in the room.

"What happened to you after El Mañana? After Noodle almost died." you inquire one day, taking the chance to bring up the topic when you had both been left alone in the house.  

He raises an eyebrow at you. "What a completely tasteful and subtle segue to a delicate topic, Dents."

"Just answer the question."

"I left."

...when I disappointed him by committing the biggest fucking mistake of my life, I panicked and left him, the Murdoc in your memory echoes back to you. You banish him from your mind.

"I know you left," you enunciate slowly, knowing he was being deliberately difficult. "But why did you leave? You didn't even stick around for her funeral. You just up an' went, like you didn't even care."

His eye twitches. "I did care. Just didn't think it was worth sticking around when there's more useful things I could be doing."

"If you did, you woulda manned up and stayed. Instead you left like a coward."

"Shut up," he says with restrained anger. "Don't start spouting off nonsense. You don't know shit 'bout what I went through."

"You didn't even cry," you accuse. "Even when you were the one who made Noodle do it. Even when those people in the helicopters came after her because of you. I saw you hours before you left, you didn't even look sorry, you didn't even want to talk to Russel an' me—"

"SHUT UP!" he yells so loudly that you're stunned into silence. "Just fucking shut your gob before I do it for you."

He exhales, then, as if bracing himself for something, starts slowly. "I get it. I fucking get it. I was a prick for leaving you and Russel like that. But I didn't mean for anything to happen to Noodle. I didn't think that she'd be in any danger. I've done a lot of idiotic things, got in hot water with all kinds of unsavory blokes, but I'd never had someone I cared for killed because of me. I've never fucked up to that extent."

"Still doesn't explain why you bolted."

"I'm getting to that, D. When she died, I was in shock. I tried to wrap my mind around the idea. But I couldn't accept it. I couldn't attend her funeral knowing we hadn't even found her body from wherever the fuck she died. I tried everything I could to bring her back. Or even know where her soul was. Even went to hell, y'know? But I found nothing." There was a faraway look in his eyes. "I think that's what made me go mad. Just the thought of not knowing. Then couple that with you an' Russel both hating my guts and our band breaking up again. It just broke me. I'd just started warming up to the idea of having you all around, after our band broke up the first time. And just like that, I was alone. Again. Like I was back in that sodding prison in sodding Mexico—"

He stops abruptly.

"I've always known I've got a few screws loose," he continues tiredly. "I know I'm sick. But that doesn't mean I'm heartless. I'd missed Noodle terribly and if there was a way for me to turn back time and stop her from ever doing that damn shoot, I would. But it happened. It's done. And that's the biggest regret of my life."

"Are there... any other things you regret?" you ask hesitantly. The sensation of a gentle kiss tingles at the back of your mind.

He stares at you like he's seeing the exact same memories play out in his head.

"No. Maybe. I think I regret being a complete git to you for so many years." he paused. "I'm going to try to change. Put my ways behind me. For the sake of our... friendship."

Silence.

"Okay."

You don't know if his answer was the one you wanted. Or even what you asked for.

But you still want to believe him.

You're Stuart Pot, and you're reeling after the absence of Murdoc Niccals.

He's gone. You don't know what to think anymore. He got himself arrested again for drug possession. He claims he's innocent, but no one believes him. You don't know how long he's going to stay in jail this time but it'll likely be for months judging by his track record.

He's been complaining to his fans on social media for months now, weaving an incredibly dubious sob story that included, of all things, the very same bar that you shot Strobelite in, a mysterious man named El Mierda, a business card with a fake address, and a drug syndicate with ties to the Mexican mafia. Oh, and being framed for his crimes, of course.

You're just completely confused by his tale. Who the hell was El Mierda? Who was he trying to fool with this charade? Didn't he promise you he would change? Why the fuck would he do this to you again???

You wonder when you'd get sick of it. You wonder if you'd ever get sick of the cycle of getting your hopes up by empty promises, then being inevitably disappointed when he continues further down the path of his own self-destruction. Why the man insists on walking that path when he had people who cared about him constantly trying to veer him in the right direction, you don't know.

All you know is that he had let you down again. You want to berate yourself for being well aware of his faults, but you know that no amount of mental self-flagellation is enough to keep you away from the man. His allure had always been irresistible to you, and as soon as he was out you'd be attracted to him like a moth to a flame.

You're just as much of a fool as he says you are.

Your heart clenched. No, fuck what he says. Whether he stays in jail for a hundred years or a hundred days, you will not let his absence or presence in your life dictate how you lived your life. You've wasted over half of your life hoping that this unapologetic man would change his ways when he's proven, time and time again, that he would never be capable of doing that. It was best for you to give up.

So you did.

And to show to the world that you were turning over a new leaf, you announce the arrival of a new album made without the input of your band's bassist. To your glee, the album was met with resounding success from both critics and fans alike, further solidifying the fact that you hadn't needed him at all. You are perfectly capable of leading a project by yourself without him around. You aren't a useless knob who just sat around waiting for someone else to start the job for you. Russel, Noodle and Ace were the only people you need.

If only the mere suggestion of his presence wasn't enough to trip you up. If only the mere hint of his name wasn't enough to trigger you to overreact and defend yourself a little too aggressively.

You see his tweets to fans urging them to mobilize for his freedom. You tell your fans to stop contacting him.

You know he thinks you're short a bassist. You replace him with another (arguably better) one.

You find out he's started a popular movement while you're on tour. You turn your eyes away from the ever-present mob of fans holding up signs reading "Where is he?" and "Free him!" in your concerts.

You take care to mention as frequently as possible how much better off you were without the presence of a toxic individual poisoning every facet of your life. You show to the world that you're fine by hanging out with the rest of the band in public. You try to ignore that feeling in your chest when he claims to the world that he's doing well in prison because you know otherwise; his body is painted in hues of black and blue and his eyes look like it's devoid of the soul it once had.

Your whole life has been set back on track. With him in prison, there was no reason anymore to think about your unresolved relationship.

You shouldn't miss him.

But you do miss him.

You think of his absence when you skate to the beat of Humility.

You think of his impact in your life when you sing Kansas.

You think of his regrets when you listen to the somber melody of Fire Flies.

You think of his sad eyes when you write the lyrics to Souk Eye.

Your entire album is the result of your unspoken longing to mend an irreparable relationship.

You're Stuart Pot, and for some strange, unfathomable reason, you want Murdoc Niccals next to you despite the man he was. 

Read this fic in its original format on AO3

[simplycarrie]

yeethaw and welcome to ‘sierra drops a muse because she’s bored’ i’m your host sierra. and i’m here to introduce you to my smol kid Carrington, who might i add broke my streak of space names but whatever. also i’m 110% sure this bio is going to be a) long and b) something v different from what i usually do

╰☆╮ HALEY LU RICHARDSON ─ CARRINGTON ‘CARRIE’ ALDERIDGE-SANGSTER identifies as CIS-FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns. they’re a SINGER-SONGWRITER/ACTRESS, and they’re only TWENTY ! they’re said to be WARM-HEARTED, but also DOGMATIC. i guess that’s why they’re known as THE FERVOUR in the tabloids. ( florence welch / lauren jauregui )

the baby doll + the contingent — aka her early years [ infant to 12. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

carrington amelia elizabeth alderidge-sangster was subject to the same cruelty as her half-sister anastasia, getting the longest fucking name possible. although she doesn’t go by carrington, both her friends and family call her ‘carrie’

she was born june 30th making her a cancer: ‘ the crab. cancerians are seen as sensitive and emotional, and in fact they are. they’re the cry babies of the zodiac, though they’re a lot tougher than people give them credit for. they’re maternal and caring and empathetic as all heck, with a tendency towards traditional values- deep down, they want the white picket fence. along with virgo and libra, they’re one of the most romantic of the signs.’ but this information won’t be relevant until later

was v spoiled as child, and got basically anything she wanted? caused her to be a bit of a brat as a kid and she constantly needed validation from others. she had the picture perfect childhood if we’re being completely honest

always wanted attention, always needed to make sure that she knew other people were aware that she needed their attention

then she was shipped off to le rosey to follow in her sister anastasia’s footsteps and boy oh boy thing changed for her

the sovereign + the opulent — aka her teenage years [ 13 to 18. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

remember how i said that carrington was very needy and constantly wanted validation? yeah just about the moment she stepped foot on the lush green grass of le rosey she changed

was immediately the girl who was colgate smiles and perfect posture on school brochures, brandishing a tennis racket beneath a blurb about the institute’s proficiency in churning out well-rounded pupils, but underneath? she was the devil’s reincarnate of blair waldorf.

although her sister was two years ahead of her but left a reputation behind with her, and so in turn carrington was immediately popular, and she used it to her advantage

mixing in her family’s pre-established wealth ( which she flaunted at literally every opportunity she got ) with new-found popularity carrington ruled the school brandishing a fashionably velvet fist

she was bitchy to everyone, she disregarded other people’s feelings was callous and abrasive, and didn’t care what anyone had to say about her ( because she’d end up ruining their reputation and smiling in their face afterwards )

although her family wanted her to be like anastasia playing tennis and being the model student ( which she was for her first year ) she ended up finding her passion for music, quickly joining and leading le rosey’s school choir

carrington was smarter than anyone ( including herself ) gave her credit for, she aced all of her classes, and was on the road to becoming le rosey’s next valedictorian

then, she met him. the supposed ‘love of her life’. the one who was so close to making her soften and lose track of her studies, and just run away with him. until, she found someone ‘better’ stabbing him in the back, and promptly sashaying away from the damage

though leaving him was perhaps the biggest mistake she ever made, the ‘better’ thing she found turned out to be much worse. she was abused emotionally and physically, and they had sex whenever he felt like it.

suddenly she was with child, and in a panic she called stas, who took her to get an abortion without her family knowing, to this day stas is the only person knows about her daughter that never came to be, supposed to be named cornelia anastasia daphne alderidge-sangster

finally senior year approached and not wanting to break her facade carrington continued on her studies, and when she graduated she was given the honor of valedictorian ( along with winning prom queen at both her junior and senior prom )

the fervour + the fallen angel — aka the current years [ 19 to present. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

carrington had plenty of offers to go to college, but the one she settled on was the juilliard school in manhattan, new york she earned her aa in both acting and vocal arts, and also has full intentions of returning to juilliard in the spring to achieve her ba in those same two things

of course carrington’s talents didn’t go unnoticed, she was quickly offered a netflix show which is currently recording it’s first season, being one of the top rated netflix comedies/dramas ( think ‘one day at a time’ and ‘brooklyn nine-nine’ )

she’s very different from when she was a teenager, after her mother fell ill, and her step-father passed away she’s become very sensitive to the feelings of others, and her own feelings, she’s very maternal and will try to protect everyone, no matter how atrocious of a job she does

she’s very much a hopeless romantic, she’s read each and every single one of stas’s books at least five times, and she wants a love so deep she won’t have enough words in the english language to describe it

falls in love with just about anyone, no matter how bad they are for her, you could do something as nice as hold the door open for her, and immediately she’s falling head over heels for you, thinking about you, and planning your wedding together

wanted connections: ( there’s a lot skskksks )

familial —

half sibling - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] anastasia daphne margeurite sangster. when they grew up carrington was a bit of a brat, and they didn’t get along to well, but after spending so many years together they’ve not only become sisters, but also best friends.

romantic —

high school sweethearts - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] the boyfriend that she met and dumped at le rosey, she was in love with him, truly she was, and maybe a huge part of her always will be but she like to think that ship has long since sailed.

long distance relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] an online relationship; something that actually lasted for a good while? he would’ve still been at le rosey so they’ve never met in person but something soft where they called and skyped all the time but over time things fizzled out because she got so busy with his school and work.

secret relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] although carrington still isn’t out as bisexual, this was always the case, at one point she had to hide the relationship between her and the girl she loved, which is perhaps why it ended, but despite it all carrington will always love her to some degree.

toxic relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington probably got cheated on by this person, and dumped multiple times, but there was something about them that just made her keep coming back for more, and she did every single time. until one day, she just didn’t. Or maybe they didn’t come back, or maybe she moved on, either way they haven’t spoken since.

pr relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is essentially america’s sweetheart, i mean imagine an heiress, turned singer-songwriter, and now a house favorite sitcom star, where’s the blemish in her status? that’s exactly what happened when their agents set these two up, i mean after all, how hard can faking a relationship be?

skinny love - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington has an extremely bad habit of falling in love with people, the only twist is this time this person fell back, except carrington is much too afraid to admit to herself that they’ve moved their relationship past being ‘just friends’ and so she doesn’t.

unrequited crush - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] like i stated previously carrington has a really bad tendency to fall in love with those who don’t want her back, and this time is obviously no different, she’s probably never told them about her crush, and has absolutely zero intention to do so, but we all new york has a funny way of making people confess.

fwb - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is far from being known for her sexual prowess, but she is known for getting her heart broken, and that’s exactly what happens every time these two hook up. carrington tries convincing herself that it’s normal, and most of the time she’s successful, but every now and then she can’t help but wonder if they should stick to being just friends, after all she gets attached far too easily.

platonic —

squad - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] oh gosh these four have been inseparable from the moment they met, sure they fight but in the end, no matter what, they promised each other that they would stay friends until the very end.

best friend -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] after being the devil’s reincarnate throughout high school, carrington kinda pushed away the idea a best friend, she simply shrugged off the thought of finding someone who could understand herm and then suddenly she found them, her best friend, she loves them to bits and pieces, and somehow they just feel like an extension of her, nowadays carrington could never imagine going about life without them.

roommate - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]  carrington has a fairly big penthouse, alright more than fairly big, and to keep herself from getting lonely she got a roommate, and about a billion animals for, although their house looks like a zoo, carrington actually loves her roommate? they’ve seen her at her highest and lowest points, and have decided to live with her dumbass through it all, they don’t even have a problem with the millions of animals living with them, honestly where would she be without them?

good influence -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is known for her impulsive decisions and irreversible actions, but with this person by her side the world seems like it’s at carrington’s fingertips. she’d probably rank them very high on the list of the best things that have ever happened to her, right next to anastasia and hot cheetohs.

bad influence -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington has never been one for parties, maybe it’s the fact that she’s not old enough to drink, or that she’s a hermit half the time, but she’d much rather hang out by herself taking pictures of her pets, and going on her own little adventures around new york. but with them, her adventures seem to be hard to remember, and parties seem so much more fun.

unlikely friends -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is probably the exact opposite of this person, personality wise, fashion wise, but yet despite the odds these two are still friends, and she actually enjoys it? sometimes she wishes she was outspoken and brash as they are, that she could learn to distance herself so easily, but they constantly prove themselves to be one of the closest friends she has.

frenemies - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] one minute they’re insulting each other, the next they’re getting mani-pedis and getting brunch together. no one can quite tell if they love or hate each other most the times, not even them.

enemies -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] it’s just every little thing this person does just irritates carrington, for one reason or another, and at this point she’s given up trying to be cordial, or even pretending to be.

ex-best friend -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]  maybe they were best friends back in their le rosey days or maybe they met and immediately clicked but somehow in some way it just stopped. and carrington hates knowing that people don’t like her, plus they were really close and carrington really thought maybe she could glue their friendship back together, or that somehow if she held on tight enough then her best friend would stop slipping from her fingers, but it turns out the tighter you grip something, the easier you lose it, she definitely still misses them, and still probably accidentally texts them from time to time.

[my-wayward-son]

2 months on T-------------------> 7 months on T

I’m late with this post.  Again.  Because I’m doing really shitty.  Again.

First, let me address the obvious: yes, I’ve lost weight. (Well, if you wanna get technical, I weigh the exact same thing as when I started, which I probably shouldn’t).  But beyond that, I don’t want to talk about it.  That change is probably 25% due to testosterone and the tendency it has to aid in the development of lean muscle, and 75% due to other factors.

All the previous changes I’ve noted in these posts are still happening/happening more, such as still more body hair growing/thickening.  There’s really nothing new to report, except that I pass better when I have on glasses and teenage boy clothes (as opposed to professional clothes), but still get a lot of gender neutral and she/her designations mixed in with the he/hims.  

I had a dream last night about correcting my dad (his typical naming convention for me is Laura, I mean, Laur, she, I mean, Laur...) . So he’s trying when he’s in front of me, but it’s obvious he isn’t trying when he’s talking to my mom without me present.  I’m torn between being upset about it and letting it go.  My dad was diagnosed with Aspergers as an adult and he struggles with shifting his perspective.  This is something else I don’t want to talk about, but just know that my far-from-NT-yet-decidedly-allistic ass has a hard time reconciling it.

But anyhow, the transition is going great, and I have no reason to be upset about anything, but I’m upset about everything, and the rest is going under the cut because it’s going to be full of triggers (suicide and ED stuff).

For my whole life I never understood why anyone would want one of those dolls that you can customize to look exactly like you.  My thought was always, ‘what’s so special about me?  I kind of suck.’  I thought so little of myself and my live, even as a little kid, that I would rather pick the princess or the American Girl or whatever with the most interesting story and change myself to match.  Like I’d beg my mom for an outfit the same color as the character’s, or wear sunglasses with the lenses popped out, or only style my hair the same way as the character in order to adapt into that character.  

Of course all those phases were just that, phases.  They were highly tied to the media I consumed, and as I aged, that media changed.  So I was always editing myself to match my current obsession.  I never gave thought to what I was actually like, deep inside.  Like it didn’t matter what my actual personality was.  I hardly even thought about it until the end of high school, and then a series of traumas knocked me down a few pegs, and that sense of self didn’t come back to the surface until mid 2017.

In mid 2017, I went to a 2-week dance convention.  At that time I was living as female, had basically given up on the idea of transitioning, and was just trying to push through as a painfully shy 24-year-old who worked full time and danced part time with a local ballet company.  At the convention, I studied various styles of dance, realized I was extremely untrained in every field but ballet, and spent the entire thing on the verge of tears because I was with students over 10 years my junior in most of the classes.  It was an “all ages” program, but literally all the other adults were in professional level classes for all styles.  I was only in the professional level class for ballet.  I couldn’t wait for the convention to end.  I hated every second of it.  I had a chronic foot injury that made dancing painful (but not dangerous), but I’d always pushed through it because I loved it.  Now I could barely stand to go to class, even back with my regular company.  So I made arrangements to retire. 

I retired from professional dance in May 2018 and had foot surgery in June 2018.  I could dance again, if I wanted to, but I’m not ready yet.  Eventually I might go back as a recreational adult dancer, just taking class from time to time.  But I don’t know.  

I still love ballet, but as of a year ago, ballet was the one thing hanging over me that I hated.  I hated the obligation; I hated the way it tore up my body; I hated the way it made me exhausted and ate up all my spare time. However, I was damn productive.  I wrote so many fics and drew so many pictures, and I went to therapy at least every other week, and sometimes to PT.  I was at the studio approximately 20 hours a week, on top of working 40 hours a week.  But I guess I was so busy and tied to my obligations that I quite literally couldn’t fall apart.  

My uncle died (suicide, marking the 4th attempt and 2nd success in my family) and my granddad died (heart condition), so I had good reason to fall apart.  I was freaked out and sad for a while, but I was also fine.  I was a robot.  When I look back, I realize that the last time I was happy was prior to the 4th of July 2017.  I call that the “Wonder Woman Moment.”  I did a photo shoot for a ballet personal training/nutrition service that dressed me up in WW-esque dancewear.  We blasted Patty Smythe and had a ball.  Even though it was a really feminine thing, it was so much fun, and I had no worries.  It was July 1st 2017.  Before my uncle died, and before my granddad died and before I went to the dance convention.  That’s my last happy memory.

After unpacking some acute issues with grief and anxiety, my therapist started talking to me about my issues with gender ID.  By November 2017 I was thinking about transitioning (I had thought about it before, but never felt it was feasible).  By December, I’d decided it felt right.  I sought out a doctor in January 2018 and had my first appointment in February.  I told my mom on Superbowl Sunday.  Then a month later at my Oscar party, she basically washed her hands of me.

I love film crit and the Academy Awards almost as much as I love fanfiction and ballet and coffee and all the other good things.  I’ve been on the edge of my seat waiting for the 2019 noms to drop.  I know a few of them just from the grapevine, but I haven’t looked them up yet.  I’m still working from my early prediction spreadsheet, even though the actual noms are just a few clicks away.  I’m scared of the feelings that’s going to bring up.

One year ago, all I could think about was getting through the next 6 months and reaching a series of milestones: my company’s production of Alice in Wonderland.  Moving to a new apartment.  My company’s production of Water for Chocolate (an original contemporary ballet choreographed on me and 14 other dancers).  Starting testosterone.  Retiring from ballet.  Foot surgery.  I thought my life would be so much better.

And in a way, it is.  I have the confidence to do random shit, like walk into Autozone and talk to the workers about what is wrong with my car, then help them fix it.  A year ago, I would have panic attacks over things like that.  But a year ago, my mom loved me.  A year ago, I thought I’d have my current job forever.  A year ago, I thought once I got on T, my eating disorder behaviors would go away.

I’ve gained personal confidence, but lost so much else.  Lost my family.  Gained a new one, but still, I lost my relationship with my biological mother and father.  Lost my job satisfaction, which makes me worry that at some point I will have to interview for a new job and integrate with a new company, which is frightening in the extreme.  T has changed my body shape in the way I like, but it’s not magic.  I’m still afraid of eating, and stress doesn’t help.  I’ve also had health complications that add pressure and make me feel run down.  Some is my own damn fault (Hi, I’m Laur and I abuse OTC medications like a rebellious teenager, which is apparently not advisable when also on several prescriptions).  Some is a fluke.  But feeling like shit while also mentally feeling like shit has destroyed me.  I hate my life.  I hate everything.  I don’t see the value in anything.   

I know there’s a Spider-Man: Far from Home trailer out there.  I haven’t seen it.  I don’t know what to expect.  I want to see it.  But I also don’t want time to move forward.  I like the MCU as it is (I like it pre-Infinity War, actually, but nobody asked me, so I won’t belabor you with my opinion).

And that’s a good metaphor for my life right now.  It’s a mess.  I can’t picture anything far in the future, so the light from my proverbial headlights is dim and dull.  I’m afraid of moving forward, so my tires are spinning in place, kicking up mud and dust.   I’m incapable of shifting side to side, so when I do roll ahead a few inches, I hit every obstacle in the path.  If I just changed the lightbulbs, twiddled the steering wheel, took a breath and let myself move, I’d probably be fine.  But somehow that seems like the most impossible choice.  

I could slam the car into one of the cave walls, triggering a rockslide and killing myself.  If I did that, I know it would hurt a lot of people in my life, but it would also fulfill all of my hopes and dreams.   Peace.  Calmness.  Stillness.  Not having to deal with a world that insists on moving forward with the passage of time.  

The most compelling reason is that I can’t find a reason not to.  I wish I was an undergraduate student again, because I want to get a degree in philosophy.  I don’t know why living is so highly valued.  I can’t figure out what makes this “will to live” the correct way of thinking and the desire to die the wrong way of thinking.  Right and wrong are subjective.  They don’t exist, really.  There is not value behind things and thoughts and actions.  They just are.  What’s to say that a lack of serotonin or whatever in a depressed brain is really not normal?  The non-depressed brain may have an excess.  Normal is relative.  Averages don’t mean correct.  Just because most people in the class chose answer B doesn’t mean that it is the right answer to the question.  Just because most Americans are a little overweight doesn’t mean that that’s the healthiest body type.  

Sometimes I really want to try to get well and forge ahead and get my life together.  Sometimes I want to say fuck it and take all the pills in the house and lay down and drift away.  I can’t decide which is better because neither is better, they both are just choices.  I can’t use other people’s reasoning to back up either one, for they are slanted for reasons I cannot understand.  They have a bias toward life.  I have to choose what I really want most, and I just don’t know.  I truly don’t.  My wants and desires-the deep ones in the core of my being- have been so long ignored, given up for what a character would do, or what my mom would do, that as an adult, I hardly know how to access the decision-making skills that most children have already mastered.  I’m a fucking goldfish; when I’m upset, I’m only upset, and I’ve always been upset.  When I’m happy, I’m only happy and I’ve always been happy.  I don’t know how to take a step back and see both at the same time.  I can’t hold contradictory truths at once.  I’m not wise.  I’m set up to fail because there are cracks in my foundation.

As long as I continue to not decide, I don’t take action.  I’m stuck in a holding pattern of “I don’t know,” and “what’s going to get me through the next 5 minutes,” and “just fuck it all, it doesn’t matter.”  

I’ve never, ever, in my life imagined myself as an elderly person.  I’ve thought of myself as a middle-aged adult, but never past 40 or so.  Sometimes I see myself as a woman, sometimes as a man, sometimes an NB person.  But that’s not what matters.  I don’t see myself living to old age.  Mortality is comfort.  The fact that this life doesn’t go on forever is one thing that honestly makes it seem ok to keep living.  But by definition, it also makes it seem like a good choice to die when things go wrong.  Because I will in the end.  

I see my life as a project, and I’ve always had this dilemma with projects: if I make a mistake, what point is too ruined to salvage?  What factors make it more worthwhile to backtrack and fix the mistakes vs. just throwing it away.  Fixing the mistakes shoes dedication and perseverance, but it’s frustrating.  Hot.  Angry.  Uncomfortable.  Embarrassing to show youthful ineptitude to the world.  Throwing it away is quick.  Easy.  Zen.  Brings immediate cool relief with grace and style.  But it’s selfish.  So fucking selfish.  

If you’ve read this far, please proceed to pour water into your ears and shake vigorously.  This was not meant to be imprinted on your brain.  This is for me to sort out my thoughts, which are, and shall always be, unable to be ordered.

[aquilacalvitium]

Phantom (A NWTB OC Insert One-shot)

The door to the dark warehouse edged silently ajar, allowing a thin strip of light from the streetlights outside to enter. The wind howled as many tiny white flakes were blown in, immediately chilling the already cold room. A little shape poked its head around the foot of the door and looked around. The mouse had excellent night vision, but even so, they had trouble seeing into the far corners of the room. A circular wooden table decorated with a black cloth and positioned between two chairs stood in the middle of the room. A single unlit candle was placed in the middle of the table next to large rolled up sheet of parchment. The walls of the room were covered with shelves, each being cluttered with musical instruments, gothic decorations and voodoo magic ornaments. A thin layer of dust covered most of the items as though they hadn’t been touched in months, while others gleamed like they had just been polished that morning. The entire back wall was hidden in the shadows, but, if the mouse strained her ears, she could hear a faint hum coming from it.

The mouse scurried around the door and into the warehouse, making almost no noise as she ran across the floor towards the back of the room in an attempt to shelter from the blizzard. Halfway across the room, she stopped dead as something heavy fell on her tail and she squeaked in protest. She turned around the see what had fallen on her, only to be met by the shiny black surface of a leather boot. She tried to pull away but she was pinned down. She felt a pit form in her stomach as a spine-chilling laugh echoed through the room.

The instruments, the decorations, the magic items. She knew who this room belonged to. Suddenly, the sub-zero temperatures from outside seemed a lot more inviting than the shelter of this warehouse. A thumb and forefinger clasped her tail roughly before the person straightened and lifted her up. She began to struggle, much to her captor’s amusement.

“Now what’s a little mouse like you doing here of all places?” The figure chuckled as she was held up to eye-level with them, still struggling as she hung from her tail, which was beginning to hurt quite badly. “Play dumb all you want, but there are two things that both of us know quite well,” the figure continued, “first, we both know you’re not getting away. And second... what a pretty mark you have on your head.” He pointed to a tiny black diamond in the fur on her forehead. Dread filled the mouse and she stopped struggling. She’d been found out, there was no way out of this. She glared at her captor.

“What do you want, Phantom?” She demanded. The figure’s shoulders began to shake as they chuckled, which was soon replaced by full laughter. They clicked their fingers and the lights in the room switched on, illuminating the warehouse. The mouse squinted her eyes against the sudden light.

“I knew it was you!” Phantom laughed. The mouse felt only worse as her eyes fell upon his now-illuminated face. His sharp chin, his pointed eyebrows, his glossy black hair and his bright red shirt and black waistcoat. He was just as sickeningly handsome as she remembered.

“I said, what do you want?” The mouse grimaced.

“Oh, Diamond, Diamond,” Phantom mused, she hated the way he said her name, “you know what I want. Allow me to show you something.” He turned on his heel and sauntered across the room to the back wall which was now lit up. Almost a hundred closely-placed shelves lined the wall, and on each shelf were hundreds of tiny glass globes, each with a golden plaque label placed underneath them. A giant sheet of glass covered the shelves so that a globe couldn’t accidentally be knocked off. Diamond didn’t think the pit in her stomach could grow any bigger as she stared in horror. Inside each globe was a person. Some were pacing, some were sleeping or sitting and a couple were banging angrily on the glass. As she looked, she also noticed that a few of the globes were empty, and that those ones had blank labels beneath them.

“What do you think of my collection?” Phantom asked, a mocking tone in his voice. Diamond found herself unable to speak from shock, though part of that could have been the blood rushing to her head. Phantom chuckled again and turned around, making his way towards the table in the middle of the room. “You see, I’m a collector as you already know,” he began, “I collect souls. Each and every soul you see here is the soul of a person whom I made a deal with.” He sat down, “Some wanted fame, some wanted fortune, some were trying to save their own lives or the lives of someone they loved - the most fun ones are the ones who are desperate and willing to do anything - and I provide it for them. Whatever they want, they get.” His grin grew wider, “But what I don’t tell them, is that once I’ve held up my end of the deal, they have to hold up theirs.”

“Their end being that they have to give up their souls to you for ever.” Diamond guessed. Phantom chuckled again.

“Bingo,” he grinned. “There’s always a soul or two I’ve got my eye on, and right now...” He leaned closer, “I appear to have one of them right here.” That did it. Gathering all her courage and mustering her strength, Diamond threw herself up, causing Phantom to loose his grip on her tail, and the mark on her forehead began to shine. The glow grew bigger and bigger before fading as soon as it appeared. Phantom jumped back as she landed, now a teenage girl dressed in a black top and leggings with a black eye mask and mouth mask. A short cape was strapped around her neck and waved behind her. On her belt hung a metal rod which she swiftly unclasped and swung at him, stopping before it hit him but applying pressure onto his neck. He held his head back, that smug grin still plastered on his face. He laughed crazily.

“That’s what I like to see!” He shouted excitedly, “that’s what makes you the perfect soul for my collection!” Diamond scowled beneath her mask. She opened her mouth to speak, but Phantom interrupted her. He pushed her rod aside and looked her in the eyes. “There are many kinds of souls,” he explained, “some are weak, some are strong, some are difficult and others are submissive. The best kinds of souls are the strongest ones. Sure they’re harder to contain and have a tendency to keep me up at night with their noise, but they’re the most powerful. The stronger the soul, the more fitting it is for my collection.” Diamond scowled again and pressed her rod harder into his throat, forcing his head back again. Phantom gagged slightly but kept grinning.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” She demanded furiously.

“Because I know you, Black Diamond,” Phantom replied, “you never kill. I’ve seen how angry and frustrated you get, chasing that freak all the time, but never catching him. He nearly killed you a few times, didn’t he?”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Diamond said.

“But I know you won’t!” Phantom laughed, “No matter how angry or frustrated you get, you never kill. That, along with your strength and determination, make you the perfect soul for the picking.” Diamond slowly lowered her rod.

“And what makes you think I’ll just hand over my soul?” She asked. Phantom lowered his head to look her in the eye again.

“You care about your friends, don’t you?” He taunted.

“You’ll never find them,” Diamond retorted, “no ones knows where they are.” Phantom chuckled.

“I’m not talking about your pets!” He said. Diamond glared at him. A select few animals in the forest worked alongside her, especially her two best friends, Alpha the wolf and Wotan the eagle. She would protect them with her life. “I’m talking about your real friends.” Phantom finished. Diamond raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I know who you are, Diamond!” He exclaimed, “I know where you live, where you go, who your friends and family are. Or I suppose I should say what’s left of your family.” Diamond fought back tears of anger. Her parents had passed away in a car accident when she was twelve and she and her brother had gone to live with their abusive aunt for five years until her brother was old enough to support them both. “What a shame that had to happen,” Phantom continued, “but I suppose your brother looks after you well enough. Or not. Imagine if he knew what you got up to all day, dressing up and fighting these random bad guys.” He circled her as he spoke. Diamond dropped her gaze, shame creeping over her. Tim had to be so worried about her right now. Phantom stopped behind her and leaned over her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Clara?” He whispered. An ear-spitting clank rang through the room as Diamond’s rod fell to the floor in shock.

“H-How...?” She whispered. Phantom placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he walked past and sat down in the chair again.

“I know a lot of things, Clara.” He said, leaning back, “it’s one of the benefits of having actual magic.” Clara reflexively clasped her necklace in her hand; what she understood to be the source of her powers and what allowed her to shapeshift. “For example,” he continued, “I know that that necklace of yours holds more power than you think.” Clara didn’t move, but her mind was racing. Phantom hummed slightly as if he had expected her to do something. He leaned forward and unrolled the parchment that sat on the table, placing a paperweight on each end to stop it from rolling back up. “Sign here and no harm will come to your friends or family.” He said. Diamond took a deep breath.

“Never.” She said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. Phantom smiled.

“To be honest, I’d hoped you’d say that,” he said, “it makes this so much more fun.” He stood up picking up his cane which had been leaning against the table and placed both hands on top of it. “Here’s the deal,” he said, “you have fourty-eight hours to sign your soul over to me. Then, we do things my way.” Diamond hesitated slightly before hooking her rod back onto her belt and glaring at Phantom.

“You will never have my soul, and so help me if you ever lay a single finger on my friends.” She threatened through her clenched jaw. She stalked towards the door, turning into an eagle, before flying away as fast as she could, beating her wings furiously. Phantom’s chilling laugh echoed behind her.

“See you soon, Diamond!” He called, “see you soon.”

Okay yeah I got carried away! What can I say? Phantom is a fun character to write!

[neni-has-ascended]

The early Disney Princesses are more than You give Them Credit for

(Neni’s Advent Calendar, Day 16)

Older Disney Princesses get a bad rep. There’s absolutely nothing to dispute in that statement. As well-regarded and respected their movies are for their technical achievements and beautiful animation alone, whenever you hear people talk about the actual characters appearing in these movies, especially the protagonists, you will rarely find people lose a nice word about them. Accusations of Snow White, Cinderella and Aurora being anti-feminist characters, teaching little children, regardless of gender, harmful lessons and values, are easy to make and thus a dime a dozen. They’ve been parodied, ridiculed and done off as an archetypal relic of the past century’s culture, by everyone and their mothers, including Disney themselves.

Maybe that’s just the reason Disney have been trying so hard to “modernize” these characters, by rewriting their stories and personalities to the point of being non-recognizable in their recent slew of remakes. 2014′s “Maleficent” and the 2015 version of “Cinderella” come to mind. But do we really need remakes like that? Don’t get me wrong, the original films were clearly products of their time, but the way Disney advertises these reimaginings as “updated” and “feminist” makes it rather clear that the only reason they exist is to please the crowd who’s convinced the original versions of these characters are “harmful” or “badly written” by modern standards. And that’s just not a sentiment I can get behind at all. 

Let me make one thing clear before I continue: I did not grow up with the original three “Disney Princess” movies, and for most of my life, I only knew them from clips that would play in-between Disney Afternoon shows or hear-say. Well, I may have seen Cinderella once, when I was 7, but that was it. I just had no interest in watching those movies. As a child I found older Disney movies to be - as Cinderella would probably put it - “frightfully dull and boring”, and stuck to watching The Little Mermaid and Mulan on VHS.  

However, as my knowledge of aforementioned quote should probably tell you, by now I have actually watched and enjoyed all three of these movies. Quite recently, actually. A combination of a Christmassy need to watch old animated movies, as well as having an on-going Kingdom Hearts BbS fanfiction in the works that will eventually require me to write in-character versions of the three original princesses makes it possible. 

Now, due to how popular culture has indoctrinated me over the years to believe that classic Disney Princesses are flat, uninteresting characters, who only exist to get themselves into a pickle and be saved from it by equally flat, uninteresting princes, making the whole endeavor only worth the watch for the beauty of its animation, I didn’t expect much when I absentmindedly put on the original version of Cinderella on Netflix one night before going to bed. In the end, I was blown away. Cinderella... was nothing like what I was led to believe she would be. I’d been promised a barbie doll who spends her life doing nothing but enduring being bossed around by cartoonishly evil villains with a dumb smile and dreaming of being mother to a nuclear family until Prince Charming comes and sweeps her away with no effort at all. Instead, what I found was a snarky, spirited girl, who is quite aware of the abuse she’s being put through and holds a healthy amount of loathing and spite for her abusers (Stockholm syndrome clearly hasn’t gotten ahold of this one, it didn’t), yet endures it because she’s waiting for a good opportunity to free herself from this lousy situation without ending up homeless and starving on the streets. The term “prince” is only mentioned once by her, in passing, until long after she’s actually met the guy, and meeting him was never her goal when she tried to get to that ball. She just wanted to defy Lady Tremaine for once in her life by going out and partying, because she felt like it. No other reason. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

What I’m trying to get across here is: My first encounter with the actual movie Cinderella made me wonder, how much of what we take for granted about these old “Princess Movies” due to how they’re represented in popular culture is actually accurate, and how much of it is just flanderization and simplification, making an aggregation of smaller flaws in otherwise great movies appear much bigger and more damning than they actually are? Maybe these movies are a whole lot less regressive than we often give them credit for. I’m not necessarily saying they’re “progressive”, heaven’s no, but in some ways, I found the 1950 version of Cinderella’s character to be a lot more independent and strong than her 2015 version, which is claimed to be the “feminist” one, and the less said about what “Maleficent” does to... pretty much every single female character from the original movie, the better. 

So, here I am. I already had strong opinions on the three original princess movies after watching them this month, and watching “Maleficent” was the final straw. In honor of this season’s tendency to replay the corniest of fairy-tale movies ad-nauseum and my own love for corny fairy-tales, I’m gonna take a quick look at the three original Disney Princesses within the context of their movies and see how well they - in my honest opinion - still hold up by today’s standards. Where applicable, I’ll talk a little about the remakes as well. Well then, let’s go!

Snow White (1937)

This is the least defendable movie of the bunch, but for the probably most respectable reasons. 

I mean, let’s face it, this was Walt Disney’s - and actually, anyone’s, period - first go at a feature length animated movie, and despite how stunningly beautiful a film it still is, BOY, it shows. The whole film, from start to length, feels a lot like an overly long Silly Symphonies short with a monstrous budget, which is basically what it was. These people didn’t know how to make an animated feature film yet, so they used the next best experience they had as a model, and while it worked in their favor, its natural consequence is that Snow White’s character basically just feels like an extension of the female animation eye candy from their previous shorts, such as “The goddess of spring”. The fact that she’s constantly referred to as “beautiful” in a way that makes her sound sexually eligible, despite being 14 years old and acting like it is more than just questionable as well, to say the least. However, if there’s one good thing I can say about Snow White, it’s that she’s not quite as passive as she’s made out to be.

Now, her initial reaction to almost being assassinated, then asked to run and live in the forest is shock and trauma, as to be expected of a 14 years old girl who was just almost assassinated, then cast into the woods. People make fun of the “OMG THE TREEEES” scene, but fact is, if you were 14 and this shit happened to you, wouldn’t YOU act paranoid for the next couple of hours after? It’s “self-preservation instinct”. Nothing about how she broke down in that scene was wimpy or unrealistic. In fact, the way how she picked herself right back up after the initial scare had passed and cheered herself up without the help of another human being (animals to pet are another story) is quite impressive. As soon as Snow White has her bearings back in order, she gets up and, quite intelligently, decides to go and look for lodging. That’s right, she doesn’t just sit there and wait for someone to come and save her. She stands up and goes “Well, I guess stepmom’s lost it. Welp, time to go and get my own place.”

And what does she do once she finds a cottage that could possibly offer lodging to her, but sees that there’s nobody home? She immediately starts to plan on how to receive permission to stay, basically doing the math on how to pay the rent. She takes the initiative. Nobody invited her in, she decided for herself “I’m gonna make myself so useful around here, they’ll have no choice but to give me a room!” Again, impressive for such a very play-minded 14 years old. She clearly knows how to take care of herself. Now, when it comes to “stranger danger”, she clearly still has a couple of things to learn, but without a functioning set of parents to tell her to not accept candy from strange old people in a van, really, who can blame her?

Then there’s the issue of the prince. He’s clearly quite a bit older than her and the implied marriage between the two of them... Let’s just say I REALLY hope they waited at least three, four years with that. Then again, these were the middle ages, so... oh well. 

However, in general, the relationship between the two isn’t handled too badly. Sure, the prince is pretty much a prop, an item for Snow White to acquire at the end of her struggle to survive (a theme we’ll see repeated in Cinderella), but despite us only seeing one scene of her singing together with him in the start of the movie, the way she talks about him for the rest of the movie (and the way the narration goes) strongly implies the two of them met more often than that. For all we know, they’d been meeting up in the courtyard like that for a couple of weeks already by the time Snow White has to run off. Basically, it can be assumed, those two already knew each other well enough and even considered each other properly boyfriend and girlfriend by the time the Prince appears in the end to kiss her awake, which makes the fact that he kisses her awake in first place a lot less creepy, especially compared to the original fairy tale. This isn’t a stranger coming in to claim a pretty price; It’s a concerned boyfriend learning that his M.I.A. girlfriend might possibly have been murdered by her crazy mother and hurrying to her dying bed to see her one more time. Again, this doesn’t change anything about the obvious creepy age gap between the two of them, but if I’d seen this movie as a kid, I wouldn’t have taken “Awww, being kissed by a stranger and then taken away to be married by him is soooo romantic!” from it. I would have taken “Awww, it’s nice to know that there was a loved one out there who cared enough about her to come and save her even when it seemed too late.” from it. 

If Disney decides to remake this movie, I guess I’d wish for them to do three, and ONLY three things to change the story: 

A) Age up Snow White by at least two years, 

B) Put more emphasis on her already present resourcefulness and craftiness, and

B) Add more scenes in the beginning to make it 100% clear that she and the prince have been an item for a long time, eliminating the creepiness of a possible stranger kissing her entirely. 

I don’t think there’s really much else you can do, without ditching the source material. I mean, let’s be honest, you’re kinda confined in what you can do when working with Grim’s Fairy Tales, but for that this movie isn’t doing too badly.

Alternately, a movie about the Evil Queen could be done and would make a LOT more sense than a movie about “Maleficent”. More on that in the last section. 

Cinderella (1950)

This movie is the one I think is most unfairly judged as “anti-feminist”, because pretty much every single piece I read claiming that Cinderella is a passive, docile character waiting to be saved by a prince... Let’s just say I doubt these people have ever actually watched the movie in first place. That, or they’re mixing it up with the other two.

Snow White was waiting for her boyfriend prince to come and help her out.

Aurora laid asleep, waiting for her prince to come and help her out.

Cinderella? Cinderella isn’t waiting for anyone. Cinderella is constantly looking for her chance. 

As I’ve said before, if you actually watch the movie, you’ll quickly realize that “finding a prince” and getting married is never a concern of Cinderella’s. All she dreams of is leading a happy life. What kind of life that is isn’t specified, but it probably involves a whole lot less Lady Tremaine, Anastasia and Drisella, and a whole lot more me-time for Cinderella. Cinderella is far from docile and complacent in her situation. From the first scene we hear her speak, she’s snarling at the clock-tower dragging her out of bed when she’d rather avoid avoid it, snarking at Tremaine and her daughters behind their backs non-stop and defying their orders by keeping the mice they clearly want dead as her friends and pets. The very first thing she talks about is having a dream and wanting it to come true, and the movie let’s little doubt that said dream is all about escaping her abusers at the first realistic chance she gets. But she doesn’t just dream; she’s realistic. She has foresight. When Lady Tremaine insists she can’t go to the ball, she sets out to defy her stepmother  by playing the “Your orders are not above the king’s” card. She handles her chores in record time, only to prove to Tremaine that she can’t stop her from going, and when ultimately she lacks the time to finish her dress, Cinderella is rewarded for a previous act of defiance - saving the household mice and treating them kindly - by having them finish her dress for her. Basically: Everything Cinderella gets, she earned. She isn’t just sitting down, waiting around to be saved. She works hard and stays good to her friends, even in her shitty situation, and her friends stand by her in return, aiding her in her attempts to defy her abusers. The Fairy Godmother, too, isn’t just a random stroke of luck. She even says so herself: The aid she receives from the fairy is a reward for Cinderella’s unfaltering belief in a better future, which she held onto despite all of the abuse. It’s an empowering message, about how by not lowering yourself to the level of those who wrong you and staying true to your own ideals, you can ultimately succeed with the aid of those whose trust you earned. Cinderella gets to go to the ball not because she’s pretty and cute and we’re supposed to root for her, but because she deserved it. Ultimately, Hard work pays off.

Oh, but let’s not forget what the ball was really about: Cinderella wants to go out and party. That’s all there is to it. No prince involved. In fact, when she actually does get to go, and some guy asks her to dance with her, she doesn’t even realize that guy is the prince until way, waaaay later. To her, she’s just out at a dance after one hard day of work, having the time of her life, when suddenly a hot guy walks up to her and asks to hang out. They hang out, talk and, whoa, the hot guy is super nice, too! Totally her type! Talk about one awesome party! Now, I’m asexual myself, so I don’t know what it’s like to immediately crush on someone the first moment you see them, but I’d imagine that for many people, an experience like that at a party is quite relatable. The point of the scene isn’t that Prince Charming is saving Cinderella, the point is that she’s out, having fun, like she’s dreamed of doing for so long. All those years of hanging in there are finally paying off. She’s successfully defied Lady Tremaine and managed to have an awesome night. The fact that she developed a huge crush on the guy she danced with is more or less just a side effect.

Talking of the prince, again, if anyone is a flat character, it’s him. Again, he’s a prop, someone who exists as an ultimate reward for Cinderella’s hard work - and, most importantly, not the other way around! Cinderella isn’t the prize to be conquered here. The prince is. He is her reward for defying Lady Tremaine and managing to escape her abuse. In the climax of the movie, against all odds, it’s not the prince who saves Cinderella: Cinderella saves herself. She stands by the door, tries to pry it open with all her mind, and, finally, hatches a plan to free herself from the room she is locked in with the help of one of the friends she’s earned herself with her kindness. That’s all her. If she hadn’t acted that moment, thought about it and figured out what to do to save herself, she’d never have been able to leave the room in time. But she did. She saved herself, and the  help she received, she received from the people who’s trust she’s earned with honest effort.  My single complaint with the movie is that she ends up marrying the prince after their first, maybe second date, but, again, that comes with the source material. Let’s just give the guy the benefit of the doubt and hope the marriage doesn’t fall apart. Cindy definitely earned it.

When I was 1950′s Cinderella, I don’t see a helpless girl who is swept off her feet by a knight in shining armor. I see a resourceful, intelligent young woman, who waits for the perfect moment to escape her abusers, earns it, and then takes it, not allowing anything or anyone to stop her. I see nothing anti-feminist in this. Both, Cinderella and her abusers are female. The prince is a prop. She never interacts with any other male humans. The male mice help her because she’s saved them and kept them alive first. There are no male power-fantasies at play here, and even if Cinderella is a very traditionally feminine character, what’s so bad about that? I am a woman who loves BOTH traditional and non-traditional femininity. Cinderella has her well-deserved place in this world. This is a movie that I’d show to children without a second thought, right next to things like Steven Universe. Any kind of femininity that doesn’t rely on non-agency should be celebrated, me-thinks. 

That’s why I absolutely don’t understand why Disney felt the need to remake this movie. 

I’m... conflicted on the 2015 remake... Actually, I took notes while watching it today. Lemme share them with you as they are, alright?

The start is good, thanks for expanding on this.

CGI mice are cute, thanks for not cutting the mice

Slow progression into abuse which makes sense with the original movie and could easily be in-continuity with it, good

An actual motivation for Lady Tremaine which makes sense, yes, very good

the first act was awesome.

where is Cinderella's snark?

Seriously, why isn’t she snarking? That was the best thing about her.

Oh gosh, they made Drisella and Anastasia even MORE cartoonishly evil

Too much talking, 

too much prince, 

WHY CAST HELENA BONHAM CARTER AS THE FAIRY???

what are you smoking

The slapstick wasn’t needed. At all.

why is the grand duke evil, 

She's NOT more proactive

Too much prince angst. king didn’t need to die

Seriously, Why make the Grand Duke evil? SHE DOESN'T EVEN TRY TO FIGHT GOSH IN THE ORIGINAL SHE CAME UP WITH THE PLAN THAT SAVED HER HERSELF

SINGING???? REALLY???

In the original version, she saves herself with the help of the mice. Here, SHE'S SAVED BY THE FRIGGIN' PRINCE GOSH. FEMINISM??

All she is more angry at Lady Tremaine??

"I forgive you. Guards, banish the bitch."

Have courage, kindness and VINDICATION

THE FIRST ACT MADE SO MUCH SENSE AND WAS SO GOOD THO. THANKS FOR THE CGI MICE GOOD

...Ahem. 

So yeah, as you can read out of this, I would have much preferred this movie if it had just been a prequel short to the original film, as which it would have made a lot of sense and would have been beautiful. The moment Cinderella met the prince in the woods, everything kind of fell apart, since from that moment on, going to the ball became about the prince, totally undermining what made her decision to go there such a great show of self-agency in the original. Also, the chances to the climax were bullshit. She ended up having on part in her own rescue, nope, this time it really was the prince who saved her. I did not appreciate that at all. With that change they broke what didn’t need to be fixed. Was it so hard to just write the dog back in and have the climax go more similar to the original? *sigh*

Pro-tip Disney: When you try to make your properties my feminist, try to not go about that by breaking the feminism already present in them. Thank you very much.

But, oh well, at least this remake still had artistic merit to it and didn’t break the original completely. That’s more than I can say for the reimagining of...

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

Aurora is not this movie’s saving grace. Nope, not by a long shot. 

The fairies are. All of them. Especially Maleficent.

Let’s get right into it, this is the only of the three movies where it isn’t the prince who’s the prop, but the Princess. Aurora isn’t an interesting character at all, she’s basically a female version of the prince from Cinderella. She exists as a prize for not just the prince, but the entire Kingdom to celebrate the defeat of Maleficent, and while that may sound troubling, there’s a reason why this movie definitely does not simply have a bias against its female character, and that reason is every single female character not named Aurora. 

Yeah yeah. I can’t defend Aurora herself. Call this cheating. But really, neither Aurora, nor Phillip even get the majority of the screen time in the movie. They’re not the real protagonists here. Nope, the movie is REALLY about is the struggle of three brave fairies, Flora, Fauna and Merryweather, to put an end to the tyranny of the mighty, vindictive fairy Maleficent. Phillip’s story of reuniting with Aurora is a side-note compared to that.

The fairies are the reason this movie, THIS MOVIE, of all things, passes the Bechdel test. Let that sink in. Flora, Fauna and Merryweather make the movie. For the sake of defeating Maleficent’s curse, they have to give up their upper-class, immortal lives with the ability to magick up anything they want out of thin air, and learn to live as mortals instead, something they still are shown having trouble with sixteen years after the fact. It’s an interesting take on the traditional fairy godmother, and one I’m surprised hasn’t received more attention. It certainly helps that all three of them have such strong personalities and often clash. Especially the running gag of Flora and Merryweather  both wanting to dress Aurora in their signature colors kept bringing a smile to my face. Flora is level-headed and strict, Merryweather is a worrier who is blunt and doesn’t always think her actions through, Fauna is sweet and reliable, but also a little slow when it comes to some things. I really enjoyed every scene with those three on screen, especially Merryweather’s reactions to her friends’ antics were gold. I often found myself laughing out loud, something many modern movies don’t manage to make me do. I’m sure, if I’d seen this movie as a kid, I would have come away forgetting about Aurora pretty quickly, but the fairies would have won my heart. Especially Merryweather. God, she’s amazing. I want her to be my friend and talk trash about politics with her. Though, she’d probably find my love for the color pink disturbing... 

These three fairies are the true heroes of the movie, and their story isn’t about finding love and getting married. That’s never even remotely an issue. No, their story is about defeating one of their own, a fairy much stronger than them, first by outsmarting her, then by using the things she scoffs at against her. They’re pretty traditional heroes in that way, and I like it.Now, Phillip is a pretty cool hero too, but let’s face it. He’s basically the prince from Snow White again, except with more personality and more of a part in actually saving the girl. I’ll be honest, I probably liked this movie best out of the three, but it was definitely not because of Aurora and Phillip. It was all thanks to the fairies. 

You know who that also includes? That’s right, Maleficent!

Oh my god, Maleficent. She’s just... Just such a perfect villain. Everything about her just oozes power. She’s like a force of nature. Someone who’s enjoys and relishes her own spitefulness and vindictiveness to the utmost. You love to hate her, but you love her for how much you hate her. She’s animated beautifully, and evokes fear every time she’s on screen. Truly the Mistress of all evil. Of course, she’s not exactly a relatable character, but she really doesn’t need to be. Not every person in the world is relatable. Some are just insane, and Maleficent is that kind of person. Unlike the Evil Queen, her motivation isn’t even a traditionally “feminine” one. She’s not just vain or a woman scorned, heck, it’s not even the traditional male motivation of world-domination. Nope, she’s just a really, really vindictive person with a lot of power who enjoys causing suffering.Basically, she’s Vladimir Putin as a fairy, except somehow even scarrier. That’s just amazing. It’s enjoyable to see her scheme and act like a lunatic, and it’s just as enjoyable to watch her get taken down in the end. Fauna, Flora and Merryweather may make the movie, but Maleficent puts the cherry on its top. She completes the package. A delightfully magical package.

The fairies were the best part about the original movie. So why did Disney decide TO MAKE A TERRIBLE MOVIE ABOUT THEM THAT RUINS EVERYTHING THAT MADE THEM AWESOME?

Why.

WHy wOuld yoU do THAT!?

Not only did they manage to waste a perfectly good life action representation of Maleficent (the few scenes in which she’s actually allowed to BE the actual Maleficent, rather than the diet version the rest of the movie ran with, Angelina Jolie really nails the role. It makes the rest of the movie even more painful.), they also took pretty much every single character from the original and turned them into unlikable assholes, INCLUDING the fairies. 

Oh, Merryweather, what have they done to you, my dear. Please, forgive those foolish mortals, for they know not what they’re doing...

The first and immediate problem is that the entire movie is built on a fallacy: The idea that Maleficent was never given a motivation and thus needed one. That is, of course, bullshit. She already had a perfectly good motivation. Being a vindictive person. Believe it or not, there ARE people like that in the world. Denying that reality doesn’t make your movie any “darker”, it makes it more childish. Oh, but of course, the movie doesn’t deny that reality, it just makes OTHER characters evil and vindictive instead! How silly of me! Yeah, let’s rewrite the strong, powerful female villain who does what she does for no other reason than that she can into a poor, hurt puppy, who’s entire world-view was shaped by a man and an implied fantasy-rape, and also make her an all-loving mother-figure at it, the OLDEST female archetype in the book, then call that “progressive”! Ahahahahahahahaha. Meanwhile, they demonized the entirety of Aurora’s Kingdom by going with the old “Hoomans R evul” trope, which has been tired and overused since back in the 90s, then they rewrote some of the most interesting and fun female characters in early Disney film to become a trio of bumbling buffoons, incapable of tying their own shoes instead. OH AND THEY MADE MERRYWEATHER DUMB. THAT DESERVES SHOUTING. YOU CAN’T MAKE MY MERRYWEATHER DUMB, YOU MONSTERS.

The plot they came up with didn’t even make sense within itself. If Maleficent had a personal beef with Stephan because he was her ex, then why did she curse Aurora, and not him? Why do the three fairies listen to the king of they’re part of a different Kingdom? Why are the mores called a “Kingdom” if they’re outright stated to be a direct democracy? Why does Aurora become queen of the mores in the end when the mores are a direct democracy? Why did you go for the same friggin’ plot-twist as Frozen, when Maleficent is most definitely NOT the same character as Elsa? Why didn’t she go get her wings back much earlier if it was as easy as just sticking them on again? Why do the three fairies already consider Maleficent evil before the christening incident, if that was LITERALLY the first truly vindictive thing she’s done? WHY would you cut off the fairies’ gifts at the second one like the original movie, but then have Maleficent HERSELF weaken the curse, rendering the final fairy’s gift unnecessary?? Why were the three fairies still in the movie at all if you basically turned Maleficent into a composite character of herself AND THEM in the first place?? Why would you disgrace your own classic movie by having Aurora herself claim that the original movie is bullshit and THIS, lo and behold, is the true, canon story now? F**k this movie with all the forces of hell!

The worst thing about this whole fiasko is that a movie like that CAN work. It can work, with pretty much any female villain OTHER than Maleficent. This could have worked with the Evil Queen from Snow White. This could have worked with Lady Tremaine. Heck, this story would have worked A LOT with Mother Gothel from Tangled/Rapunzel. In fact, the whole thing was written like it was meant for Mother Gothel! For your information, in the original fairy tale, Gothel was a fairy who stole Rapunzel out of revenge for her parents stealing from her garden. She’s never described as ‘evil’ in the source material, she’s just a villain by virtue of her method of punishing the thieves. A plot-line like the one in “Maleficent” would have made a LOT more sense for Gothel, heck, even if you went with the Disney-version of Gothel a movie like this would still have made more sense for her than for Maleficent. So, why the hell did they do this movie with the one female villain with which it does NOT work?

Not everything can be turned into “Wicked”, Disney. Not everything is meant to be “Wicked”. You’ve had your go at “Wicked” with Frozen. Now, LET IT GO. 

This movie is terrible. It’s not progressive, not feminist, and least of all a respectful take on its source material. It’s everything that’s wrong with Hollywood remake culture.The original movie wasn’t a cornerstone of feminist media, but its female characters were sure a heck of a load better than the characters in this glorified fanfic. 

Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is: Disney. Stop hating your own Princess Movies. Some healthy self-awareness and a will to improve is good, but what you’ve been doing has been downright delusional. Your protrayal of female characters was never as incredibly terribad as you seem to believe it was. Take some pride in what you’ve done and strife to do even better in the future, without defiling your old work for the sake of being “progressshiiivvvvvv” (without actually being progressive.) If people want Disney Princess movies that feature the princesses (and queens) doing non-traditionally feminine things, there’s Tangled, Frozen and The Princess and the Frog, and the list is ever-expanding. We don’t need to go back and try to erase and rewrite the history that lead Disney to where it is now. That history is part of why they got to where they are now.

Don’t demonize the past. Look at it with the same critical eye you look at the present with, and then learn from it. Honor it and be thankful for what it can teach you. 

  (See the other entries into my Advent Calendar Series HERE. )

[iheardarumorxxx]

Midnight Sun, Chapter 6 - Blood Type

Did you guess that this chapter opened up with Weirdo stalking Bella? Because you guessed totally right.

Our ‘hero’ is going on about how he spends the entire day of school watching Bella through the surface thoughts of other people. See, it’s totally okay for Eddie to use people as his own personal Bella CCTV, because they are paltry and insiginificant hoomans. Who cares that it’s extremely creepy and invasive not just to Bella, but to the people who’s heads Eddie has decided to hijack. It’s not as if they matter anyway, right? 

He shits on both Mike and Jessica again and I’ve already ranted at length about why neither of them deserve it, so I’m not gonna do it again. But I am gonna talk about Angela. I don’t like Angela. It’s not really her fault that I don’t like her. She’s soft spoken and sweet and kind, but the problem that I have with Angela is the same problem that I have with Esme. She exists to be a soft, fragile woman, hand-wringing and the only ‘good’ friend that Bella has. She doesn’t actually have a personality to speak of. 

And now at lunch, Eddie is TRYING SO HARD to set up a red herring about why Bella is Looking Sad after glancing at the table he’s usually sat at. He goes on for like a whole ass paragraph wondering if she’s sad because she’s gonna miss the stupid dance that she’s made perfectly clear she doesn’t want to go to. He’s supposed to be an uber smart Pire with a brain so much bigger than mine, but the thing is? I can use fucking context clues to understand that Bella looked at the Cullen table, noticed that Eddie wasn’t there, and then looked sad because he wasn’t there.

See, Eddie. I don’t need your stupid mind-reading powers to figure shit out.

I'd never paid much attention to a human's diet before.

Edward Anthony Masen Cullen. YOU WERE A FUCKING HUMAN BEING LIKE A CENTURY AGO. Yes, I give you that diets and shit have changed since you needed to eat food, but the fact still stands that you absolutely had to eat food yourself at one time. AND YOU HAVE TWO MEDICAL DEGREES ON TOP OF THAT. If you were, like, in your fucking 500s or something, I might buy this bullshit (excluding the fact that you have two medical degrees). But you aren’t. You died in, like, 1901. 

I motioned with my finger for her to join me.

Small point for SM and Midnight Sun here. In Twilight, when this scene happened, Bella said that he lifted his hand and twisted his wrist and like, crooked his finger in a gesturing motion and it was way too many words just to say ‘he motioned me over with his finger’ or ‘he beckoned me over’. At least this book didn’t pull that shit just to pad out the word count. This time.

"Why don't you sit with me today?"

A nitpick, if you will. The way that Eddie boy phrases this question makes it feel a lot more like a command. He isn’t asking if Bella wants to sit with him. He’s not really leaving that clear No option open for her with this phrasing. It feels extremely controlling and based on what we know about Eddie and his controlling tendencies as a boyfriend, I don’t like it.

Eddie and Bella are talking, all the while Eddie is going on about how he’s SO DANGEROUS and shouldn’t be friends with Bella and how part of him wishes she would just get up and leave because that would be safer for her. 

Hey, Eddie. Why don’t you get up and leave, you pissant? Sure, he’s going on and on about how it’s hard to stay away from her and how he’s so IN LUV with her, but dude? If you genuinely think you’re dangerous and shouldn’t be around her DON’T BE AROUND HER. You can’t pull this stupid shit where you go on and on about how she shouldn’t wanna be your friend or be around you while also asking her to eat lunch with you and hanging around her and STALKING HER AND SNEAKING INTO HER BEDROOM AT NIGHT. You don’t get to have it both ways.

"What are you thinking?"

NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS DUDE! IF SHE WANTED TO FUCKING TELL YOU WHATS ON HER MIND, SHE WOULD! GOD FUCK OFF.

Right. Okay. I’m good. Caplocks off.

Ugh.

^^^ That is actually written in the book. And not as dialogue, either. It’s thought. It’s Edward’s thought and inner monologue. Wanna know why that sucks? There are a lot of reasons but the biggest one is this: SM goes out of her way to make it seem like Eddie is so old-fashioned and fancy. She makes him say some of the most ridiculous things in the interest of making it clear to us, the readers, that he is sophisticated. The Pire that is 109 and talks like a Walmart Brand Mr. Darcy just thought ‘ugh’. 

I chided her

STOP with the creepy fucking paternal imagry. God, I am not a psychologist, and I would never presume to assume anything about anyone, but the way SM writes Edward and Bella’s relationship (and really all of the relationships in this series) reeks of Daddy Issues.

Mr. Banner was blood typing today.

This is absolutely fucking bonkers to me, and in the original Twilight, it was only an excuse for Bella to show of her FEAR of blood. Her ridiculous fear that was off the charts and over the top. They were just doing cell division, like, two days ago? And now they’re blood typing. And instead of theoritically doing so, they’re blood typing the actual students. Without written permission slips or warning anyone who might actually have issues with blood or needles in order to let them opt out. This isn’t how high school curriculam works, and it is absolutely not realistic. Even if it’s just a special one off thing, you can’t just stab kids with needles without parental consent.

but I wasn't hearing Debussy's notes for long

Bitch I fucking CALLED IT that he was listening to that Debussy song that first time he mentioned his favorite CD. Brownie points to me.

I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the wretch.

Leave Mike Newton ALONE, dude. And ‘the wretch’ is real rich coming from the guy who thought ‘Ugh’ a few paragraphs back.

Anyway, Bella got so sick and dizzy from one little drop of blood that she’s about to pass out on the sidewalk. It was stupid in Twilight and it’s stupid here. If Mike had lost an arm and was just pulsating blood? Sure, I’d buy the reaction, but a little tiny prick on the finger? And he sits like a couple of tables away from her? It’s an over the top reaction and if I was anyone in that class, I would think she’s doing it for attention. 

Eddie just eats this shit up, though. Because its an excuse to fawn all over Bella and be a big strong man to rescue her. 

The ‘I usually am’ in response to Bella saying Eddie was right about something made me see red for a minute. I fucking HATE this pompous, stuck up, douche canoe. 

"People can't smell blood."

Good news, guys. I’m a vampire. I know this because I, too, can smell blood. I am now sparkley and Better Than You. So it is written.

But in all seriousness? Ed? You’re a fucking moron. 

Anyway, Bella gets out of going to gym by ‘looking pale’ and Eddie comes to the conclusion that we have all figured out long before this that Bella thinks Eddie is attractive. Bella goes against Mike’s clear wishes not to invite Eddie to the beach with them, and invites him anyway, but because it’s La Push and, ya know, Werewoofs, Eddie can’t go to there. But instead of just saying he has plans or doesn’t like the beach or something, he just shits all over Mike some more and it makes me angry. 

I was almost angry that she was leaving me.

Okay, I’m gonna level with you guys and share something personal. I had a really possessive boyfriend in college. Like, had to check in, let him know where I was and who I was with and all of that shit. He got mad at me if he didn’t hear from me for a while and was constantly accusing me of cheating on him and shit. That line right there? That like really freaks me out and gives me flashbacks to that terrible relationship. This is a red flag if I’ve ever seen one. Things like this are why people say that Edward Cullen is an abusive boyfriend.

And right after this line, he’s fucking dragging her to his car and insisting that he drive her home. It’s just creepy, guys. It’s all the warning signs that someone could ever need about someone, but it’s being treated as this loving relationship and it just makes me so uncomfortable. 

There is something I wanna say in regards to Eddie. As a character, it’s okay for him to be kind of an asshole. There’s room for growth in that, there’s something for the character to strive to change. But his behavior is painted in this light that makes it seem like he’s wonderful and amazing, all rose colored love fantasy, and so he never changes and never learned to be a better person. And the shades of abuse are there, not even hidden in subtext but overt, and that is why I hate Edward so much. Not because he’s an asshole, but because I’m supposed to like him just the way he is, and not hope that he changes for the better.

The way that Bella talks about her mom makes me mad. That’s more of a rant for Twilight, but even just the things she says out loud are annoying. She talks about the woman like she’s incapable of taking care of herself, despite the fact that the woman raised her for 16 years. In Twilight it’s worse, because when she even bothers to think about Renee at all, she’s talking down about her.

They’re in front of Bella’s house having a dumb conversation about Eddie being DaNgErOuS again, and I want to puke with how heavy handed the ‘romance’ is supposed to be. Bella is like ‘i don’t care if you want to murder me and leave my corpse out in the woods’ and Ed is like ‘well... actually...’ and I hate that I’m supposed to think that they’re in love.

They’re having some more inane small talk. Literally this entire relationship is just small talk until they get to the sparkley meadow and make out a little, and then it’s ‘i would die for you and love you so much and you’re my everything’ like zero to sixty. I will admit that I fell for my partner really quickly, but we also talked about more than the fucking weather and our families. We had actual meaningful conversations and got to know one another.

This chapter ends with Eddie telling Bella to be careful at the beach (like any good father would) and laughing at her when she gets annoyed about it. The fact that he laughs at her expressing annoyance pisses me off. And he calls her an angry kitten again. 

God, but I hate this asshole. 

That’s chapter six, guys. Feel free to reach out in messages and DMs if you wanna chat, or if you have any recommendations for what my next book recap should be. Feel free to buy me a snack, my CashApp cash tag is in my bio. Until next time!

[thecarlonethatalsowrites]

Day 2 I Got You

Second installment of Danvers Sisters Week by @queercapwriting . Featuring Looney Toons references, a jerk wad that pained me to write, Alex being violent, surprise angst (I was not planning to write that, I swear), Alex being difficult, and surprise Sanvers. read on ao3

Earth is...a lot. It’s loud and fast and bright, and so, so different than Krypton. There’s a lot Kara must know- must learn- to fit in, the least of which being controlling her powers. Yes, she has powers on this planet. Something her adoptive family won’t let her forget.

She’s slowly but surely reining in her abilities; practicing handshakes with a begrudging Alex, building small structures out of sticks, and constantly trying to remember to keep her feet on the ground. Jeremiah and Eliza are as supportive as can be, but Kara senses a kind of resentment from Alex.

She can’t really blame her. An alien suddenly invading your household and your parents informing you that she’s your new sister whom you have to take care of has to be tough. Especially since Alex was an only child for so long. Kara is an only child too, so she gets it. Although, is she really anyone’s child anymore? Now that her parents are…well, she doesn’t see herself calling Eliza or Jeremiah Mom or Dad anytime soon.

The hardest part of all this is the sudden waves of grief that so often overwhelm her, making her feel small and sad and so alone she feels crushed under the weight of it all, even with her newfound strength. She does her best not to let anyone catch on- she needs enough help as it is- but she’s beginning to think that Eliza suspects that something is up with her abrupt silences and self isolations.

But despite all that, Kara’s making enough strides towards passing as human that within a few months the Danvers tell her she can go to school if she feels ready. And Kara feels ready. Sure, she’s learning a ton, but she misses her academics. She wants to make friends she can hang out with like Alex does. She wants to sit at the kitchen table at night doing homework. She wants to feel normal.

And yet, now that she’s standing on the curb outside of school, she feels anything but. There are so many noises, and somehow everything is more than it is in the Danvers’ nice, small neighborhood. Kara’s lungs throat closes and her chest tightens as her ears throb and eyes ache and Eliza explained about this but Kara’s never experienced “sensory overload” before and now she’s freaking out.

“Kara. Kara!” A single voice cuts through the barrage of sounds, and kara realizes that Alex is squeezing her arm as tightly as she can, which Kara can barely feel. “What’s up? Are you okay?” Kara drags her wide eyes from the new sights and focuses on Alex’s face. She thinks she sees concern there, which is strange because Alex has been apathetic towards her at best and resentful at worst.

Kara opens her mouth to respond, but no sounds come out; an indicator of how bad this really is. She must look it, too, if Alex is concerned, but despite her best efforts she can’t communicate a single thing about what she’s experiencing.

“Oh, boy. Mom warned me about this. Come on, let’s go.” Alex starts to drag Kara away from the noisiest part of the sidewalk. “Geeze, you weigh a fricken ton. Come on.”

Somehow it gets through to Kara that she should be moving, and she stumbles along with Alex, not even watching where they’re going.

Alex sits her in the shaded grass beneath a tree, so firmly Kara leaves a dent in the earth, and they’re away from the worst of the noise but Kara can still hear it and it’s driving her nuts. Alex must be able to tell, because she crouches down and grabs Kara’s face between her hands. Kara struggles not to flinch, because that could seriously hurt Alex. She lets her wrench her face forward so their noses are nearly touching.

“Hey, listen here, Marvin. Come on, make eye contact.” Kara has to force herself to hold her gaze. “You’re fine. A ot is happening, but you’ve been practicing and I’ve got you, okay? You hear me? Blink if you can hear me.” Kara blinks, but it’s more out of surprise than acknowledgement of Alex’s words. Alex’s ferocious protectiveness shocks her. Coming from the girl who said ten words to her this morning, it’s more jarring than all the noise.

Vaguely Kara registers that Alex is still talking, and she makes an effort to comprehend her words.

“...that’s good. We’re not going back there, you don’t have to worry. Just focus on me. That’s it.” Slowly Kara lets the words lull her out of the panic she felt. As she comes down, Alex visibly relaxes as well.

“I’m okay,” she croaks. Alex slowly lets go of her face and moves away slightly. It’s easier to look her in they eye at this distance. “I can...I’m ready to go back.” Alex snorts.

“Like hell you are. No, we’re not going back there.”

“But Eliza-”

“Will understand. Right now, you need ice cream. Any more objections?” Kara let’s Alex pull her upright, considering her last question.

“What’s ice cream?”

“Oh dear Lord how have you been on this planet for three months and not tried ice cream?”

Two years after she lands on Earth, Kara has considerably greater control over her powers than when she first tried going to school. Which is good, because the Danvers have already suffered enough because of her.

Strangely, they don’t hate her, even if it is only Alex and Eliza left. Kara feels extremely guilty at her part in Jeremiah’s recruitment to the DEO and subsequent death, and since her powers were what got him there it only became easier to suppress them.

She wishes she had heeded his warnings earlier most days.

Today isn’t most days.

Today she’s sitting in diner, in a booth across from Michael Watson. Michael was apparently never taught proper manners, and his open mouthed chewing has put Kara off her own appetite, a feat that is usually impossible. If that wasn’t bad enough, whenever he opens his mouth to speak instead of chew, Kara feels vaguely insulted every time. Every. Single. Time.

Dating on Earth sucks.

She’s been looking for an escape for the last twenty minutes, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to manage one. No one she knows has entered the diner, she hasn’t received any phone calls, and she doesn’t think Michael will buy a sudden onslaught of food poisoning.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky the Danvers adopted you.” Michael suddenly changes the topic to something completely unrelated to what he was saying. Only the mention of the Danvers makes Kara pay attention to his words. “I mean, they’re not the best family- not having a strong male presence will do that to you- but I guess they’re not so bad in the charity department. Most teenagers never get adopted, and being willing to take in a teenaged girl? Takes a special kind of person.” It’s probably meant to be some kind of backwards compliment, but that doesn’t stop Kara’s grip from splintering the edge of the table.

“Excuse me?” She demands. She really wishes she could punch him, but she doesn’t want to kill him, no matter how horrible he’s being. “What did you say about my family?”

“Just that they’re pretty messed up, but you fit in well with them. Your sister? She’s kind of a total bitch.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” There’s a commotion from two booths away as the blonde girl sitting alone in it stands up. She marches up to Kara and Michael’s table, and Kara is shocked to see that it’s actually Alex wearing a blonde wig. “It’s bad enough that you insult me, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to you verbally abuse my sister and our family.” She tears the wig off and stuffs it in her bag. “Come on Kara, I’m getting you out of here.”

A wave of relief washes over Kara as she goes to stand up. Bless Alex and her slightly stalkerish tendencies. Any other time it would annoy Kara, but right now she doesn’t care if Alex followed her from the moment Michael picked her up from their house.

Unfortunately, Michael is not as pleased with the interruption as Kara. He stands up only seconds behind Kara, anger written plain as day across his fire engine red face.

“You’re crazy! Did you follow us here? Kara’s definitely not leaving with someone as insane as you!” He says, practically foaming at the mouth.

“Excuse me, I can leave with whoever I want,” Kara scoffs. But Michael isn’t done. He ignores her words and grabs her wrist and, oh, is it on.

Alex beats her to the punch, though, and her knuckles connect solidly with his nose. Kara can hear it break, but Alex isn’t done. As Michael staggers back he exposes his chin to Alex’s perfect uppercut, and his teeth click together so loud Kara is sure the noise was audible to human hearing. Then, as the cherry on top, Alex knees him in the groin, and Michael collapses to the floor with a pathetic moan.

“Stay away from me and my sister, you fucking piss-bag.” She practically spits on his prone form. “Ready to get out of here?” She asks Kara.

“Absolutely,” Kara says, mindful of the crowd they’ve drawn.

It’s late enough that Alex shivers in the cool autumn air when the exit the diner, and Kara instantly moves closer to her to share some of her body heat.

“That was awesome,” she says. “You were a total badass.” Normally she avoids swearing like the plague (even though she can’t catch the plague) but in this particular instance it seems appropriate.

“Yeah, well,” Alex shakes out the hand she punched Michael with. “You know I got you. If you can’t punch the scumbags, then I guess it’s up to me.” She hisses in pain, and Kara is immediately worried. She snatches Alex’s hand to pull it closer, and instantly feels horrible for the split knuckles and already forming bruises Alex is sporting.

“Even if it means you get hurt?” Alex chuckles.

“Please, I’ll just rub some dirt in this. It’ll be fine.” At this point Kara pretty much understands Earth’s expressions, and she’s pretty sure Alex isn’t being literal about rubbing dirt in her open wounds. But she still gently folds Alex’s hand in her own, protecting it from any further harm in the safest place on earth.

“Thank you.” Alex looks at her kind of strangely, but it’s a good kind of strange. A strange that she only reserved for her parents.

“You’re welcome.”

Alex is incredibly intelligent and Kara learned science more advanced than anything on Earth in third grade, so obviously anything they want to learn, they can. The universe seems to bend to their sheer force of wills and masterfully manipulated science.

So after three years of living on Earth Kara decides she wants to know the exact date Krypton died, Alex is determined to help her find out.

She didn’t think it would hurt this much.

Alex is completely silent as she sits on the floor next to Kara amidst dozens of papers that detail weeks of work. Kara holds one paper in a death grip, and it’s already torn to pieces in her hand. She can’t see what’s written on it through the tears in her eyes, but the date is burned into her brain forever.

“What are the odds,” she says past the lump in her throat. The question is dangerous, because Alex could probably answer it, but she asks anyway. “What are the odds that it’s today?”

Alex doesn’t answer her. Instead, she draws her close, tucking Kara’s head under her chin as the tears start to fall in earnest. Instead, she says “I got you.” Over and over again. No “It’s ok” or “breathe, Kara.” Just “I got you.”

Somehow it’s all that needs to be said.

“I still can’t believe you’re just letting me have this apartment!” Kara says in wonder as she gazes at the open space. Alex simply shrugs, her hands in her pockets and firmly away from her new haircut that she can’t seem to stop touching.

“I’ve got you,” she says. “I know you’ve been wanting to move to National City for years. Besides, I'm done with it. It’s a good fit for you.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouuuuuuuu.” Kara rushes over to her, grabbing her hands out of her pockets, squeezing a bit too hard if Alex’s wince is anything to go by. She’s far too excited to contain herself, however, and it’s not like she’s breaking any bones, so Alex can suck it up for a minute or two. “Not that there was ever any doubt, but you are literally the best sister ever.”

“No, the best sister ever is inheriting a shitty apartment I’ve somehow grown fond of in order to keep it in the family.”

“I promise to take really good care of it!” Kara says. Alex levels a look at her.

“No sex on the island. I’m not sure it could handle you, and replacing it would be impossible.”

“ALEX!” Kara screeches, releasing her grip and clamping her hands over her own ears instead. Alex smirks like that was exactly what she wanted and jams her hands back in her pockets.

“It’s tempting, I know.” Alex continues. Kara interrupts her with a moan.

“Please, I didn’t wake up today with the need to be scarred for life,” she says, regretting that her hearing is too good to be blocked by her hands.

“I’m done.” Kara slowly removes her hands, letting them fall to her sides when Alex doesn’t trick her instantly. “I, uh, I actually have work, so I’ll just leave you to it.” She takes out her key and sets it on the counter before heading to the door. She frowns as the lock. “I should get you a proper deadbolt.” She comments. Kara knows it’s just the perfectionist in her, so she tramps down any annoyance at her protectiveness. Kara can take care of herself, and both sisters know it, but it doesn’t stop Alex from being vigilant, even more so these days than ever before.

“That would be really nice,” she says. Alex nods once before leaving abruptly, and Kara is left with the thought that she really does have the best older sister.

Day three of being Supergirl could have gone better than it did. Kara did fine when it came to saving people, but she can’t shake the terrible feeling that Alex is still pissed at her.

A feeling that Alex confirms by looking her directly in the eye and saying “I’m still pissed at you.”

Honestly it’s more devastating a blow than any she’s taken as Supergirl. Alex was the reason she decided to reveal herself, the reason she was brave enough to follow in her footsteps and fight aliens.

So if she’s moping on her couch eating ice cream at 10:30 in the morning, sue her. She has her reasons, okay? Although, it’s only making her mope harder, because ice cream reminds her of Alex, and Alex is the reason she’s moping, and really it’s just one big moping spiral.

Someone knocks on her door, and the thought of company is really putting a damper on her commitment to moping. She almost ignores them, until she hears Alex talking on the other side.

“Kara, I know in there eating ice cream instead of going to work. Yes, Winn snitched, but that’s not the point. Open the door.” Kara stays put until Alex says, “Unless of course you want me to kick it down.”

She decides she doesn’t want to replace her locks and hauls herself off the couch to answer the door. Alex pushes her way into the apartment like Kara is going to slam the door in her face any second, and Kara lets her. Alex knows she wouldn’t remain inside if Kara didn’t want her to be.

“Ok. So I realize that I might have been a little hard on you recently, so if you would hear me out I would really appreciate it,” she says without preamble. Kara closes the door and crosses her arms.

“You realize?” She asks, because that does not sound like Alex at all.

“Ok fine, James might have had something to do with it. Next time you see him, thank him, because I almost broke his arm.” Kara laughs despite herself. “Anyway, I haven’t exactly been fair to you about the whole superhero thing. It’s just, for so long you’ve been trying to act normal and I’ve been trying to protect you that I guess I went a little crazy when you suddenly started catching planes and fighting aliens. And I didn’t come here to be forgiven, just to say that I’ve got you, and I’m behind you 100%.” She finishes. Kara doesn’t know what to make of all that, but somehow those words are enough to make everything okay again. Those words that started off as a gesture so small, and that have come to mean so much to both of them.

“That’s good, because I really need you and I don’t know how to keep doing this without you,” she says. Alex closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. Her head hangs back, and without opening her eyes, she holds out her arms.

“Alright, come here. Hug it out?”

“Yes please.” Kara is already pulling her close, and she’s so glad that even though this was their worst fight pretty much ever they’re still able to work it out and hug in the end.

What are sisters for?

This is not what sisters are for. Not the fragile, tiny, human ones. They’re not supposed to give themselves up this way, to be beaten down and captured in exchange for their superpowered kin.

Kara stares at Alex’s broken body in disbelief, and all she can think is to pray that she’s not dead. She doesn’t have time to use any higher mental functions, because the teal-colored alien is turning from Alex toward Kara.

Blood red spikes quiver down it’s spine and protrude from it’s fingertips, elbows, and knees. Kara’s pretty sure they’re poisonous, and if that wasn’t enough the creature stood over ten feet tall and looked about as strong as three Supermans. She doesn’t think the poison can affect her, because the spikes can’t pierce her skin, but when the alien tears one from it’s back and hurls it at her she avoids it anyway.

It’s funny. J’onn is shouting orders in her ear about how to take this thing down, but all Kara can think of is how Alex beat up Michael Watson all those years ago.

Faster than the alien can blink Kara flies toward it, putting all her strength behind a punch to where she thinks it’s nose is. She’s spot on, because the alien reels backwards and she uppercuts it so hard it actually flies twenty feet in the air before slamming back to earth. At this point the kick to the groin is unnecessary- Alex must have done more damage to it than Kara originally thought- because the alien is down and not getting up again anytime soon.

Everything starts happening even faster, if that’s even possible. The DEO containment team rushes in to deal with the alien, and there’s a medic team for Alex, but they’re being too slow and Kara can hear Alex’s heart beating so weakly now and if she doesn’t do something Alex might die. So she rushes over, and begs them to let her take them.

It’s only with Maggie’s interviennent and badge granted authority that they finally conceded, because Maggie actually knows Kara and that she’s Alex’s best chance, and Kara scoops her into her arms to fly to the hospital.

“I’ve got you, it’s ok. I promise I’ve got you, and you’re going to be okay or so help me Rao…” She can’t finish the sentence, but it’s okay because she’s landing outside the hospital and there are doctors and nurses and promises that she’s going to be okay.

Alex is ok. She looks a little worse for wear, but not nearly as bad as when she was broken and lifeless in Kara’s arms. It was too long in Kara’s opinion for them to let her in to see her, but she supposes she’s luckier than James and Winn and J’onn and Maggie, who are stuck waiting in the lobby because they’re not direct relation. Alex pisses and moans about not being able to see her girlfriend, and why didn’t you take me to the DEO instead of the normal hospital? The normal hospital has rules I can’t breaks.

But she’s okay, and that’s all Kara is really concerned with at the moment.

That is, until Alex is discharged.

She insists she can go home to her own apartment even though she has three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and they had to take out your freaking spleen so shut up Alex you’re coming to my place.

If Kara thought hospital Alex was bad, she’s never encountered wheelchair Alex. Even though a huge part of her stubbornness in the hospital was over Maggie’s absence, and Maggie is right there alongside her on the elevator ride up to Kara’s apartment and helps settle Alex into Kara’s bed, she’s still just as stubborn. If not more so, because she’s stronger now than she was. Kara resigns herself to the floor so that Maggie can have the couch, because Alex is in no condition to share a bed with anyone, despite any complaints she might have.

“Alex, for the last time. Will you let us take care of you?” Kara snaps. “I promise I got you. Quit being so stubborn for once.” Maggie sits off to the side, impressed at Kara’s backbone. She was about five minutes from caving in and ignoring all the doctor’s rules about physical activity and letting Alex wheel herself to the bathroom by herself.

The first day is the roughest, but Alex sleeps like a rock through the first night which is a huge relief because Kara’s main worry was that she would be in too much pain to sleep. She stays up the whole night, listening for labored breathing or groans of pain.

The second night she’s about to do the same when Maggie forces her to get some sleep. But Alex wakes up sobbing in terror, and not even Maggie can calm her down, so she’s forced to wake Kara.

“I got you, Alex.” The words carry a different meaning coming from Kara than Maggie, and it’s not Maggie’s fault that they don’t calm Alex the same way as when Kara says them. She decides it’s time for a midnight chinese run and excuses herself from the apartment.

Once Alex finally calms down enough, Kara speaks up.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“When you go back in the field, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m serious. I got you.”

[caseyjroberts]

1. Luka - Suzanne Vega

“Yes, I think I'm okay, I walked into the door again If you ask that's what I'll say, and it's not your business anyway I guess I'd like to be alone, with nothing broken, nothing thrown Just don't ask me how I am”

Casey’s early childhood was extremely difficult. He was raised by abusive and neglectful drug addicts until he was removed from their care and placed in foster care at eight years old.

2. All I Really Want - Steven Curtis Chapman

“All I really want for Christmas is someone to tuck me in A shoulder to cry on if I lose, shoulders to ride on if I win There's so much I could ask for but there's just one thing I need All I really want for Christmas is a family”

Casey spent five years in foster care, and it was very rough on him. He struggled with trusting people, but he was desperate for somewhere to actually belong, and someone to love him.

3. When Love Takes You In - Steven Curtis Chapman

“When love takes you in everything changes A miracle starts with the beat of a heart When love takes you home and says you belong here The loneliness ends and a new life begins When love takes you in”

He was thirteen years old when the Roberts family took him in and began the adoption process. He was equally thrilled and terrified, both afraid of what a real home would actually mean, and that it would all fall through.

4. This Is Home - Switchfoot

“This is home Now I'm finally where I belong, where I belong Yeah, this is home I've been searching for a place of my own, now I've found it Maybe this is home, this is home”

It took six months for Casey to finally realize that things were permanent, that the Roberts family really did love him, really were going to keep him, and he was truly safe there. He broke down crying in his room once he did.

5. Courage Is - The Strange Familiar

“Courage is when you're afraid but you keep on moving anyway Courage is when you're in pain but you keep on living anyway We all have excuses why, living in fear something in us dies Like a bird with broken wings, its not how high he flies but the song he sings”

Even after his adoption, Casey had a long road to learn to cope with his past, both his early neglect and abuse, and the years of being bounced between foster homes. It was a difficult time, but eventually with love and support from his new family, and a lot of therapy, he was able to put the past behind him for the most part, though it would always affect him.

6. I’ll Stand By You - The Pretenders

“I'll stand by you, I'll stand by you Won't let nobody hurt you, I'll stand by you Take me in, into your darkest hour and I'll never desert you I'll stand by you “

Casey very quickly became extremely protective of his two younger siblings. They had all had their own struggles in life before their adoption and bonded quickly, becoming very close and Casey took his position as older brother extremely seriously.

7. She’s Everything - Brad Paisley

“She's the voice I love to hear, someday when I'm ninety She's that wooden rocking chair I want rocking right beside me Everyday that passes I only love her more Yeah, she's the one that I'd lay down my own life for And she's everything I ever wanted and everything I need She's everything to me, yeah she's everything to me”

He fell hard and fast for his high school sweetheart Isabelle. The two were head-over-heels in love, engaged in their senior year and married the summer before they started college.

8. I Run To You - Lady Antebellum

“This world keeps spinning faster, into a new disaster so I run to you I run to you baby And when it all starts coming undone, baby you're the only one I run to I run to you “

It wasn’t exactly easy, struggling as a young married couple in college, especially when once they had a surprise pregnancy and then a baby to raise as well, but somehow they always made it work. They insisted that they were soul mates, it was meant to be, and so it would always work out.

9. Isn’t She Lovely - Stevie Wonder

“Isn't she lovely, isn't she wonderful Isn't she precious, less than one minute old I never thought through love we'd be Making one as lovely as she But isn't she lovely made from love “

Abby had Casey completely wrapped around her finger from the moment that he saw her. Though he had initially been afraid of being a father, afraid he might end up like his birth parents, but the moment she was born he knew there was no way he could ever hurt her. He promised to never, ever let her suffer any of the things he had.

10. Homesick - MercyMe

“I close my eyes and I see your face If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow I've never been more homesick than now”

Abby was three years old, and Casey and Isabelle had been married for six years when a drunk drive crashed into their car, injuring father and daughter, and killing Isabelle. Losing his wife very nearly broke Casey and he spent months running on autopilot, barely functioning, taking care of Abby, but not himself.

11. Fix You - Coldplay

"And the tears come streaming down your face When you lose something you can't replace When you love someone, but it goes to waste Could it be worse? Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones And I will try to fix you “

The only thing that got Casey through losing his wife was his family. Abby was a reason to keep living, and his parents and siblings were his rocks, supporting him through his grief.

12. In My Arms - Plumb

“Your baby blues, so full of wonder Your curly cues, your contagious smile And as i watch, you start to grow up All I can do is hold you tight Knowing clouds will rage in, storms will race in But you will be safe in my arms Rains will pour down, waves will crash around But you will be safe in my arms”

After having to watch Abby injured from the accident, and losing her mother so young, Casey redoubled his determination to protect her from the world, to never let her have to know any pain that he could protect her from. He couldn’t bare to ever watch her suffer again.

13. There You’ll Be - Faith Hill

“In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky In my heart there will always be a place for you for all my life I'll keep a part of you with me And everywhere I am, there you'll be”

Over time, Casey slowly began to come to terms with his wife’s death, but he knew that the grief of her loss, and the memory of her would be something that he would always carry with him.

14. My Little Girl - Tim McGraw

“You're beautiful baby from the outside in. Chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again. Go on, take on this whole world. But to me you know you'll always be, my little girl. “

Casey is blown away by how fast it feels like Abby is growing up, but he is also immensely proud of the person that she is becoming. His daughter is still very much his whole world.

15. One More Day - Diamond Rio

“Last night I had a crazy dream, a wish was granted just for me It could be for anything I didn't ask for money, or a mansion in Malibu I simply wished, for one more day with you One more day, one more time One more sunset, maybe I'd be satisfied But then again, I know what it would do Leave me wishing still, for one more day with you”

Though it has been years since the death of his wife, Isabelle is still a constant on Casey’s mind and while he has more of a peace about her loss now, he can’t help but wish that they had more time.

16. One Call Away - Charlie Puth

And when you're weak I'll be strong, I'm gonna keep holding on Now don't you worry, it won't be long Darling, and when you feel like hope is gone, just run into my arms I'm only one call away, I'll be there to save the day Superman got nothing on me, I'm only one call away”

Casey’s protective instincts have begun to extend even past his daughter and siblings. He has a tendency to take people under his wing, and he does his best to always be there for them.