#i find myself riddled with trauma responses

[overexciteddragon]

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[mueritos]

a big brain dump about autism, life, being indigenous, and whatever else is going on

so the past few months I made it a personal journey to understand my autism more (and maybe a possible ptsd diagnosis but whatever whatever whatever). and that's what i'm calling it--the autism--because no other thing makes sense for me, and while i'm parsing through childhood memories and experiences, it's definitely...a bittersweet conclusion? bitter because in a lot of ways, i dont relate to the stereotypical autistic experience because every autistic person who has clocked me was usually a White Queer. It's probably why it's taken so long to get to this point of concluding Autism is what it is. I grew up in an immigrant family as a girl, and for that reason I was expected to not be disabled and to be a completely normal and high achieving Mexican catholic girl who went to college and became a doctor or whatever. Now i'm a fag of a man doing none of those things haha.

My older brother was supposed to be assessed for ASD in his youth, and like most immigrant dads, mine decided that nothing was wrong with him and the rest is history. Except my older brother is a man riddled with childhood trauma, shame, and so much autism. Absolutely uncharted rates of autism, and while he gets some sort of pity from my parents for him ("it's all out fault" "he never got the help he needed" "cut him some slack he doesnt understand"), I can never let my own parents know about how much I struggle. Hell, I can barely show it to my own friends because even they don't understand the extent of my autistic struggles. it's actually caused continuous miscommunications, people mad at me, me mad at myself, meltdowns, shutdowns, and a lot of crying. And shame. (a peer recently even demeaned my habit of keeping to myself, despite the fact that I had actually been trying to put myself out there more)

so i'm at a point in my life where I've accepted that I can only take responsibility over how I communicate, and I take ownership over that. Accepting this responsibility allows me to keep myself safe, as I've essentially lived over 2 decades of my life feeling like I was responsible for not just my communication, but everyone else's, including all of the judgements, missed cues, failures, miscommunications, and whatever else came from it. It's definitely double empathy. Last time I truly took on everyone's communication, it nearly killed me (cue over a year of suicidality). But, in a lot of ways it's very freeing. I'm sort of detaching myself from this neurotypical/White need to socially interact with others on their terms. In other ways, it's restricting. I uh. Don't really talk to a lot of people nowadays, and there used to be days where I wouldn't say a single word out loud. But because I don't talk to as many people, I'm able to put energy into the quality of my connections and not just the quantity. Which unfortunately a lot of people take personally. They dont like you admitting that you only see them as an acquittance, or as a classmate, or something like a friend but not quite there. I find comfort knowing how people feel about me, even if its that they actually dont feel close to me. Great! Now I know! Knowing makes me feel safe! But I'm finding that people actually really fucking hate when you admit that to them, the how you actually slot them in ur brain in terms of social levels. I can understand why, but I also don't get it.

Another thing that's helped is I've changed how I do eye contact. I used to make eye contact with professors or classmates while I spoke up in class because I thought that was important. Now I've found I can actually focus more on what I'm trying to say when I don't make eye contact. My god how freeing that has been. I don't have the same anxiety as I used to before, nor do I experience all of the involuntary blushing as I did for many years of my life. It didn't matter how confident or how prepared I felt, I would just blush furiously and I fucking hate it. Now my blushing is almost nonexistent, and I say what I mean with the flat ass tone that I love speaking in because it makes me feel safe. Sure, I miss the real-time non-verbal reactions to my words in class, but it's an okay trade-off for feeling more safe in myself and more confident in the classroom.

another thing is my internship. I work with majority neurodivergent students, and many of my clients have autism, adhd, or both, and are sometimes BIPOC, trans, or children of immigrants. Man, I've been having a blast. Sure, I'm learning how to be a therapist and best practices, but screw everyone in my life who has called me "cold" "emotionless" or "heartless". I have connected with so many people on such a human level, and I have sat there and helped them hold their pain in that tiny gay office for 45 minutes every week, and even though it's only 45 minutes, i'm showing them that they're allowed to ask for help holding that pain. I have had challenging sessions, difficult conversations, and times where I wasn't sure I would know what to say. But at it's core, I know that I'm capable of connecting with the person in front of me because my autism brain is automatically in tune with the person in front of me. It is so wonderful, and overwhelming, and so confusing all at once. When people start crying in front of me, I feel tears well up in my eyes, even if I'm not actually sad with them. It shows me that I'm capable of this empathy that so many people over my life have questioned, which they questioned all because I processed things slowly, or made quick decisions, or because I was honest about how I felt.

on to being mixed indigenous. Phew. I've been trying to build more connections with other Native folk, and I have a couple who I can thankfully call friends and who have never disrespected my detribalized experience. but recently I was interviewed a few times for a fellow indigenous researcher's dissertation, and I did not expect to be chosen on account that I am detribalized. But it had been a lovely experience and I finished my final interview today. It really left me with a lot of emotions that are hard to put into words. Mourning would be one of them, as I likely won't ever know what my tribal affiliation is. Never knowing who my people were, what language they spoke, the land they lived on...I can't describe just how much it destroys me. It feels like literal death, because that's what it is. A disgusting colonial death. And it's why I abhor that of all my identities, being autistic and being mixed indigenous has been met with the most vitriol online. like i guess people can only handle the trans fag mexican dude when hes not autistic and mixed indigenous, because now I am far too ambigious for anyone else's good. though i do know better than to listen to what random people online have to say about me and my path toward reconnection/neurodivergency.

beside's that, i'm trying to find neurodivergent spaces that feel safe, and I'm trying to find ways to keep myself safe. stimming, carrying stuffed animals around, using fidget toys, engaging in my interests, listening to the same songs, eating the same foods. I've had coffee with bagel and chive+onion cream cheese for over a year now. I've listening to almost only Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains for nearly a year now. I rewatch the same youtube videos over and over again. I wear the same few outfits. I wear the same shoes everyday. I walk the same way to and from campus everyday. I try to be in nature as much as I can, and really see it. I imagine nature where it isn't, and I get emotional thinking about the life that used to be on it. I wish so badly that I was a cat, a horse, a bunny, a deer, all so I could experience life through their eyes. i'm putting trust into people, into the universe, and into myself. safety is hard to come by, but im doing my best to accept the risks of life, trying to be flexible, and learn how to sustain myself for the good of the world. I deserve to be here too.

that's about it. besides that, i'm moving to philly once i'm done with grad school ^-^

[khaire-traveler]

Avoiding Trauma Reenactment in Pagan & Polytheist Communities

***Mentions of emotional abuse***

Something I've noticed is that there's a lot of trauma within the pagan and polytheist communities. Many trauma survivors - religious or otherwise - seem to come to these religions, maybe seeking comfort or maybe not.

Unfortunately, when there is a lot of trauma within a community, there tend to be cycles of it as well. People traumatize other people because, to put it simply, hurt people hurt people. I've experienced this first-hand and done it, obviously unintentionally, myself. So here's my advice on how to avoid traumatizing the shit out of one another.

Go to therapy or counseling if you're able. If you're not able, I suggest at least looking up ways to cope with trauma (CPTSD or PTSD may be specifically helpful for some people) and identifying your personal triggers. For example, some people might be triggered by not getting an immediate response to their messages, especially if emotionally charged, and may react based on the burst of emotion that triggered trauma can cause.

Recognize whether or not you're reenacting your own trauma in unrelated situations. This happens A LOT with abuse survivors specifically. There is a tendency to reenact one's traumatic experiences which can even come in assuming the worst of a situation or staying around people who remind you of (or treat you like) past abusers. Do you find yourself reenacting past trauma with others? Do you find yourself engaging with self-fulfilling prophecies?

When you feel yourself reacting with extreme emotion to a situation, try to pause yourself for a moment and ask yourself why you're feeling such a strong reaction. This is a skill that's easier said than done, and it takes some practice, but overtime, it becomes easier and easier. I've found it to be very helpful in identifying when my trauma is causing me to react a certain way to something vs. my genuine reaction.

Remind yourself that constructive criticism is not a personal attack on you. It's healthy to receive constructive criticism from others, especially friends who may be addressing issues within your friendships. Remember that when you receive criticism, it doesn't automatically mean that someone is trying to tear you down.

You are not responsible for how others react to you. This is a very helpful reminder for survivors of emotional abuse especially, since there's a tendency to self-blame. This is a reminder that takes a lot of practice, but when someone sends you cruel and hateful words, remember that 1. you don't have to listen to them, and 2. you are not responsible for the way someone else feels about or reacts to you. Simply put, we cannot control the emotions of others, as scary as that can be, and it's best to keep reminding that to ourselves.

If someone makes you uncomfortable, you are allowed to block them. You don't need permission from anyone to block this person. It's best to keep away from people who remind you of past abusers specifically to avoid potential reenactment.

Try to assume the best of people. Most people are not out to get you; most people are trying to passively enjoy internet time just the same as you. Of course, this doesn't mean harmful and hateful people don't exist, but it's best to not make yourself riddled with anxiety over that potentiality.

Practice healthy conflict resolution skills. This is something I recommend doing with a therapist or only after extensive research. The best type of conflict resolution, in my experience, is relating your emotions calmly and maturely. Try not to go flying off the handle or reacting with repeated apologies. Take a moment to ground yourself before addressing the conflict because even though it feels extremely pressing and urgent, it can likely wait for you to ground yourself first.

Don't go looking for a fight. Don't start arguments where it's not necessary, and don't go after people's personal character just to prove your point. These situations can end horribly for all parties involved. Should go without saying, but this includes not harassing people for their "wrong" opinions. It's an opinion, not a fact; please ground yourself if it truly upsets you that much.

Try not to say things with the intention of hurting someone. This is unwise for several reasons. It can lead to long-term regret later on, you can end up traumatizing someone with your words, and you may find that you were projecting your own feelings onto someone else. All sorts of consequences can come from this, so I encourage you to think before you speak. If you're extremely upset, wait to respond, and take time to cool off first.

This is all the advice I can think of off the top of my head. I hope it helps someone! Take care, everyone. 🧡

[potato-cerealkiller]

10 characters | 10 fandoms | 10 a negotiable number of tags

tagged by @zukoisblorbo :)

Damian Wayne. dc. i am an absolute sucker for human weapons who learn to be more than their past. the fact that his character development is imperfect and riddled with human mistakes makes me so insane. i just love that his palatability is seperate from his relative moral soundness, he isn’t a perfect abuse victim and i just love it. 10/10 he spins on my blorbo lazy susan a lot.

Bronya Zaychik. honkai impact. this was an og og fandom for me, but i do still love her. the supposed ‘lack of emotions’ she exhibits is very relatable to me as someone who probably has some form of alexithymia, the fact that she is nonetheless accepted by her friends and is portrayed as a complete human being just gets me so bad. also fits into the human weapon archetype <333.

Ranpo Edogawa. bungou stray dogs. i just adore him! similar situation to bronya where he isn’t told he has to fundamentally change himself to have a loving support system. his flippancy towards extraneous things like adult responsibilities, and his inability to understand the reasoning behind social conventions does remind me of myself at times. but as aforementioned, my favourite part of his character is probably that individuality doesn’t have to be sacrificed for success or respect! maybe i will catch up on the recent chapters some time…

Chongyun. genshin. social masking allegory and legacy character… i have a similar approach to fielding my emotions, and while I don’t have a decades long legacy to live up to, I find the way he has to navigate succession in his own way very interesting. he was also my first main, so!

Wanda Maximoff. marvel. similar thing to damian in the fact that she is an imperfect person who does not have an idyllic path to redemption and heroism. she’s messy and desperate, but that doesn’t make her undeserving. kind of love the position she’s in right now where she just has this quiet wisdom from all she’s been through. scarlet witch (2016) also has a special place in my heart for the second comic i ever read (shout out to the runaways for being the first).

Andromache. the old guard. immortals!!! love examining the impact of time on personhood, as in a ridiculously prolonged span of time, and boy is she fascinating. she’s completely jaded at this point, and only really existing rather than living. she almost becomes a product of time rather than an entity born from its passing. it’s just so interesting to see a character so entirely devoted to a cause through obligation, because what else can she do?, the only thing she remembers is how to fight.

Fushiguro Megumi. jujutsu kaisen. i love how much of a deranged mess he is. watching him have to unlearn his suicidal tendencies was so fucking interesting. he has this cool arrogance to him that makes him eminently unlikeable, but he is still a fundamentally good person at his core. for some reason my memory really failed me here? so not much to say, but I remember liking him.

Xie Lian. tgcf. innately good person despite his trauma! i love characters like this and i thought him fighting a literal manifestation of his past, more selfish self, was a fun way to signify his growth.

Homura Akemi. madoka magica. one of my childhood favourites. i watched this series at age seven and it probably severely impacted my psyche. her loneliness turned obsessive attachment and love is utterly heartbreaking to me. her unquestionable and desperate devotion to madoka is just. agghhh. the way that she needs her so intensely that she’s willing to sacrifice her personhood, the universe itself. ultimate blueprint for toxic yuri 10/10.

Boris Pavlikovsky. the goldfinch. he’s a lot of things but a mentally stable person is not one of them. i find the line he walks between total self annihilation and self preservation very interesting. he represents this kind of pseudo-eternal youth, he always commits to extremes. he doesn’t ever ‘overdo’ it but more because it would hinder his ability to live tomorrow rather than because of any adverse health effects. the fact that he is such an optimist at his core despite everything is just a fascinating contradiction.

tags if anyone wants to do this >>>> @sejaprune @calithilan @sizzlemourner @gladiikal

[firespirited]

I briefly tag-mentioned that I’d been working through feelings towards it/its neopronouns because the first reaction was a solid “oh I don’t like this at all - i’ve been itted and that was really unpleasant, most animals aren’t ‘its’ to me either”. So that involved seeking out people who’ve explained their choice and carefully reading and absorbing what its’ trying to convey and getting used to the ideas presented and understand the gender euphoria found in it.

Late last year there was emotional conflict between my images used for age regression and what that means to me as an adult who enjoys toys who wasn’t really allowed to be a childlike during childhood and sometimes gets distressingly perceived as childish as an adult - I don’t engage in play in the sense that most children do but then again I didn’t back when. I still don’t fully *get* what age regression is: the information out there is conflicting, entirely in jargon, sometimes demanding to be seen as valid without any testimonials or explanations because the people involved don’t want to have to justify their life or are too busy dealing with their own stuff (and I understand) however there’s not exactly a primer out there, not by the non-kinky or ‘look at this cringe’ folks.

I’ve recently been followed by a few people who don’t wish to interact with people with certain ideas about plural systems or age regression and the problem is that I have no answer whether I’m safe to interact with because I have no clue. These are areas where the information out there is either in bad faith or riddled with internal community conflicts. Often the basic premise is missing: these are a series of identities and what they mean in opposition to each other yes, but what’s the basics here? how did it come to be? what does it mean in practice? why does this matter to you? how is it helping? And I mean that with actual open honest curiosity as a fellow different kind of weird-brained person.

I’ll be honest, I would prefer people referred to any voluntary practices as something more akin to spiritual practice than folding it in with involuntary trauma responses. I find it uncomfortable not because it’s different but because it actively clashes with how I’m trying to grow.

It’s been very important personally to separate maladaptive or temporary coping mechanisms from others and learn to redirect impulses towards healthier ones but with an emphasis on not feeling shame about the not-great or not constructive practices.

So while I continue to seek out resources and a better understanding, I might not be validating or safe, maybe you can think of it as clashing disability needs?

For me there is no safety in daydreaming, no happy place at a certain age and the different facets of myself must be all fully integrated, intrusive thoughts carefully labelled as stray firing neurons, depressive or despondent thoughts put in a basket that says “full context required before you engage”. Re-integrating anger as part of myself that is not the devil on my shoulder, not shunned and even helpful has been a multi decade process for example.

Hope that’s clear enough, I won’t go out of my way to be an asshole but not sure I can engage in a way that makes you feel respected and understood, the best I can do is admit I have no clue what’s going on and don’t want to form an opinion without much more learning.

Thank you for reading, if you plan to unfollow please do let me know by anon why or if you have anything you think I should read/watch/listen to.

[vorecommunitywoes]

I lifted my rule of not interacting with people on here just to pop

Yeah i wanna apologise kinda for being immature in how i handled talking to you and how I spoke to you about certain people when really i shouldn't have. No matter how much i dont like you or the stuff you did i should have been more civil and or just not enganged im sorry for that

I saw your recent post on me and eh i cant say much i just dont care

I dont agree with a lot of stuff you say or your views but I do genuinely think this acc isnt and wasnt made for trolling but others can disagree with me i cant gauge someones intent.

I do agree with you that this place is riddled with people who can prey on kids and groom them, filled with immature kids who cant act properly (myself included) and adults who cannot interact normally with people younger than them. And the community would rather ignore everything rather than eknowladge bad stuff and just let it fester.Someone youve previously called out i had an ancident that made me so uncomfortable it was one of the reasons i stopped posting so i can tell you do actually have good points and intent -despite the execution and how you donduct yourself.

Its why i am now only using my blog to archive my vore art and not much else.

I appreciate any concerns youve had for me and if you havent had any and you dont like me thats fine.

Just wanted to give my 2 cents. You dont have to reply to this even just thought id let ya know lol

I hope you have a good time on this pile of rocks we call home

its fine, i think you and others were just working with what they know (and that being that there are ppl who encourage u to do dangerous shit and then scatter when u get hurt because they dont want to take any responsibility)

and i also apologize for some of my own conduct, this all comes from a very deep place in my heart. when i was a very young kid i also engaged in the "sfw" parts of the vore community nd was groomed and sexually taken advantage of by adults who insisted tht it was, actually, a nonsexual thing for them even when they were actively DOING sexual things to me or my friends

so to see tht pattern CONTINUE with ppl who are the age i once was, for nothing to be done and for no one to SAY anything, it was infuriating. that kids were continuing to get groomed and exploited. tht groomers who hurt me and other ppl who were and are children get to wash their hands clean and never face the fucking consequences of their actions... it made me feel like i had to do something. anything. so those ppl dont have the same fucking pit of trauma tht i was given by online strangers who used me bc i was vulnerable, trusting, trying to cope with a horrific reality of an abusive family, n having untreated mental illnesses. it still affects me so many years later and it... ruined me. they got to walk away. i was left with the carnage they made of me.

and of course kids arent going to know better, most of them are only here 2 cope with traumatizing irl things in their lives (or mental illnesses that they might not be able to get resources for so, again, to cope w tht)which leaves them way more fucking vulnerable than the average person. why should an ADULT STRANGER ONLINE be involved in a childs coping mechanisms, yk? and then making a community of vulnerable children they find?

i appreciate the apology n i also apologize, i just genuinely didnt know how else to make an impact this way on other ppl. ppl didnt listen to me when i was nicer ab this and i felt like this would only make its impact when i started more directly calling them n their social circles out

and like to b clear i dont dislike u, the only ppl im truly fucking mad ab are the adults who were involved and actively encouraging kids to be vulnerable to online strangers. it kept me up a lot of nights w anxiety tht i could and SHOULD try to stop wht they were doing but tht i might not be doing ENOUGH to. especially w ppl like suzyandthefox whos a whole other kind of malicious entitled asshole who seek kids out for their fantasies n who mix their sexual tendencies in (but try to hide it)

to wrap things up i was concerned ab you and others, yeah. i dont think u were trying to b outright malicious, u were just trying to do what u thought was right. i appreciate u taking the time to think and self reflect, ive been giving myself space to do the same

u deserve a safer community, and i hope u can find or make it

[elizalona]

July 2024: WATCH THE CITY BURN

I painted over the cracks of my past. In their absence, I let the ruins of the city construct new ones. I think of the slabs of concrete that threatened my steady gait, the lovers who broke my footing before the sidewalk ever did. The flashes of headlights against my sunken gaze, my unyielding eyes in the reflection of a bar's smudged mirror.

I think of the women who fixed their eyes on me while I crossed my legs in anticipation as I waited to claim a bathroom stall. The amount of times I was lent more consideration by these women than the man on the other end of my phone. Her eyelashes are long, her cheeks are flushed. She watches as I wipe residual mascara from underneath my eyes and baptize my neck in more perfume.

"You're so pretty," she says, and I know she means it. She's waiting for her own text. I don't doubt for a second she'll receive it. She's so pretty.

I lost myself in the technicolor of Xanax and whiskey and the exposed skin of a greedy men. He presents himself in all his glory at the foot of my bed; I lay before him, a shell of myself. Something akin to desire exists in this moment, even if its hollow and riddled with booze and the smell of an unfinished cigarette.

I ride the train miles up north, my roommate at my side as she solidifies our evening plans. She speaks in a poetic cadence when she discusses the man she's seeing. I don't doubt for a second that he's in love with her. He makes a reservation for two at upscale restaurants, asks her for her opinion on the lecture he gave the day prior as a professor. When they come home, I hear the slow, rhythmic pulsating of her headboard against our adjoining walls. He confirms plans before he kisses her goodbye at the doorway.

On weekend nights, when I find myself void of plans, I drift to my balcony with a bottle of wine, another one chilling in my refrigerator. I play music that I'm certain will summon the music of a past lover or friend. Unexplained absences from work and a building gas bill tells me speak truth into my self-sufficiency. Aspirations stifled by closing shifts relinquish me of all responsibilities. I tell myself it's not my job to unburden the past. I can only float in the present.

The glistening windows of empty new builds, a cocktail that costs more than my hourly wage, the laugh of the men who live below me. The hungry mouths, the abandonment of a scheduled bus, all this teeming life. I pay my rent because I cannot afford the voice of my mother.

I stumble to the local Walgreens around midnight for smokes. There is a crowd of men laughing behind me, they idly wait in line as the condensation from their beer drips onto the linoleum. I flirt with the idea of turning around and asking them what their plans are for the night.

The next morning, I'm servicing customers with a placid smile. I wonder if they notice the beads of sweat on my forehead, a product of my over drinking. I adorn their hands with overpriced jewelry and feel envious of how delicate my touch is for them. I am a ghost behind this counter, an apparition that speaks in pleasantries. "Gold suits you," I whisper to the customer who tentatively appraises the jewelry in a nearby mirror.

After my shift, I walk to the train station and contemplate throwing myself onto the tracks. The train arrives before I can complete the thought and I am stifled onto a cart where someone is smoking a joint and blasting music. There is a family in the corner, visibly uncomfortable. You can tell they visited the city for a day, a sweet escape from the mundane cycle of the suburbs.

A text lights my phone up. It's from a strange man I met a few nights ago, a man I found myself under at 4 o'clock in the morning. His dick was limp from all the lines of coke he sniffed; I moaned in compliance. I reply back, "What're you doing tonight?" It's better I sabotage myself in the presence of him than in the presence of myself.

This trauma is foreign to me, almost exotic. It nestles into the crooks of lost memories and is less needy when the sun goes down. I used to awake to broken glass from my father's tirades, the resentful stare of my mother as I dressed for school. Those truths are rendered powerless in the becoming of my own sabotage.

[soldrope]

New Morning New Braincells… 2! (couldn’t write a reply yesterday but now I’m gonna get you…!)

I'm SO happy to hear that you liked the reviews I sent you and that I didn't go overboard <3 I just gosh, even now I feel like there's so much more for me to say abt Accidentally Undercover bc the layers man, the layers! And the way you build up your characters? I'm gonna getchu w my adoring comment for the Eclipse one but man, man! Your hard work shines through Luce <3

:readmore:

Moon bird real caught in 4k not clickbait?! (sorry hcidshdo) Can't WAIT to read the Foxy conversation when that's ready 👀 After you published your artpiece for how Foxy looks in your AU along with his backstory I've just been obsessed w that old man. I cannot wait-

Where to even start with everything I loved abt this? There's too much to love! But I love how you jumped right into positively surprised and weirded out which makes sense!! Just like you said like, these brothers love eachother, they're family and they always will be but they're still working on building this relationship back up from the ground up and that takes time. Time, and getting used to the fact that now, your brothers will just call you out of nowhere and it won't be for an emergency.

I love the way you explore Eclipses mental state (?) throughout this. How conflicted he feels; the lingering hurt that still resides despite knowing now that his brothers never hated him, they're just riddled with guilt bc of how poorly they handled just, everything that came with him suddenly existing.

And it helps, knowing it was just guilt that kept them from bringing him up because it's not exactly first meeting material to say, ''Oh yeah, we have a younger brother but we never really talk to him or mention him because we feel too guilty over the way we treated him when he suddenly split from our AI and we still feel personally responsible for the fact that he has a shitty battery and we don't know how to cope with this or work through this without it devolving into arguments. Also his name is Eclipse. Hi.'' mm. yeah no. It's understandable that Moon didn't mention him for this long despite how understandable it is that Eclipse feels forgotten or avoided over how long it took. Complicated complicated brothers that I love w my entire heart and soul bc my god are they TRYING !!

Eclipse being snarky when he thinks they've been deservedly yelled at by Y/N for not mentioning they had a brother when no, no, and god do i love that bit, they're so mad because their brother is, ''That Horizon?'' The only researcher that makes gadgets worth getting? UGH !! My heart !! Immediately thinking back to the duck duck goose chapter and the way their friendship just, it's everything I've needed and more. Your honour, I love them. Especially after, 'Now, within seconds, he's decided he has to meet them and become friends. Hopefully they'll still like him once they've met him.' and the way Y/N adores him once they get over their own trauma and guilt and OUGH !!!!! And the friendship you've hinted to us they'll build, like you mentioned in Fragile (AU but still) how there's things they'll bond over that Sun and Moon can empathise with, but they can't understand it, and how Sun is coming to terms with the fact that that's okay. There's not everything he can understand, and sometimes all you need is someone who does and he's happy Y/N and Eclipse has their friendship together and, I'm gonna smother myself in a pillow i love them.

TLDR^: Anyways, when he finds out Y/N is a fan of his work I love that he goes from a few seconds of surprised awe that he's being appreciated for his work, and then it goes straight into a cackle as he becomes a menace again. <3 and their brotherly banter after this ;A; 'Both draw it out, just a bit, to enjoy it more' LUCE U CAN'T JUST WRITE STUFF LIKE THAT !! MY HEART !! MY HEEAAART !! QAQ <3 Moon caving in after a while and sending the txt <3

and at the end, when he goes on about his drone, and Moon just replies, ''tell them yourself.'' Just, the certainty and comfort that comes from just those few words? the promise that lies hidden between the lines that they're gonna keep working on this. They're gonna talk more, they're gonna be more open, and of course Eclipse is going to meet Y/N. Ofc he is. Because Sun and Moon want him in their lives just as much as Y/N.

And like you said at the end here, it'll take a little work, and time, but they're all very willing to put the work in and that Luce, that is probably my favorite underlying overlying etc theme in your stories, because they're always built on hope, and the certainty that they're gonna figure it all out. And that's such a great, incredible comfort that makes your fics very special to me <3

Thank you for this drabble and I hope your sunday is wonderful!!

1st of all, need to say, adored Dove on the Roof and I'm sending you the longest review once I can after work, this is a threat 🔪 2nd of all–if you've thought of it and you wanna share the tidbit–I loved how after sharing Horizons name and Y/N admitted they only used his gadgets, Moon said he was gonna tell Eclipse abt it, Re:

“I’m going to tell him you said that. It’ll be terrible, because he’ll get even smugger, but it’s too good not to.”

and like. Luce. If you wanna share. I'd love to know how Eclipse reacted to that. Bc yes he'll be so smug abt it i just know it, but i also think he'd be really touched that like, his brothers' partner feels that strongly abt the stuff he makes? Struggling to stay coherent bc English is not my first language, but I just gosh. i loved it. going bonkers. hitting u w that long review later. get ready. -Soldrope ☀️💧

New morning new braincells, let's go!

I have devoured your comment(s) and I have been so so normal about the amount of thought and analysis and how many things you've caught that I tried to write in! I'm so so happy that it all came across and I literally cried reading your comments already gfdhjs now I only hope I soon get the spoons to go through my ao3 inbox and reply to the comments I've amassed

As for Moon telling Eclipse? It didn't happen in that window between Moon date fade-out and Sun date, because Moon was too busy cuddling and being a lovebird (he finally gets to be a bird too! <3), though it'll happen after the Foxy conversation after Sun's date.

That conversation will be addressed in a proper drabble/ chapter (they've been getting longer, so by now drabble feels no longer appropriate gfhdjs), so since I haven't written that yet this might not quite fit with how things turn out, but it'll be a fun thought until then!

Because after all that, and not charging the night before due to cuddle priorities (and they haven't quite yet reached the stage of a permanently installed charging cable at Y/N's side of the duplex) (it's definitely a thought though, because lugging around their cable for sleepovers has a bit of a hassle), Moon will excuse himself for a quick charge before work, and handle a little special phone call <3

(Eclipse will be smug enough. Moon doesn't need to make the gloating even easier by providing something to screenshot)

Eclipse, on the other hand, is positively surprised and doing his best not to be weirded out by a spontaneous phone call from his brother. That just didn't happen before! He's still getting used to the closer contact, too, and his first thought won't be a good one. Maybe another emergency? At least this time he'll hear about it sooner?

Well, only for Moon to pull the rug from under him completely.

"What do you mean, you haven't talked about me before?"

"I mean, we were trying to flirt, which already kept misfiring. Adding complicated family history that paints a rather ugly picture of us when they never asked wasn't really... Something that came up."

A sigh, and Eclipse does his best to cover up the lingering hurt. He knows their relationship was rocky at best, and he wasn't exactly eager to talk about them to other people either.

(It helps a little, knowing that part of it was guilt - he wasn't forgotten, instead his brothers felt too bad to casually bring him up. But he also doesn't like being a guilty secret either. In the end, he pushes it away to unpack later, and focus on the conversation at hand)

"How did it 'come up' then?"

Silence from the other end, as Moon quickly decides that no, he's not going to explain that he made his own first date emotionally charged in the heavy way to finally talk about his brother, much less the exact conversation that sparked it.

Eclipse never asked for their favorite colors, either.

"No, no, look, that's not the important bit. They went off on me for not telling them."

"Makes sense."

"Because they're a fan of your work."

"Makes s- huh?"

"They like your designs. They exclusively buy their own gadgets, except for when one of yours gets distributed. They said, and I quote, 'That Horizon?'"

Again, silence, as Eclipse processes that. That's so far from what he expected, or even figured would ever be in store for him. He knows his work is good, the agency doesn't really entertain slackers and subpar work, not for leading researchers - but that doesn't mean he feels appreciated. The people he works with are more neutral to annoyed by his antics, and the actual results he produces seemingly fade into the background.

So hearing there's someone out there who, dare he say it, is a fan?

He already thought Y/N/ Robin is nice enough from just the stories Sun and Moon shared before, but this? Now, within seconds, he's decided he has to meet them and become friends.

Hopefully they'll still like him once they've met him.

By now, he's been silent for a while.

"... Eclipse?"

The anxiety gets pushed away yet again, and instead Eclipse starts laughing. Softly, first, but then it turns into a full blown cackle.

Moon just sighs.

"Here we go."

"Since when? How long have they liked my stuff?"

"I didn't ask, that wasn't exactly the focus of the conversation."

"You can ask right now though! Ask them!"

"They're at work!"

"Send them a text then! You'll say you forgot if you don't do it now!"

"I wouldn't forget!"

"Yeah, but you'd say that!"

They squabble a bit, and it feels nice - just your normal, comfortable sibling banter, something they didn't get to share for the longest time. Both draw it out, just a bit, to enjoy it more.

Moon does send the text, but only after making a production out of "not wanting to". Eclipse laughs some more, that smug snicker of a younger sibling winning out over the older one.

And then he thinks of something else, too.

"Oh, oh, have you told them about that drone I've been trying to get approved?"

"No, I haven't, tell them yourself. Did that still not go through? You mentioned that weeks ago, they're really dragging their feet."

"They say it's a fire hazard, and I keep trying to explain that that's the reason why I need them to approve the more expensive fireproof material. Somehow they don't seem to understand that."

The conversation drifts towards other topics, then, but Eclipse is very much soaring from the start of it. That little "tell them yourself" is enough to reassure him on so many levels - this isn't an exception, this is going to be normal, his brothers want him to meet their partner, want to introduce them and give him a chance to talk to them himself.

The anxiety is still there, and a bit of it we see in Duck Duck Goose - he needs them to like him, needs things to go well, and to leave a good impression. He's more than just his work, and unfortunately he's afraid that they won't like the person behind the codename, and that confidence boost of them liking his work doesn't quite shine through.

They'll get there! It'll just take a bit of work, and time, but they're all very willing to put that effort in <3

[brujahinaskirt]

I've never seen anyone mention this, so I will: Kingdom Come is balls-to-the-wall obsessed with symbolism. This is fitting for a medieval game (the medieval world was obsessed with symbolism), and it's loaded with symbols in both its art and storytelling elements. What I find worth remarking on is that KCD takes a far more subtle, literary, and artful approach to its symbolism than most games within its genre; its symbolism thrives in the margins, as with literature. It doesn't flounce in the spotlight with a megaphone as with most games.

[Cut for rambly analysis.]

One of the things I deeply appreciate about the script is that it doesn't talk down to the player. If you don't actively think about the storytelling while you play -- if you don't watch for foils, parallels, symbols, motifs, read character expressions and pay attention to the content of the conversations as well as the emotional delivery -- you'll miss half the meat and meaning and message of the writing. That's a rarity these days; even "writing-based" games tend to spoon-feed players embarrassingly facile stories, childish depictions of trauma, and insultingly thinly-developed character arcs (ahem, rhymes with Why-o-Bear).

And sure, you can shut your brain off or come in with bad faith blinders on and steamroller through KCD's main quest, walking away having had a coherent if mediocre medieval video game experience. But you'll miss Theresa's apples scattering on the ground at the moment the daily life she ambivalently but carefully tended to is torn asunder. You'll miss how Henry's speech tics mirror his mother's word-for-word in delivery and in text. You'll miss that Hans presents himself as a swaggering hunter but is consistently visually associated with a hounded, hunted stag. You'll miss how Henry and Hans's relationship so doggedly parallels what we know of Martin and Radzig's, and to a lesser extent Istvan and Erik's. You'll miss that certain characters' clothing matches or contrasts in color schemes (another enormous medieval obsession). You'll miss how the sacking of Skalitz is what enables village bullies Matthew and Fritz to descend into real villainy, and how Henry gradually gains the sense of self to step outside Matthew's sphere of toxic influence. You'll miss that Radzig speaks honestly to Henry through metaphors and riddles and wordplay since he's far too awkward to speak to him openly. You'll miss that after forming a friendship with a peasant, responsibility-avoider Hans develops a new concern for how his actions affect everyday people, meanwhile layabout loafer Henry develops a sense of accountability to society at large. You'll miss that Theresa is almost always pictured nearby water (rain or rivers or puddles) just as Hans is associated with the forest and Henry is so often cinematically staged facing hills (and usually among flowers). You'll miss the journal entries, some of which are genuinely heartbreaking in the simplicity and earnestness of their longing, and in their hopes for better things ahead.

Some portions of the narrative are so well-crafted in this regard that the weaker portions/writers really stand out. That's the downside of writing in teams, but oh man, with an arty storytelling approach like KCD's, you can fucking tell when someone's writing skill wasn't up to snuff (ahem, Lady Tone-Deafany)... or when the team just wasn't in love with a character or a subplot enough to flesh out the symbolism.

But I'm getting away from my point now and starting to ramble, so I'll rein myself back in.

I edit books, so my storytelling field is a bit different. But by my metrics, the most successful novels—the ones that manage to both perform commercially and offer something of genuine artistic, emotional merit to audiences—do it like KCD does it. The basic narrative must be simple enough for casual readers to understand at a foundational level. But for readers who relish the experience of deep reading—who come equipped with thoughtfulness, a real desire to appreciate storytelling (at context and subtext levels), and the ability to critically & emotionally engage with multiple character arcs at once—there's so much more than the surface.

Many gamers praise game developers for designing game mechanics that don't baby them. Likewise, I praise writers who don't baby me.

[howtheworldcouldb]

A Rough Guide to KOTOR Characterizations

Listen, everyone is a caricature of like one characteristic/Vibe. Remember the vibe and you're golden.

Bastila

Recovering teachers pet with religious trauma. Was the "Gifted Kid" who let it go to her head. Insecure as shit, hides it with arrogance. Seeks validation and support like a kicked puppy.

Prim, proper, talks over people to lead in group projects, lil arrogant, goes the "holier-than-thou, this is beyond your understanding" route when threatened. Struggling to see things outside of black and white. Neglectful parents vibes. Just needs a fuckin hug, my dude. And therapy.

Insecure -> prim, condescending

Carth

"My defense mechanisms are defense mechanisms." Constantly defensive. Threatened? Lash out. Don't want to answer a question? Lash out. Man finds a cause and then he's ride-or-die, this cause is Right, Loyalty is My Middle Name. Closet romantic. As soon as he's given the opportunity to love someone romantically, he pulls out his lil book of cliches and goes through them like a checklist. Strong moral compass.

He's also the dude in the horror movie that questions everyone's bad decisions, but only in like select situations. Carth when faced with a specific situation? On the money, every time. Carth when faced with the trash fire that is his own life decisions? Just gets in the can and claims it’s fine.

Stubborn, defensive, loyal

Mission

"Fuck you, I can do it myself. I don't need your help." Street kid who both seeks adult stability and would rather die than be seen as a child. Really wants to not have to constantly take care of herself but is terrified of what it means if she stops. Also pretty defensive. REALLY sensitive about her age.

Spunky, defensive, fundamentally scared

Jolee

"I'm too old for this shit." He's here to watch you fuck up, because he's got nothing better to do. Trauma, but mostly made his peace with it. The only one with some common sense, which in this galaxy translates to "pretty fucking wise". Can't stand the smell of bullshit, and will call you on it. Does not matter the context. Social niceties? Fuck 'em, who has time. Crotchety old man who speaks in weird riddles because he genuinely does not care if you understand.

Down-to-earth, tired, crotchety, irreverent

Juhani

Lesbian who came out to her emotionally abusive parents and got kicked out. A kicked puppy with latent anger issues stemming from trauma. I repeat, again, an abused puppy. Think Tatooine Slave Culture but with Anakin's problems. A little feral.

Self-deprecatory/berating, anxious, deferential, hurt and hiding anger

T3-M4

The little boy who's backyard pressed up against yours who was your adventure buddy for a summer. Sane friend on the surface, until he pulls something batshit and you realize that sane is relative. He's the one running around quietly getting shit done while everyone else argues on the proper way to go about something.

Cheerful, loyal and affectionate, helpful, a little frustrated, imagine if someone had to communicate through charades 24/7

Canderous

Also does not have time for your shit. Values are on violence, weaponry and to a lesser extent, honor. He's a bounty hunter, man. He's got a moral code but it is absolutely not based on similar tenants to yours. His one response to Revan massacring his people was "It was glorious", and that pretty much sums him up. Competent, violent, and with some fucked up morals, but still cares in an odd way. Pretty unconcerned about most things, a little feral. Everything can be solved with violence if you try hard enough.

Violent, caustic/rough, weird honor code, unconcerned

Zaalbar

The one dude in the group project who doesn't want to be there and leans against the wall watching while everything goes to shit. Loyalty is to Mission above all else. Taciturn and distant, but will honor a promise or vow to the end of his days.

Reserved, unsociable, loyal

HK-47

A violent psychopath. Humans are below him (replace any names with "meatbag"). Literally would murder you in a second if given the opportunity, and would like to take said opportunity whenever possible. The only thing stopping him is the fact that Revan said no. Will still gleefully describe it in detail, though.

Murder and property damage

[blackberryfeatherfoot]

Nails in a fence

When people ask how i'm feeling, I never know quite how to respond.  The old "i'm good thanks how are you" seems to reverberate off my tongue.  Yet, I would never describe myself as 'good.'  The term 'good' fails to capture merely a fraction of ones state of being.  Humans are complex entities, thus I find it funny when we reduce the state of humanity to a singular noun which holds little bearing in regards to the human condition.  If it was socially acceptable, I would compare myself to a broken fence.  One with nails battered in, a few broken pickets here and there, and one riddled with holes.  I find this accurately symbolises my identity as a whole, the good, the bad, the flaws and the strengths that define individuality.  

I'm introverted.  A lone wolf.  I like to think of this trait as one of the nails in my fence, a nail that strengthens my foundations to protect myself from the pressure of the world.  I find comfort in my own thoughts, my own space.  As you could probably guess, school was therefore a tragic affair.  School was a tragic affair for anyone remotely different I guess.  One 'introvert' nail  is healthy, two perhaps is fine.  I would argue you can get away with 5 or 6.  It's only when the 'introvert' nails start to become the defining feature of your fence that an issue arises.  I could never fit in at school.  In response, I hammered myself with more metaphorical nails, trying to strengthen my armour for when I was inevitably hurt.  I figured by denigrating myself again and again, the words of others could leave little weight, for I already believed worse than the bitter comments spat at me.  By placing the nails in first, I ultimately gave others the hammer to solidify my beliefs, and low and behold, coming from an all girls school, they took the hammer with grace.

With this ideology, I was protected, the words of others were virtually meaningless.  I no longer felt anything.  Nothing good, nothing bad.  I was in limbo.  What remained was a void of a person and my fence was no longer functional.  My identity was gone, replaced by pain, hurt and shame.  I was battered and bruised.  There was no room for any more nails to strengthen the foundations of that fence.  Heck, you couldn't fit another nail on the fence if you tried.  It was now a waiting game for a small breeze to push me over into a dark abyss. 

It was at this point I started therapy.  Weekly appointments at first.  Every week she would ask "how are you," and every week I couldn't respond.  How do you explain you feel like a fence battered with nails?  Week by week she tried to dismantle these beliefs I had hammered into myself, but as each nail was removed, it left behind a hole as the nails had been holding my identity up.  I soon realised I was scared to remove the nails as I had established my sense of self on the falsified beliefs I had developed over the years.  Without them, I had no sense of purpose, no sense of worth, no sense of direction in life.  To this day I struggle to unpick these nails and rediscover myself free of mental turmoil.  Even when you develop an identity around something that hurts you, it's painful to let it go.  

I guess what i'm trying to say is that trauma is complicated.  Sometimes we don't want to let go of our hurt and face the holes left in our identities.  Sometimes we don't want to heal because our entire personality, community and sense of stability is centred around ones trauma.  Healing is not linear nor is it an easy process.  I'm still trying to reshape my perspective, trying to accept that once the nails of hurt are removed from ones identity, it doesn't in fact leave a hole but a scar.  These scars shape individuality, adding the beauty to your story if you let them.

[astertimberwolf]

This is a yearly reminder to all of my followers that I wasn't a good person. I still don't consider myself one- and in the wake of another nightmare I had relating to this old —but very relevant— situation, I want to make sure you know who you are following by making you aware of my past mistakes.

In hindsight, I realize that most of that post still reads like a self-pity party, but my autistic, ADHD brain always wants to add context to the whole situation in an effort to make people understand how such situations may occur online.

Loneliness, mental health issues, bad upbringings and childhood trauma, mixed with the psychological barrier and layer of separation the Internet provides- make it hard for people to make rational decisions at times. I do not intend to excuse my actions through this, but merely explain them. I don't think this would have ever happened if it had been IRL, simply because it's much easier to be perceptive about someone's maturity level when you can observe them in a physical environment.

I am grateful to the many friends who have stuck with me despite knowing of all this- and hope that the person I hurt has moved forward, and will keep moving forward. My first thoughts are with them, not me. I can deal with my hurt, broken self on my own. I'm an adult- and my mental health issues are my own problem and responsibility to deal with, nobody else's.

Are there moments where I wish I could go back in time and change everything?

Yes. Every. Single. Day.

Would I actually be able to do better without the self-awareness and hindsight this massive mistake has provided me?

No. I would likely make the same mistake. Because mistakes are sometimes necessary to learn hard lessons in life. My biggest regret is that these lessons come at the expense of hurting others.

What will I do now, moving forward?

I wish I could say I turned my whole life around, but I have graduated from university and am finding it incredibly hard to understand what I want from life. If I wasn't riddled in mental health issues, I would probably try to pursue the overtly ambitious goal of trying to make this world a better place to live in for everyone. I had dreams of doing that as a young teen- but when you become an adult you start to understand (and take in) how complex the world around you is- and how you are hardly in control of anything, including yourself (if you don't have the right form of- or any mental health support at all). Ultimately, no matter how much I mourn the loss of all that could have been, I have to move towards acceptance- My youth is over. I'm nearing the end of my twenties and I need to find my place in this world, whatever that may look like. I hope my idiocy and mistakes have at least helped someone out there- if anything, by providing them with a bad example of how NOT to be / act.

Warning: this might be a hard and long read, but I highly recommend for you to go through with it- especially if you intend on following or befriending me. Below you'll find a 3000~ words long confession (minus the tags), which never fails to kill my appetite... So make sure you're not eating anything if you intend to press on.

Here are some of the reasons I distanced myself from the RWBY fandom and anything Whiterose related for years:

• Disenchantment with the show and its writing after Miles and Kerry were left in charge (with Kerry being the only one left now, if I remember this correctly)

• Excessive identification with a fictional character (Weiss Schnee)

• Previously undiagnosed mental health issues

• Idolization of love and over-romanticization of a life I could never have

• An unforgiving, toxic fandom and a boatload of bad experiences

• The fact that a person I irredeemably & irreversibly hurt still roams —and has become big within— the Whiterose fandom

• Relationship messes IRL that kind of relate to —or were the result of— the excessive identification and escapism I was engaging in through RWBY and Whiterose specifically

• All of the above leading to enough guilt, self-hatred and generally negative feelings around a ship I used to love that I could not bring myself to write another fanfiction ever since

• Life & university keeping me busy after I got help and worked through some of my mental health issues

...

With that out of the way... I just don't know where to begin.

I was drawn to RWBY and Whiterose for many reasons.

Back in 2017, I was trapped in a toxic relationship (marriage), working my ass off (whenever I could) to support my then partner.

I engaged in many forms of escapism: from gaming to writing fanfics- dreaming of a better, more adventurous life filled with action...

It was around that time period that I found RWBY again- a love at second sight (if I have to be fully honest), since I had already discovered the show back when I was in high school, while it was still releasing volume 2, in between 2012 and 2014, but had to drop it due to depression and other issues going on at the time.

When I found it again, in 2017, I was living in a literal basement with my now ex-wife.

I started deeply relating to Weiss since her family, backstory, and much more, aligned almost perfectly with my own background, personality and past.

You could say that there were an awful lot of coincidences going on:

- my ex-wife had a name similar to Ruby Rose and shared some of her personality traits (but only on the surface)

- I knew (or used to know) people who acted like and / or reflected some of the side characters and villains from RWBY to a T (I used to know an IRL "Cinder Fall" with the same black, long hair and missing eye + one of my former best friends is an uncannily similar, long-haired version of Nora)

- I had an almost identical abusive family dynamic to Weiss: a narcissistic, manipulative father, who alternated between being too controlling / involved in my life (and would put me down for bad grades, life choices, and much, much more) and being completely absent due to important business trips; a semi-distant mother, who suffered from mood swings and anger issues and would drown her sorrows in several huge glasses of red wine; a cousin, whom I considered to be like an elder sister (like Winter to Weiss), who moved far away- I hardly ever see her anymore; another cousin (her sibling), who resembled Whitley in every aspect and was like an obnoxious little brother to me when we were young- and a family butler, completely bald (compared to Klein, who is only somewhat bald), who was *kind of* like a father figure to me for a while

- My mother owns a mansion, which originally belonged to my grandfather (apparently his inheritance was the result of that side of the family being rich merchants)

- I kept everyone at arm's length, both when I was young and now as an adult, because of how awful people have been during my childhood and generally throughout my life (some of the initial bullying, harassment and false friendships were related to wealth-related jealousy)

- I also experienced the death and loss of all the people who were dearest to me in (and around) my family: my maternal grandmother —who loved everyone unconditionally— , my maternal grandfather —whom I admired and respected deeply— and uncle, who was a kind soul- among many others... (family friends, cats I grew up with- a dog as well). I have never properly gotten over the grief attached to their loss (part of the reason behind why I became inherently scared of becoming attached to anyone else, in fear of losing them at a later date, one way or another)

- Weiss' songs spoke (and still speak) to me on such a personal level that it is hard for me to hold back tears whenever I listen to them by myself...

...

Long story short, you can see how this drove me down a very, VERY deep rabbit hole... Especially because I started obsessively shipping Whiterose, to the point of idolizing it... maybe secretly hoping it would influence my IRL relationship...? (subconsciously, not intentionally)

My marriage eventually fell apart, going as nuclear as it could have, with my ex-wife cheating on me with two different guys (each guy on a separate occasion).

I ended up filing for divorce after trashing our apartment, following a long-overdue mental breakdown... But I'm not going to get into that. I'm not here to throw myself a pity party. It happened a long time ago. I just wish my obsession with Whiterose and RWBY would have ended there... but it didn't.

You see, not too long ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD and Autism by proper mental health professionals.

I originally sought help due to depression, anxiety and my social ineptitude reaching —once more— a breaking point.

It still remains one of my deepest regrets to this date: the fact that I sought professional help only after f*cking up my life so immensely. A lot of suffering on all sides could have been prevented, had I just decided to get help prior to... What I have done.

Before I got help (and messed up), I had also attempted to heal from trauma on my own, which, miraculously, went somewhat well and exorcized some of my many demons.

Either way, without going into too much detail about my trauma... The Autism diagnosis kind of turned my world upside down at first. It did make a lot of sense (in fact- perhaps it made TOO much sense, once I finally started to come to terms with it), because —trauma and other mental health issues aside— I always struggled to fit in. And it wasn't just because of other kids being jealous of my family being well-off... I was just weird to everyone else, and stood out like a sore thumb.

Lastly, pertaining my mental issues... Due to my odd, excessive pattern spotting behavior and ideas of reference, alongside some "paranormal" occurrences that I still cannot fully explain to this day (which, I guess fall under the category of "magical beliefs"), I have long since theorized that I might be suffering from (undiagnosed) Schizotypal Personality Disorder as well... It would explain an awful lot of things, and make my tendency to heavily lean into Weiss' character even more pathological.

Thing is... Being around the RWBY fandom was really bad for me due to the above-mentioned inner turmoil.

Combine a complete mental basket casket like me with a bunch of insecure, dissatisfied, immature & toxic teenagers, and you got yourself a recipe for disaster.

Trouble started around the first time I took identifying with Weiss a little too far... After landing on a Whiterose Discord Server run by no other than [REDACTED] (this person no longer is, therefore, I refuse to talk ill of the dead), where I shared pictures of myself (I had bleached my hair to a snowy white color- or bright silver. Doesn't really matter) and half-jokingly stated that I was the "real life Weiss".

All I'll say on the matter, is that the person who ran this server was very well-known and popular throughout the Whiterose fandom as a whole- and I got bullied by them and people on their Discord server... so much so that I left not even a few days in from joining.

The bullying hurt so much, perhaps, because when you see something as a part of your identity and you have older scars from being bullied and traumatized in schools... Plus being autistic and feeling things x100 more intensely... Well. It compounds. It left a mark. I forever felt unsafe and anxious around the fandom ever since... And that alone should have taught me an important lesson, but oh boy- was I in for it: I was not done humiliating myself yet.

The mistake I mention / reference so often? It's the reason why I want to make sure that you don't think of me as a victim. A survivor? Yes, maybe. But a victim? Not at all.

It's true that a lot of bad sh*t happened to me throughout the course of my life, which ended up making me lag *WAY* behind with my mental age (my autism also did not help in that regard), but none of it excuses or condones what I ended up doing.

Sometime around the beginning of 2020, I had started befriending a Whiterose artist. They were, at the time, a minor: 16, turning 17 in September of that year. For reference, I was 24, turning 25 in November of that same year.

I commissioned them a few times because I genuinely thought they were super talented and that their art was gorgeous, considering how young they were.

COVID lockdowns and isolation happened, which caused me to become overweight... A burden that I and this artist could relate over. We started talking more frequently- and slowly began to open up to each other about stuff.

At first- it was our issues, but interests got thrown into the mix too... Such as our shared obsession for Whiterose and the show (RWBY). Additionally, I used to draw a lot at their age as well, plus we had similar music from our childhoods- and we started bonding more and more.

...

It was a gradual process and I didn't think much of it at the time.

I grew protective of them because they'd been through so much and reminded me a lot of my younger self.

It should have stayed like that. A platonic, close friendship... But then, their 17th birthday came around, where they ended up confessing their feelings to me.

Obviously, my initial reaction was shock, as well as a mild dose of being grossed / weirded out.

"You're a minor. And that's the end of that" was my response at the time.

And yet- over the course of the next 5-6 months, I grew more and more brimming with anxiety... And concerned. I was in denial at first, but it soon hit me that I had ended up catching feelings for them as well.

A normally functioning, well informed adult would have made the morally correct, mature choice of cutting off contact and possibly seeking help- But I was none of those things. I had a father who told me there was nothing wrong with dating a 17 year old (I went No Contact with him, by the way. One of the best decisions of my life and I still only have Weiss' character arc, written by Monty, to thank for that).

Regardless of my ignorance on the subject, I should have really known better. It felt wrong and I knew it was wrong somewhere deep down, but I didn't understand why, or, at least, not fully. According to the laws in their country, it was still legal, technically speaking- and I genuinely loved them, so I thought that would make it alright, because "17 and a half is not that far from 18, so there is no difference, right...?".

Add to this the fact that I had a false memory of being "mature" at that age- mostly a consequence of people demanding that of me, due to circumstances that developed in high school that I am not willing to talk about on this post (it's getting long enough as is).

But yeah...

With feelings of love winning over any common sense I may have had, I was trying to do away with the wrongness of it by rationalizing it... I never should have done so.

Regardless of the reasons that led me to where I am now... the damage has been done, no matter how much I wish I could take it back.

They kept insisting and were persistently chasing me- which, pathetically enough (for me. I'm the pathetic one here), made me eventually cave in.

The loneliness from lockdown and isolation may have played a role in this too...

They probably noticed the change in my behavior, with me being way more anxious around any gay jokes and joke flirting... And they knew about my weakness: that I was tired of always having to be the one to make a move in relationships and wanted to have someone express interest in me for a change.

Regardless of the reasons behind why and how it happened, I agreed to "dating" them while they were still, even if just by a few months, a minor.

Needless to say- It all came crashing down and burning within a week or two.

I had seen it coming, or at least, part of me had, because there had been red flags in the form of their mental health being poor from the start... Said mental health issues ended up escalating (and this was something I noticed far prior to the relationship. I had been aware of their issues for a while, but stupidly thought I could help them overcome stuff- huge mistake on my end, once again) when the first hardships, differences and disagreements started cropping up.

When things nose-dived- and their mask of fake maturity crumbled to pieces... They had a suicidal episode. Their father ended up finding out and justifiably demanded they cut off all contact with me.

I was depressed for the entirety of summer 2021, due to the sheer amount of guilt and shittiness I felt (and still feel) towards myself and the situation. I never wanted for them to get hurt- but I tried meddling with personal issues of theirs that would have required a mental health professional intervening, rather than a naïve, dumbf*ck, autistic idiot with savior syndrome, desperately trying to save someone resembling their younger self and also partly re-enacting their own abusive parental relationship dynamic. Yeah... You heard that last part right.

My mother used to emotionally abuse me the same way they unintentionally did- for the short duration of the relationship (if you can even call it that). This was the final straw that ended up crushing and destroying me on the inside, both on a psychological- and emotional level, once I finally connected the dots and figured it all out...

I had let them use me as a punching bag when their mood got really bad or extreme (they probably had / still have BPD) and I tried to help them the same way I tried helping my mother, who also suffered from similar mental health issues (sudden mood swings and anger issues).

Life goes full circle, they say. And I was dumb enough to reach out to them again after they turned 18... Out of guilt. While "on drugs" (some legal drugs have undesirable side-effects on me, which result in a far stronger high than normal. Most people would only be able to achieve / experience such through the use of illegal drugs).

Wrong as it was, we talked for a while and it soon turned into flirting again- but I knew somewhere deep down that even if the wrongness of them being a minor wasn't there anymore, it just wasn't right. I had gone through too much emotional turmoil... They also had too much power and control over me** (since it seems that I completely lose my mind when I develop strong feelings for someone) and, in fact, when the abuse resumed and I confronted them about it, they said "let's just lose touch and never talk to one another again".

And I respected that. While crushed, heartbroken, defeated, ashamed and hurting from abandonment and rejection, I still respected (and to this day, respect) their wishes...

**I want to make it clear that I *DO NOT* blame them AT ALL for what transpired. Back then, I was dumb enough to think —before properly informing myself on the topic— that I could balance any possible power dynamic I had over them as an adult / 25 year old, by giving them control over me and everything in the relationship. It was both an intentional- and a subconscious choice (the love part, I couldn't help). I only later came to realize that power dynamics between two people sporting such an age gap can never be rectified...

...and I forever have to live with what I have done.

I was depressed for all of Christmas 2021 as well. But I eventually let it go. I accepted that I deserved to be alone and moved on.

I will slowly heal, but I still find myself thinking, from time to time, that maybe I would only be able to do right by them if I went to jail.

Jailtime really is something I feel I personally deserve. While we never met in person to do adult stuff... we still eRPd (erotic[-ally?] RolePlayed)- and I sent two very, VERY wrong, inappropriate pictures to them, that were sexual in nature, even though they didn't expose anything that would class as "nudes" (no sexually explicit body parts were involved).

One of said pictures was of my face blushing bright pink and another of a used sex toy.

That- and we shared sexual fetishes, which... was / is on a whole other level of messed up.

I still feel dirty, mortified, disgusted with myself- and horrible... whenever I think back on all of that.

Had I known this to be the outcome of my poor sense of judgement, I would have NEVER gone anywhere near them. As dumb as the saying is- hindsight really is 20/20...

...And while I highly doubt that I would make the same mistake twice, I ask of minors that come across my social media profiles to avoid any interaction with me whatsoever.

In terms of becoming a better person... I really am trying my best. I donated to a charity helping children / teens with mental health issues, and I have gone full vigilante- pushing potential predators out of Discord servers I'm on, where minors are still present and I witnessed adults trying to groom them.

I can only do so much, though...

I'm a broke student, who used to be a victim of sexual abuse and assault too (there is a reason behind why I get anxious, angry and sick to the bone whenever I hear about —or witness— someone abusing a child)- and while I have overcome that trauma, I still cannot believe that I nearly, if not entirely, became a perpetrator of it myself.

If what I did effectively constituted a crime under their country's laws- and there was a way to turn myself in and not involve them directly (so that they wouldn't have to relive any hurt, psychological or emotional damage that I may have inflicted upon them in court, as they would have to provide victim testimony on the stand), I would definitely do so.

As much as it would destroy my life and chances at having any kind of career in the future... I still feel the need to take responsibility.

...With that said, I'm not asking for anyone's —and *ESPECIALLY* not their— forgiveness, nor pity.

I'm the one and only person responsible for my own actions, and I just wish them well, regardless of what they think of me.

I never had any ill intent, and despite all the hate I might get for outing myself like this, I still do not have an inkling of ill intent in me.

I no longer sport the long, white, bleached hair and bangs I had, which made me like myself in the mirror. I don't deserve that. I'm not Weiss, no matter how similar our backstories are, or seemed to be.

I cut my hair short- mainly to punish myself, as I do not like it at all when it is that way.

This will hopefully mark the start of a real, positive change.

I have recently turned 27 and I am finally starting to settle into —and feel— my age. Anyone 19 or younger just sounds immature and childish to me, which is a good thing.

I wish I had gotten help and started bettering myself during my late teen years, but alas- I wasted my twenties trying to find myself and sort myself out. I don't know what kind of future awaits me.

For the time being, I just wanted to get this off my chest, because I feel the need to let people know what I have done- and that they might get sh*t for associating with me in any shape or form by befriending or following me.

I have made many mistakes in my life and do not love myself in any way... But I still try to help people however I can, from a distance, whenever I see that there might be a chance for them to feel better, make better decisions, or simply help them not turn into a f*ckup like me.

...

P.S.: To [REDACTED] (the person I hurt): if you ever read this, I want you to know that I am proud of how far you've come. I wish you all the healing and all the best things in the world. You've got more passion, determination and drive to chase your dreams than I ever did... Which is admirable. I hope that your work, now flourishing into something bigger, becomes a hallmark of what you are capable of- of your accomplishments. You are —and have always been— better than me, despite all the crap you've been through as a kid- despite your trauma, BPD and how you hurt me.

You probably don't care for me anymore... And that's for the best. Move on. Find happiness.

I'm slowly withering away in the tight grip of The Apathy (if you need a physical manifestation / personification of my poor mental health eating away at me).

I cannot be saved... shouldn't be- and won't be. This is where I belong and that's exactly what I deserve.

Farewell. I'm truly sorry. For everything.

[marsgod]

Can i have a matchup please (just whoever fits me above everyone else out of the fandoms cause i cant choose)

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: heterosexual ally

appearance: 5’2 african American black curly wavy hair blackish brown eyes chubby cheeks hour glass shape

personality: kind smart funny motherly responsible empathetic anxious emotional moody perfectionist helpful people pleaser caring compassionate nerdy curious protective polite respectful indecisive fearful nervous introvert shy awkward clumsy low self esteem low confidence soft spoken sarcastic sassy

mbti: infj

enneagram type: 2w1

likes: animals books reading writing fantasy magic sci fi anime cartoons music video games friends alone time learning personality quizzes sweets and bread helping

dislikes: spiders loud sounds people who harm others people who dont take others into consideration people i care about not caring for themselves not being listened to test and math weird holes and patterns

what i look for in a date: just someone who will genuinely love and take care of me :)

what i avoid: anyone who’s mean or toxic or a jerk really im not picky

extra: i pace a lot i talk to myself i sing when alone im a picky eater

thank you

╰┈➤ I’d match you with… Riddle Rosehearts!

He loves how much attention you give to detail! Riddle appreciates it a lot but also has his own idea of “perfect” in his mind and that’ll lead to objects always being in one of two places (convenient or not??)

Riddle is awkward towards your motherly nature, he doesn’t not appreciate it but he doesn’t rlly know how to respond

He loves reading! especially fantasy books, so going to the library or doing book swaps are a “must do” at least once!!

Will infodump about tea and flowers and history if you even hint at being curious

is also a picky eater, so you both will most likely have to sit down and actually find recipes and foods that’ll work for the both of you

doesn’t understand personality quizzes but gets extremely offended at them (especially its “what’s your trauma” centered ones)

(his are always “you have mommy issues”-esque)

(<33)

admires your respectful and curious nature, and fully encourages any adventuring you do (.. most of the time)

will try his best to help you with math but really really prefers history and writing

“I think these “tests” you’re having me take are irrational to listen too and are completely rigged.”

[journalformycptsd]

Day #1 — CPTSD Symptoms

(journaling through my bookmarks from Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker)

Common Symptoms of Complex PTSD

• Emotional Flashbacks

• Tyrannical Inner &/or Outer Critic

• Toxic Shame

• Self-Abandonment

• Social anxiety

• Abject feelings of loneliness and abandonment

• Fragile Self-esteem

• Attachment disorder

• Developmental Arrests

• Relationship difficulties

• Radical mood vacillations

• Dissociation via distracting activities or mental processes

• Hair-triggered fight/flight response

• Oversensitivity to stressful situations

• Suicidal Ideation

This is the first bookmark I made when reading this book, because I was alarmed at how many of these symptoms I experience regularly.

I have emotional flashbacks at least a few times a week; I didn’t know what to call them until now. Most days I would wake up already submerged in a flashback of anxiety, depression, and shame. I would feel shame from oversleeping, from being late on school or chores, from neglecting my loved ones or my pets. I’d open my eyes to my messy high school bedroom and feel nothing but disgust at my own lifestyle. I’d plunge into self-hating diatribes about how out of control I was, how right my mother was about me, how helpless and broken I felt. I didn’t realize these were my mother’s words. I didn’t realize these were not compassionate to myself. I didn’t realize that my brain was being taken over by PTSD.

The inner critic launched those attacks on me, while the outer critic lashed out at everyone who triggered my insecurity or sense of being judged. Everyone who slightly disappointed me became an untrustworthy traitor, because my trauma taught me that no one was safe.

Toxic shame and self-abandonment got their hands on the reins as soon as I woke, so that every interaction I had with anyone in my life was riddled with guilt and defensiveness. This triggered social anxiety — my mother’s lack of acceptance and unconditional love, as well as her refusal to hear out and reassure my insecurities, left me feeling intensely vulnerable and scared around others. I reflexively isolated, and made myself as lonely on the outside as I felt in my own mind.

Intense self-loathing and blaming myself for my abuse led me to develop unhealthy attachments, either clinging to others for dear life with the underlying certainty that they would “find me out” and reject me, or pushing others away before they could inevitably leave me.

My arrested emotional development caused me to regress under stress, and I’d lash out and yell at others — at other times, my emotional brain would take over and I’d retreat into isolation and depression, hopelessness and helplessness similar to a child without a parent. I had no concept of protecting myself from conflict — only protecting myself through conflict.

My mood swings led to a bipolar ii diagnosis that I’m not certain is accurate. I experience intense depressive episodes, but my hypomania isn’t very pronounced. I get triggered into emotional flashbacks and when i don’t know how to get out of them, they turn into days and weeks-long shame and depression cycles.

I’ve dissociated through video games, daydreaming, and oversleeping since I was a child. My fight/flight response is hyperactive; I’ve always been teased for being jumpy, or skinny from anxiety, or shaky. Stress debilitates me, freezes me in my tracks and leaves me trembling, crying, and sick.

Suicidal ideation, as rare is it comes and goes, does come and go. I’ve never attempted. I’ve never hurt myself. But I know that when that thought comes up, out of nowhere, that something is wrong and I need to catch it and fix it, quickly.

Experiencing all these symptoms on such a regular basis has made this diagnosis a life changer. I can’t believe I never realized that all these things add up to one diagnosis. I wish it hadn’t taken 22 years of life to discover it.

[lectophile]

I Love Nesta Archeron

SPOILER ALERT for Sarah J. Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses Trilogy.

With the newly-released title and release date of Sarah J. Mass's Nessian spin-off, A Court of Silver Flames, I have noticed that the YA fantasy community, or at least a good enough portion of it, has begun to become very vocal about its lack of fondness for Nesta and their displeasure at her being matched with Cassian, who they believe "deserves so much better". As the self-proclaimed number one fan of Nesta, I have an urge, that will not go unrequited, to dispel the idea that Nesta is a terrible person.

I have to admit, when I first read the series, I disliked Nesta, Elain, and their father an unfathomable amount. I relished in the idea that somewhere, later on in the series, they would each be served a mouthful of the crap they deserved. I would say, in terms of relativity, Nesta was highest on my dislike meter, Elain next, and then their father. Elain having bought Feyre the small tins of paint and Feyre's father telling her to never come back and live out her dreams were small redemptions in their favor. I admired Nesta's protectiveness over Elain, but disdained her for so easily having forgone attempting to protect Feyre, because, after all, she was the youngest.

After having read the series three times, and having deliciously bathed in gallons worth of putting-Nesta-and-occassionally-Elain-in-their-place, compliments of our wonderful, and even more scrumptious, winged friends: Rhys and Cass, I have come to the new conclusion about our dear Nesta. As the oldest, Nesta was able to receive the most education out of all three of the Archeron sisters. She learned valuable skills for women in society, making her a suitable match for eligible bachelors—but that was worthless when their family became poor. Nesta had no skills in surviving in a world where you had to fend for yourself. All she knew was which fork to use with salad and how to greet gentlemen. Feyre, on the other hand, had not even learned to read and write, making it easier for her to adapt to their new situation and assume the role of interim head of household while the rest of the remaining Archeron family pondered on a life Feyre had never had the chance to be a part of.

Nesta began resenting Feyre when Feyre successfully began taking care of their family. Nesta was being showed-up by a fourteen year old girl that couldn't even read, and all Nesta had succeeded at doing was mope around and wait to die. Nesta was ashamed of herself for this, blamed Feyre for her shame, and, in turn, wanted to make Feyre feel it as well—hence, abusing Feyre, I do not excuse it, but I don’t know when the book community decided to cancel characters for being terrible in the past and GROWING to become better people. Nesta also never looked after Feyre like you would hope an older sister would do for their younger sibling because Nesta didn't feel that Feyre needed taking care of. Feyre could hunt, make money, make food, and anything she set her mind to—she didn't need Nesta for anything. Nesta took this as a jab, feeling that if Feyre thought she was so good that she could do everything for herself, why should Nesta even lift a finger? Feyre was doing it all and seemingly handling it perfectly fine. Because of this, Nesta preferred Elain to Feyre; for one, Elain needed guidance and someone to follow, which appealed to Nesta's superiority complex; secondly, Nesta took care of Elain as she did because Elain gave her a purpose, to find someone for Elain to marry off to and care for her in the meanwhile.

Later on in the series, when Feyre shows up to their home as Fae and with part of the Inner Circle, Nesta feels a whirlwind of emotions, which makes her lock up even more than she always did. Nesta is scared of letting people see how weak and frail she is and how she has no real purpose in this world; and she is especially wary of letting Feyre see it because, even though she always resented Feyre, she liked that Feyre admired her for her steely exterior and unbendable will. For one, Nesta was shocked out of her mind because Feyre was Fae, something that all humans south of The Wall were taught to fear; Another thing Nesta felt with Feyre coming back into her and Elain's life was fear. Nesta feared that Feyre was going to disrupt everything Nesta had achieved while Feyre was gone: getting Elain engaged to Graysen. With Feyre gone and their father on his secret voyage, Nesta was finally the one in charge, the dependable one, the one protecting their family—even if that was only Elain—and Feyre was not only throwing off the balance, but threatening to destroy it altogether.

After having felt like we, the readers, had gone hand-in-hand with Feyre through everything, from the trials Under the Mountain to her neglect by Tamlin, we were angry and enraged that Nesta had the audacity to be so rude to Feyre, who had done absolutely nothing to Nesta all the months she was gone. For heaven's sake, Feyre hadn't even made contact with Nesta up until this moment. But, we have to understand, Nesta uses her anger to keep people out and prevent them from seeing how insurmountably weak and riddled with dark emotion she is. Feyre seems to have the world figured out: a mate, a close group of friends, wealth beyond imagination, and a beautiful home; and Nesta is upset that Feyre would want to take away the little her and Elain do have for, what she believes, is Fae business.

After having realized all of this, I loved Nesta with my whole heart—the most out of the whole Inner Circle, Az coming in close, close second. She reminded me of myself: flawed, jealous, wrathful, prideful, and resentful. Feyre seems to be some kind of unnatural super-being—ignoring the fact that she actually is for the sake of my argument—able to overcome everything in her way, making me want to be like her and making me resent the parts of myself that she overcame within herself. Nesta is Sarah J. Mass's way of letting us know, we can be powerful, strong, courageous women that surprise ourselves with our ability to do anything we set our minds to, as well as being flawed, broken, and distant. We do not have to be Elains: so kind that an other-worldly Cauldron gifts us power out of its sheer amazement at how lovely we are inside and out. We can be ferocious and take power for ourselves, just as Nesta had ripped power from the Cauldron with her teeth as repayment for making her and Elain undergo what they did. Nesta is devastatingly beautiful, graceful, collected, cool, intelligent, determined, curious, wrathful, prideful, resentful, and most of all, humiliated with herself for not being the strong person she wishes she could be. I love Nesta so, so much. I wish her all the luck and happiness in the world.

And, last but not least, something to remind everyone of. In A Court of Frost and Starlight, Nesta behaves outrageously—but this is her way of trying to cope, trying to get some sort of feeling back after having been turned Fae. Her transformation had occurred during the chaos of the battle to save humans from Hybern, and so there was no time for her to take for herself and understand what had been done to her. Once the adrenaline of battle and victory had faded, she was left with a hole within herself in a foreign body, leading an immortal life with an even more foreign power within her. Feyre also suffered from post-traumatic disorder, but in a different way—as all people go through trauma uniquely and individually. Nesta does not want to admit how broken, how weak, how confused she is, and all the Inner Circle wants to do is what they think will make her happy—but they don't get that she can't even feel. Personally, I find that everyone, except for Cass and Az, seems to have their own opinion of her behavior without really trying to understand why it's happening—especially Feyre. I think Feyre has always felt responsible for the well-being of her sisters, and so she does this the most. She has never truly understood Nesta, why she’s so closed off, why she’s so distant, and it hurts her as well, because Nesta is the only sort of mother figure—a strange one I know, but she was the oldest, wisest woman in her life for a long time—Feyre had, as their mother was basically absent and then died. Feyre is also young, so we have to understand that she does not truly understand how trauma can be different for each person, and so she tries to solve this by assuming that Nesta’s trauma may be similar in some way to that of what she went through in Under-the-Mountain. Feyre isn’t doing anything wrong, it’s just a younger sister trying to make her older sister as happy as she is—think Anna with Elsa. Also, Feyre is confused because she would have thought that the beauty and power of the Fae realm would have made Nesta feel better about being Changed, but, as I will dive more in depth below, the circumstances surrounding their views on being Fae are completely different, and frankly opposite for Feyre and Elain/Nesta. Feyre’s seeming misunderstanding and attempts at helping Nesta infuriate Nesta because she feels like some broken doll her sister wants to sew up new so that she can look pretty for the rest of them.

I also want to add that being Fae means completely different things for each of the Archeron sisters. Feyre loves being Fae, and I think it’s because she has associated it with the insurmountable happiness that has been brought into her life after she had Changed: she found Rhys, became strong enough to defend herself and anyone she cared about, was able to paint whenever, whatever, and however she wanted, found a family that truly supported her and loved her and required nothing of her, and was finally able to dream of a future that was only for her, not for her sisters or father. Elain hates being Fae, or at least hated it at first but seems to be adapting to it, because it took away the future she had always dreamed of. While Feyre never really had the chance to dream of anything for herself, Elain did—because, she’s sweet and I also love her, she really didn’t lift a finger until she shoved Az’s knife into the King of Hybern’s neck. Elain was raised in a society where domesticity are the best characteristics of a woman, and it is what she should strive for. She strived to be a loving wife, with a beautiful home to decorate, to have parties and socialize with everyone, and to be the sweet angel her husband came to after a long day’s work. She had that, and being Fae took that away because her fiancé hates the Fae. The man she thought would love her no matter what she was or looked like, hated her. I mean, if that happened to any of us, we’d all have been destroyed from within: she trusted this man with her heart, she trusted that he would always love and care for her—and for her to trust men was difficult because she had trusted her father to always look after her, but he failed her—and then he said he hated her for the abomination she was, for something she couldn’t control. Being Fae took away Elain’s dreams, and so it is not all the pretty, supernatural stuff that we, the readers, would love to be a part of—because, remember that the series was written in first-person from Feyre’s point of view, so obviously we’ll have some bias towards being Fae and her beliefs. Nesta hates being Fae. Nesta demands control over her life, she demands being the one in charge of it. If she’s gonna die, it’ll be because she said so; if she’s gonna eat, it’s because she said so. She will not let anyone or anything control who she is or how she lives her life, and then she was forced to be immortal. Imagine, feeling so lost, so insurmountably despairing, in an immortal body. While she was mortal she could at least wait for death to take her away from the tortures of being poor, cold, starving, and out of control, at least death was something she had decided on accepting, not forced upon her—but as a Fae, she would have to wait hundreds to even thousands of years for merciful death to take her away from all these feelings, emotions, and general environments that she has absolutely no control of and feels she could never truly be a part of. I have not ever been depressed or suffered from PTSD, but from what I have learned, I have heard that it feels like a never ending hole you fall into, where you are consumed by darkness and there is nothing else you can see, and anywhere you are within that hole, you are alone and no one can reach you. Imagine that, but feeling like you will feel that way for the rest of your immortal life.

Last, last thing: Nesta and Cassian are mates. If she had an instinct within her to call Cass from battle just in time to save him from the Cauldron; if her willingness to sacrifice her life so she could die with him because she could not live without him, didn't convince you of their status as mates, I *clap* do *clap* not *clap* know *clap* what *clap* will.

Anyways, thank you for reaching this point of my fanatic rant over Nesta.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part IV

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.1k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It was nine o’clock in the morning, two days after I’d made my arrest, and Paya’s trial was in its opening stages. I was watching from the gallery. Normally, as the one running the investigations, I would be the first witness to take the stand, but today, for whatever reason, the lead prosecutor, Urbosa Sigatur, planned to summon me second after Auntie Purah. Urbosa was far from a stranger to me, however. She and I had collaborated on several cases in the past, and she shared with me many of my own ideals. She’d once even known my mother before her untimely demise. And so I decided not to question her judgment, however unconventional it may have seemed.

The prosecution’s opening statement had been based on the fact that the stolen Sheikah Slate, along with a bloodstained bullet, had been found in the defendant’s room, which, until recently, hadn’t been searched as it had been deemed irrelevant to the case. With these conclusive pieces of evidence, she’d stated, the defendant had been charged with both the theft of the Slate and the murder of its owner, Impa Sheikah.

The stolen object was the most central piece of evidence in the prosecution’s case. It had once been a target of my own immense interest, even before its theft. But that had all changed following its recovery. The riddle, though having been solved by means of professional reprogramming, still made little sense to me if any. “Carnation” was its answer, according to Auntie Purah herself. Much to my dismay, the secrets that the riddle had supposedly kept hidden had turned out to be nothing but my own fantasy. Every last piece of data that had once been stored in the Slate had been deleted, meaning the possibility of proving a motive for its theft was next to nonexistent. The only thing left in its memory was a diary entry, written by Auntie Impa the day before her murder. This in itself, however, held the potential to serve as a lead to her killer’s identity, at the very least.

The diary entry, as projected onto the courtroom wall by the Slate, went,

“Today was the first day of Zelda’s holiday visit. It is hard to believe that the last long term visit she paid us was already over a year ago. We have all missed her dearly. She seems as interested in my sister’s work as ever. It brought me joy to see the two of them bonding over their shared passion once again.

“However I must admit, I would still love for her to also spend some quality time with Paya some day soon. I sensed some resentment coming from her directed at my dear granddaughter. Perhaps it is something to do with that boy. Either way, it seems their relationship has hardly changed since she left the nest.

“I cannot say for certain whether anyone will ever be able to read this, but I have faith that Purah will figure it out. I am no good with machines like these, but I believe in her. At any rate, I hope she is the one who gets to read this message, but in the event that it happens to fall into the wrong hands, I will sign off here.”

With this, the prosecution’s argument, though a bit scattered across several different points, seemed sturdy enough so far. That Auntie Impa had seemingly known that her life would be taken the following night after writing her final message, combined with the fact that she’d received no threats from the outside world up until then, was one of the strongest pieces of evidence in our arsenal.

Paya’s defence lawyer, one Revali Twii, had made several attempts to dismantle her argument by claiming she had no possible way of knowing whether or not the victim had received a threat from outside the estate by phone. These attacks were easily deflected. As a foreigner to this city, Mr. Twii had been unaware that, thanks to the Sheikahs’ company, household phones here were all equipped with recording devices. Naturally, Ms. Sigatur had already listened to each recorded call since a month before the murder and had detected no discernible threat in any of them.

And yet in spite of all that, the argument shifted heavily in favour of the defence when it then carried out his cross examination. With how confidently Urbosa had stated her case, I never could’ve imagined how easy it would be for the opposing side to shatter it into countless, tiny pieces.

Mr. Twii’s primary line of questioning was a solid one, to say the least. He concurred with my deduction as presented by Ms. Sigatur that the parlour indeed was not the true scene of the crime. However, he claimed that the real crime scene could not possibly have been the defendant’s bedroom either. His basis for this was the gunshot. Paya’s room was in the same hallway that the sleeping quarters of the current witness, Auntie Purah, as well as myself, were in. Mr. Twii had her testify about the sound of the gunshot that she’d heard. In addition to the fact that it hadn’t seemed loud enough to have come from the very next room over, she’d only heard it once: from the parlour.

No doubt he intended to question me about the same thing when the time came for me to take the stand. I’d been itching to speak my mind and set things straight so badly that I’d had to cross my legs just to keep myself from getting up too soon by the time court was finally adjourned for a half-hour recess.

Now the prosecutor and I were together in a private room reserved for witness prepping. Normally I did just fine testifying on my own, but in this trial, everything was at stake, and I couldn’t seem to stop my heart from racing no matter what I tried. Thankfully I had Urbosa here, and simply talking with her had done much to calm my nerves already.

“You’re originally from out of town too, aren’t you?” I noted, thinking back on her performance.

“That I may be, but unlike that lawyer, I’ve spent enough time here to know of the perils this city is facing, and who’s been holding it together in spite of all that.”

“Right.” My lips rested against the curve of my index as my leg bounced restlessly underneath the table. “That schmuck really doesn’t have a clue, does he?”

“No, not likely. Though he’s quite the formidable opponent, I must say.” She leaned back in her chair, looking pensive, but not the least bit agitated. “My case took quite the beating out there.”

My heart rate was starting to pick up again. “You don’t think you’ll...lose...do you?”

“Who, me? Lose?” She let out a hearty bout of chuckles. “Young lady, are you quite sure you know who you’re speaking to?” I returned her laughter halfheartedly, unable to shake the foreboding feeling lying at the pit of my stomach. Urbosa cleared her throat, preserving her calm smile. “All jokes aside, I wouldn’t worry even if we do end up losing this one. The true criminal is still out there somewhere, and there is no such thing as a perfect crime.”

“I suppose...” Perfect crimes may not have existed, but neither did perfect investigations. If they ruled Paya out as a suspect, then only one other, “safe” option would remain.

“Alright, out with it. What’s on your mind?” Her hand had landed on my shoulder as she’d reached across the desk, over my half empty glass of water. “And why are you so set on getting Paya convicted, if I might ask? Sibling rivalry is one thing, but this is...”

I avoided her perceptive gaze, staring intently at the latch on my bag. What could I possibly tell her? “It’s just,” I stalled, eventually settling for a vague, “I’m running out of time.”

After a long pause, she leaned back, letting go of my arm. “I see. Well, whatever it is, know that I’ll be on your side no matter what, little bird.”

Oh, if only she’d known.

“So to sum up, you were outstandingly negligent in your investigation of the defendant’s bedroom.”

My jaw unhinged at what I’d just heard come out of the attorney’s mouth. I’d just finished giving him an explanation of my findings in as much detail as I could, during which time he’d been surprisingly polite, until now.

“You likely saw the Slate along with the bullet and made your arrest right then and there. You didn’t even stop to consider the possibility that you hadn’t found all there’d been to find in that room, did you?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you didn’t even attempt to look for the murder weapon.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” I retaliated with chest puffed up, “but my team and I searched the property from top to bottom, repeatedly, for two whole weeks, and—”

“Yes, I am well aware. However, you failed to complete a thorough search of this so-called ‘true crime scene’ before you arrested Ms. Sheikah. Do you deny it?”

I was floundering for words. Why bother questioning me if he merely intended to cut me off and answer his own questions? “I-I...”

“Objection.”

All eyes fell upon the prosecution. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“The defence is harassing the witness, Your Honour.”

The judge gave a slow, considerate nod of his head. “Objection sustained.”

Twii gave Urbosa a subtle but unmistakable side-eye. I thanked her silently. “Speaking of the murder weapon,” he continued in his signature, holier-than-thou tone, “I have here Exhibit F: a list of traits possessed by the elusive firearm responsible for the victim’s life.”

This wasn’t good. The list in question had been compiled by the prosecution based on traits of the fatal wound revealed by the autopsy, as well as other traits shared by the two bullets that were found at the estate. It contained information like its .38 caliber and that it had likely been fired twice at point blank, to name a few examples.

“My question for you, witness, is the following. What did you find during your ‘investigation’ regarding the weapon?”

This was fine, I kept telling myself. He still had yet to present the most fatal piece of evidence in the record. “As I’ve said before, none of our searches turned up any sign of it, other than what’s listed on that piece of paper you’re holding.”

“Is that so?” The sarcasm rooted in his voice had me sweating bullets. “In that case, Ms. Hyrule, I’d like to turn your attention to this passage here at the bottom.”

That was “Inspector Hyrule” to him, but of course, he couldn’t care less for such trifling things as common decency.

But when I read over the passage at which he was pointing, my throat closed up.

“Allow me to read it aloud for the court.” He snobbishly cleared his throat. “And I quote, ‘The murder weapon and the circumstances surrounding it strongly suggest an Octoric M&P revolver,’ end quote. I’d also like to add that this particular model is favoured by the district bureau of police, who issue them out to many of their detectives for self-defence.”

I gritted my teeth, annunciating each word as I spat, “Get to the point.”

The smarmy bastard was hardly even phased by my unmasked hostility. “Now, now, Ms. Hyrule, you’ve no reason to worry,” he waved off. “After all, I have no intention of accusing you.”

When he spoke that last word, my heart stopped, and deep down, I knew it was over.

“Firstly I wish for you to clarify a few things for me, as you were one of the first to discover the scene of the murder when it happened.”

I gave a slow, strenuous nod, losing strength in my knees by the second, but standing my ground all the same. “Go on.”

“The defendant showed no sign of having a gun on or anywhere near her person when you arrived, correct?”

“Correct,” I lied.

“Good. Now that we’ve established that the defendant was unarmed, I’d like to present another piece of evidence.” He laid out flat a second sheet of paper on the stand in front of me. “Exhibit H. This is part of a record kept by the precinct where the witness is currently employed, alongside the rest of her team. It details a list of the firearms given out to detectives each day, as well as the time when each one was issued and when it was returned to custody at the end of its designated officer’s shift.”

And there it was. I’d known all along that it had only been a matter of time until he’d bring out this piece of evidence, but, evidently, I’d failed to prepare myself mentally for this. Perhaps a part of me had hoped not to be on the stand when it happened. All I could do now was hold my peace and pray that it wouldn’t get worse from here.

“This page corresponds with the day before the murder. Now, Ms. Hyrule,” he addressed, summoning a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, “I’m sure you’ll recognize this badge number here. Would you please read it aloud for me?”

I swallowed my nerves and did as he’d requested. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“Thank you.” He flashed me that shit-eating grin of his. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the number belonging to one Constable Link Fyori, the witness’ very own investigative partner.” A few whispers drifted through the gallery following that announcement. “One who reads this will also notice that, after his revolver was issued out to him the morning before the murder, it was never returned to the precinct’s custody thereafter. In fact, it is still missing to this day.”

With this, the whispers grew in number, creating a din of distrust that had the attorney smirking from ear to ear.

“Objection.”

The whispering dissipated. Twii’s shoulders sagged as he hypocritically shot Urbosa a look that said, “What now?”

“Mr. Twii, how is this relevant? Unless you have definitive proof linking Constable Fyori to the crime, I see no point in bringing it up.”

The judge gave a pound of his gavel with a bone-chilling shake of his head. “Overruled. The court will allow the defence to continue, provided that it has good reason.”

My mouth fell open, and so had Urbosa’s.

“Thank you, Your Honour. I was just getting to that, my good prosecutor.” Now even she seemed on edge. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through with a knife. “I may not have proof as things stand currently. However, that is about to change. You see, I have reason to believe that our witness here is covering for someone.”

The courtroom broke out into an even louder din of murmurs, as if I couldn’t clearly hear each backhanded remark the members of the gallery were making at my expense.

The pounding of the judge’s gavel echoed throughout the room, and the whispering ceased once again.

“You must be mistaken.” I stood as tall as I could with how close my legs were to giving up on me. “I happen to be one of the most trusted detectives in the force. Why do you think I was put in charge of this case despite being one of the first on the scene?”

“Ah, but that, dear witness, was your superiors’ fatal mistake.”

Damn that solicitor. “What do you mean?”

“Although my client has elected not to testify to the court, she has let me in on a certain piece of information—one that I believe will make the jaws of everyone here drop to the floor.”

Surely not. Surely even she wouldn’t dare stoop so low.

“Inspector...” The attorney looked me dead in the eyes. The air was suffocating. “What do you have in your briefcase?”

Everyone was staring at me and murmuring amongst themselves, more raucously than ever before, like I was the one on trial.

“N-No, it’s—it’s not what it seems,” I wavered. Then mustering my shattered courage, “You!” I pointed my finger at Twii. “Prove to me that the defendant wasn’t lying. I demand to see proof!”

But my demands were met with silence. Even Urbosa was looking at me with cold contempt and disappointment.

“Bailiff.”

An officer appeared from the sidelines. He seized my bag.

“Wait, stop!”

I tried to wrest it from his grasp, but he was too strong. I watched helplessly as he opened it up, reaching in and revealing the murder weapon for all to see.

“No...!”

“Bailiff, what is the number engraved on that weapon?”

He seemed to recite the number in slow motion, twisting the knife with every digit. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“No, please!” I screamed. “It wasn’t him, he’s been framed! Please, Your Honour, you have to believe me!”

Amidst the roar of the crowd, I saw the conclusive shake of the judge’s head. With a pound of his gavel, he said, “I hereby order the immediate detainment of Link Fyori under the charge of first degree murder.”

I met eyes with my partner but half a second before I saw him be dragged out of his seat with brute force.

“No!”

“As for this witness, she shall receive her sentence after being questioned by the police for the concealing of evidence, contempt of court, and perjury.”

I cried out when an overwhelming pain shot through my arm. My family watched from the gallery in either horror or disgust, or a mixture of both perhaps. I tried with all my might just to get the bailiff to stop hurting me, but it was futile.

“Your Honour, just a moment please.”

With the judge’s approval, the man’s grip on my arm lightened up. The one who’d spoken had been none other than that wretched defence attorney.

“Inspector, if you don’t mind, I have one more question to ask you.”

I held my breath, bracing myself. Though there wasn’t much he could say at this point that could possibly make the situation worse.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Why did you feel the need to conceal such a critical piece of evidence?”

My entire face boiled over with heat. I looked around, taking in the courtroom’s atmosphere, and my whole being was filled to the brim with indescribable anger and shame. Barely able to swallow the charged whimper lodged at the cusp of my throat, I choked out the words, “No comment.”

The trial had ended while I’d still been in the middle of interrogation by my own peers. I was lucky enough to get off with a fine, but it was because of that hour-and-a-half-long lecture that I only found out about Paya’s “not guilty” verdict after the entire courtroom had been cleared out. This was no surprise to me, of course, but still a disappointment, to put it lightly. What was a surprise was that no one, not Paya, nor Auntie Purah, nor even Urbosa, had bothered to wait for me.

That was fine. They could think whatever they wanted of me. I’d simply have to redeem myself by proving Link’s innocence in his trial.

It was to this end that I made my way to the district’s Centre of Detention.

When Link appeared behind the iron bars of the visitors’ room, he was already sporting a worn and faded prisoner’s uniform, surely having just undergone an interrogation of his own. Though, from the looks of him, his had been considerably more thorough than mine.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Link.”

“Hello,” he replied.

Deathly silence filled the air. The harsh ticking of the clock on the wall behind me was slowly starting to crawl under my skin.

“They, uhm...didn’t go easy on you, eh?”

He shook his head, eyes wandering without aim.

Why did it have to be so hard to talk to him sometimes? He’d never been so unapproachable back in our days as teenagers. Though now, I supposed, recent events were only making things even more difficult for me than usual.

“Look...” I took a deep breath, shifting in my seat. “I’m sorry. Alright? I couldn’t cover for you forever. They were bound to find out eventually. Please, don’t be upset.”

“What? Zelda...” His demeanour morphed from listless to urgent, almost apologetic, as he struggled to find his voice. “Why would I be upset with you? I never asked you to cover for me in the first place.”

“I know.” Now it was I who couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “I just knew that you couldn’t have possibly... I mean, you would never—”

“I didn’t.”

He’d caught me with my mouth hanging open, when he’d cut me off.

“I didn’t kill her. I promise you.”

Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious, even though the revolver had borne no fingerprints and, with the gloves that he always wore, he wouldn’t have left any. What motive could he have had? He was an amnesiac, and even if he hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have had a reason to kill my godmother.

I took out my pen and notebook, the only things left in my case that hadn’t been confiscated. “Tell me what you know, Link. Everything.”

A beat. Then he straightened his posture and began to explain his side of the story. As it turned out, my intuition had been spot on. This whole mess was the design of the Yiga organization. Link told me about his encounter with them before the murder. They had blackmailed him into surrendering his revolver to them, after which he would never see it again.

Though, even without a hint of deceit in his tone or manner, I had questions about the means by which the Yiga had blackmailed him. He had virtually nothing to lose. Didn’t he?

In any case, I honestly had considered showing him the gun that I’d found on the scene that night, but somehow I’d had the distinct impression that he’d known nothing about it, despite the very object in question belonging to him. I’d thought perhaps someone from the organization had switched out his weapon for another without his noticing. It was no secret that even the police bureau was infested with their ilk. In the end, I hadn’t been far off the mark.

The whole time he spoke, he had his head lowered, hair falling in front of his eyes, as if something were holding them back from meeting mine. Then he muttered, “When I had my encounter with the organization, I...remembered.”

His limited annunciation meant I had to take a moment to decipher the syllables of the last word he’d uttered. Then they sank in. “Wait. What? You mean you...” It felt beyond strange to even speak the words after so long. “You got your memory back?”

He lowered his head further. Was that a nod?

My mind went back to what he’d said to me on that one occasion in the office, not long after this whole mess had first begun. “Link, you...” My hands curled into themselves around the strap of my satchel. “All this time...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” he pleaded. “It would’ve been a hindrance to the investigation.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Dropping that bomb on me would only have thrown my conscience deeper into its already tangled web of turmoil.

Amidst all the questions swirling in my mind, one suddenly appeared, eclipsing all the rest. “Why did you disappear back then?”

At this, he finally looked up and met my gaze. But when he did, his eyes were wide, almost trembling. His look seemed to cast the whole room into a great, looming darkness.

“Oh, it’s...it’s okay if you’d prefer not to talk about—”

“No,” he exclaimed. “I must.” But the way his shoulders came up to meet his ears and how rapidly his chest rose and fell told me it wasn’t going to be an easy story to tell. “It was the Yi—” He choked on his words. “The...organization.”

There it was again. The name of the group I’d been chasing without rest ever since their appearance eighteen years prior. “I knew it...” I mumbled without thinking.

He steeled himself, then continued. “That day, my father was picking me and my sister up after school. Normally we would’ve ridden home with him in his automobile, but that morning, he and I had planned to surprise Aryll by getting...I think it was ice cream, on our way back. Anyway, we decided to walk home that day. But...” His face darkened yet again. “But then...”

Pressing him for more details would have been beyond cruel. I could only imagine the horrors that those blackguards had put him and his family through. “How many of them were there?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they had us outnumbered.” I nodded along, without thinking, as he continued his tale. “They were all armed with what looked like military grade shotguns, and they wore those masks with the inverted Sheikah family crest... I’ve always known that I’d seen that image somewhere before.”

No one knew why the organization had chosen this symbol for themselves, though I personally suspected it to be a show of opposition.

“Anyway, after they sh...shot father,” he struggled, a hand coming up to his now quavering lips, “they must’ve felt threatened by Aryll and me, because the next thing they did was...shoot her, too.” The way his tone had started to oscillate and how his face had drained itself of colour made my stomach churn. His anguish was so clear, it was devastating. “One of them had said something to the ends of, ‘We can’t have you scamps telling on us.’ But before they could...’shut me up’ as well, I fled.” Another pause. He kept on breathing. “I was too terrified to notice which way I was going. The whole time I ran, they kept firing at me. They were too reckless to aim properly, though, mind.”

“Well...that’s lucky, at least,” I tried. This was met with a sigh of reluctant agreement. “Still, how did you make it out of that with your life?”

“They stopped chasing me when I made it out of the back alleys and into the open,” he explained. “I suppose they couldn’t risk revealing themselves.”

Now it all made sense. Seven years ago, when he’d vanished without a trace, it was as though he’d never even existed in the first place. No one could get in contact with him or his family, and yet, no one batted an eye about it. It had seemed I’d been the only one who’d thought of it as anything less than perfectly normal. Just like when my mother had lost her life.

“We never had the chance to get ice cream that day.” He looked all but ready to burst into tears with that sentence. That was the moment I realized, no matter how drastically the last seven years of hell had changed him, there was still a fragment of that playful, hollow-legged sixteen-year-old left deep in his dark, forgotten core. If there was a way to bring that bright-eyed child back out into the light, I would find it, even if it spelled my demise.

Even so, there was one thing left that had yet to be explained. “What about your amnesia?”

“Ah...” His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know what caused that, to be honest with you.” He seemed to be racking his mind, but to no avail. “By the time those thugs finally gave up, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I remember trying to find my way home, but I suppose I just ended up getting myself even more lost from there.” It was no wonder. The street names in this town were of little help in navigation, and it wasn’t hard to understand why he might have been apprehensive to ask for directions in such a bustling and hostile environment, especially after what he’d just been subjected to. “So I fell asleep in the streets that night,” he concluded with a shivering exhale. “The next morning, I woke up without the slightest notion of who I was.”

My heart took a plunge at the thought of his young self curled up in some alleyway, like a baby bird who’d fallen from the nest. “It must have been some sort of mental defence mechanism,” I conjectured. “That’s the only explanation I can come up with.” He slowly nodded his agreement. “After that, then, I suppose the rest is history.”

“Indeed...”

The visitors’ room fell into a deep, reflective silence, one nothing like that which had had me gasping for air moments ago. I watched the weary feelings of dread swim in his once bright blue eyes, tearing him apart.

He’d spent five whole years in that cold, cramped ward without even a name by which to call himself. And now we were back where we’d started. He may have regained his memories in the end, but at what cost?

I no longer felt the need to hunt down those who had wronged me. Now, my only desire was to slip between the bars that stood between the two of us and whisk him away to a far off land, where no one would ever hurt us again. But I pushed the impossible daydream aside. Even if escape were an option, we’d only be running straight out into range of Yiga fire.

“After your trial tomorrow...well, at the very least, I’ll lose my badge,” I smiled waywardly. Then, letting it fade and rolling my shoulders back, “Until then, I swear, I’ll do everything within my power to prove your innocence. Then we can go out for ice cream together.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears when he looked up at me then. Now that I thought about it, this seemed like the first time I’d ever seen him come close to crying, even in the time before the incident. Of course, he’d seen me in tears countless times back then. I wondered if he remembered them.

“Zelda...?” My name had started to leave his lips with conviction, but weakened on its way out. “There’s...something else I should tell you.”

“Anything.”

Just then, I caught him straightening out the cuff of his black-barred sleeve, concealing the fair skin of his wrist, out of the corner of my eye. “Never mind.” He again cast his gaze downwards, muttering an inaudible, “It’s nothing,” under his breath.