#i needed to express myself but even this is partially masked. this is as close as i can get. it's an asymptote.

[unironicallycringe]

It's a tragedy and a joy to be many things at once. A joy to experience more of what humanity has to offer, but a tragedy in the sense that no one place feels like a concrete home. It always feels like you're lying when you try to solidify, because whatever state you become, it's never quite 100% you, is it? You are both the wavelength and the particle, so being defined as one denies the other its existence. At birth, you exchange a sense of belonging with a curse of fluidity.

I've always had trouble with my identity. Obviously. You've probably seen my writing. I've always been many things, which coalesces into feeling like I'm not much of anything. Sometimes I can forget about all that, and life is much easier. Other times I remember though, and it can be incredibly isolating. It then feeds into this fearful loop where I feel I must isolate myself further, before something scatters what little scraps I have. But then, how can anyone connect with a thing that is barely solid? How can I feel safe to connect? How can they? What if one of the things I am is something which is hated? How can I let myself be seen if being seen feels like it could be a death sentence?

I guess the vaguely correct answer to all of that is just "make art." That's always been my salve. Sometimes I forget how though, and I float for a very long time.

[blow-me-a-kis]

Piracy in ofmd is actually already a culture departed from cis het neurotypical society and Izzy is actually a representation of that. I think if ppl would stop treating Stede like he's injecting neurodiversity and queerness into piracy, and instead as the beneficiary of that society, they could see it, too.

I just feel like ppl who don't perceive Izzy as autistic don't really have close friendships with a lot of autistic or neurodiverse ppl IRL. That or they are still doing a lot of masking in relationships and expecting others to masks. But some of us can't.

Most ppl who interact with me IRL probably think I'm mean or rude or even stupid. I'm partially non verbal, I can't smile at strangers/on command, I can't laugh at jokes I don't find funny, I get snippy and irritable if I'm overstimulated. If you ask me how I'm doing, know that me asking you back is like pushing a boulder up a hill for me.

When I do speak it may come out slowly or come off as crytic/weird/inappropriate, and also I may say it too loud or too quiet or too late or with an inappropriate inflection or with a facial expression that doesn't match. My most embarrassing trait is that I get shouty when I'm having a meltdown and I cant help it.

On top of all that I'm Black, so ppl read me as aggressive/negative no matter how I present

I also have autistic and neurodiverse friends who are very similar to me. I have friends who are downright grating in personality, real Izzy's, who I take comfort in because I know its okay if they find me grating. They don't care if I take a long time to respond or don't respond at all when asked a question, they don't mind if I get snippy or they'll tell me directly if I hurt their feelings instead of holding it against me.

I am actually at a point in my life where I am reevaluating friendships where masking has been a requirement, where I feel the need to perform to be liked. I just want to be allowed to be boring or in a bad mood or tired or slow and inflexible, or a Bitch, because I am, and being Pleasant is just not accessible to me. I'll be 33 this year, and I'm exhausted of trying to be anything but myself.

Even the ways a lot of folks like Stede leave out his less palatable autistic traits. Like the fact that almost everyone who meets him in canon does not like him and he has to grow on most ppl. He's hard headed, annoying, presumptuous, obnoxious. This is apart of his autism as well, and why piracy suits him, FREES him.

Izzy is right at home as a pirate because of these very things also. He doesn't have to mask as a neurodiverse person or as a queer man.

I think it's safe to say a lot of ppl's classist views on piracy are reflected in their negative/unfair views of Izzy. The idea that pirates should be softer or nicer or more pleasant or even that a failure to take on these values is Toxic Masculinity (taking this phrase from fandom and putting it on a high shelf until you learn that upperclass white cis het neurotypical masculinity is not the norm and white women learn to question their motivation in normalizing the idea of systemic harm they can't participate in) neglects what Oluwande spoke about in episode one, that piracy is a culture built by people who did not have a choice to do anything but survive.

I hope in s2 we will see Stede get a taste of what that struggle is really like and abandon his classist, romantic notions of piracy.

[makuta-tobi]

not bad just putting my thoughts down about.......stuff

I saw a video a month or so ago about this one person's experience with gender, and they talked about a book they read that helped them with some stuff, I might look into it in the future but it related like gender with autism and if that's not me then it's not really something I want to connect with idk

anyways I've been thinking of the way they talked about it because they were saying that for them masculinity and just being a man was like a costume that they needed to put on when dealing with people because that's how people perceived them but when they were alone they just could just not wear it and I kinda feel the same about it

like idk being a man feels weird, like wearing a shirt that's a little too small and having the top button done up. I could wear it all day, but it makes me uncomfortable, like it fits, it just doesn't fit super well

on the flip side I don't really know what encapsulates all of femininity but I've grown up in this society that specifically tells me that as a man I shouldn't experience it and it's def a deep rooted thing now but any time I've tried to maybe express it a little bit it feels even worse, like eating something with a really bad texture. I can do something feminine but it's like I'm all clammy and nervous and shaky if I try it

when I don't think about it, it's a non-issue, gender doesn't exist. When I'm with my friends or whatever, gender isn't a topic, I don't feel perceived as a man, and that feels fine. It's when I need to be around other people that I'm not close to that I feel like I need to wear this uncomfortable thing around so I can present the way I'm supposed to

and all of this kind of sucks because I think that's partially what affects me so heavily when I see people posting and talking about their transition status, because I'm super happy for them that they get to live their lives, but I'm also very envious that they get to have the answers and be who they want, while I don't feel good whenever I need to present to people, and this goes more so for trans women because they started out like me and they got to be beautiful and have all these changes that I like to see but don't know if it's what I would want for myself, but I can kind of watch and feel like "god but can you imagine"

my relationship with my body has always been pretty shitty, I don't like the body that I have, I don't like the face I wear, and I don't like the way that it is covered in labels for other people. It's why I like wearing masks, it's why I like to cover up in layers, because I can bury enough of myself under something that I can at least think looks nice so people will see what I want to put on display instead of seeing me

idk how to put all of this into a series of words that makes sense but it's frustrating and alienating and hard to talk about with anyone because nothing seems to sit right in terms of labels, or words, or presentation. I just want to be myself without needing to be anything else, but I need to be something else so I put on this tight shirt with the top button done up so I can experience living, even though it's uncomfortable and it sucks and it makes my head spin and feel like I'm choking, it's what I got

[rawbins-undertale-blog]

hey there again!!!

might i slide in this fine ask box with another HC request?

if yes, then could you please write some HCs where uf and ht sanses and papyruses (seperate of course) s/o gets put in a hospital for a lil bit? you can decide what happened to s/o. maybe a bad heatstroke cuz its summer or something (totally not because its a bad heatwave where im living rn haha nope). idk, i just crave angst or hurt/comfort again from my fave skeletons.

if you're not up for this, its totally fine!!

thank you, have a chill day/night B)

- 🌌 anon whos sunburns arent stinging that much anymore B)

*Evil cackling* OH-HO-HO, yOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MONSTER YOU HAVE UNLEASHED…… I am an evil being who feeds off of angst and pain, and you’ve given me ample opportunity to make some of that sweet sweet angst >:-)))))))))

I tried to keep it ambiguous as to what you’re in for, mostly because I want you to be able to imagine heatstroke and me to be able to think “hahahah stab stab”! ^^

Also!!! The healthcare system in some other countries is fucking insane (like??? You guys have to pay to not die??????) so I’ll be going off of what I know about the healthcare system in Sweden where it’s free. (At least I’m 99% sure it’s free, except for like. Small things. For example, my antidepressants. I had to buy those myself when I was still on them.)

UF + HT BROS WHEN S/O IS IN THE HOSPITAL

Red (Underfell Sans):

He’s panicking so so bad, he’s terrified. What if you die?

Curses out anybody who tries to keep him from you, including the poor nurse who’s just doing their job

Actually he just. curses in general. He’s just spewing cuss words to seem angry instead of scared because That’s Definitely Better

Most likely out of all four to physically lash out at… well, anybody (except you obviously) lol

Red hates hospitals too, to make matters worse. He doesn’t know why, but they make him feel uncomfortable.

If somebody did this to you purposely and he’s not allowed by your side, he’s going out to find the person and kick their ass during that time lol

If nobody did this to you, he’s pacing and cursing and jfc Red, you do realise there are other people here right enjdjdjdjsjsk

This fucker tries to pull a “pfff nah i was never worried” but like. Red. Darling. Light of my life. Stars in my sky. Center of my universe. Bitch of my heart. Everyone can see right through your “anger” and literally your shaking voice is so not convincing. Get a better poker face and voice.

With some prodding, admits that finehewasscaredyou’ddieandhethoughthisheartstoppedforasecondwhichisweird’causehedoes’tevenhaveaheartanywaysthat’sovernowsowhocares

(He’s not great at expressing himself but it’s still progress)

WILL be staying right by you as you recover. You’ve no choice. (You do actually, he respects you and will back off if you tell him to)

Edge (Underfell Papyrus):

Oh no. Oh no.

Edge is trying his very best not to show any emotions but he’s not good at it because like. It doesn’t take a genius to see that him screeching angrily at people and demanding for the doctors to fix this is actually him poorly masking his fear. Edge doesn’t have the best poker face lol

He’s so pissed if he can’t stay right next to you the whole time. You’re his S/O!! What kind of bullshit is this?!

If you do need to be left alone with doctors and such things, Edge will do one or two things depending on why you're in the hospital, how bad what you’re in for is and for how long he can’t see you.

If you’re here for something like heatstroke - AKA something not brought on by somebody else - he’ll call friends and such while pacing and somewhat frantically share your current condition.

However, if anybody did this to you; and you’re in bad shape… Well, even fucking Satan will cower at the brutality of Edge’s revenge.

When he’s allowed to be, he’s by your side and - depending on why you’re in and for what - he might nag you for being careless, reassure you it wasn’t your fault, reassure you in general, and/or just stay silent.

It’s barely noticeable, but just noticeable enough, that you can tell that he’s shaking.

All it takes is a “are you okay?” For him to break and confess how scared he was.

For a moment he was back Underground and it was horrible and he felt so powerless and he hates that. He’s so, so happy you’re okay and he- he swears he’ll be with you on your way to recovery. Please just never get hurt again.

Dusk (Horrortale Sans):

If you thought Red and Edge were scared, just know it’s nothing compared to the absolute terror he feels.

Dusk knows how fragile the human body can  be. He’s seen horrific things happen to humans and monsters alike and he’s always hyper-aware of just how easy it’d be to kill and/or hurt you.

Logically, he knows you won’t die, he knows human anatomy well enough to know this is something you’ll bounce back from, but his instincts are going haywire and all he can think of are the mangled corpses back Underground. It doesn’t matter whether your condition has anything to do with broken limbs or not, because those pictures are what his mind is forcing onto him.

He refuses to leave your side. If he’s forced away from you by nurses/doctors/staff, he’ll protest but if he really can’t be by you for your safety, he’ll be anxiously hovering as close by as he possibly can. Whenever he’s allowed to touch you, he’s practically glued onto you.

If he’s sure it’s just the two of you, and you’re unconscious, he’ll probably cry.

He… He hates being reminded of your mortality. He hates the idea that any day could be your last. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you were gone.

(He’d dust, probably.)

If somebody else got your purposely hurt, he’s going to hunt them down after a while (after you’ve recovered enough for him to be comfortable leaving you alone for a bit). He’s not going to kill them, but he might rough them up a bit -- but most likely, he’ll just intimidate them and/or threaten them. (It’d be a different story if you were murdered.)

Whenever you’re conscious, he’ll do pretty much anything you say, so long as it won’t get you anymore hurt or risk stunting your recovery.

When you’re released from the hospital, he’ll be by your side nearly 24/7 because he hates the idea of you getting hurt again just because he wasn’t there to protect you.

Aster (Horrortale Papyrus):

Tries to look calm and composed, but he does about as poor of a job as his brother. He does better in that he doesn’t act out or get in the way of the nurses, but he’s also crying and shaking and sobbing and can’t stop.

You getting injured triggers him pretty badly. If you’re not bleeding, it’ll probably be “only” a bad anxiety attack, but if there’s any blood involved it’s escalating into a full-blown panic attack.

He’s a nurse himself, but I doubt he’d be allowed to work with the other nurses when it comes to you because of how unsteady he is. He’s not sure whether he’s thankful for it or not, because he doesn’t trust himself to do a good job but he also wants to be there for you. He trusts his colleagues, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Just like the others, he’s glued to your side when he’s allowed to be. Very metaphorically. He’s the best of them all at giving you space, partially because he’s just more respectful lol and partially because he’s a nurse so he knows not to smother you with physical affection until you’re in the clear.

If somebody caused you to go into this state, he will just like Dusk go and find them. He won’t do anything physical, but he does intimidate the person very effectively. He’s a terrifying giant and he knows how to use that to his advantage.

When you’re fine again, he’ll be acting anxious and protective for a while. He feels really guilty about it (because he should be comforting you - plus, he’s a nurse! He’s seen way worse things on his job) but you’ll have to give him comfort. This whole thing didn’t inspire much positive feelings in him and it stressed him out a lot, it may honestly take more of a toll on him than it does you.

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain, Blurb 3

Technically the third in a blurb-ish series (though this is kinda long for a blurb lol) but can technically be read as a stand alone, but i think the other parts make this seem more significant lol

A/n kinda angsty, not sure if i loveeee this but i haven’t posted a fic in such a long time bc of graduation chaos but now it’s summer and i’m working on a lot of requests/stories :))

Summary: jealousy is out of place when there’s no real warrant for it, and sometimes it’s okay to be content--to not need the rain to make you promises. 

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! reader

--

Tiredness dulls the part of me that craves the rambunctious, but I’m still positive. I smile when someone does something only the truly inebriated find comical. I laugh when something somewhat actually funny happens, and I let the world around me drink. Twenty minutes--in twenty minutes I will claim a headache and go upstairs. 

“You okay, y/n?” Jesper’s concern would border on genuinely considerate if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of slur in his words. Nights in which he consols himself after losing game after game are when he’s the friendliest. “You’re strangely quiet--you’re never quiet.” 

I press my lips together oddly, smiling in a way that finally reaches my eyes. Jesper’s nice in an oddly particular way when he’s tipsy. Overly observant and careful. “Just a little tired,” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the plush seat in Kaz’s office, “I wish Kaz would just get here and dismiss us so I can go to bed.” 

Jesper smiles, lifting his arm slightly and causing his glass to sway. Kaz is not going to take it well when he realizes that Jesper was extremely involved in the downstairs celebration. He turns ungracefully, moving to sit next to me with no warning. I half-heartedly glare as he takes up most of the small couch. 

“You’re grumpy when you’re tired,” Jesper hums, stretching his casually. 

I sigh once, but it lacks any bite. “I do not.” 

He smiles easily, tilting his head so far to the side that it falls against the back of the seat, “No...but I know the real reason you’re grumpy.” 

Rolling my eyes, I suppress my instinctual reaction. That would only expose his words as true. “I am not grumpy, there is no reason--” 

“You know he hated it.” 

I exhale, tired and slowly losing my fragine hold on fake tranquility. “Yeah.” That should make it  better. “I know.” It doesn’t--it doesn’t make anything better. 

So the contact we so desperately needed on our side took to flirting with Kaz. It was an uncomfortable situation because of its precariousness and I was worried because I know about his issues with touch. But it’s not like I care about the flirting part. No. It was unprofessional and so easily turned messy--that’s what my problem was.

Jesper sighs, stretching even more. I let him stretch his legs over me, too tired to push him off. I sigh, setting my chin on his bent knees. “What’s with the face, l/n?” 

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes having someone care about you is annoying. I take back all of my positive thoughts about him--Jesper Fahey is an annoying drunk. 

“There’s no face,” despite my words, I feel my expression sour even further. Jesper’s expression shifts from that of gentle worry to teasing pride. “And if there was one, it wouldn’t be because of Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper’s lips twitch upwards, something strange tainting his tipsy grin. “I never said a name.” 

“One more condescending comment, and I’m shoving you off this damn couch.” 

He laughs flatly, shifting closer and making himself more comfortable. Drunk and touchy--anyone else would have been slapped by now. “You’re nicer after some of this.” 

He holds his glass out towards me casually, amber liquid sloshing slightly. I blink at the liquid with slight disinterest. I’m not exactly in the drinking mood...but I’m not exactly in the mood for any of this. The sound of the door opening doesn’t phase me--it’s not Inej, because she never lets herself be heard. Kaz doesn’t say anything, taking one dull step and then another, footsteps leaching the room of any warmth. The coldness he exudes so easily as a mask is strong tonight, I haven’t even looked at him and I can feel it. 

Maybe I do need a drink. 

I take the glass from Jesper, taking a quick and shallow sip of the liquid. It’s offensive in smell, taste, and the way it spills down my throat. The taste is much more intense than expected, some of the liquid slips past the corner of my mouth. Somehow more bitter than this moment, the liquid leaves me ready to splutter like a child. I exhale, pushing through the burning. Jesper moves his hand forward absentmindedly, wiping a single drop of liquid from my chin carelessly. The gesture would be sweet if my throat burned less. 

“Jesper,” the warmth of the alcohol takes root in my chest, “That’s--” He laughs at my reaction, coaxing a smile from me. “Like literally the worst--why do you even have this?” If this is served in the Crow Club, I’ve never heard of it, this is the kind of under the counter alcohol that isn’t mass produced. 

He laughs a little more freely. “Won it off of someone passing through--I don’t always lose.” 

I wrinkle my nose, “An outlier shouldn’t be--” 

“Oh, shut up.” Jesper laughs again. 

“Both of you ‘shut up’,” Kaz sighs, stepping further into the room, “If you need to drink, at least wait until after my meeting.” I frown, ignoring Kaz’s lingering and sharp gaze, “You should all follow Inej’s example.” 

“We can’t even see Inej.” 

Kaz raises an eyebrow, but he regards me with nothing but voidness. He’s never exactly emotive, but normally in moments like this something I can never interpret touches his expression, coloring it human. “Exactly.” 

“You’re funnier than people give you credit for.” The comment isn’t exactly sarcastic, but it’s something lighter than I should be offering. It’s an attempt at peace, the slight stiffness between us is starting to bother me. Our usual dynamic isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s more than this. Kaz glares. “But not tonight.” 

His expression hardens. “Business is business. It’s not humor, it’s not whatever you try to make it.” Right. Just like it was business when that girl spent more time hitting on him than actually revealing real information. The thought leaves my expression tight as I swallow back my instinctual words. “It’s not whatever you’re currently doing.” 

It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s referring to the position Jesper and I are in. Can he relax? It’s not my fault Jesper is tipsy and touchy. 

“Kaz,” Inej’s voice is soft yet determined as she emerges from the shadows. It’s a miracle the way she’s nothing more than a shadow until she chooses not to be. “What’s our next job?” 

Prompting Kaz in order to prevent a fight--Inej, always the closest thing to a mom available. I give her a partial smile, glad that she’s wedging herself between us and the tension, preventing conflict I’m too tired to follow through on.

“A merchant’s house,” he begins slowly, “We’ll be searching a merchant’s house but I’m seeking evidence more than property.” Jesper swings his legs off the couch with no warning. My head falls. I glare at Jesper who offers me a slightly apologetic tsk before dropping his head on my shoulder. Kaz must note the exchange because something in his expression tightens. He’s extra irritable today. “I’ll disclose more tomorrow,” he sighs once, already turning away, “Most of you are beyond listening tonight anyways.” 

He’s at the door before I can tell him that I’m not drunk. The door opens and closes, but Kaz’s heaviness lingers like led. I frown, letting my head fall to the side, resting on Jesper’s.

“He’s weird today,” I mumble, unsure if I want a reply. 

“He’s always like that,” Jesper breathes, “You’re losing your novelty, y/n--he always learns to harden himself against anything bright.” 

The words leave me even more tired. “I don’t think I’m particularly bright.” 

“Kaz does,” Inej replies, “And it has nothing to do with ‘novelty’, Jesper’s just cynical when he drinks.” I don’t know if I believe her, but I like knowing that Inej thinks that. “And Kaz can’t harden himself against you, and he hates that.” 

I press my lips together, straightening my spine. “I’m not that great, and whatever Kaz does or doesn’t harden himself against doesn’t affect me at all.” My nails press into the plush seat. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this because whatever he does or doesn’t feel doesn’t matter to me.” I force myself up, doing all I can to seem perfectly calm. “All I care about is going to bed.”

Turning my head, I start to approach the door. Kaz has been strangely cold all night, and while I’m used to his moods, he hasn’t exactly directed them at me so fully since the day he caught me waiting for him to wake up after he almost died. If he wants to go back to how it used to be, then it can. Maybe I’ll care in the morning, when the growing weight of my eyelids is no longer a distraction.

“Sometimes the two of you confuse me,” Inej begins, “And sometimes I see you try to deal with emotion and I see the common ground.” 

The words leave me cold. I don’t think being compared to Kaz is an insult, not when there’s so much it could mean. He’s much more complex than he wants to be. There is goodness within him, gilding the parts of him that are more shards than anything else.  

I exhale, refusing to turn. Inej is too observant for her own good. “There is no emotion.” 

“I’m not going to waste my time arguing over that because I know it’s a waste of time.” She pauses and I consider turning around in hopes of reading something less honest from her expression. “I’m just telling you as a friend that one of you needs to be mature and talk to the other tonight before the tension gets worse and that it’s not going to be him.” 

She’s right. I exhale, “Do you think I should let him go?” Even just saying that leaves my heart aching. I know instantly that that’s not what I want, but it might be what he wants--it might be the best option. I might have the strength to let him go if I work at it. “I don’t--that’s not what I want and I’m not sure I could, but maybe that’s selfish of me.” 

“Y/n.” I turn slowly, but I purposefully avoid her gaze, keeping my head down. “I know that I’ve known Kaz longer than you, and I know that when he’s getting along with you he’s,” she trails off, uncertain, “More him, in a good way.” 

My heart swells, and with that comes feelings of panic. I never wanted to change him--to make him better or worse or anything; all I’ve ever wanted is to know him and to maybe help him with his burden. And to hear that maybe I’ve done that from someone so close to him--someone so observant and aware. That’s everything. And that terrifies me. Nothing good can last; nothing that seems to be all you could ever want actually is. I know that from life before the Crows, before I ran away from the castle I called home.

“I think he does the same for you.” I’ve never really thought about Kaz’s effect on me outside of the fact that he makes me feel warm in small moments and painfully seen in large ones. 

I smile because she’s trying and she’s given me something. “I’d say I’d tell you when I make my decision, but something tells me you’ll know.” 

She nods, expression shifting to something kind. “Goodnight, y/n.” 

Jesper stretches out on the couch, settling himself comfortably, “Night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, guys.” I disappear past the door easily, heading towards my room.

I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to look for Kaz tonight. How much damage could be done in one night? Maybe he needs space. Maybe seeking him out now will make things worse. I exhale, opening the door to my room easily. I’ll decide before going to sleep.

When I step into the room, everything is in place. Everything is fine--but something about it feels off. The light is on. I didn’t leave the light on. Nothing else raises any red flags, so I continue into the room calmly, examining everything carefully. Nothing feels out of place as I further enter the room. I take in my bed, my dresser, and lastly my nightstand. 

My heart swells all over again, but this time it feels even heavier than before. On the center of my nightstand, in perfect condition, is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The same book I told Kaz about, the one thing besides clothing I took from the palace. I told him it was my mother’s favorite and then he asked me to read it to him. 

I can’t picture him seeing this and thinking of me. I can’t picture him thinking of me--but no one else knew about my attachment to the book. I need to find him. I need to--to see him, to speak to him. To look him in the eye and see something I only ever see when we’re alone. Maybe he won’t have that look this time, but that’s okay. 

I can’t expect to always understand him, but that does not mean I don’t know him. 

The thought leaves me feeling a little more settled within the boundaries of my skin, but I don’t ease entirely. The good is more frightening than the bad. My fear of happiness is a benign secret I haven’t had to worry about in years. I don’t know enough about it to know how to deal with it let alone mention it to Kaz. Not that it’s his problem. 

I squeeze the book to my stomach. Swallowing pride is a difficult thing, but I’m used to it with him. It’s usually worth it with Kaz because sometimes when I try he tries in his own way. I should find him. He’s not awfully creative about where he goes when he wants to be alone because people know better than to bother him. Kaz is probably in his attic or getting air outside or…

The lights were on when I came in. I’m an idiot. I didn’t feel weird when I walked into the room because of the book. Someone’s in here. He’s in here. 

Setting the book down like I should have never touched it, I let out a sigh. “Lurking is unbecoming.” 

“It’s also unbecoming to work for me and be so easily distracted by a book.” His voice reveals nothing as he emerges from the shadows. “I could have killed you with how long it took for you to notice my presence.” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “The light was on.” 

Normally I’d have some kind of comment, some kind of joke that offers a more peaceful situation. “I know.” It’s a flat response. “I think on some subconscious level I knew,” I drop my gaze away from him, “I knew I was okay.” That sounds dumb. “I mean...I think I knew it was you so I knew I was okay.” Yeah, that wasn’t anymore eloquent. “That doesn’t make sense, but if you get to be confusing, I do too.”

“Confusing? There’s nothing to understand.” Curt. Simple. Dismissive. 

I frown. ‘Nothing to understand’. Right, because there’s nothing confusing about how quickly he decided to dismiss me just to bring me some obscenely sentimental gift. “If you’re mad at me, you should at least tell me why.” I press my lips together. “At least that way I’ll know if I need to apologize or kick your ass.” 

At that, he presses his lips together, corner of his mouth threatening to tilt upwards. “You would kick my ass?”

Great, even when he’s easing he has to be annoying. “I could.” There is no universe in which I could take him in a physical fight. “On a good day.” I let out a breath, doing all I can to not focus on his expression. Awkwardness settles in my chest as my eyes land on my bed. I sit down, trying not to let my shoulders slump tiredly as I stretch my legs across my bed. “You’re not having a good day.” 

“My day is fine, I’m just not naively cheerful like you,” his words turn sharp, “Or Jesper.” 

Weird addition. “Jesper’s not cheerful, he’s just drunk.” I let go of the ‘naive’ part, deciding to focus on the bigger picture. “And I’m not as naive or joyful as you think I am.” I’m not sure if I mean that as a rebuttal or just a fact. “I have bad days too.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I should have while this tired. “I could be less cheerful if you’d like.” 

He’s so silent I momentarily wonder if he’s left. “No.” It’s not much, but I take it. Straightening my back, I pull my legs beneath me, intentionally creating space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Ah, blatant rejection. It would sting if I was less in the right. “Maybe you’ll be less weird then.” 

“I am not being weird.” At least I’m getting some kind of reaction from him. “You’re the one who--” 

“Who what?” Finally--progress. 

Kaz sighs, turning slightly. “You’re the one who decided to ignore me after we met with the contact.” I part my lips, ready to retort, but no words come. He did pick up on my slight annoyance, and he reciprocated it in a much larger way. 

He can never know that this all came from some ridiculous, territorial--partial jealousy. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” partial lie, “I’m just kind of in a weird place today, I’m tired.” 

“Not too tired for Jesper, it seems.” 

What? Is that what this is about? “What? All I did was sit there--he’s a touchy drunk and I just happened to be next to him.” 

“You laugh with him,” he says this blankly, “You can touch him.” 

The edge of unsafe territory cuts into me at an odd angle. Is this about him? Is he really tormenting himself over something so asinine to me when it comes to him? I’d rather have him than all the physical touch in the world. The book on the nightstand feels closer to me, growing by the prospect of its significance alone. That gesture, that’s more intimate than anything Jesper and I did downstairs. 

“So?” I straighten my back slightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

He presses his lips together. “That’s the problem--anyone can manage meaningless contact…” The silence is louder than the words that came before it. Oh. I guess I’m not the only one who gets just a little jealous in an unwarranted way. “What if you were hurt? What if you were hurt and we were alone and you needed someone to help you and I couldn’t?” He lets out a sigh, a sound too tired for me to associate with him. “You say you don’t care now, but you’ll grow tired of it--the only life I can offer.” 

Inej’s words about the similarities between Kaz and I echo in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t like when things are going well because I don’t know how to be truly content, fully happy.” Saying this twists my stomach. “I don’t know how to trust good things, so whenever there are good things I think about all the ways I could ruin something and then I do.” I take a breath. “I’m not saying that things are particularly good for you or that you’re happy, but I am saying that maybe you shouldn’t think three steps ahead when there’s nothing to think ahead about.” I regard his expression carefully, but nothing has changed. “I told you the only thing I want is to know you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “I am not rain--I can’t promise you anything.” 

I scratch my knee, dropping my gaze. “For once I don’t want rain.” 

Kaz sighs. “Get some sleep.” Something about the way he’s speaking is authoritative but it lacks any weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

I frown freely, “Kaz--” 

“You look tired,” he mumbles, “You need rest.” He’s using this as an excuse to escape his feelings, but he’s already given me more than I expected. Greed ruins things, but then again, so does selflessness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“For the job?”

Something strange crosses his features as his expression teeters on shifting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeats, a little more certain.

The response doesn’t satiate me. “Kaz--” 

“I may not be the rain, but I’m capable of making promises as well.” There’s something final about the way he says this, but it doesn’t feel cruel. 

Maybe I’d protest if my eyelids were less weighted. “Goodnight, Kaz.” 

My head falls against the pillow. I’m not sure if he replies, too lost in the drawl of sleep before he can even close the door. 

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[lizzylucky]

WHY CAN'T I SAY NO

WHY CAN'T I COMMUNICATE

WHY CAN'T I EXPRESS MYSELF OR MY FRUSTRATIONS OR MY NEEDS TO REAL PEOPLE

I'm so tired, how come I can't express to people just how tired I am so they STOP giving me things to do 😭

It's been so many things this week and last week and the week before and in spite of the many "breaks" I've gotten it's all been too much. What happened that over the last half year I've become completely dysfunctional? Why can't I work even a part time job? Why can't I take care of myself? Why does none of my experience have permanence enough for me to share it with my therapist? Why do I feel like a literal child so much of the time?

I'm so overloaded today especially that I went partially non-verbal, and I don't even know if that's real enough a thing for it to be an excuse. I still talk! I DON'T WANT TO TALK! I DON'T WANT TO! WHY DO I? WHY IS MY DYSFUNCTION ITSELF DYSFUNCTIONAL?

I am not an angry person, typically. But I'm so close to lashing out. My adoptive sister, whom I love but whom I also probably have PTSD from, asked to borrow my black boots for a Halloween party my family is going to tomorrow. I wanted to wear those boots. They're my boots. She has black shoes, as she said she needed, I'm sure, somewhere.

WHY DID I SAY YES? WHY DID I SAY OKAY? Everytime she comes over to me to talk, to comment on it, to ask for the umpteenth time if it's okay, I say "yes", all monotone and unbothered. WHY?

WHY CAN'T I SAY NO?

I want to scream. I want to yell. No, some little internal monster wants to, because I don't scream and yell.

That same little monster wants to yell at my mom to stop treating me like an adult because I don't feel like one anymore, even though she has been nothing but kind and understanding. Another Something inside me wants to cry and hold onto her and ask for a day just she and I because people are too much. And I can do NEITHER because I can't communicate anything.

I have been so emotionally guarded, so professionally masked, for SO LONG, that I've locked those traits into place and I can't get rid of them! Even when I've broken something to the point that I am a different person now than I was months ago, even when I cannot function, even when I cannot recognize myself and no longer feel like a real person, those stupid mechanisms are rigid and stubborn to stay where they are.

Now I'm unable to function AND unable to get help. I don't want to blow up at anyone. I "can't" cry in front of people or show vulnerability, and I seem never to have developed the ability to communicate when something is wrong to real people. So. Here I am. Venting on Tumblr because the guilt of going to anyone specific irl would push me overboard.

My best hope right now is that I remember this post next time I go to therapy, and maybe I can have my therapist read it. Because I'm so tired of not really being okay. And So tired of not being able to ask for help or say that I'm not okay. I'm building a new kind of mask in place of the last one I broke, and this time it's shoving me into a world of dissociation beyond any level I've experienced in past years.

I swear if I were a child I'd have more than one person developing and living in my head, because the stress and loneliness and disconnection I feel all the time are tearing me apart in ways I can't truly explain.

Too many times now I've seen a stranger in the mirror, thought "I miss her" when coming upon old photos of myself, and felt something unrecognized yet undeniable that I've only ever associated with being a very small child.

Something is. So wrong. I've never been gripped so tightly by anhedonia in my life. I can't imagine any form of success or happiness in the future, no hope whatsoever. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either, because I'm not living, and nothing at all feels like living anymore.

I miss talking to people. I miss involving myself in fandoms. I used to read, write, draw, hike, sing, play piano, drive, work, care about things, take care of myself and my health. I feel nothing about any of those things except loss in a way that can't be fixed by readministering myself to them.

Loss and guilt and anxiety and hopelessness. I don't know if I believe it possible to just. Be happy. For no reason, all the time, without effort. It sounds like a myth at this point.

No one has to read this or care about it. I know I'm not the only person in the world who's felt this way; there are too many people on this planet for that to even be somewhat likely. You don't have to worry about me saying Last Goodbyes because I'm not going that route, ever. But man I don't know if there's any other way right now that I would ever be able to make myself say these things outside of my own head. I'm so lost. I'm so broken. I cannot even imagine the life I had only months ago. I don't know who I am anymore.

I'm trying.

[reidscookies]

All The Things I Could Not Say

More writing is done, because I procrastinate best when doing things that have no deadline. Read it on AO3, or under the cut! Angst with a happy ending!

Summary: When Spencer heard a knock at the door, he thought Derek might have forgotten his keys again.

"Dad? What are you doing here?"

-

Or, William Reid hears about Spencer's engagement, and wants to know where his invitation is.

TW: Implied Domestic Violence, Implied Child Neglect.

Read it on AO3

When Spencer heard a knock at the door, he thought Derek might have forgotten his keys again. It had been known to happen, and Spencer was already forming some sort of way to tease his fiancé. Opening the door, he started with a small chuckle. “You’re no better than Emily-“

On the doorstep was not his fiancé, but William Reid. His hair was thinner, and he looked tired. His long trench coat practically consumed him, his chest puffed trying to seem bigger than he really was. “Spencer.”

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Spencer asked, mouth going dry.

William motioned his arm towards the foyer. “May I come in?”

Too shocked to say anything else, Spencer stepped aside. “I… Sure, I guess…”

They sat in the living room, Spencer taking his reading chair and curling into it for comfort. His father sat on the sofa, hands nervously wringing. “So, I read the news that you go engaged. It was in the alumni section for your school's old newspaper.”

Spencer groaned internally, recalling Penelope’s efforts to share the news with the entire world. “Yeah, I am. We’re getting married in October.”

William nodded, slightly awkward. “That’s nice, very nice. Um, where, though? And when?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that concerns you, seeing as you haven’t been invited. And I don’t plan for you to be.”

William narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be nasty, Spencer.”

“Screw you, William! Screw you!”

“Don’t be nasty, Diana.”

“Don’t talk to me like a child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

A crash came from the kitchen. A slap followed directly after. In the morning, Spencer would find his father’s favorite mug shattered on the counter, and the shape of his father’s hand marked red across his mother’s cheek.

Spencer’s expression became hard and cold. “Never say that to me again. Don’t ever speak to me like that. Being honest is not being nasty. While you were busy running away from us, I was a child learning to survive with no father, a mother who grew to need more assistance than her ten-year-old son could provide.”

William crossed his arms. “You know why I left! I’ve explained this to you before.”

“Yes, because you couldn’t bear the idea of Mom getting in trouble about Gary Michaels. See, I’ve thought about this, and I think there’s more to it than that. If you’d been discovered, Lou Jenkins would have gone to jail. Mom would likely have been institutionalized. Both of these have happened anyway, only it’s been 20 years. The only difference now is that Mom has not been charged as an accessory to murder.”

“Spencer, where are you going with this?” William asked, voice shaking slightly.

Spencer paced with ease around the room. “You didn’t really care what would happen to her if she had been discovered back then. Hell, you weren’t even concerned as to how Mom being institutionalized could affect me as a child. No, you only cared about your reputation.” He looked back at his father. “Congratulations, your good name remains intact, not to mention a now relatively successful son who you brag about to your coworkers but never seem to have had the time to return calls to when he was living at home.”

William was red in the face at this point. “You don’t understand. Spencer, I couldn’t stay, I had to get out of there. I kept tabs on you to make sure you were safe, don’t you realize I care about you?”

A cold, barking laugh tore itself from Spencer’s throat. “Care? When have you ever shown me that you cared, genuinely? Was it when you’d tell me to shut up when I was trying to share something I learned about things you liked? Was it when you forced me into little league even though I told you the helmet made my ears hurt? Was it when you sent Mom by herself to pick me up from first grade when you knew that type of social scenario would be too difficult for her? Was it when you left the invitation to my Doctoral Thesis presentation in the mailbox long enough for it to come back to me with “Return to Sender” stamped all over it?” He felt his eyes burn slightly. “Was it when you weren’t there when I had Mom taken to Bennington? God, Dad, I was eighteen! Don’t you understand how scared I was?! How scared I had been for eight years trying to keep both myself and Mom above water?!”

“God, you sound just like your mother, poison tongue and all!” William shouted before thinking. “Spencer-“

Spencer interrupted him. “The thing is, I used to want you to care. I used to hope and dream that you’d come home and help me. But I grew up, despite the bullying and the bills and Mom’s decline, I pulled both of us out to safety. And I have a family now! I have a wonderful family of friends who care, who put up with me despite my facts and lectures, who truly care about what I have to say. I’m engaged, I have a wonderful fiancé who doesn’t ask me to change anything about who I am or how I am. He brings out the best in me when I’m at my worst, he stays despite my “poison tongue” and when I get overly invested in my work. When I write to Mom, he signs the letters too, and a lot of times he’ll even add a few pages of his own. He knows every part of me, he is the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. So no, Dad, I didn’t send you an invitation. Partially because I honestly didn’t think you’d come, but mostly because I don’t need you there. I have who I need, and it’s not you.”

William was stunned into silence. Clearing his throat, he straightened his coat. “Well, then. If that’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is.” Spencer nodded. He looked towards the door where Derek stood quietly with the grocery bags.

Derek had a look of concern on his face, but he kept it relatively masked in front of William. “Everything okay?”

Spencer nodded. “He was just leaving.” He lead William to the door, thinking to himself that his father wasn’t unlike a dog with its tail between its legs. When the front door closed, it was like a note of finality. Something was done, and honestly, it felt good.

Spencer grabbed one of the grocery bags and headed for the kitchen, starting to put items away. “How much did you hear, Derek?”

Derek joined him, putting the milk and juice in the refrigerator. “I only got back a few minutes ago, but probably about the part when you were talking about who your family is now.”

Spencer hummed, folding the reusable bags and placing them in the corner. “He heard about the wedding from the local newspaper announcement Garcia insisted on. He wanted to know why he hadn’t received his invitation.”

“Well, you made it abundantly clear that he isn’t going to be getting one.” Derek said, moving closer. “Need a hug?”

Spencer smiled and let Derek hold him close. “Honestly, love, I really am okay. I was able to say a lot of things I never thought I’d get a chance to. Him leaving is always going to hurt in a lot of ways, but he’s made his choice. I think it’s okay that I get to make mine, too, and that includes who I have in my family.”

Derek gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. “I absolutely think it’s okay for you to make those choices. You’ve got us, baby, no matter what.” He looked at his watch. “You still up for meeting everyone for dinner? Or do you need it to be just us tonight?”

Spencer thought for a moment. “Would you mind if we invited everyone here for pizza instead? I don’t want to go out, but I want my family with me.”

“You’ve got it, pretty boy. I’ll let them know.” Derek gently pulled away and grabbed his phone to reach out to the team. Spencer smiled to himself, letting all traces of his father’s unwelcome visit start to ease off his mind. He had what he needed, and there was no way he would ever change it for anything.

[passable-talent]

Is this even necessary? Yes please part 6!!!

and so we return, one whole month later

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 |

After Azula’s attack, and the forced flee from the Western Air Temple, you spent a few days being pissed at Zuko. Like, really pissed. You didn’t speak to him at all. This was something that concerned and confused the prince, because it had seemed like the two of you were making real progress only a few nights before.

What had happened?

He didn’t try to fix it before he left with Katara. Partially, he thought, to give you space, and because he assumed that your issue would be easier to fix than Katara’s. So for a day or so you simmered, just like you had back at the Western Air Temple, rage as always masking your hurt.

When he returned, and things with Katara settled down, he found you perched among the jagged stones that lined the pathway up to his family’s old vacation home. You were still hidden here, but felt even excluded from the team, which let you think, and sulk.

“Y/N,” he said, announcing his presence as he climbed up the rock. You had your back to him, and your shoulders tensed up. You didn’t face him.

“What do you want,” you asked, giving him a shoulder so cold he’d lose his firebending.

“I want to know why you’re angry with me,” he said, and you looked up at the sky, frustrated, as though he should clearly know without you needing to tell him.

“That so?” You spat, and as you weren’t wearing shoes, you sensed as he walked closer to you, arms at his sides. It seemed he was attempting to be non-threatening.

“Yes. I realized I’ve done a lot of explaining, and not much listening. Whatever is keeping you so angry at me, I’ll listen.” You fixed your gaze to the stone in front of you, glaring, before you shut your eyes tightly. Your fists tightened up, and you brought your arms to your chest, and it was like your body was contracting to prepare for an explosion.

It was.

“You want to know why I’m angry with you?” You shouted, turning around while throwing your hands down to your sides, “it’s because you’re so stupid!” Your gaze avoided his, but not purposefully, instead because your anger manifested in rapid movements while you spoke. “You get ambushed by your psychopathic sister, who has been known to manipulate you, and you- you go after her anyway?” You held up your hand, four fingers shown to him, just in case he’d forgotten how to count.

“She had four airships. And you had nothing. No backup. You didn’t let Aang or I follow you, and you charge off into battle.” You leaned forward, a snarl on your lips.

“I watched you fall. I thought you died!” With the final exclamation of your anger, you stepped forward and shoved him backwards, but with a twist of your planted front foot you moved out of the way some of the jagged rocks he might’ve stumbled or fallen onto. Anger finally released, your expression turned to one of pain, of fear, of sadness.

“You told me you’d make it up to me. You can’t do that if you’re dead.” You turned to the side, now avoiding his gaze as he collected himself from the ground, and felt tears begin to fall.

“For so long I mourned Lee, right? Thought that the guy I loved was gone, because who you are isn’t who he was. And I finally figure out that that’s not true, that you are almost as good as I thought you were, and then I think you’ve died...” you trailed off, wiping the wetness of your face with a roll of your shoulder.

“I’ve already mourned Lee, I cant mourn Zuko, too, okay? I don’t want you to die, especially not by something stupid, like charging into a battle you couldn’t win.” You turned your eyes back to him, and found him staring at you, an expression you’d never quite seen on his face. It wasn’t a clear expression that you could pin, other than that he looked so... young. Surprised, almost.

“What?” You asked, voice still a bit jumpy from being choked up.

“You said you loved me.” It took a mental backtrack through your words to realize that you had, indeed.

“Zuko...” you breathed, and you turned toward the horizon, where the sun had long ago dunked into the ocean but still it reddened the sky. You brought your hands to the other’s bicep, as though it could help you protect your heart, and you forced some of your own hesitation away as you breathed out.

“Zuko, I loved you,” you admitted, finally, and that rush of it almost made tears re-emerge. “I did. You were sweet and funny and we got on so well.” You heard him step toward you, and you looked away from where he was near to being. “But the reality I thought I was living in... the floor fell out from under me. The Dai Li were secretive, and they weren’t what I thought they were. Iroh wasn’t just a kind old man, but was a fire nation general. The new leader of the Dai Li wasn’t a brilliant young soldier, but was a fire nation princess. A manipulative and snakish warrior who wanted to topple the earth kingdom. There was a war going on I’d never even heard of!” After the volume of your statement drained away, you hung your head, closing your eyes before your gaze could find the ground.

“And I wouldn’t have minded finding out you were the prince of the fire nation. Some part of me says I should’ve figured it out myself. What hurt me was that... you had so much more anger than I thought you did. Sure, you could be moody, but when we found you in those catacombs, the way you looked at Aang...” You let out a breath, and opened your eyes to look out over the ocean.

“I didn’t know you could be so... malicious. It was something I’d never seen from you before.” You turned your gaze to him, and let your mind wander to the moment when you stood between him and Katara, when Aang was dying. You remembered that predatory look in his eye.

“Did you even see me, that day? Or could you only think about getting to Aang?”

He didn’t answer, and you spared him from needing to. You didn’t think you wanted to know his answer.

“I think that I’ve blamed you for everything that went wrong that day. Aang’s death, your betrayal, the Dai Li’s betrayal. And I guess that isn’t fair. But I can’t seem to let it go.” You felt tears well up again, and Zuko slowly slipped his hand into yours.

“I want to forgive you,” you said, squeezing your palm around his fingers, “I want to let go of all this anger, and grief, a-and confusion, but I look at you and I... I see this boy who made the wrong choice. And that’s so frustrating, because you’ve made the right choice, again and again, you’ve defended us and helped us and fought alongside us. It’s not fair of me to focus on your mistakes when you’ve been making up for them.” You took a deep breath, and with its shaky exhale, let go of some of the sadness still clawing at you.

“I just want to let it go, so I can love you again.” There was an instant’s pause, when the prince took in your words, an instant’s pause in which the waves crashed on the shoreline and a bird cawed overhead. An instant’s pause, and then Zuko tugged you by the hand into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You hugged him back, tightly, almost squishing his torso into yours while a final few trembling breaths fought their way out of your lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he said to your shoulder, and you could hear emotion in his voice. “You deserve so much better than me. I’m so sorry. I- Y/N, I loved you then, too. If it weren’t for you, I might not have had the courage to leave the fire nation. You helped me change, and you didn’t even know it. Please, please don’t be mad at yourself.”

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered, when a few moments had gone by.

“Me too,” he said back, laying his face down and into the crook of your neck.

You could’ve stood there and hugged him forever. You could’ve stayed in his arms, where you knew it was safe to be conflicted. He understood, and didn’t ask you to change, or make a decision. Maybe Zuko was better than Lee after all- he was flawed, but he chose to overcome those flaws and be a better person in spite of them.

It made him stronger. And, you thought, it would make you stronger.

Your heart had been broken. You’d been lied to, and cast aside. But you found it in yourself to forgive him, and to be honest with him, and to keep him close to you.

“Zuko?”

“Hmm?” You pulled from his chest, your eyes dry of their tears but heart still raw and open. You were ready to forgive him, and to move forward.

But there was one more thing.

“I need you to tell me what happened to Iroh.”

request for pt 7

edit: pt 7 requested!!

edit: | part 7 | part 8 |

-🦌 Roe

tag list- @furblrwurblr @eridanuswave @bernadineisreborn @angxlicwanda @lmaoashley-blog @celamoon @mywigglybaby @silentwhispofhope @the-girl-in-the-box @mavix @eury-dice3 @ninipoo1 @bigbuckyenergy @lucensei @srgania @uncovered-mad-man @11mb0 @pillowjj @ilovespideyyy @heavensgaymenace @thearachna-kid @llama2264 @anime-simp @akariblue @lostgirlheart @kacchasu @jainaixo @ctrl-alt-jeon @tadpoledancer @i-bitch-you-bitch @wetleafwrites @vintageroses1014516 @kittyddandnyla @smol-vy @lana-isabelle @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 27

First

Previous

Next

~~~

She bit down on the inside of her cheek as she stared at the blank message box.

“You know, most of the time people don’t apologize over text,” said Jason.

“I know that!” She muttered irritably. She turned off her phone and left it to rest on her stomach. “But what do I say?”

“Probably something like ‘Can we talk?’“ He offered.

“That kinda thing usually causes anxiety.”

He grinned. “Maybe in relationships.”

“And maybe in friendships,” Marinette countered.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re stalling.”

“Shut up!” She sighed and closed her eyes.

Could she just go over to see Chloe an apologize? Would she still be upset with her? And, if she didn’t want to talk, what would Marinette do? If she did want to talk, what would she do? Should she make it up to her? How? Chloe could have pretty much anything she wanted, what could a random girl do for her?

She felt Jason pull her into his side and managed a grin.

“How obvious is it that I’m freaking out?”

“Just a bit,” he teased.

She laughed quietly and picked up her phone again, staring at the message box for a bit before beginning to type.

Definitelyforgottosleep: hey do you wanna do something tomorrow

While Chloe had read the message almost instantly, there was no response for a good minute.

Queenbee: Sure where

Ah. She hadn’t genuinely thought she’d get this far. She closed her eyes. What did Chloe like? Shopping? She seemed the type who’d like shopping. But did she?

Definitelyforgottosleep: shopping

Queenbee: Sounds good

She breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes. Then, she glanced at Jason.

Definitelyforgottosleep: can i bring someone

Queenbee: Sure I don’t care

She opened her mouth --.

“Nope. Not going.”

She groaned. “Why not?”

“Because I think this is something you should do yourself,” he said simply.

Marinette closed her eyes for a minute. “Where’s Dick? I could probably guilt him into coming.”

Jason must have agreed, because he sent her a glare. “I’m not taking you back to his room.”

“I’ll find him myself if I have to.”

He scoffed. “You’d get lost so quick.”

She batted her eyelashes. “That’s why I wanted you to take me. You wouldn’t let your little sister get lost, would you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, so now you pull the ‘little sister’ card?”

She only gave him a cheeky grin in return.

~

And, so, the next day she and Dick found themselves waiting outside the mall. She smiled at all the Halloween decorations, reaching out to poke a giant inflatable ghost.

“Do you not have Halloween in France?”

“No, we do, it’s just not as big a deal.” She grinned. “Do you guys really have Halloween in Gotham? You’d think that you’d avoid letting more people run around in masks.”

He gave a small shrug. “Halloween is Halloween, it’d probably happen even if someone tried to ban it. The bats just end up working a lot harder that night.”

She nodded her understanding. Her eyes slipped past him to where she spotted Chloe approaching, who looked about as anxious as she felt.

“Heeeeey,” she said awkwardly.

She glanced at back at Dick and swore in French when she realized he had retreated back a few steps. She shot him a glare as he made a small motion with his hands as if to say ‘go on and say it’.

Marinette took a deep breath and turned back to the girl.

“I’m sorry about treating you so horribly recently. You’ve been extremely nice to me and I’ve only been rude in return.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m not a great person, I have my issues. I’m trying to work through them. It’s not fair of me to take that out on you.”

“That’s why you invited me out?”

She seemed... disappointed.

Marinette hesitated. “Partially. I really did want to apologize, but I realized I kinda judged you without really knowing anything about you.”

“I wasn’t a great person to you, either, Marinette.”

“Maybe, but I shouldn’t have kept being rude to you once I realized you’d changed.”

“When did you...?”

A blush flooded her skin. “I... noticed back when you ‘found out’ about me. The old Chloe would have used it for blackmail or something but you didn’t. But I wasn’t ready to change.”

Chloe frowned. “And are you ready now?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I hope so. I’m trying.”

The girl considered this for a bit, her head tipped to the side with an odd expression on her face. After a while she seemed to come to a decision.

“Hi! I’m Chloe Bourgeois. It’s nice to meet you!”

Marinette blinked and glanced behind her, but there wasn’t anyone there. She looked back at Chloe and stared at her outstretched hand. She was talking to her. It was an offer, she realized. A chance at a new start.

She took her hand.

“It’s... it’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Marinette.”

With the agreement obviously made, Dick walked back over.

Marinette stepped back so they could shake hands. “Alright. Chloe, this is Dick and --.”

"Isn’t that a little bit rude?” Said Chloe, her eyes wide.

“Nope, that’s my name,” said Dick.

“I am... so sorry.”

Marinette snickered. “His name is actually Richard. Apparently they shorten that to Dick here.”

Chloe looked incredulous. “Why?”

Dick shrugged, then glanced Chloe up and down with a slight frown forming on his face. “I know you.”

“You do?”

He nodded slightly and scratched the back of his head. “Definitely... so where...?”

Marinette paled a little bit. With all her anxiety about making sure this went well, she’d forgotten that Dick had done research on Ladybug to try and figure out her identity. There was a high likelihood that he knew that Chloe was Queen Bee, and knowing her would be pretty damning.

“Don’t all rich people kind of know each other?” She said, her face stretching into a tense grin.

Dick gave a small nod. “I guess...” He said, though he didn’t really look like he believed it.

She grabbed both of them by their sleeves. “C’moooon. It’s cold out, we can at least do this inside.”

Shopping with rich people was... weird. You have to be careful what you say. She would say a dress in the window was 'kinda cute’ and they would have their credit cards out in seconds.

One time, when Chloe had seen a store with a lot of outfits in a style she liked, Marinette had been forced to physically drag her away from the counter before she attempted to buy the entire store (not from buying all the outfits in the store, but the store itself). Dick had been no help, just calmly watching on and occasionally throwing in a ‘well, the outfits are cute’ whenever Chloe seemed to be calming down.

Of course, then they had to physically drag Marinette out of the fabric store.

“No working,” insisted Chloe.

She huffed. “But I only have, like, three months left! That’s not nearly enough time!”

“Mom said that four months is perfectly enough time for two outfits.”

Marinette rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “And it is, but, uh... I may be doing six.”

Chloe stared at her in horror. Fair enough.

Then, Dick laughed. “No wonder you and Tim get along so well.”

All she could do was smile sheepishly. This smile quickly morphed into terror as Chloe took out of her phone.

“I’m calling my mom. We’re cancelling yours.”

Marinette gasped. “No! You can’t.”

“It’s for your own good, Marinette,” she said, pulling her phone out.

She glanced at Dick for help, but all he did was shrug as if to say ‘she’s got a point’.

“Traitor,” she hissed, before making a mad grab for the phone, only to have it held out of reach. She tugged on Chloe’s arm, throwing her whole weight into it, but there was nothing she could do without compromising her identity in front of Dick.

Huh. So this is what it feels like to be on the other side. Man. This sucks.

After a few seconds of thought, though, she let go. “You can’t keep me from making the outfits. Not really. I’m still going to do them even if you cancel.”

Chloe’s finger hovered over the send button.

“And, when you see the designs, you’ll want to wear them more than whatever you can scrounge up from someone you find within three months. So I’ll make them.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She smiled innocently. “Oh? Try me.”

The two stared each other down, searching for a hint of a bluff, daring them to call it.

Chloe put her phone away with a glare.

Dick grinned. “Definitely see why you and Tim get along so well.”

~

At Chloe’s request, they walked into a costume store.

Marinette grinned at the new Ladybug outfits, trying to suppress a squeal. Chloe found where she was looking and laughed quietly.

“What?” Asked Dick, following her gaze and narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Crap. She needed an excuse.

“I’m a little bit of a fan,” she ‘admitted’ with a sheepish grin.

Chloe tipped her head to the side as she took in the lie, then smiled and ruffled her hair. “Of course she’d be, her ex-bestfriend was obsessed with Ladybug. She had a lot of good stuff on her blog before... Lila.”

They both shuddered. At least they had a little bit of common ground.

“Why don’t you dress up as her for Halloween?” Asked Dick in a tone that was far too innocent. “You look a bit alike, I think it’d be cool.”

Marinette laughed and shook her head. “No, no. It’s like I said, the French don’t really celebrate Halloween, and I’m not that interested in starting in Gotham of all places.”

He gave a quiet huff of annoyance and they continued walking through. Chloe picked up a Heather McNamara outfit and grinned. “Well, Mlle. Designer, what do you think?”

She tipped her head to the side as she thought, then nodded. “That’d be cute. It matches your usual colors, too. I don’t think I can imagine you in anything other than yellow at this point, anyways.”

Chloe stuck her tongue out at her and she returned it. Because they’re both mature adults.

Marinette grinned and picked up a black wig, dropping it on to Chloe’s head despite the girl’s protests. “I say we take her into Wayne Mansion like this and see how long it takes Bruce to adopt her.”

Dick glanced back and gave a short laugh. “She wouldn’t even make it in the door, are you kidding me?”

Chloe blinked a few times, then gasped. “HOLY SHIT YOU’RE A WAYN --?!”

Both of her companions had clamped their hands over her mouth, but it was far too late for that. Now people were staring, and a few were fumbling for their cameras. It certainly didn’t look good, the eldest Wayne child hanging out with two girls who were barely legal.

Dick tossed a wad of cash at the register to pay for Chloe’s outfit and then turned to Marinette.

“Run?”

“Run,” Marinette agreed.

They each grabbed one of Chloe’s arms and booked it.

~~~

Christ. Three hours of work for like ten words. Kill me pls

~

Taglist

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<3

[kitkatopinions]

I feel the need to hear your opinion on this since this is something I've been thinking about recently, and it's how crwby handles complex relationships/abuse in their show... It's infuriating.

I can't tell if they genuinely think they are writing this in a good way or if they know they're half asss-ing it and don't care since the fandom will eat it up anyways. Two big examples that come to mind for me in the last volume are emerald & cinder and whitley & jacques. In both instances the the victim never gets a moment of closure or a moment of breaking away from their abuser, nor are either victims allowed to show any sort of 'hesitance' (for a lack of a better term) related to their abuse.

Emerald (despite being all over cinder before Midnight), just conveniently forgets about her for the finale. Same for whitley. He just completely forgets about jacques (the man who manipulated him from birth) the moment weiss hugs him. On a shallow level, watching a victim pay no mind to their abuser is satisfying, but it being so immediate is just unrealistic and takes away from the pain that we are supposed to think these characters have suffered.

One of the worst things about suffering from abuse is how is affects the victims even when they have left the abusive relationship, but crwby seems to want to erase that completely from characters who should experience that for plot convenience.

It seems like the lesson learned from this is "if you were abused, just get over it and be convenient to our heroes or else!" And it's pretty gross imo.

Thoughts?

I thought that I would put these two asks together and take this opportunity to talk about the abuse victims in RWBY and how they're handled. I've tried to think long and hard about what to say about this, because this is an important topic to me and something that's personal for me. I'm an abuse survivor, but I have a complicated relationship with that part of myself and I'm never really comfortable talking about it much. But despite the fact that I've experienced abuse, I recognize that I'm not a professional sensitivity editor, not a therapist, and not someone who's studied the effects of abuse.

I'm simply writing this based on my own feelings and what I've picked up witnessing other abuse victims discuss their own feelings about abused character. There will be RWBY criticism below the keep reading. Please keep in mind that I'm not speaking for all abuse survivors and am only trying to articulate my own feelings in regards to this issue.

The first thing to note is that there isn't one, correct, right way to write an abuse victim in my opinion. Lots of people have different reactions and responses to abuse, the way they were abused is often also different, causing different reactions.

In the first anon, it's noted that Emerald and Whitley both seem to move on from their abuse quickly and with very little effect on them or their stories. Many abuse victims put their experiences on the back burner or 'in a box' to deal with later, or mask and pretend that they're alright or that their abuse just didn't happen. Some of them let their feelings or their anger simmer over time. There are also abuse victims who do just... Move on with relative ease. I'd imagine that's very rare though. (again, I'm not not an expert or any sort of psychologist.)

In the same way, an abuse victim becoming an abuser in their own interactions is something that one hundred percent happens. Cinder, Salem, Adam, and even Blake and Winter have all acted in abusive ways towards the people around them (though obviously Blake and Winter acted much less abusive than any of the villains mentioned.) It might be very hard for abuse victims to not fall back into those patterns of abuse that they've suffered, especially if they go through it at an early age. I'm not very comfortable talking about my own experiences, but myself and my siblings have all had to fight down toxic, hurtful traits that we picked up either through emulating or through survival. And it's hard to do that. Portraying characters who have been abused that lost that fight and might have abusive tendencies or slip themselves is - to me at least - sometimes even helpful in working through my own feelings.

And there are definitely one hundred percent abuse victims who feel like the way they were treated is deserved, that they 'earned' it, that they must 'make up for it.' Oz is in this category. There's nothing wrong with the concept of a character who feels responsible for their abuser or the hurt their abuser has caused to others, there’s nothing wrong with a character who tends to act as though everything is their fault and who thinks very poorly of themselves.

In theory. But the problem is that in application, there are a lot of pitfalls and struggles that come with writing for abuse victims. Understanding, thoughtfulness, and care are not the RWBY writers’ strength, and any time you portray real life issues that strongly impact the real life people involved in them, you have to be aware and careful with the messages you’re sending. This is obviously very important when someone writes for any minority or oppressed group or the issues that they face, but it’s also important to remember when you write for abuse victims, because they do have stigmas around them and deal with stereotypes and harmful portrayals as well. Let’s look at what I consider some harmful or hurtful pitfalls when it comes to abused characters.

Are the abused characters treated as the victims they are? If the abuse a character faces is treated as comical, treated as unimportant, or treated as deserved, that’s an obvious major flaw. Sad to say, but RWBY does not pass this. On two separate occasions, a character is hit by someone close to them in a way that clearly causes them some pain, with Blake hitting Sun across the face for following her, and Winter hitting Weiss for answering a question incorrectly and again for failing in her training (I tend to be more sympathetic towards Blake’s situation, as it is more gray with her clearly thinking Sun had stalked her which is a clear trigger from her own abuse, but this is an explanation, not an excuse and the fact that it was framed as funny rather than something Blake shouldn’t have done and should apologize for is the problem.) They also do not treat Ozpin like the victim when Qrow punches him in the face, having no one call Qrow out for it and having him never express guilt or try to apologize for it. Yes, I know Ozpin had retreated, but they never showed Qrow even make an effort to get Ozpin to come back so he could apologize. . They also ‘redeem’ Hazel and give him a ‘partially right’ storyline despite his openly beating Ozpin, unfairly blaming him for the death of his sister, and insisting that Ozpin deserved to be tortured. On top of this, despite having been horribly abused by the SDC, Adam isn’t treated with even an ounce of sympathy or understanding and Jacques Schnee and the SDC is treated like a more comical-ish nuisance in season seven and eight. This is greatly flawed. Hitting someone because they lied to you or kept secrets from you is not okay, hitting someone because they said something you don’t like is not okay. This should not be treated as funny and it shouldn’t be treated as the fault of the person who was hit for not being a good enough friend.

Are the abused characters mostly villains, when the heroes have never faced it? The reason for this is obvious, although it’s valid to have a villain be an abuse victim, it’s never alright to villainize abuse victims. Making the majority of your bad guys abuse victims and your good guys have positive relationships is in my opinion, harmful. Point for RWBY, this is not the case for their show. Mercury, Salem, and Cinder on the bad side are all abuse victims with Raven being a possible, but unconfirmed abuse victim as well. While Weiss, Blake, Ozpin, and Whitley are also abuse victims, with Qrow and May both being possible, but unconfirmed abuse victims, and Winter and Emerald are both abuse victims who were on the side of a villain and then turned good.

Is the abuse more severe in the ‘bad’ characters and lighter in the ‘good’ characters? If the abuse that the good guys faced is mostly lighter things and the abuse that the villains suffered is worse and more severe, that might send some bad messages that people who suffer more are automatically worse people, or ‘unsalvageable’ or ‘too broken,’ as opposed to the people that ‘there’s still hope for.’ Unfortunately, I think RWBY is almost a tie? We’ve never seen Weiss or Emerald suffer more than a hit, we don’t know for sure that Whitley or Winter were ever victims of physical abuse. Ozpin and Blake’s abuse is worse, however, as they are hunted down by their abusers who attempt to murder them, make them suffer, and hurt their loved ones. They also were heavily emotionally manipulated and victim blamed by their abusers. And on the villain side, Mercury was beat by his father who hated him and stole his semblance (an extension of your soul, I believe, in canon,) and the abuse led to the loss of his limbs. Cinder was forced to work hard labor by her abusive employer and the ‘stepsisters’ treated her badly, and she was physically electrocuted. We see her abuse extend to Salem using her Grimm arm to hurt her, copying the effects of the necklace. Adam was also a child laborer who worked in terrible conditions who got his face branded by his employer, in the SDC, which had to have been anti-faunus charged due to his bull horns. We don’t see Salem ever physically abused, but know that she was mistreated, isolated, and neglected by her ‘cruel’ father. So it’s not quite a tie, there are more severely abused characters amongst the villains than the heroes, but this is close enough that I don’t consider this much of a strike against them.

In the villains, is the abuse they faced given as ‘reason’ for their villainy? As I said before, villainizing abuse victims isn’t the way to go. A good way to avoid this - I think - is not have abuse be the sole reason for someone’s fall into a life of crime or cruelty. This is something that RWBY... Fails at imo. When showing us Mercury’s backstory, we’re introduced to him through seeing that he had just killed his abuser who cost him his legs, and then gets recruited by Cinder who at the very least likely emotionally and physically abused him the same way she did with Emerald, leading to the conclusion that the only reason he’s there at all is due to abuse. However, he’s just a teen and it’s possible that (like Emerald) he’ll be redeemed. A much more condemning story to talk about is Cinder’s. After people had been clambering for a Cinder backstory since volume three, RWBY finally showed us one. But it doesn’t include Cinder meeting Salem, why she joined her, her proving herself, none of that. Instead, Cinder’s backstory was entirely focused on her abusive situation as a child, entirely focused on her suffering. Cinder killing her abusers and then killing the teacher who decided to arrest her for getting herself out of her abusive situation was portrayed as the only needed backstory, the explanation to why she’s a power hungry, abusive, cruel, selfish, and just plain evil person. ‘She was abused’ is the explanation for why Cinder is where she is and why she is who she is in RWBY. That’s highly problematic to me.

In the heroes, are they “the Perfect, Sanitized Abuse Victims?” As I said before, there is no one type of abuse victim, but if someone has several abuse victims and they’re all either submissive, sad, and self-doubting, but gentle and caring and soft or dropped their abuser like a hotcake and never looked back, never seem affected, never really talk about it after they left... That’s bothersome to me personally. Measuring how RWBY is in this particular subject is... A little harder than I thought it would be. Let’s start by looking at the most prevalent abuse victim, Blake. She’s one of the reasons why this is hard to gauge, because for the first five seasons, Blake was deeply flawed and clearly affected by her abuse in ways that made her ‘unappealing.’ Blake was cynical, stubborn, cold, hard to get to know, she didn’t trust easily, she lashed out at her friends regularly, ran from her problems, made choices for her friends, and had a very negative self image. This didn’t stop her from being a good character and friend with a lot of good sides, too, and she had real, important friendships. This was - to me - a really great portrayal of someone clearly affected by their trauma, with lots to work on, who was still a good person. Some of her faults and problems started to get resolved in a natural way through her journey with Sun in volumes four and five, but when season six came around, many of Blake’s other traits suddenly vanished. No longer stubborn, independent, or cynical, and no longer standing up for herself, or really displaying her temper or hardheadedness or her struggles with getting to know people... Blake became more submissive, sad, self-doubting, but gentle, caring, and soft. Sigh. As the first ask mentioned, Whitley and Emerald both seemed to drop their abusers quickly the second they were removed from their lives again. it’s also worth noting that Whitley was treated with nothing but coldness and contempt by Weiss until he ‘proved himself’ by doing something selfless. Weiss did more or less drop Jacques the moment she left her house in V4, only mentioning him or her experiences when she’s using it to talk about Blake, and when she confronted him again in V7, she did so as someone who is proving she no longer cares. Ozpin seems to be the only one still unable to move on from his abuse and the ‘unappealing’ abuse victim. The first anon is right, there’s something satisfying with seeing an abuse victim move on like their abuser didn’t matter. But when almost all your abuse victims do, and one of the only other ones is turned into a submissive and soft support based / romance based character, and the only really ‘unappealing’ abuse victim is someone we’re supposed to see as ‘gray’... There’s something off there, in my opinion.

Were the abuse victims treated respectfully and thoughtfully by their friends, and if not, were they portrayed as wrong? This probably isn’t something that really even needs an explanation. Abuse victims should be able to set their own boundaries and tell their stories only when they want, when they feel comfortable, Their friends should be understanding of this and not force anything from them. In the case of Blake and Weiss, this is handled really well! Their friends let them talk about their experiences in their own time, and they’re understanding and validate their feelings when it comes up (much more common with Blake than with Weiss, who like I said, seemed to move on from her dad quickly after she left.) However, when it comes to Oz... This is all wrecked. Although unintentional (no one knew how deeply tied up with Salem Ozpin was or how intimate the memories they were going to watch were,) our main characters still forced Ozpin’s deepest and most personal secrets out of him in a fit of upset while he was tearfully begging them not to. He was forced to relive his most traumatic experiences in hi-def with other people watching with him, all his secrets and all his abuse wrenched away from him in what was clearly a very painful way. And then no one showed Ozpin even the slightest bit of sympathy or understanding for what he’d gone through, and no one ever apologized for what they had forced him to relive. In fact, Team RWBY were clearly displayed as in the right, and Oz was displayed as completely wrong for not trusting them implicitly. He had to apologize to them, which they acted begrudgingly accepting of as if they hadn’t shouted at an abuse victim after forcing him to relive all his worst experiences.

Are some abuse victims portrayed as bad for things that other abuse victims aren’t portrayed as bad for? Like the second ask says, in RWBY, Cinder and Mercury are treated as villains for having killed their abusers and Cinder is almost arrested for it, it’s considered a step in the direction of their villainy. But Blake is (rightfully) treated as the victim who was forced, who had no choice, who just wanted the abuse to stop. This is hypocritical and fundamentally flawed. I think this is a reflection of the fact that Cinder and Mercury are meant to be ‘bad’ abuse victim, who had violent tendencies and anger issues, and were already featured as bad guys before their backstory’s dropped, whereas Blake was meant to be a better abuse victim who (by season six) was starting to get written as a soft girl who just wanted to help her friends.

All in all, although there’s some things that I think that RWBY did well enough, I definitely think that I would consider their portrayal of abuse victims to be lacking. This is just my opinion and the way I feel about the writing, but there are a lot of ways to look at it. I think overall, I just really wish that the RWBY writers had been a little more sensitive and spent a little longer focusing on the character arcs involved in abuse recovery. (There’s still a chance for Whitley, Weiss, and Emerald to get more focus in volume ten, though, so long as the writers don’t timeskip!)

[uncurlinglikeflowers]

Queer Trauma, Coming Out, & the Long Road to Self-Love and Healing

As I’ve reflected on my past, I’ve discovered that my adolescence may be one of, if not THE most traumatic time of my life thus far as a queer person. The last few months with my incredible therapist have made me realize that the years of anxiety, panic, fear, self-loathing, confusion, and depression have scarred me deeper than I had previously thought. She also made me realize that this is at least partially because I have never really talked about it openly and in depth in a healthy and productive way before, which is what inspired me to start this blog to share my experiences with others that are currently struggling with their identity, or to allow those that are also currently healing from the trauma of their previously closeted life feel a little more seen.

I knew from a VERY young age that I was different, but didn’t know how or what it meant. I was a lonely kid for a lot of my childhood without many friends. I didn’t want to play football with the boys during recess. I sought companionship at lunch with a table full of girls more often than not, which in itself also made me feel incredibly self conscious at the time as well. 

I asked, (with incredible shame) for the “girl’s toy” from the backseat in the McDonald’s drive-thru because I loved to play with the mini-Barbies and craft entire storylines for them. They were easier to hide in my room than regular sized Barbies. I spent most summers off school alone playing video games and reading book and book after book. I didn’t really click with the boys down the street. I was obsessed with Britney Spears and the color purple. I was lonely without really knowing what it meant.

I feel as though that fear I felt in my childhood and adolescence held me back from SO much. Middle school in particular was absolute hell. I hated it. I always felt constantly insecure and uncomfortable. I had absolutely zero confidence or self love. I hated my body and how I looked. 

While other kids experienced their first relationships and first feelings of romantic love, I was convinced that it was just not a possibility for me. On top of being deeply closeted, scared, confused, lonely, and in deep denial, girls didn’t go for me anyway. I was the awkward chunky guy struggling with his identity feeling like he had to make up for it by working extra hard to get perfect grades and give himself 100% to other people. I tried not to think about it too much, but hearing about relationships, seeing people kiss in the hallways between classes, and girls talking about what they liked in boys which was the complete opposite of me... it was hell.

To make my self consciousness worse, I felt supremely uncomfortable in gym class and the boys’ locker room in particular. I was ashamed of my body and also self conscious for wanting to look at the other boys; terrified that they would catch on and beat me senseless. Hearing them consistently call each other f*g in a very VERY negative context drove me deep into the closet as the identity I already felt shame for was directly correlated with being a ridiculed outcast, and something that was inherently, disgustingly wrong and unacceptable. The worst insult teenage boys could deliver to each other in the safety of an unchaperoned locker room in a hick town often not kind to queer people or those that were different. I SO desperately wanted to fit in with the other boys instead of being any version of who I actually was.

Part of that façade of blending in with my hetero peers involved having a girlfriend for two months in 8th grade. We didn’t even kiss, let alone approach any sexual situations. I’m sure she had her suspicions. I was utterly obsessed with the concept of blending in by having a girlfriend like the other boys and just having someone special in my life, even if we really didn’t even do any couple things. 

Upon reflection, I don’t think the concept of ever being sexual with her ever crossed my mind in the slightest. Even the idea of kissing her scared the hell out of me, and not just from first kiss nerves. Deep down I knew it wasn’t right for me. Don’t EVER tell a kid they’re too young to know. Fast forward to modern times, my first kiss with a girl was with a close friend YEARS after I came out. Go figure. 

The idea of caring about and loving myself was non-existent at that time. It’s a very VERY new and ongoing journey for me. I didn’t really care about myself at all. I hadn’t learned how to. Mom was in and out of cancer treatments, and would later pass during my senior year of college and kick off my coming out process, but that’s a whole other post for another day. Spending pretty much my entire childhood watching mom deal with being sick, I didn’t want to cause my family any more discomfort. I was full of self loathing, fear, and confusion, but it seemed irrelevant and unimportant because I didn’t want to be a hindrance. 

Instead, I tried so desperately to be the perfect kid and son by befriending my teachers, being a model student, and joining band and a bunch of organizations to stay as busy as possible to stay distracted and impress everyone else.I didn’t love myself because I didn’t think I was allowed to or deserved to in my own head. While I did finally make more meaningful friends in high school, I continued to go through the motions to make my family proud to make up for the scared closeted kid who thought he had to make up for his queerness as though it were a shameful weakness, and it seemed to be the only thing that could possibly matter at the time.

Non-surprisingly, I never really knew any openly queer boys in grade school. It probably legitimately wasn’t all that safe to come out in that environment. I’ll never forget the two boys I saw holding hands in a Wal-Mart that absolutely shook up my entirely reality, because I had never seen romantic same-sex affection in person before. 

There was a lesbian couple at my school, but people said awful, degrading things about them behind their backs constantly and acted like they were the biggest freaks. Another boy in my grade in high school hadn’t come out yet officially but was very flamboyant, and thus was treated just as awful as the lesbian couple, if not worse. Other kids just regularly said despicable things about him without even knowing him at all. I even heard parents make blatantly homophobic jokes about him. 

His life had to have been hell, and as a fully out queer adult, I still regret not being able to stand up for him more. That definitely forced me deeper into the closet. He wasn’t even out but got talked about like he was some disgusting abomination. How could I ever assume that I could ever come out, let alone kiss, date, and love another boy? I HATED the idea of any attention being placed on me, so I just wanted to survive school at that point.

I had multiple people throughout high school ask me if I were gay just as though it were the most casual question rather than a triggering inquiry that sent me into a mental frenzy every damn time it was presented. Having one of the jock boys ask me such a deeply personal question in passing on the way to my seat in Algebra class was traumatizing. I of course always said no, as at the time I was still convinced it was a passing phase and that I couldn’t actually be gay. 

At home, in the days of Myspace, I got anonymous messages telling me they were pretty sure I was gay. The anonymity was arguably worse in some ways. 

At a young age, I became hyper aware of how I carried myself, talked, and acted. I loathed hearing my voice or seeing myself in pictures, for fear of sounding too feminine or standing or emoting too gay. I obsessed over the concept that boys and girls carried their books a certain way, or the boys would be labelled as queer. I was paranoid about where I shopped for clothes, the colors I wore, and the length and fit of my shorts. 

In middle school, I got a lilac colored trapper keeper for school that I ultimately had my parents take back to the store for a different one because I felt so self conscious about it all day. At home I played with my little Barbies, but didn’t dare tell the kids at school for fear of rejection and isolation. Overall, I felt grossly incompetent, irrelevant, and unimportant in my own mind. Unworthy of love and of course, deeply ashamed for my attraction to the other boys.

I never had anyone whatsoever to help guide me through the coming out process, because I didn’t know a single queer person who could. I’ve now dedicated a good amount of my energy trying to be that person I desperately could have used then for anyone else that needs that role to be filled, and for someone to tell them that someone is incredibly proud of them. An obscene amount of queer people don’t ever hear “I’m so proud of you!” when they really need it the most. 

I also didn’t have any good queer representation on TV or in movies, so I really did feel completely alone at times. Most queer characters in media existedly solely to be made fun of and mocked, ratcher than celebrated, properly represented, or God forbid, given a legitimate love story, and the public’s reaction was so frequently one of such repugnance and disapproval. 

This was also probably about the time that a close family member told me that he had punched a gay guy for hitting on him when he was younger, a story he again felt the need to share with a now ex-boyfriend and I when we were dating, as though that’s not a horrifying thing for an already scared and closeted queer to hear from their own family. 

I think during middle school in particular is when my anxiety and depression issues started, but I assumed either that I was being a baby and that my feelings were invalid, or that it was just teenage angst. The idea that boys and men should mask their emotions and feelings and feel shame rather than expressing them was, (and seemingly appears to continue to be) a very real thing in small towns and society in general. 

It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was experiencing varying levels of almost daily trauma that would fuck me up well into adulthood. If you take anything at all from this post, let it be that the conversation around mental health, (and men in particular in this instance) NEEDS to change.

Another particularly noteworthy event in my queer adolescence was when two of my friends, (both girls, shocker) discovered gay porn on my computer. While they pestered me about if it were mine while they laughed, I of course lied. I felt a deep shame and utter humiliation. On reflection, fucking IMAGINE if they had been able to be gentle and understanding with me and told me they loved me and still would even if I were gay. From then on I was terrified that they would bring that day up to our other friends as a joke. Perhaps they did a time or two, I don’t recall. These same friends made jokes about the queer kid I mentioned earlier, and both parents of one of the girls regularly gossiped and made homophobic jokes about him when I was at their house 

By the time school dances rolled around, I knew I would never be able to go with anyone but friends. Even if I weren’t still deeply closeted, I’m pretty sure my school still had pretty strict rules against bringing same-sex dates to Prom. While I definitely had fun with my friends at the dances we went to, I so desperately longed for a world where I could dance with a boy who loved me like everyone else was able to.

The loneliness and isolation I felt at the end of those nights could be unbearable because it didn’t seem possible for me, even as I looked into the future. I was fully convinced I would live a very lonely life without anyone to love me the way I craved. I didn’t belong in that world, and wouldn’t ever be set up for that kind of happiness, joy, and feeling of content. I would live for everyone else but myself because that’s just the way the world worked for us queers.

I wish I had had just one single person then who gave me full permission to be my authentic queer self on any level. Someone who could hug me and tell me life after high school and college could and would be vastly different. Someone to tell me I wasn’t an unlovable disgusting freak, but rather a kind-hearted boy who deserved a deep love someday because I was a valid and gentle soul who deserved the world. I certainly deserved more than the shame and pain that constantly haunted me. 

Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought about death before 30 so much and obsessed over it well into my college career. I might have realized that I needed to learn to be gentle with myself and take care of and prioritize me and my own happiness. So many people let me down and convinced me that I was a filthy sinner and an over-emotional kid with invalid perspectives and feelings. As most of my closest friends, (that I cannot stress enough have been the ones to save my life and encourage the authenticity that I present so proudly today) came into my life after I had already come out fully, they weren’t around during those dark early struggles. 

Sometimes as an adult I still wonder what it would have felt like and how profoundly different my life could be if someone had held me close and sincerely told me they’re proud of me for what I survived and overcame, and told me that they can’t wait to see my eyes light up with the love I’ve always dreamed of in a boy, and that I still continue to seek. 

Young, baby gay Travis would be in absolute awe if he knew what life had in store for him back then. To see a future version of himself painting his nails, wearing whatever he wanted, dancing with strangers at pride festivals, having the time of his life at drag shows with his queer family and falling in love with boys? Proudly holding a boyfriend’s hand walking downtown in a busy city? Openly telling his dad about the cute boy he’s going on a date with? Going Facebook official with a boy? Being a super vocal advocate and inspiration and mentor to not only queer family, but to people he hardly talks to but manages to influence and inspire just by unashamedly being himself? Genuinely looking forward to kissing his new husband in front of family and friends on his wedding day, knowing it’ll be one of the happiest days of his entire life? 

Holy. Actual. Fuck.

Travis of six or seven years ago wouldn’t have even dared to dream this big, let alone baby gay Travis. He probably would have been utterly mortified but SO comforted to see that future life when he didn’t believe it to be any level of possible.

I’m so fucking proud of myself for this journey, and no one will ever take that away from me or water down my trauma or the grueling work I’ve put in. Genuinely, this is the one thing in my life that makes me absolutely burst with pride. 

I think I want to learn how to keep baby Travis in mind with this pride without having to revisit the trauma in the process. Look back at him with open arms, excited to see him learn and blossom into his actual self someday. Even if he could have desperately used someone like the me I am today, he survived then, and continues to persevere today. 

He’s queer as fuck, and proud to shout it from the rooftops. He’s a voice and an advocate for the voiceless. A shining light and beacon of hope for those still navigating their terrifying escape from their closeted life. He’s going to meet a man someday and love him so deeply in the way baby Travis always dreamed of. Above all, he’s going to continue to make that little guy so incredibly proud because he knows now the importance of loving himself in the process. 

I’m so proud of that scared little boy. I just wish he could have known then how proud he would make himself one day.   

As you talk with the queer people in your life, please keep in mind that just about all of us have incredible trauma directly tied to our identities. Talk to them with love, compassion, and understanding. Tell them how proud of them you are for pursuing their own happiness in the face of oppression and rejection. 

Demand better from elected officials. Advocate for us. Shut down homophobic ideals, even if you think it’ll make your family and friends uncomfortable to hear. Support queer content, artists and creators. Be a proud ally, but don’t ever allow yourself to take the spotlight away from actual queer people or our queer spaces. Mourn, love, and celebrate with us. 

Understand why pride is SO fucking important to us, and why you never have to worry about needing your own pride events. Listen to us and love us for exactly who we are, and were always meant to be. Love is the most incredible, beautiful, and often rare human experience we’re able to experience during our short time on this planet, and it should always be celebrated.

Happy Pride!

[mrsjadecurtiss]

The thing that we won’t have a roose chapter it’s kinda sad. Like we will never know if doing certain things (like the red wedding) didn’t minimally affect him or otherwise. Like we can’t forget that he doesn’t EXPRESS his feelings not that he hasn’t any. I know Brabrey said this specifically but as wise she is she can’t read others mind. I’m not justifying any action I’m only saying it would be interesting finding out he actually “gives shit” about things he did. And I know the probabilities of this being true are very low, but as a person myself who has difficulties to express my emotions and seems apathic to others while I feel emotions with the same intensity as everyone I was curious.

Oooh now that you sent your second ask the original one appeared! My reply got a little long; I will use quotes from your ask as “chapter headers” for the different topics so it is easier to understand.

“We will never know if doing certain things (like the red wedding) didn’t minimally affect him or otherwise. [...] I’m not justifying any action I’m only saying it would be interesting finding out he actually “gives shit” about things he did.”

I don't think Roose feels *bad* about the red wedding - he didn’t have to do it after all, it's not like he was under coercion or threat of his life; arguably the entire thing wouldnt have worked without having a strong northern traitor. While Robb's cause was a losing one and this influenced Roose to turn cloak after weighing the alternatives, Roose was not in danger under Robb and his betrayal appears to have been about both minimizing his waste of resources in a losing cause as well as the advantages he can get from this new alliance and what Tywin offers.

Roose appears to fundamentally be a selfish man, who decides his actions after what will give him the most benefit at the smallest risk to his own person. Any regrets i imagine he might feel (this could be what you meant in your ask) would be not on a moral level, but rather about mistakes he made that led him into a position that might not end well for him, and the danger he has gotten himself into.

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.  - aDwD

Roose to me represents the worst of feudalism, and the epitome of how someone turns out who is raised at the top of this society and with an unchallenged privilege. He has no respect for the autonomy of the people below him in hierarchy, and sees politics and the power at his hand as a tool to benefit himself first and foremost.

“We can’t forget that he doesn’t EXPRESS his feelings not that he hasn’t any.”

Agreed - for all that he is evil and callous i believe it is shown that he has feelings and emotions, which he generally hides under a mask.

Roose Bolton's own face was a pale grey mask, with two chips of dirty ice where his eyes should be. - aDwD

We know he feels fear about his crumbling political situation, he feels fondness for Walda, he appears to talk about Domeric with affection, he is amused enough by Arya not to punish her, he refuses to break the taboo of kinslaying, and something drives him to keep Ramsay around even though it is not advantageous rationally. He has his wants and needs, he has societal expectations he adheres to (like the expectation to continue his family line), he has a distaste for being disrespected...

As an example of him showing emotion, in the Red Wedding itself i believe grrm intentionally contrasts his behaviour with the prior Jaime chapter: where in his dialogue with Jaime he seems relaxed, talks a lot and is shown enjoying his food, in the Red Wedding he is quiet and doesn’t eat much while exchanging subtle threats with Lord Walder. This appears to show that he was indeed stressed in this high-stakes situation and aware of the danger he was in. Note that the quote from aDwD about him showing fear also explicitly points out that he says "nothing at all" in a time of stress, paralleling his lack of dialogue during the RW chapter. (Catelyn is depressed and so probably not talkative, but he also doesnt engage in dialogue with his wife despite her “chatter”).

I wont expand on it too much in this post for length's sake, but i think it is also likely that Roose shares traits with Ramsay in terms of emotionality (which he then hides under his “mask”, as opposed to his openly emotional son); For example his behaviour of not tolerating disrespect and taking what is "his" in the event with the miller's wife. Some i also briefly touched upon in this meta.

“I know Brabrey said this specifically but as wise she is she can’t read others mind.”

In “The Prince of Winterfell”, Barbrey has a long paragraph about her opinion on Roose. As this is her first longer scene, it is my opinion that her entire long dialogue scene with Theon is meant not only to show insight into some of the characters she talks about, but also about her own character; since the way someone talks about people shows how they think.

The negative way she talks about Roose ( “Roose has no feelings, you see.”) seems to be informed by several things:

- Obviously, his callous and selfish personality and lack of morals

- The fact that Barbrey and Roose clearly have history. Considering that Roose now has Ramsay as his heir, and Barbrey loathes Ramsay for what she believes is his fault in Domeric's death, Barbrey likely harbors some resentment against Roose for this move. This likely boosts her opinion that he is completely emotionless and only "plays with [people]" without caring for them. Her line "He does not love, he does not hate, he does not grieve" seems to contain a certain bitterness, and i believe it at least partially refers to their personal history (one could try to continue her words: he does not love [Barbrey], he does not hate [Ramsay], he does not grieve [Domeric].).

- Barbrey calls Theon's heart "craven and cringing", she calls Wyman Manderly "craven to the bone, that one", and she holds a grudge against Eddard for what he did to her without presenting much understanding for his side of the story. I believe she has a tendency to have a slightly superficial view of people or at least to talk badly about these superficial aspects, informed among other things by their appearance (Ned and Roose are plain, Theon and Wyman have physical deficiencies) and presentation (the colder Roose/Ned vs the outgoing wolf-blooded Brandon), and by the slights she perceived they did to her. She also has a tendency to scapegoat people to cope with grief, like hating on Rickard’s maester for Brandon's marriage.

So while she is right about Roose' callousness and moral bankruptcy and has some correct statements, as a fallible character (as opposed to the all-knowing author) she likely somewhat designs her view of him to fit her own narrative and worldview. So while she is an enticing source since she is close to him, her view on him should be taken with a grain of salt the same way she is not 100% correct about people like Ned or Wyman. Some things she says can be argued with through character analysis, and some things we have concrete quotes we can contrast: For example while she says "I think [Roose] would be pleased if the fat man attempted some betrayal", we know that Roose is in fact worried and bothered by the prospect, and in his dialogue to Ramsay it reads like he describes the unfaithfulness of his allies as threatening instead of an amusement. She also theorizes Roose wants to be king in the north, which seems like an impossible plan in his current political situation and nothing we had any hints towards so far in his scenes (I sometimes like to muse it might have been a reference to grrm's plans for the five year gap).

So basically what i would love a Roose PoV for is turning all the "apparently"s and "maybe"s from my metas into either confident statements or to deconfirm them... Showing some more of his view on the world, some more of his past, how he really feels about people without filtering it through dialogue and political goals... His worries, his anger, his happiness, raw and unfiltered... His long scene with Theon in Reek III practically doubles as half a PoV chapter because of the insane amounts of exposition in his dialogue (Theon barely talks or thinks for pages while Roose talks), but it is still filtered through Theon's impression of him and the agenda Roose might have behind his spoken words to present himself in a certain way.

I like to analyze his character from his lines in the book, and what few quotes I find by grrm in the So Spake Martin collection round out my impression of him well, but I would love to have a view inside his head to really get to the meat of it, and get a view of his true personality without the help of assumptions and implications.

[magalidragon]

fire on ice | a crackish Jonerys drabble

Soooo... @moggett reblogged this post and well I felt compelled to write a drabble for one of those prompts so I give you this crack fic-- a funeral home meet cute!

I give you....FIRE ON ICE!  And this is also partially @youwerenevermine‘s fault, lol, because we literally had same idea for one of the prompts.

“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.  

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’  “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door.  “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved.  He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head.  “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners.  He clicked his tongue.  “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.”  Arya checked her phone.  “Your beloved texted me.  We have another on the way.  This one fell from the Wall.  Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’  “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.”  He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’  He did wear a lot of black.  Came with the territory.  He waved off Arya.  “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter?  Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one?  Where the fuck is Robb anyway?”  Robb was the master of this shit, not him.  He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off.  Guess it was all him.  He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls.  It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way.  He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.  

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building.  He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions.  Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.  

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale.  “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching.  “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty.  He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this.  He wished Robb was there.  “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?  Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold.  She grinned up at him.  “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted.  “Apologies.  Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.  

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services.  We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.”  He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket.  No one really cared what the underside looked like.  He gestured towards the office.  “We can speak in private, if you wish?”  

The woman shook her head.  “No I’m fine, thank you.  Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”  

“Something like that.”  She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood.  She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd.  “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.”  It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth.  Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side.  Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.  

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.”  The woman offered her hand.  “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot.  He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming.  He swallowed hard again.  “Nice to meet you.  Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow.  I’ll be back.”  Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively.  “See you later.”

What the seven hells was that about? He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit.  He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in.  He scowled.  “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs.  “Where are they?”

“They left.”  

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by.  “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister?  Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it.  He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear.  When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face.  He was better with dead people anyway.

-----

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.  

Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services

“How did this happen?  We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum.  “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home.  “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled.  “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided.  She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging.  “Maybe we can make this work.  Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info.  They do crematory, we don’t.  Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder.  “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed.  He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys.  He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red.  He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly.  “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area.  He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area.  He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.  

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off.  Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat.  He sighed, calling out.  “Please don’t kill her cat!”  

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight.  It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year.  He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.  

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.”  He used her full name.  The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany.  “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around?  I think not.”  

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on.  His eyebrows flew to his forehead.  “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured.  “Yes.”  She looked up, grinning.  “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me.  You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called.  “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me.  Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.”  She selected another brush, grinning.  “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do.  There’s plenty of them moving up here.”  Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door.  She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up.  She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder.  “I think we can make this work Jon Snow.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged.  “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.”  When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him.  He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing.  She approached him, hands on her hips.  “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised.  “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar?  Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened.  He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft.  It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving.  She must be very good at her job, he thought.  He was numb, unsure how best to reply.  She patted his arm, stepping by him.  “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee.  He wondered where Ghost had gone.  “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out.  “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.”  Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance.  She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee.  Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing.  “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips.  “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.  

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it.  He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee.  He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow.  “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged.  “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.  

-----

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb.  “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned.  “Where did you meet Daenerys?  Sansa didn’t tell me.  In fact, she’s being really weird about things.  Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.”  Her eyes lit up.  “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his.  “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression.  Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face.  “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.”  She smiled even wider.  “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions.  He smiled down at his beloved.  “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.”  Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek.  She patted her hand against his chest.  She beamed again.  “Best decision I ever made.  I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered.  He squeezed her close.  “Very well then.  Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”  

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests.  He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen.  He kissed her temple, sighing.  He certainly did.

THE END

[starsinmylatte]

A Song Among the Stars

Chapter count: 2/?

Rating: Mature 🔞

Relationships: Grand Admiral Thrawn/Original Female Character

Tags:

Space Opera (literally)

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con

Never by thrawn

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Art Enthusiast Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Star Destroyers (Star Wars)

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Chiss (Star Wars)

Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars)

Masquerade

The Empire shows off

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Total word count: 5,506

Chapter 1: Overture

Song suggestion: Reflections- Toshifumi Hinata

I lingered in the bath, fully understanding that I was only delaying the inevitable. The warm, aromatic water swirled around me as I began to dread the next few hours. Soon, the handmaidens assigned to prepare me for tonight would arrive to ensure my compliance.

At an earlier point in my life, I would have resisted all of their attempts to shove me into the various gowns, gems, and the absolutely appalling shoes that had been chosen for me. I had actually bitten the first girl that tried to change my outfit forcibly.

The handmaidens were all extremely wary of me after that incident, but, somehow, three of them had managed to become my only true friends on Coruscant. Despite my best intentions to hate everyone, Talle, Kaia, and Ahni were the only ones who bothered to understand my story.

Though each of us was from a different planet, we had all been taken from our homes by the Empire. We all served high-ranking Imperials, but my main role was different. I was a piece of Imperial propaganda. I was painted as the poor girl from the Outer Rim whose singing talent was discovered by the Empire and given a place to shine for the whole galaxy to see.

My train of thought was immediately interrupted by the sound of three very familiar sets of footsteps entering my room and a sing-song voice that rang out, “Oh Lyra! It seems that you’re stuck with us yet again.”

I let out a genuine snort before retaliating. “Kaia, you know nobody else wants to be anywhere near biting distance of me. You’d have to be personally requested by Lady Tarkin before anyone would consider switching jobs with you, and that’s saying something.”

I suddenly shuddered as I remembered my last encounter with her. Thankfully it had been brief, but it had still felt like an eternity. “That woman is so unpleasant.”

The second voice jokingly mused, “I don’t know, sometimes you can be almost as miserable as her. Now come on out of the bath. We have to start getting you ready.”

“Just five more minutes Talle.” I groaned, “I can just feel that tonight will be particularly long.”

Kaia laughed as she poked her head into the refresher and handed me a mug. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that, and that’s why we’re here ten minutes early.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Before you even begin to ask about it, here’s your shig.”

I shot Kaia a friendly scowl before immediately perking up at the mention of my favorite tea. I had always been partial to caf, but there was nothing better than a steaming cup of herbal tea before a performance. The citrusy scent of the behot immediately filled the small room, and holding the warm mug in my hands was instantly comforting. I let out a sigh of pure bliss, “Stars, you are a wonderful friend.”

Kaia winked before exiting the refresher. “Oh, I know.”

As I enjoyed the last few minutes of my bath, the tea brought back memories of my home. Before the Empire had taken me, a cup of shig and a hot bath would have been considerably rare, and the chances of both happening on the same day, even rarer.

Back on Ero, life was more mundane. My father always had quality goods on hand, but as a trader, he couldn’t just let his daughter drink all of his products. There were also no fancy bathtubs because they were a waste of precious drinking water, so almost everyone used sonic showers instead. I could resent the Empire all I wanted to, but there was no denying that I was at least well provided for. Somehow that made me hate my captivity even more.

I gripped my mug as I fought the other memories that tried to resurface. It had gotten easier to push them down as the years passed, but the pain was still there. Flashes of my capture, my time spent held on a Star Destroyer, the captain that had trapped me in his quarters…... The last thing I needed was to slip back into these memories.

Then there was a gentle hand on my shoulder. The sudden presence made me jump, but I saw Ahni’s smiling face when I looked up. Her face was both a comfort and a constant reminder that the Empire had hurt many people besides me. She had a beautiful deep green complexion marred by the scars from her capture that ran across her face and entire body. Ahni rarely spoke, but she was still extraordinarily expressive and always had ways to make her emotions known. Realization flashed across her face before she bent down and hugged me.

We shared an understanding moment of silence before Kaia yelled in from the other room. “Come on, Ly! We have to get you into all this kriffing fabric sometime today. I heard that we managed to get one of the better options, but tonight everything is special, so there’s more to do than usual.”

Stars, I almost forgot, I mentally berated myself. Tonight’s not only the biggest party I’ve been expected to perform at so far, but it’s the kriffing Masquerade too.

I immediately began cursing under my breath in every trade language I knew as I leapt from the bathtub, wrapped a robe around myself, and ran out of the refresher, closely followed by a very amused Ahni.

My apartment was quite lovely for basically being a prison. I had a plush bed with privacy curtains, a small vanity, a bedside table, a closet filled with outfits, and a tiny enclosed balcony. Having a private refresher made it very close to luxury.

I walked over to the vanity and had a seat. I had been prepared for Imperial events far too many times and knew the procedure that was about to happen by heart. I used to protest that I could get ready myself, but preparing for an Imperial ball required way more thought and perfection than anything else and by now, I put my trust in Kaia, Talle, and Ahni.

Tonight demanded absolute perfection.

The Masquerade was a collection and celebration of the Empire’s most significant members, and my role was to be the sparkling gem in the center of everything. I knew my true purpose tonight involved way more than my renowned singing ability. My presence tonight was pure propaganda. I was a message to every person on every planet in the Empire. This could be you. The Empire is generous. If this insignificant girl from the Outer Rim could be here, you could be here too.

I had already been warned about the consequences if I fell short of what was required tonight.

Hours later, the process was finally complete. Talle had powdered, colored, and shaded my face to her precise standards. She had even filled my lips in with a deep red pigment and darkened my eyelashes to complement my icy blue eyes. Not to be outdone, Kaia had coaxed my long blonde hair into an elegant, intricate updo inlaid with black and white quartz.

The dress came last, and it was stunning. When Ahni opened my closet, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Whoever had selected it had undoubtedly wanted me to stand out. There would be no shortage of finery tonight, but I was to be resplendent.

Talle was completely astonished for a long moment before she spoke, “I do believe this is the least horrid thing they’ve picked out for you.”

Ahni nodded vigorously in agreement while Kaia and I remained utterly speechless. The dress was breathtaking, even just on the mannequin.

Getting into the dress was a three-person endeavor, but the struggle was utterly worth it. The long, form-fitting black dress perfectly hugged every curve from the floor up before tapering just slightly above my cleavage. There, the material shifted to the left, wrapped behind my neck, and then formed a sleeve that draped down my entire right arm. However, the most remarkable thing about the dress was the fabric. Any and every way that I moved caused the material to shimmer like the thousands of stars twinkling in the night sky.

I was provided a single thick, gold cuff for my left wrist, and even though the hem of the dress would cover them, heeled slippers made out of the same fabric as the dress.

Talle smiled and carefully handed me the final missing piece. “Now, now,” she jested, “you can’t go to a masquerade without this.”

The mask she handed me was so intricately ornate that it easily could have been mistaken for black lace, but it was actually made from a lightweight metal inlaid with dozens of sparkling diamonds. When I put it on, it rested just above my nose to conceal the upper half of my face beautifully.

As Kaia secured the whole thing in my hair with more pins and gemstones, Ahni produced a floor-length mirror from the closet. In my performances on Eros, I had worn dresses that were considered elegant in the Outer Rim, but there was no way they could ever compare to this. For the first time in my life, I was stunned at my appearance. I had never been overly confident, but now I felt absolutely beautiful.

Talle laughed, “Just try not to stop any hearts tonight. The Empire might lose important officers, and then we’d all be in trouble for making you look this good.”

Kaia placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her snickering, and Ahni looked highly amused by the thought.

I just rolled my eyes, “I think their partners would probably get to me first.”

That sent everyone over the edge, and we all laughed to the point of tearing up. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ahni went over to open it, and two officers decked out in their Imperial best stepped into the room. The shorter officer locked eyes with me and blushed furiously before looking away.

The taller one finally spoke, “Good evening Miss. We will be your escorts for the night. If you wouldn’t mind following us, we have a speeder waiting to take us to the venue.”

I smiled at the officer, “Thank you, I appreciate it. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, I’ll finish up and be out in a second.”

He nodded and signaled to the other man. They stepped outside, and I immediately pulled Ahni, Talle, and Kaia into a big hug. “Thank you all for your help and for being my friends; you make this so much more bearable. I’ll see you when I get back tonight.”

After a few seconds, we broke apart and finished our goodbyes. I smiled at my friends one last time before walking out of the room to join the officers.

________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Aria

Orchestra tuning: The Imperial March (Glory of the Empire)

Lyra’s final song: Roméo et Juliette, CG 9 Act 1: “Ah, je veux vivre danse ce rève” sung by Aida Garifullina

*TW* brief Attempted assault/non-con towards the end of the chapter

The officers outside of my door stood so close that I almost ran headfirst into the taller one when I stepped out.

“Apologies, Miss, we thought you’d be a little longer,” the man managed as he smoothly sidestepped me before acknowledging his previous blunder, “It also seems like we’ve forgotten to introduce ourselves.”

He briefly paused to take his place beside his partner before continuing. “My name is Captain Dreycolt, and this is Lieutenant Arkmad. It’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance and we both actually have you to thank for our presence at the Masquerade tonight.”

Arkmad, who was still noticeably red in the face, nodded sagely. “None of the higher-ranking officers wanted to be stuck with a job at the party; however, the rest of us were fighting to even be included. We happened to fall at the perfect place on the pecking order,” he smiled slyly.

I raised a single eyebrow at Arkmad and gave him my most saccharine smile, “Well, I’m glad that this will be an enjoyable job for you, even though you’re stuck with me.”

His face flushed several shades deeper, and he started to stammer. “M-My apologies M-Miss. I n-never meant to imply….”

Dreycolt promptly tapped him on the shoulder to cut him off before turning back to me and smoothly taking my hand. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, slowly raised it to his lips, and gallantly kissed the top of my hand. He smiled up at me through lowered lashes, “However, any job that is this beautiful couldn’t possibly be so bad.”

Now it was my turn to blush and I prayed the mask hid most of it because Dreycolt was definitely an attractive man. His caramel-colored hair was neatly trimmed with darker eyebrows and eyelashes framing his warm amber eyes. The uniform he wore fit him exceptionally well, and the slight stubble on his chin tickled my hand as he pressed his lips to it. After what felt like an eternity, he released his grip, and my hand returned to my side.

There was no doubt Dreycolt’s distraction from his lieutenant’s blunder had worked as intended. I could tell he knew as much from the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You flatter me, Captain. If all Imperial officers are as pleasant as you, perhaps tonight will be more enjoyable than I expected.”

Of course, all officers aren’t as kind or practiced in flattery, I thought darkly. These two seem bearable enough to talk to, so I’m at least grateful for that. After all, they’ll be keeping me company for most of the night when I’m not on the stage.

His annoyance at the situation briefly flashed in Arkmad’s eyes before he cleared his throat. He did not seem to enjoy being sidelined for his misstep.

“We should be on our way by now,” he chided. “The airspeeder has priority clearance to travel outside of normal traffic lanes, but I don’t want to explain why the Empire’s star performer is late for her practice time with the orchestra.”

He was, of course, right. Dreycolt jokingly bowed and gestured out into the hallway. “Lead the way, Miss.”

With the Captain and Lieutenant flanking me, I walked through the twisting hallways of the building towards the balcony where our airspeeder was docked.

I was still somewhat dreading the Masquerade, but at least the ride would be pleasant and I would even get to see the sky again. It sounded like such a small thing to enjoy, but coming from Ero to Coruscant was a massive shock in so many ways. I could always see the sky and the stars glittering at night in the Outer Rim but Coruscant was a completely different story.

Though my apartment was beautiful, it was nowhere near the skyline. I played an important role, but it was definitely not important enough for me to live among the rich and powerful. The towering buildings above me kept all traces of natural light from finding my little room, and while artificial light was better than living in the dark, it held no comparison to the real thing.

When we reached the airspeeder, Dreycolt jumped into the driver’s seat, and Arkmad helped me into the back before taking his place in the seat beside him. At the press of a button, a smooth, clear dome slid overhead and enclosed the craft.

I couldn’t resist making a joke. “For both your sakes, I’m glad there’s a roof. You would have to deal with my very unhappy hairstylist if her work was ruined.”

Dreycolt let out a deep-chested laugh, and even Arkmad’s stormy facade cracked into a smile before the airspeeder pulled away from the building, and we were finally on our way.

Since I was expected to be at the venue early to rehearse, night had not yet taken over the cityscape. The sky was cloudy as usual, but light still fell to glisten and reflect across the tops of the tallest buildings. The view was absolutely breathtaking.

I all but shoved my face against the clear dome to take in all of the incredible scenes spread out below. Thousands of speeders, taxis, and transports wove around the many buildings, each with a different purpose and destination. I was beyond captivated by all the people and their freedom to go wherever they pleased, whenever they wanted to.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at one of the most palatial homes on the highest level I had ever seen. Dreycolt stopped the speeder at the balcony, although calling it a balcony was a massive understatement, and Arkmad helped me out onto the landing. I had become accustomed to the splendor displayed by the most influential Imperials, but this was on another level entirely.

An enormous garden lay spread out beyond the balcony’s opulent landing pad. The path we walked down extended its way throughout the entirety of the grounds and wrapped around a massive central fountain before it continued up into a set of stairs that I could only guess led to the main ballroom.

Statues depicting the most famous Imperial victories lined both sides of the walkway, which eventually branched off to different garden sections on each side. Upon closer inspection, the central fountain proudly displayed the Imperial Crest carved into stone so dark it could’ve been mistaken for a solid shadow.

Every single hedge, bush, or flower we could see was maintained to standards of perfection that would impress even the Admiralty of the Imperial Navy. The sweet scent of the many exotic flowers lingered in the air, and the sounds of water trickling from the fountain made the garden almost seem peaceful.

Dreycolt let out a low whistle that made both the lieutenant and I jump. Evidently, he had passed the speeder off to another officer while we were distracted. “Stars. I had heard the constant squabbling over who would get to host led to an amazing result, but this is insane.”

Arkmad nodded, “Someone told me the Emperor personally picked the host and venue. I have no idea who was picked, but they certainly did an outstanding job with the preparations.”

“I wish I were able to walk around,” I sighed wistfully. “It’s been years since I’ve been in a real garden.”

Dreycolt smiled, “Well, Miss, perhaps after your performance, we can arrange that.”

The grin that crept across my face was hard to hide as that simple thought became all of the encouragement I needed to get through the night. As the three of us began the walk to the ballroom, I realized that whoever had designed the path had done so with women’s shoes in mind, as it was completely smooth and comfortable to walk on. Kriffing hell, they really thought of it all.

Before long, we reached the top of the stairs and entered the ballroom. I didn’t think anything would outshine the garden, but I was so very very wrong. The garden was the pinnacle of control and order, but the ballroom exuded absolute elegance.

As we reached the top of the stairs, another officer was waiting to announce our arrival, but I was so captivated by my surroundings that I barely heard what he said. Beyond him was the main dance floor. It looked to be made out of the same dark stone as the fountain, but it was polished so thoroughly you could easily see your reflection looking back at you if you looked down. At the far end of the room, a small but wide set of stairs led up to the stage where the orchestra was busily setting up. More stairs just inside the entrance led to the upper floor, which was filled with tables draped in brilliant white cloths for people to sit and enjoy the spectacle of the dancing below them. A massive, crystalline chandelier hung over the ballroom and blood-red sashes decorated the balconies.

There was so much more to see, but, unfortunately, I wasn’t there to spectate.

As I walked up to the stage, I stopped to greet the conductor of the orchestra; Skath Farri was an old friend from the conservatory where I had trained. He was invited to Coruscant for his considerable talents and was never permitted to leave. Now, he conducted the Imperial Orchestra. No one could know our relationship was anything more than professional, or we’d never see each other again.

“Ly! You look gorgeous, my dear.” He greeted me with the usual platonic kiss on the cheek and inconspicuous wink. “Are you ready to shine tonight?”

That was his unique way of checking in on me. He was very aware that I had never entirely given my voice, or heart, to the Empire. I followed orders and sang the songs they wanted, but the emotion that drove my greatest performances was still in the Outer Rim. There was a marked difference between my performances here and Ero, but only someone like Skath would ever notice. I still played my part of the obedient songbird, but I refused to give them all of me.

I smiled back at him. “Just about as ready as I’ll ever be. They sent me a rather impressive list of everything I’m to perform tonight. At the very least, I came prepared.”

Skath just smiled knowingly before he shooed me onto the stage to begin warming up with the orchestra. Time seemed to stop as I rehearsed, but before long, the guests started to arrive and I was sent over to wait in my spot in the backstage wings until it was time to perform.

I could only see the stage, but I heard names, both familiar and not, being announced upon their entrance. The ballroom began to fill with voices as the guests trickled in. All of a sudden, a musical cue played, and the room went deathly silent. A ghostly hologram flickered to life in the center of the stage, and the shadowy form of the Emperor appeared.

“Welcome, my friends. I trust you will all enjoy tonight as a celebration worthy of our great Empire.” He paused for applause before continuing. “Now, it is my wish that you use this time to reflect on the victories that brought us to this moment. I assure you there will be many more in the future.”

The Emperor stood for even more cheering before holding up his hand to silence the crowd. “Now, let my Masquerade begin!”

His hologram flickered slightly before disappearing altogether as the lights dimmed, cuing me to get on stage. I walked out to stand in the center of the stage, and as soon as I reached my place, the lights slowly returned to their former brilliance.

I was no stranger to performing, but having every single Imperial in the room staring at me was enough to give me butterflies in my stomach. Thankfully, before they could settle in, Skath cued the orchestra to begin with a flick of his baton. The opening notes of the first piece, a current favorite on Coruscant, swelled to life, and I began to sing.

Almost immediately, the officers and politicians turned to their spouses or began to venture off in search of a dance partner. The crowded dance floor began to clear slightly, as others had no interest in dancing and were only there to make connections. The first song ended with tremendous applause, and I began the second. You can do this. Just take it one piece at a time.

By now, I was calm enough to enjoy myself and to watch the dancing and it quickly became apparent that everyone in attendance had tried their best to impress. The ladies wore beautiful, elaborate dresses made out of the best materials and representing the latest fashions from every corner of the Empire. Politicians displayed the most richly colored and finely tailored clothing they owned and Imperial officers were in their usual dress uniforms, but no one was seen without a mask.

There were all kinds of masks on display. Some were crafted entirely from gems or precious materials to show off resources from their home planet. Others pulled designs from legendary animals or myths. There were even some covered in exotic feathers or flowers, but every mask was distinctive in its own way.

Hours passed as I continued to sing. Slowly but surely, I made my way through the extensive list of songs on the program until only one remained. The last song required using a specialized instrument, so I retreated to the wings for some water while it was being set up.

Suddenly, Skath appeared and sprinted towards me. He spun me around to face him fully, and I was in shock at how frazzled he looked. Even his voice was strained. “Lyra, you have to trust me. I have no idea who asked for this, but they were important enough to change the final song we planned. Every member of the orchestra was given the new sheet music, and a stand was set out for you.”

“They want me to sight-read a piece on a night as important as this?!” I gasped indignantly at the thought.

Skath’s face was grim. “No. You’ll know it, but you won’t be happy about it. We don’t have any time left, so we’ve got to get back on stage. For what it’s worth….. I’m so sorry.”

My stomach sank. If he was this upset… I had no idea what to expect. However, there was no choice but to walk back to my place on stage and pretend nothing had even happened. With every step, the sinking feeling in my stomach grew.

It was so much worse than I ever could’ve expected. There was no way anyone here besides Skath should know about this song, but here it was in front of me. It was my favorite piece of music and the only one I’d sworn to keep from the Empire forever. The piece that had been the star of my first major performance on Ero after I left the conservatory.

Before I could even finish my thought, the orchestra cued up. The first few notes began, and every single one of them felt like a knife to the heart. My muscle memory kicked in, and before I even knew it, I was singing.

Thoughts flew through my head while I choked my way through the opening verse. What would I do? Do I keep my promise and hold back, or do I seize the chance I was forced into and truly sing from my heart? Memories of Ero, my family, and my friends all returned as the song continued. My voice began to flow over the music as I made it my own. I remembered my father’s smile and how proud he’d been of me for my music.

Courage suddenly coursed through me like liquid fire. I’d show every kriffing Imperial here what a daughter of the Outer Rim was truly capable of! I was wrong to hold back my emotions before. They could take me, bring me to this place, and shove me on a stage, but they could never control my voice. The Empire wanted me to be their emotionless puppet. My voice wasn’t exactly quiet before, but now it rose to fill the entire ballroom. I was going to burn myself into the mind of every Imperial present. Whoever requested this song would not see me subdued; they would see me triumphant. I poured every ounce of bottled-up emotion into my music, and my voice soared. Then, I had sung the final note, and it was all over.

You could’ve heard a code cylinder drop in the ballroom after the orchestra finished. The dancing had all but stopped, and people were leaning over the balcony to watch me. I curtsied, preparing to exit the stage and receive whatever punishment was in store for kriffing up the Masquerade, but then the thunderous applause began.

I kept my curtsy for as long as possible before my knees started to buckle. Everything left in me had gone into the song, and I barely made it into the wings before I collapsed. Fortunately, Captain Dreycolt was there to catch me before I hit the floor.

I smiled weakly at him. “Since the orchestra is taking it from here, now might be a good time for me to get some fresh air.”

He grabbed Arkmad, and together they helped me out one of the side doors into the garden. I didn’t want to be seen in my weakened state, but thankfully the garden was empty. Most people seemed to be still dancing or otherwise occupied. Those that were in the garden didn’t appear to have ventured this far.

Dreycolt stopped and pointed at the hedge maze, “There’s a small sitting area in the middle. The only way in or out is through the maze. Why don’t we take you to it so you can rest? Arkmad and I will stand at the entrance and exit to make sure you aren’t bothered.”

I had no complaints; the idea sounded fantastic. We made our way through the maze until we reached the center. It was small and only had enough room for a bench, but it was paradise to me. Arkmad helped me onto the bench before making his way to the exit. Dreycolt gave me one last worried glance, turned around, and headed back towards the entrance. The crisp night air felt wonderful on my face, and I began to relax. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and started to feel normal again.

The sudden sound of footsteps startled me. Assuming it was Dreycolt or Arkmad, I rose to meet them. For the second time that night, I was profoundly incorrect. A cold, sly voice broke the silence as the face that haunted my dreams stepped into the area. “Hello, Lyra. I bet you thought you’d never see me again.”

Icy fear washed over me as I was thrown into complete shock. Standing in front of me was Girerd Bost, the captain that took me from my home and attempted to violate me in every way possible. The starlight shone on his face, illuminating his narrow, glacial eyes and the nasty scar to the right of them. I hissed at him, “Captain Bost, what an unpleasant surprise.” I gestured to his scar, “It’s a real shame that didn’t heal better.”

He had the decency to look hurt by my cutting words as he moved his pale hair to the side and softly traced the scar. “Unfortunately for you, it’s Commodore Bost now.”

Before I could even blink, he lunged at me, grabbed me by the throat, and shoved me down onto the bench. Bost leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Those two boys waiting for you were certainly brave. They tried to argue with me, but they couldn’t disobey a direct order from a Commodore no matter how much they wanted to.”

He paused briefly to trace his other gloved hand over my face. His touch revolted me and made my skin crawl; he seemed to take pleasure in my discomfort before continuing, “Now, there’s no one nearby to interrupt us…”

At that moment, he made the mistake of stroking my lips. It was my turn to lunge forward, and I bit down on his hand hard. Bost screamed and released my throat to grab his bleeding fingers. I leapt up from the bench and bolted past him, sprinting as fast as possible towards the maze’s entrance and praying that I wouldn’t hit a dead end. He was chasing me by this point, screaming obscenities and threats of what he would do to me. Finally, an opening in the hedges appeared. I glanced behind me to see if Bost was close behind, but as soon as I turned my head, I suddenly collided with a very large, solid thing.

The hedges made it way too dark for me to see, but from the soft grunt I heard during the collision, it was another man. I recoiled backward defensively as Bost rounded the corner. The mysterious man glanced at him, looked back at me, and seemed to judge the situation quickly. He swiftly stepped in front of me to block Bost’s path. At this point, all my dignity flew out the window, and I hid behind his tall figure. I just had to trust fate that I was better off with him than with the Commodore. In contrast to Bost’s loud cursing, the other man’s voice was impossibly soft and collected when he spoke. “Commodore, I believe this woman would like to be left alone.”

Still distracted by his hand, Bost howled, “Just who do you think you…..”. He looked up at the man and abruptly shut his mouth. Before he could re-open it, my unknown hero spoke again. This time his voice had a definite edge, and an unrecognizable accent slightly marred his words.

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

[ignitification]

No face behind the Mask?

* A little rant about AFO and why I think that this individual is a sick trash ass that needs to be punched into oblivion.

AFO is probably the root and cause of the plot which is now unfolding in the BNHA world. He is after all, the creator of One for All, and the one who ‘saved’ Shimura Tenko, shaping him into Shigaraki.

There is a whole another rant I want to make onto how not only AFO might be related to Shigaraki (-> he is the older brother of the first holder of OfA, so is it really a coincidence that the power has ended it in the hands of Nana Shimura, who is coincidentally also Shigaraki’s Grandmother?) and my theory that somehow Deku’s bloodline is, after all, somehow cursed or just strong enough to skip a generation because of all the power his ancestors accumulated [if AFO is revealed to be Deku’s ancestor, I will definitely be on my merry way].

However, there are some clues here and there which tell us that as powerful and atrocious AFO may have been in the past (even more than now), he is not only a big mastermind but he is obsessed by certain ideas and values and he has warped them so much that behind that mask of villain, of AfO, there is nothing left of human in him. That he is unredeemable and that the loss (or lack) of his facial features [potato face] might be an externalisation not only of the experimentation and the salvaging that the Doc has done on him, but as well of the blurred line between his human part (older brother who wanted, even with the abuse and the abominable things he has done, to ‘save’ his little brother) and the part that defines him as AfO. Because, we have to consider that as a person, AfO existed before identifying himself as such. 

To explain myself a bit better, I’ll make the example of All Might, who is blatant in his duality: he after all, lived a double life as Yagi Toshinori, a normal quiet private life as a quirkless person and then he strained himself to become the Symbol of Peace, All Might, detaching himself from the person he was before and somehow emboding the Ideal he wanted to represent. There is a clear difference between Yagi Toshinori and All Might, and if All Might had left behind the identity of Toshinori (as AfO did, abandoning his identity as a Shigaraki), he might have turned out a bit worse than he did when he met Deku (and here comes another rant about the hero complex, but that’s a whole another story). What All Might wears, is nothing other than a metaphorical mask that puts a division of his private life as an individual (Yagi) and his hero life as Symbol of Peace. But under All Might's mask, there is a face, there is a person (who is Yagi Toshinor) and that one is the personality he can revert to, when he stops being All Might. AfO, exactly because there is no face, no person, behind the Mask - wears and lives as AfO and cannot detach himself anymore from his identity of the villains' mastermind and somehow fixes him as an obsessed freak who has issues letting go (funny, isn't it?).

What is worse in this scenario, however, is that AfO throughout identifies with his quirk. The grand words of All for One are not only prophetic, but carry as well a burden and a condemnation. AfO is a selfish creature, that lives for himself only. He thinks that the world is his stage and that somehow everything is owned to him. The world is for him to shape at his own pleasure because everything (All) is made for him (for One). And this reflects plainly in the way he addresses stealing Radgoll’s quirk back in Kamino, where he nonchalantly digresses on how he cannot resist on stealing such a useful quirk when he finds one.

However, this whole story brings us to the prime example of failure, or partial failure, of AfO, who is represented by Shigaraki himself. 

As AfO is not a man anymore, and does not feel anything unless it is related to the quirk, he becomes his figure and shadow that has no limits and bounds when it comes to darkness: a lost figure in his own ideals and principles (maybe dreams) that have nothing to appeal to but his villain side, because there is nothing left. After all, his grudge with All Might is more tied to OfA then the figure of All Might himself, as it represents the only thing he possibly cannot have (and AM is the culmination of things AfO cannot have).

Coming back to Shigaraki: this might sound strange, but I think that Shigaraki Tomura and Shimura Tenko, the same way as All Might and Yagi Toshinori, both live inside of the villain. Let me explain: Shigaraki has been saved by AfO when he was a child because no one else extended him a hand, but at the same time, while AfO was shaping Shigaraki into being a puppet to control at his will without actually doing the job, Shigaraki held on the memories (still closed off in his mind) about what happened to his family. This is made abundantly clear with the hands that Shigaraki carries around all the time. They are a grounding item for him to have, as to remind himself that he is not alone and that Shimura Tenko existed once upon a time. The culmination of his identity (which AfO desperately wants to negate) is after the whole disaster of last arc, Shigaraki still picks up the untouched hand of his father, the one person who failed to ‘acknowledge’ him and puts it on his face. 

The position of the Father’s hand on the face is not casual, far from it. Like AfO, the lack of visible facial features shapes these two characters as not only similar, but as well redounding. However, while AfO lack of details is more of an externalisation of the lack of his personality as no other than AfO, Shigaraki’s condition is more to express that behind Shigaraki’s mask hides a kid who has wilted and that scratches continuously: Shimura Tenko. 

Shigaraki, in his iconic words where he pledges that he will not forgive anyone tell us another story: that he is not ready to let go of all the feelings that tie him to his past and past identity and that even if he supposedly breaks free of all limits and bounds, feelings and reality, he still is the same person as he was before and he wants to remain himself, instead of abandoning himself to AfO’s will. Further proof for this claim, is the fact that for a moment Shigaraki goes [potato face], but he fights instead for his body because that is who he is. And he does not regain control because he is stronger than AfO, far from that - but because he has something that AfO cannot begin to understand and just blatantly ignores: Shigaraki has an identity outside him being a villain that wants to destroy all - and that same will, I guess, is what makes him an absolutely perfect candidate to test out AfO’s limits.

My point here, is that AfO has nothing going on for him, apart from his villainous intents and his wanting everything for himself (a new body included). He thinks that whatever is happening is one big game that is made from him for him, and that he is the only one who matters (while everyone else is sacrificabile, simply for the reason that they are not as valuable as him). 

I hope that everything I wrote makes a little bit of sense and that somehow I made clear that AfO is like a circle: begins and ends with himself.

[valkyrieofsmut]

So... that last ask was too pure! (Shhh, I LOVED it. But I'm in a mood) I think I'd like it if you turned up the angst a little. What if, just after s/o and skelly were positive that the pregnancy was not a scare, s/o had a miscarriage?

Trigger warning for miscarriage! ... graphic paragraph...  

Good lord, you are in a mood! Here I go, ruining all that happiness I just spent weeks slaving over... 

Graphic stuff starts here!

I read this and it takes me back- years ago... makes me remember how it felt to be a very confused, very traumatized young woman... who didn’t even know she’d been pregnant... and after bleeding nonstop and not being able to get help for (10) months, and also having to work (at a call center with a boss who hated me for some reason...?), being in the middle of helping a customer and sneezing- and ruining everything between my bare ass and the bottom plastic of the chair. Shock, panic, embarrassment- I thought I’d just gushed blood everywhere... I was wet the chair was wet, it was all wet. I had to basically force my boss to let me go to the bathroom- no I can’t wait until break, or until I’m off this call- and I go to check myself out to find... tissue (partial placenta)?! Yeah, I freaked the fuck out for a bit. And then had to force my boss to let me change my pants (luckily I had a pair of yoga pants in the car), and yes, she, SHE wasn’t going to let me change my soaking pants. The insane part about all this is, I remember it happening, but I kinda dissociated during the panic in the bathroom and blocked most of it out, didn’t realize what it was until about two years later because I had no frame of reference; I didn’t know I was pregnant in the first place, I’d never been before, and I wasn’t trying or anything.  

Graphic stuff ends here!

Classic- He’s not doing well at all- he’s looking for causation, and... he finds it in himself. Did he cause this- he was panicking- he definitely put stress on his S/o! He’s in his skull filling it with self blame. He holds his S/o close and keeps apologizing. His S/o needs comfort, too, so it works out, but neither are leaving the room for a bit... 

Creampuff- OH NO-! NO- THAT’S-! He holds his S/o tight against him, silently, a rare occasion where he doesn’t know what to say... He eventually tries to bring them out of the gloom, trying to get them back out into the world and smile again, just like he’s done so many times before for his brother. 

Red- He’s devastated. His child- his S/o- he couldn’t protect them! Why couldn’t he protect them?! He didn’t even know what happened!! He’s in a foul mood, he won’t let anyone near his S/o. Even his brother seems to get on his nerves. They’re not going anywhere for at least a few days. He’s holding them close, even if he’s distant mentally, blaming that he couldn’t stop whatever had happened to hurt the ones he loves. 

Edge- He shuts down. He did this. He brought this upon them... His S/o would be better off if they’d never decided to accept his proposal to be his datemate... He’s distant, always looking like he’s on the edge of saying something, but never quite able to bring himself to do it. He holds his S/o close when they’re asleep and whispers apologies into their hair, tears running down his cheekbones.  

Blue- He’s shell shocked. How- How Could This Have Happened...? He tries to keep a mask of his usual happiness up, but it’s slipping, badly. He’s miserable, but he tries to keep up a happy face for his S/o, trying to be strong and unaffected for them- they find him crying alone, but he tries to brush it off. An argument ensues about him acting like an asshole, when his S/o needs his love and support, and to talk about it and not pretend like nothing happened! Then it’s a tear fest to rival any chick flick. 

Stretch- This boy is on dangerous grounds. He’s broken inside, but all he can manage to say is, “well... i... guess that solves that...” His S/o 9/10 leaves his ass there, but he thinks he deserves it, anyway. Doesn’t even put up a fight. Blue is the one who, again, smacks some sense into him. He talks to his S/o, trying to explain that his brother is an idiot who doesn’t know how to express himself, so instead of admitting that he’s hurting about the miscarriage and them leaving him, he’s sitting alone in the dark, torturing himself better than any enemy could in the silence. Whether they get back together is... going to take a while to figure out... 

Black- Others have noticed his sudden change in mood. He hasn’t been able to concentrate, and is silent, which generally only happens when he gets serious about things... Where is his S/o... has anyone seen them lately? Black has taken on all of the outside responsibilities so that his S/o can stay home and mourn. He will pay all the bills, he will attend all of the functions, he will take care of everything, just so they can take the time they need. He often comes home and just holds his S/o close. 

Mutt- He... doesn’t have anyone to kill... this happened, and he doesn’t have anyone to kill for vengeance! There’s no rhyme or reason! Except that- after the initial flash of pain and anger, he knows that human bodies are run by chemicals, and he knows intimately how chemicals can react with each other, things can set them off balance and cause things to go haywire and end. He’s there for his S/o, over all the most stable of all the Skelemens. He’s the rock they cling to through everything and he’s there when they get past it. 

Axe- He goes silent. He knows what this is; not all pregnancies made it through in the Underground... He knows that there’s nothing he can say, and that his S/o isn’t 100% responsible for the things they say, do, and think right now, but he’s there... As much as he can be. He dissociates a lot more than normal, and needs extra time to try to get tasks done, but he does his best. He also tries to ply his S/o with food. Food was a luxury, luxuries are comfort items, right? He’s doing his best to comfort them. 

Crooks/Bun- He is a big sad cuddle bug. He only wants to hold his S/o close and stay somewhere cozy and comfortable, with a pile of snacks to comfort them- and these ones aren’t healthy; he raided his brother’s horde of sugary snack cakes and things. He wishes there was more he could do. 

Dusty- He’s pretty much useless... He’s numb and doesn’t know what to do, or how to comfort his S/o- dear gods, someone help him! Papyrus- what is he supposed to do?! 

How’s that for angst, Anon?