#just because you have defeated your therapist doesn't mean you

[hauntingmiser]

Pray for Maruki's therapy tomorrow. ty

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

[caitas-cooing]

"Being able to revive Chidori and save Shinjiro in FemC's route goes against the themes of persona 3" is a take a see a lot, but it's never been one I personally agree with.

Death is a big part of persona 3, but the inevitability of death is not the only thing persona 3 is about. This game is about death and loss and how nothing last forever, but it's also about life and love and the importance of making the most out of life. It's about how it's worth making connections with people even if parting with them is inevitable. It's about how fighting for the things that you believe in is worth it even if you can't save it forever. Even if you save Chidori and Shinjiro it doesn't change the fact that death is inevitable, in Shinji's case he is still going to die sometime soon unless they can speedrun research that undoes the effects of the suppressants that he's been taking which seems highly unlikely. Yet they were still saved today, and that matters.

Another thing I think people don't take into account a theme that all modern persona games share and that is that the connections that you form with other people can make you stronger, or to put it a different way the power of friendship is just as much a thing here as it is in a Kingdom Hearts game. Persona 4 is probably the most obvious with this ("bonds of people is the true power" is literally text the appears on screen after the ending sequence in the persona 4 anime I don't think you spell it out any clearer than that) but it's a theme in all 3 games and it's something that appears in both the gameplay and narrative, from the way social links and confidants increase the amount personas level up when you fuse them, the confidants abilities in persona 5, the way visions of your maxed out confidants appear in front of the protags at the end of 3 and 4 and urge you to keep going just a little bit longer. They are what help to form the great seal. They help Yu and Joker defeat the gods and in their games (and also his therapist that one time). This is just another instance of that. If you seek or Shinjiro and form a social link with him despite his rough exterior not only do you get stronger but you also gain the ability to stop his death. It's not easy, maxing out a social link in a month is something you have to be deliberate about, and the game doesn't tell you where to find the pocket watch. It's something you have to go out of your way to get, but if you do it anyway you can impact the ending of this arc of the story in a positive way.

I think Junpei and Chidori's situation is an even cooler instance of the power that bonds can have in this universe because in this case the protag is not even directly involved in the relationship. They only give Junpei the push he needs to keep the relationship going even though Chidori is trying to pull her walls back up. All he need is to be encouraged not to give up and he keeps trying to keep that bond alive and strong all by himself, and because he took action and she kept reviving the flowers with her powers every time he showed up Chidori was able to not only be saved but also had the effects of the suppressants reversed. Things aren't 100% as they were before, Chidori no longer has the potential which means she only has a vague idea of the time she and Junpei spent together (and that makes sense as well because Medea fused with Hermes after she revived Junpei, so her persona is literally a part of his persona now she literally could not get it back) but she's alive, and she remembers the warmth and kindness of the time she and Junpei spent together even if the specific events are no longer there, and based on the way Junpei reacted to finding out I think that's enough for both of them. Junpei and Chidori relationship saved her beyond all odds because he went out of his way to keep the relationship strong and she still cared about him enough to keep reviving the flowers. One of the most powerful examples of the way connections can save others in a persona game to me.

[waynewifey]

aporia — b.w

part one : dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

sumary: aporia suggests “an impasse”, a knot or an inherent contradiction found in any text, an insuperable deadlock, or “double bind” of incompatible or contradictory meanings which are “undecidable”. [reference]

pairing: battinson/bruce wayne x reader

genre: drama & romance

warnings: mental health struggle, miscarriage, car crash, a lot of internal dialogue

word count: 2k

A/N: the more i write, the more i put myself in this story. i feel like this ‘you’ is so complex i can’t help but try to explain her further. part four will be bruce’s perspective on all of this + an epilogue. i’m so grateful for the amazing feedback given on the last two parts and for the new followers, thank you so so much. i hope you enjoy this. (also this gif??? HELLO???)

GOTHAM. USA.

— bargaining.

the uncomfortable silence makes you want to scream. she told you that was a normal reaction and they couldn't get rid of those moments, they were essential for your self reflection. the problem was being alone with your thoughts, even for just one minute. they keep deciding you won't recover any time soon. everyone keeps holding you like a cracked vase. even negligence was better than being put under the microscope.

"i don't know what you want me to say" you respond, your gaze anxiously shuffling between the objects in the room. the woman's eyes, however, don't ever leave your face. she holds that journal like a scientist analysing a mutation. like you're some weird thing.

"you should say whatever you feel like saying." that's what she always answers. dr. quinn was extremely stoic, even for a therapist. you still liked her, though, because her pragmatic approach helped you shift your point of view and see yourself from an outside perspective, which made you want to help yourself. after weeks of feeling extra irritable, still trying to forgive your husband for lying to you, you realised maybe everything was too much for you to handle by yourself. you wanted to go back to the real world but before that, you had to do this. a quick chat with your psychiatrist and he gave you the contact to harley quinn.

"i think i've been way too mean to bruce" your confession has her nodding, like that observation had been made sessions before and she was waiting for you to realise that. "he's been so supportive and helpful, but sometimes words just fly out of my mouth and i don't even mean them"

"do you think it's easier to blame him than to come to terms with what actually happened?" you can't answer, because this was all you've asked yourself lately. you were a coward, hiding behind his suffering to prevent confronting yours. it's easy to curse him, to reject him, but it's not what you want to do. lately it feels like you don't have any control over your emotions and actions. you thought maybe if you pushed away the last person that still cared for you, you could disappear in your loneliness and finally stop hurting. "y/n you've been through something terrible. the kind of thing we never think it's gonna happen to us. i know it doesn't feel real, but you have to face it that it is. the thing about trauma... you have to keep living with it. you have to keep going, because it doesn't go away. but this is your life and you don't get to stay on standby. you hurt the people you love because it's better than hurting yourself. you told me you feel bad about it, so why won't you change?"

why won't you? you don't even know where to start. it felt comfortable living in sorrow forever. horrible, but comfortable. again, it was in fact easier to blame him than to accept this was reality. but he's right outside, been waiting for you for two hours, as he has done twice a week for over a month. you weren't being fair to him. he didn't deserve this. dr. quinn sees the defeat in your eyes and sighs in a mission accomplished type of breath.

"think about this, okay? we'll talk on friday." you nod, as if you weren't already overthinking it.

bruce sees you before listening to you. he's created the habit to stay in the waiting room with headphones in, blasting loud music. he didn't want you to feel like he was prying on you. he also didn't want to listen anything you had to say about him. you had the right to be mad at him, given everything that had happened. he knew you didn't mean it when you bomb dropped the word 'divorce' every now and then. it would take you some time to get back to normal and he wouldn't rush you.

you walk to the car quietly and get into the driver's seat. he agreed to let you drive to and from therapy. the office was actually in dr. quinn's house, a little bit on the country side of the city, if you could call it that. it was a 50 minute drive with no traffic, roads empty enough for you to drift off in you thoughts. he watches you drive, eyes brightening up a little more everyday. he realised that trying to shield you from the world wasn't going to work out. you need to learn how to be on your own. he needs to learn how to care for you while away.

"i'm sorry," you caught him off guard, observing the curves of your face. he frowns at the unexplained sentence. you glance at him but look back at the road. "for the way i've been acting. for pushing you away. for being too complicated. i know you're trying to help… thank you for staying."

"darling, of course. for better or for worse, remember? i'm never leaving you. we're getting through this, together. and don't you worry about me, i'll be okay when you are too, alright? you're doing great, i can see how much you're working towards it." he holds out a hand for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers. his calloused palms are softer now, courtesy of the months without batman-ing. they still embrace yours entirely and warm the cold tips of your fingers.

"i love you" the sweetness of that feeling dominates your tastebuds and it's almost like the day you started dating. that innocent type of love that consist of the pure enjoyment of each others company. however, your attempt to savour the moment is ruined by a shape in your peripheral eyesight.

"i love you too" bruce's voice is muffled by the anxious thoughts taking over your mind. the panic starts to overflow. he notices your body getting stiff and the wheel looking loose on your hand. your breathing lost it's rhythm to creaking gasps. there's something wrong. your eyes are frozen in a vehicle. he's seen this van before. maybe not this one, but an identical one, in a security camera tape in court. it looks exactly like the one that took you. "baby, hey, hey. i'm right here." you don't pay any mind to the man beside you. you can't, not when your instincts are telling you to run. not when you can feel the gun getting knocked on your head over and over again. bruce is saying something. the tears are blurring your sight. this is too much.

he's calling you screaming at this point, tears are rolling down your cheeks and you still haven't looked away from the van. there's a bump coming up, the car is dangerously fast and you're not driving at all. he goes for the wheel but isn't quick enough. the tires wiggle, going in their own direction. the car changes lanes, getting in the wrong way of the street. another car is coming and the impact isn't light. your head is thrown forwards, the airbag covering your face. the windshield shatters and little pieces of glass get stuck in your hair. the crash isn't too bad, you're both still awake and only the front has been smashed. but you get out hyperventilating, falling onto the ground and weeping.

bruce gets out as well, only a scratch on the forehead. he has to kneel on the dirt to hold you up. for a while, he doesn't say anything. the other driver is standing, phone in the ear. he's also fine. the cars were the only damage. two other drivers stop by, offering help. you wish he could help you, but it seems as if there's something inherently wrong with you.

— depression.

the weeks following the accident were harsh. it took a while to get you believing in recovery again. you still weren't sure. somehow there was press at the site, so pictures of you crying next to a car crash made it to the papers. there's minor commentary online about you faking it for your husbands popularity. most of the netizens feel desperately sorry for you and have painted you to be their new princess diana, the comparison seems wild to you.

you only go online every three days or so, because you can't resist the urge to know what bruce hasn't been telling you. jokes on you, he's actually been a lot more transparent lately. you agreed that the batman would show up to the sentence of edward nashton, to pressure the jury with his presence. it worked and the criminal got life without parole. the lawyers said that your public presence impacted on his trial, as 20 years was the standard. you were just glad he wouldn't do that to anybody else ever again. the case got national and your family from outside the state, that you not-so-kindly kept in the dark, started making contact, victimising you all over again.

but things were getting better, gradually. it had been almost a year and it felt like that chapter of your life was finally being finished. you were trying to get your life back, including your driver's license. it was suspended for a while after the accident, so now you had to submit a bunch of medical records to prove that you were mentally fine to drive again. that's how you found yourself in bruce's home office, searching everywhere for your documents. you could've asked him where he put it, but he had just fallen asleep in the living room and you didn't want to disturb him.

in one of the desk's drawers, you find a folder with the local hospital logo on it. you open it, shuffling through the papers you've seen before. only one stands out, with "ob/gyn" on the top of the sheet. you wonder if there's anything helpful there. your eyes start reading the words one by one, listing the examinations they've done on you. the subject changes abruptly.

the ultrasound analysis reports the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy to the patient's spouse.

you feel like you're about to throw up. the world starts spinning as you force yourself to continue to read.

the fetus was estimated to be in the development stage of the beginning of the second trimester. the miscarriage was most likely a result of several mechanical trauma. dilation and curettage was performed with the patient in a medically induced coma.

you try to remember to breathe in and breathe out just like dr. quinn taught you. you expect the tears but they don't come out. the panic doesn't come. it's suddenly so quiet. it's not like a hole has been punched through your chest, it's like you have no chest at all. it's like you don't even exist. you somehow sit down, your body does. you feel as if it's moving on it's own and you're just watching from afar. your thoughts sound so distant, so irrelevant. you can only think of the baby that had once been inside of you and you didn't even realised. you didn't have the time to love him. you've had him there, right there, the thing you wanted the most in the world and he was taken from you. everything was taken from you.

if a tree falls on a forest, and there's no one around to hear, does it still make a sound? it felt like your fall was silent.

[bibibbon]

UA teachers suck and UA sucks as a school

UA literally just sucks. Honestly this school has failed so many people especially izuku in particular.

Maybe it wouldn't of actually earned this title if we got more academia arcs but from the canon stuff we have so far it sucks!

No bullying policy?

So you see a student outright bullying another student and you decide to do nothing?!?!?! The student then doesn't even get any concequences for his actions?!!!!?!?!

Exposing students to the whole world after a villain attack?

So right after usj you have the sports festival and you don't even decide to delay it because UA's security measures have to look like their on top and apparently that's the logic behind it. Also, reminder that the UA sports festival is MORE POPULAR THAN THE OLYMPICS. So watching 15-18 year olds use their quirks to harm eachother is alright???! Like aren't you basically using minors for other people's entertainment?!?!

I mean realistically speaking you could of tried to delay the festival or just make the first years not do it that year. Just have them do tournaments with only heros present so you actually protect students safety and don't have people and villains watching/witnessing their weakness

Lying to the public about students being psychologically fine?

We never saw the phycological evaluation that the students did after the training camp incident and saying all students were psychologically fine was such A big lie considering you had a GROUP of students go and try and rescue another student because they couldn't trust the teachers enough to handle the situation which idk about you but that says A LOT.

Chaining up bakugo?

Look I hate bakugo I really really do but muzzling a whole student and making him a whole public disgrace has to be illegal? ...Right. like if bakugo wasn't going to cooperate then just disqualify him and make todoroki the winner and save yourself from attracting villains to kidnapping the kid.

Acknowledging that your entrance exams are badly done but then not changing them?

Seriously, we get aizawa talking and talking about how useless and illogical the entrance exams are but then nedzu does nothing... ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT IT. aizawa had a point about the exams favouring people with offensive quirks but can he really talk about that when all he does to teach his class is just play sick and twisted logical ruses on them? Also shouldn't the exams focus on different aspects of heroism instead of defeating villains?

Aizawa and his teachings being accepted?

I don't know about you but aizawa being a teacher is wild to me. Like this is the guy who actively does NOTHING to help his students but trains a student that's not even in his OWN CLASS!! He then goes on to not even read his students files which contain some very important information that could explain some or majority of his students behaviours that he isn't bothered to understand!!!! Also the amount of expulsions he has even if they are on paper they are literally a death sentence to students as it permanently destroys their records and ruins their chances in finding any normal job let alone becoming heros. He also only points out the problems with his students and then does nothing to help LITERALLY NOTHING!!

Is therapy a thing in UA?

No like this is actually a serious question because if you're telling me that hound dog is a therapist then I might as well leave because how is he a therapist when he offers nothing and is cannonically seen as threatening by all the students?!?!? Also were 1A or 1B even offered therapy after what they went through?!?! Like some of 1A literally showed some clear trauma responses and UA does nothing about it. Oh and this isn't even mentioning what hound dog done to izuku ( izuku is a gag and so is his pain) oh and what about mirio did he get any support after nighteyes death

Midnight in the anime?

We all have our own problems with midnight but her in the anime is totally different then the midnight in the manga. In the anime she continually flirts with students and you get it she does stuff she isn't supposed to. In the manga its a bit different but there are some scenes like the final exam arc where it's a bit weird

[harunayuuka2060]

Crowley: Now for today's housewarden meeting.

Crowley: This will be about Mr. Rosehearts' recent overblot situation.

Kalim: Excuse me, headmage. But is it fine for us to talk about this?

Riddle: Do not worry. I have given him my permission as it is extremely important.

Idia: Did you consider asking me before agreeing to this?

Riddle: You wouldn't allow me to enter your room!

Idia: *sigh*

Vil: I've heard MC helped you and defeated the phantom themselves. *confused frown* How is that possible?

Leona: Vil Schoenheit has a point. I never knew phantoms can be fought physically.

Azul: Or that it could be extracted from the one who overblotted.

Crowley: Mr. Shroud, I believe I'm allowed to give the details?

Idia: Sure. You have my father's approval.

Crowley: *clears throat* I believe MC's ability to separate phantoms from the magician's body is due to the fact that they're a child of hell.

Riddle: Child of...

Leona: ...Hell?

Idia: This should've been a confidential information. But my father and I didn't expect that someone in this school would overblot.

Idia: Anyway, that's that.

Vil: Are you not going to elaborate?

Idia: No. But if you're worried if they would overblot someday or would hurt you like a demon, hm. Yeah, it depends. So far, MC has only hurt phantoms. Heheh.

Kalim: Oh, wow! Sounds like they're a guardian or something!

Idia: Yes. But that doesn't mean you're free to overblot whenever you want just because they can beat your phantoms for you. Like yeah, no. Learn to go to a therapist.

Riddle: One question, Idia-senpai.

Riddle: Have you ever overblotted?

Idia: Let's see... When I was a kid, yeah. Mine was like a way smaller they just shoved it into the crate.

The housewardens: ...

Leona: Hey, radish sprout. If they're a protector, then why were they heavily-chained when they first entered NRC?

Idia: That's... That's soooooo confidential that if I tell you, I'll be forced to delete your memories.

Leona: *frowns* What?

Crowley: Well, that's all for this housewarden meeting. If you have any questions, just save them for now and we'll discuss them next time.

Vil: That gentle giant is a hell child?

Riddle: I know. It's hard to imagine it.

Kalim: But if we're going to think about it, don't they fit the description?

Vil, Riddle, and Kalim: *has recalled what they looked like on their first day*

Vil: Now that you've mentioned it, yes.

Kalim: *laughs* Even so, I'm glad they're someone that can be trusted in times of danger!

Ortho: How did the meeting go?

Idia: Nothing noteworthy. Just slightly shocked that MC is a hell child.

Ortho: But Idia, that information hasn't confirmed yet. That's merely a nickname given by the ancestors of Shroud family.

Idia: Hell is still hell. Anyway, what is MC doing right now?

Ortho: They've discovered a new plant called bonsai.

Idia: Ah.

Ace: Bwahahahah! No! You can't name it "Riddle"!

Ace: Do you want him to go off with your head?

Deuce: I honestly think Housewarden Rosehearts would mind.

MC: *grunts*

Ace: Fine, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Ace: By the way, MC? I've heard from Trey-senpai that a third-year senpai from Diasomnia was looking for you.

MC: *tilts their head*

Ace: What was his name again? Ah! Lilia Vanrouge!

[dokeythings]

| lethal secrets | (dokyeom)

*tw: mentions of suicide and depression

"y/n, please, i don't want to fight with you" he begs, his voice teetering on on the brink of a breakdown. he's trying to remain calm. trying to remain steady and responsible. 

"well i do! i want to fight with you! i'm tired of us pushing our problems to the side and pretending they don't exist!" you scream back, not matching his calm energy at all. you've had enough, and this evening was your breaking point. 

"we can talk about our problems without fighting" he answers hesitantly, hoping you don't continue to escalate things.

but you do. 

you're not sure why his calm, non urgent tone is bothering you so much, but it's making you feel like he doesn't care. and that's pissing you off.

"we clearly can't! because you never tell me what you're thinking! it's a battle everyday where i'm apparently supposed to just read your mind. where you get quiet and then disappear for schedule for hours on end and then we never talk about it. ever!" you yell, getting completely frustrated. you're going to be letting out things you've wanted to say for a long time now.

dokyeom looks down at the floor, your words not falling upon deaf ears. you hit a weak spot. he knows he's not good at sharing his feelings and thoughts with you. he knew you would get fed up with it eventually, despite his efforts to fix this bad habit. hearing you say it made it real. he's scared you won't have the patience for it anymore. you can tell that you got to him.

"i'm trying, y/n. i really am" he says quietly, wishing the confrontation would just end. but he knows he messed up.

"you're not dokyeom! sometimes i swear i don't know anything about  you" you say, as if you're punching him in the gut. you regret your words instantly. you wish you could shut your mouth.

he shakes his head sadly, "that's not true. you know everything about me. i've opened up to you" he says, trying to finally stand up for himself. 

"then why are you always sneaking off and disappearing everyday, for way longer than i know you have work. and why do i hear rumors of things going on in your life that you have never once told me? that you'd rather tell anyone but me? do you know how much that hurts me?" you say angrily, but the tears well up in your eyes, conveying an all too different emotion that you try to push to the background.

what dokyeom hasn't told you about is the extra hour a day he's been going to see a therapist. he hasn't told you about how he's been really struggling to get out of the shelter of the bed sheets for months now. or how he doesn't have the energy to fight with you. but how he wants to fight for you. how most days he only stays alive for you. he sees now that that hasn't been enough. 

all you want is to be there for him. you want to know what he's thinking all the time, and why he will randomly go quiet and get that far off look in his eyes. you want to be in on the secrets that everyone else is. you want for him to let you love him. you don't want it to have to be done this way, but you can't get through to him any other way. you feel your heart tearing apart with every word you yell at him. 

"i've been going through some stuff" he trails off, avoiding your eyes still. he looks defeated.

you quit the yelling. "some stuff? what does stuff mean?" you ask. you are still irritated, and feeling so utterly left out and helpless. you can't help him if he doesn't admit what he needs help with. 

he breaks down.

he hasn't cried in months. he hasn't been able to. his eyes have been dry and his body has been numb. but looking at you, seeing you get angry with him for something he's so desperately trying to fix for you, he loses it. he didn't want you to know. he didn't want to be the broken man who feels like he can't even keep himself alive. you fell in love with a happy, optimistic dokyeom who brightened up your day. he doesn't feel like that person anymore, and he couldn't bear to find out what would happen if you noticed. 

he's on the ground before you can even comprehend what's happening. he's sobbing into his hands, his knees dropped to the floor as if his body gave up on him. you are paralyzed. you've never seen him cry like this.

"dokyeom?" you ask quietly, softly this time. you think you went too far. you think you shouldn't have gotten the information out of him this way. you curse yourself for losing your temper. you can't lose him. not when he needs you most.

he doesn't answer. he doesn't even look up. you think he may have not even heard you over his crying and the hiccups. 

"baby" you say, a little louder this time. you take a few weary steps towards him until you're standing right above him.

you bend down slowly and place your hand on his shoulder. he looks up at the contact, wondering why you aren't yelling anymore. he doesn't even remember breaking down. he suddenly feels numb again. 

you stare back at him into his bloodshot eyes, finally seeing the secrets he's been hiding from you. he's broken. 

you sit down on the floor in front of him. if he's broken, you must be strong.

"my sweet boy. i'm sorry for yelling at you. i just want to help you. i need to know what's going on so i can help you" you say gently, keeping your distance and building up the conversation slowly. you've never seen him so fragile. you're terrified. but you have to stay strong. 

"sometimes i don't want to be alive" he says, cutting right to the point. he can't hide anymore. 

you suck in, your breath hitching at his words. salty tears of your own fall down your cheeks. you feel like you can't breathe. 

"baby" you choke out, reaching your hand out to him. you don't even know what to say. you don't know where to go from here.

he sees your tears. he sees your fear. this is what he was avoiding. there's no going back now. 

"i've been seeing a therapist. that's why i'm gone a lot. i've had to talk to the company a lot too. it's been a whole process" he continues, spilling it all.  "i'm in the middle of getting antidepressants. i still can barely admit it to myself. i didn't know how i could admit it to you" he chokes out. 

you hold his hand tightly.

"i don't feel like the same person you fell in love with. i'm scared you won't love who i am now" he breaths out, ending it with a sob. 

your heart shatters. of course you will still love him. of course you would! everything you fell in love with is still in there. it's all still in him, you see it everyday.

"please look at me" you encourage. 

he switches his gaze from the ground to you. the second you look into his eyes, you hate yourself. you should have been there. you should have been helping him. you should have known without him having to say a word.

"i love you, dokyeom" you say sternly, praying it gets through to him. you need it to get through to him. 

"i loved you the second i met you, i loved you yesterday, and i'll love you tomorrow" you continue, scooting even closer to him.

he sniffles.

"it's going to be okay. you're getting the help you need. you're doing everything right, baby" you say, your lip quivering as you try to be brave for him.

he doesn't say another word. he throws himself into you, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a hug thats been a long time coming. you hold onto him for everything its worth. you hold him like he's the most delicate thing in the world, who could break at any touch. but you also hold him like he's the bravest, strongest thing in the world, who you know without a doubt can get through this. 

"i'm so sorry i didn't tell you" he cries, not daring to let go of you. 

"please don't say sorry. none of that matters anymore. all that matters is that you get better" you say honestly, rubbing his back gently. 

you softly take his face in your hands and make him look at you again before you say this. 

"don't you fucking leave me baby. don't you dare go anywhere" you speak, the tears falling once more. your throat feels tight. you aren't doing so good at being strong for him. 

he knows exactly what you mean. he hears you. he looks into your eyes, noticing the sheer fear in them. a fear that he instilled. he decides right then and there that he's going to get better. that he has to get better. he knows without a doubt that you'll be there with him, holding his hand the whole time. for the first time in a long time, he feels a little stronger. he feels like there is light on the other side of the tunnel he's been trapped in.

[hamliet]

@isammy7936 asked: Hello! Now that you've been reading through the Big 3 and I'm sure seeing the connections to other manga that they inspired or were inspired by, I was wondering what your thoughts were on the whole battle therapist trope? Like whether you like it or not, why and how you think it works in the stories they're used in, whether you think it could work or have seen it work in other mediums (such as movies, western comics, etc) and what your favorite fight that helped the antagonist through their issues was? I really love the Mereum vs Netero, Naruto vs Neji, Naruto vs Gaara, & Deku vs Todoroki (sigh at the latter two series as a whole but I'll give them those fights for rewiring my brain chemistry as a teen)

Yes! Definitely see those connections.

I think it works really, really well in stories, especially in this genre. Like obviously not a real life thing--punching doesn't solve things--but I think it is used really well in these shonen stories because, when well done, the particular moves and powers utilized are meant to reveal something about the characters and their personal ideals/philosophies, which in turn speaks to the story's themes.

It's a device to peel back the character's layers and put them in an extreme situation--fighting--to see what they're fighting for, what the themes and questions they represent are. What is the character's goal? And how far are they willing to go to get it? Deku pushes Todoroki to make steps he needs to make in that fight, instead of just talking about it, and to confront parts of him that fear becoming like his father. Netero decides he needs to end Meruem by any means necessary, and ushers a whole deconstructive idea into the story--the idea that heroes can go too far. Ostensibly, the Chimera Ants needed to be stopped, but Netero essentially nuking them horrifies readers. This then spirals into us seeing Gon, our chipper shonen hero boy, losing everything he's been in an attempt to defeat Pitou.

I think fight therapy can work really well in superhero stories (for example, Omni-Man vs Invincible in Invincible), action movies, stories that are geared towards wanting to see people do physical feats of nature.

My favorite fight that helped an antagonist through their issues? Well... it's gotta be Sakura vs Sasori, actually!

[gust-jar-simulator]

Saw a thumbnail calling Ghirahim the "creepiest Zelda boss" and. First of all, no. Numerous other bosses have him beat on both body horror AND interpersonal drama. Ghirahim is functionally more of a rival, and also mostly using Link against his will as a stress toy/rubber duck style therapist, he doesn't really fully commit to taking the kid gloves off until about a minute before he gets defeated.

But! I digress.

Calling Ghirahim the creepiest boss relies on, whether the viewer realizes or not, recognizing Ghirahim's mannerisms and behavior as disturbing. And yeah he does some disturbing stuff. But thematically he was, as far as I can tell, intentionally designed by the devs to use queer behavior to trigger repulsion in the player, and I think that HAS to be acknowledged before you commit wholesale to just calling him Creepy.

He does do creepy shit. But they decided to convey that creepiness through some very unfortunately queer design. And he's not even actually queer, so it reads as this... gutless, sourceless, mismatched parody, where what should be backing up this threat is some sort of genuine want, whatever that might be, and there's none whatsoever. He's a peacock flashing his feathers but for pure threat reasons.

I do like the idea of a living weapon learning about politeness and manners and the kind of body language that flesh-and-blood beings would find threatening, and I could make some headcanon assumptions about that, but we really have no information on why he behaves the way he does so we just have to take it at face value. Ghirahim postures and poses and soliloquizes but exhibits no genuine desire until, I think, those couple of minutes at the very end of the game.

It's really hard for me to be genuinely scared of him because there's just nothing behind his threatening gestures. Like yeah damn sticking your tongue in my ear is kind of rude, and summoning monsters to kick my ass is annoying, but it's also not really outside the expected patterns. SkSw Link has a bully (Groose) and kicks demon ass anytime he's on the surface. And, sometimes, Ghirahim is there voguing and bitching about his love life job, beating me to my goals.

If you mean specifically boss battles, though, then the final fight against him is definitely one of my favorites because you see an incredible amount of character development for him, direct acknowledgement of Link as something powerful and terrifying, and also the visuals/setting are really fucking cool. To some extent I think you can ONLY fully understand Ghirahim as a character after that boss battle, because that's the only time it's actually genuine and personal for him.

We all know, of course, that the actual scariest things in Skyward Sword are the sacred trials.

Tl;dr Ghirahim isn't actually scary until the last minute because the only serious threat he poses either physically or psychologically is Summon Thing, Stab Link, Spill Tea, and Kidnap Princess, two of which are par for the course, one of which is a nonissue, and one of which we are actively trying to solve. Most of his stylistic scare factor is just him behaving like a dramatic gay queen. The sacred trial guardians are 100% scarier.

[kaija-rayne-author]

I went thrifting with the kids a couple of days ago and I'm still in so much pain it's making me teary. I don't cry easy. My therapist scolds me about it. 5 hours of shopping with two well behaved kids and I sat down through most of it. I could really use a wheelchair, but I can’t afford one. It would have to be electric, because my EDS is degenerative.

Guess I'm stuck in bed again.

I really wish people would understand that I would give so much to be able to just... live. Even the limited existence I had before covid was better than it is now. I can't go to a movie, or the zoo, or the aquarium. I leave the house for supplies and medical care. That is literally it. I risk my immunocompromised life every time I leave the house because people won't mask. I risk my minor children's lives and my partner's too. We're all immunocompromised.

I used to hike, ride horses, dance, bike, practice 3 types of martial arts.

Then I caught swine flu and my body gave up. I was diagnosed with me/cfs (which is now usually considered a post viral illness, meaning you got sick with a virus and never got better).

Then 3 years ago, I caught version 6 of the first wave of covid. I barely survived, but I never got better.

I honestly can't imagine how people can be so blasé about viruses. They can absolutely destroy your life. They've destroyed mine. I was healthy! I exercised and ate well! I was vaccinated! (Antivaxxers fuck off. I have science degrees, you're really badly misinformed.) I did everything right and it still took me down.

There's nothing you can do behavior wise that will guard you from viruses except masking, vaccinations, and social distancing. Setting up air cleaning options helps too, but since we can't even get people to mask, I'm not holding my breath on that one. (Har, har, I'm hilarious.) Vaccinations are imperative, but they don't do anything for transmission. They exist so that if you do get it, you have a better chance of survival.

And humanity could have defeated this illness 3 years ago. Except because selfish people wanted their 'normal' back... we didn't. PSA? Your 'normal' sucked a lot for disabled people already. It's worse now.

I do the best I can, but it has robbed me of so much. My scientific career, my ability to make a living that doesn't mean just scraping by well under the poverty line.

I can't hike anymore, or bike, the brain knowledge of my decades in martial arts and dance is still there, but I probably couldn't take a hit anymore. Being around horses again is an impossible dream.

Hell, just getting out of bed some days is an impossible dream.

I have nightmares of being without a mask, and people walk around bare faced.

I fucking guarantee there isn't a 'fun' thing on this planet that is worth living like I do.

The worst isn't when the virus kills you, it's when you survive it and have so little ability left.

And more people survive SC19 than die from it. They survive, but millions of people are already disabled from it and the numbers rise every day.

How are people not fucking terrified? How?

[skaruresonic]

Was looking through your posts about the metal sonic shenanigans, and this part really caught my interest

"Metal doesn't really say anything to imply existential despair in Metal Madness. He more or less just brags about how he's going to take over the world"

The guy who complained about how "mean and condescending" the heroes are being sure ignored this part. They genuinely made something up and then acted like it's true.

Playing the games actually isn't enough. These people can look directly at the source material and still interpret it as something completely wrong. Sonic "fans" are simply hopeless

I didn't touch on this in my reply, but the supreme irony of "Sonic's picking on Metal, he's so impossibly smug and condescending" and "nobody listened to Metal" when Metal was actively trying to kill them is too much.

Let that sink in. Metal tries to conquer the world and murder the heroes, is a misunderstood bby boy. Sonic says something snarky to him and runs off, that's unacceptably mean.

I just.

Metal threatened to roast these characters on a spit and blasted fire in their faces. What are you talking about, "nobody listened to him"? How much would you feel like playing armchair therapist for someone who just pointed a flamethrower at you five minutes ago? Why is this deserving of "aw, poor baby"? What about Metal's actions or words suggest he's crying out for help? One throwaway line about how he's no longer afraid? Does that honestly negate the fact that he's trying to conquer the world and rule as its robot overlord? Where in the games does it suggest Metal went crawling back to Eggman to ask him to remove his voice? Because even if you go by IDW's account and nothing else, Eggman still managed to remove the "rebelliousness" from his coding. The page on which Neo Metal says this furthermore implies the process was nonconsensual; it shows an unconscious Metal hooked up to a bunch of wires, and Neo later checking a computer only to see a screen that reads "NO DATA." And barring the fact that, during the Metal Overlord fight, Metal essentially said all that was in the past... Does Sonic have to asspat every villain who comes for his blood? Really? I also really love (read: hate) how they said Sonic's answer to Metal's question of "But why can't I defeat you?" was a non-answer. Say what you will about how weird "Because we're Sonic Heroes!" is, it at least makes sense given the game's overall themes of teamwork. Heroes practically hits you over the head with it. You can't say Sonic didn't give him an answer when the answer is staring you right in the face.

The thing is, I was open to being proven wrong when I opened up YouTube and watched the Metal Madness fight. I don't remember exactly what Metal said off the top of my head. I haven't played Heroes in a long while. There are a lot of games where my memory needs a refresher. That's why I decided to double-check, because memory can often be unreliable.

So then, actually watching the video, I paid attention to his dialogue, and... Well. The evidence doesn't seem to support OP's claims. I didn't hear any instances of Metal screaming about how his constant battles with Sonic and co. were driving him insane. What I did hear, however, was a good dose of egotism justified by the slightest veneer of an identity crisis. That's not to say the identity crisis wasn't a factor, just not the most important factor. Hence I think it's reasonable to assume it's erroneous to paint it as the only thing motivating Metal in Heroes.

More broadly, I feel like the type of post that really gets big on this site is the one that appears galaxy-brained and appeals to our emotions, but hosts a conspicuous lack of sources and examples. Feels over reals, so to speak. They use loaded language, make declarative statements about the characters, and usually don't bother with nuance.

And. Like. If you scratch even just a little bit beneath the surface, you'd find the series holds more nuance than it's commonly given credit for. So to boil things down as people often do is needlessly reductive. It doesn't always paint a whole portrait. There was a recent post that rubbed me the wrong way as well because it was worded in this style, claiming that Shadow's character could be pinned down to his loyalty in his relationships to others. I found that analysis lacking because it neglected the fact that self-determination is an equally important part of his character, and portraying loyalty as his most critical trait risks defining him through his relationships with others. Stuff like this by its very multifaceted nature necessitates the use of asterisks. And in addition to games canon, Sonic Tumblr tends to be allergic to qualifiers that may risk diluting an otherwise "powerful" message.

This type of post isn't confined just to Sonic fandom. It happens in Half-Life too. I'm just more inclined to give it a pass for a couple of reasons. One of those being that HL's lore is more full of gaps than Sonic's, so in some instances your fanon is as good a guess as the next fan's.

But with Sonic, it's immensely frustrating because we're often looking at the simplest possible context, and yet folks continue to ignore it. People are so desperate to make the series seem Deep and Mature that they'll make shit up that just isn't there.

The only way I can explain it atm is by comparing it to the "blood orange, she's so pretentious, shut up it's fucking red" meme. It's not blood orange, it's red. The game said it was red. You're just saying blood orange because you think reframing something red as actually blood orange will make you sound more sophisticated, when in reality it makes you come off as ignorant at best and tryhard at worst.

I keep circling back to this example because it's always salient in my mind as the quintessential "you are pulling shit out of the deepest reaches of your rectum" take: Shadow was tortured on the ARK. Nothing in the games, Shadow's characterization, or the material SoJ recently published suggest he was ever experimented on by the researchers at any point. He holds no rage towards the researchers and harbors nothing but loyalty towards the ARK and its memory. Hell, in one ShTH ending he calls it "sacred." (And I'm sure some edgelord will be like "that's just evidence of Stockholm Syndrome." okay sure Jan) The claim becomes even more tenuous when you apply even a modicum of logic to it, from any angle. Yes, let's jeopardize Maria's one and only chance at a cure with unethical experiments. Let's waste resources and risk Gerald's wrath by treating his son like a guinea pig.

Literally all people base this on is this archetype of the Evil Research Facility, as though the ARK and Aperture Science are somehow interchangeable. They don't actually seem to consider the ARK's specific situation and instead superimpose this platonic idea of Evil Research Facility on it in order to "flesh" it out. Never mind the canonically shady shit the ARK got up to by developing weapons of mass destruction, something Shadow says out loud with his own mouth in SA2. No, games canon is not enough to work with. Shadow needs to suffer in new and innovative ways. Ow the edge.

Feels before reals, man. (takes stiff drag on imaginary cigarette)

[bi-turtle-enthusiast]

Thanks for answering my ask. Can I ask (again), if you don't mind, your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from TGCF & SVSSS? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments each from the series? Thanks if you want to answer....

ough ok this is gonna be hard bc i unironically love every character in tgcf for one reason or another.

top 3 tgcf characters:

3. Shi Qingxuan/Jun Wu I did NOT expect Jun Wu to be on this list but I started writing my fic and I kind of fell in love with his character. He's an awful person who loves causing misery but at the same time there's something so painfully human about wanting so desperately to be understood by someone, anyone. I don't condone his actions but I'm here to watch. I love Shi Qingxuan for being genderfluid, brave and kind, and just so much fun. She brings unmatched energy into every scene she's in and I just love her.

2. Hua Cheng This one should be pretty obvious considering I made him my pfp on my art blog and refuse to stfu about him but god DAMN I just can't stop thinking about him. I love everything about him. His amazing fits. His incredibly powerful imagery. The way he's just so insane. His butterflies. The color red. The gender. Everything.

1. Xie Lian He's the one I draw the most for a reason. I have a thing for characters who choose kindness whenever they can, and I love Xie Lian for being able to ultimately decide that he does in fact want to use his godly powers to protect his believers and not to dominate them. He doesn't make that decision lightly—he knows what it's like to abuse his power for the sake of vengeance and he's seen what it's like when gods abuse their power for greed—he decides that being kind and benevolent is the path he wants to take because ultimately, it's love that keeps the world intact. Xie Lian is love, and I love him.

Honorable mentions: Mu Qing, Shi Wudu, He Xuan, Yushi Huang

top 3 svsss characters (bear with me because I am not super familiar with SVSSS)

3. Shang Qinghua I want to throw him against a wall (affectionate). I hate him. I love him but on a deeper level I hate him but on an even deeper level I love him. Just,, such a little shit

2. Zhuzi Lang He's a pathetic little meow meow with a fucked up sense of morality and objectively too many snakes. Someone get this guy a therapist and maybe a snack

1. Liu Qingge He's a hater through and through. I, too, find Bingqiu irritating. His "no Luo Binghes allowed" rule is perfection imo. And the way Shen Qingqiu can just call out his name and Liu Qingge will come out of literally nowhere with a flying kick?? Love that.

I honestly can't rank my top 3 moments from SVSSS because I don't remember it that well. Here are mine from TGCF though!

3. Jealous Xie Lian during the Blackwater arc Hua Cheng is like "my beloved is a noble, gracious special someone" and Xie Lian is like "ugh i hope they fucking die I MEAN I HOPE YOU THEY MAKE YOU SMILE." We don't really see jealous Xie Lian that often and it was really funny to see just how petty he got. He's usually really calm and collected and neutral about things but he was so intense here. Possibly because he was a bit hangry.

2. The Hualian confession Everything about it is just. hrmnksgnsf. I love it. I love the way they're kinda awkward after it but then they clear the air a bit and continue onwards while holding hands. I love the way Xie Lian confesses with a hug.

1. The bamboo hat/Xie Lian telling Bai Wuxiang to fuck off The moment where Xie Lian's faith in humanity is restored. And then Bai Wuxiang appears and tries to be all evil and Xie Lian just goes "fuck off you ugly mf you're blocking my sun" to the guy who's been haunting him nonstop for months on end. And Bai Wuxiang is so stunned that he gets a little desperate—so desperate that he starts a fight just so he can have an excuse to be "defeated" by Jun Wu. Man, I love that scene.

[intertexts-moving]

Hellooo man I'm back for more persona hihi

(Btw your blog doesn't show on anything for me, not feed, not activities) so I basically visit it a lot in search hihi

Anyway, got any updated theories or new character insights?

How are you feeling about Kasumi and Maruki(probably my Halloween costume)

How's akechi been treating you

hiiiii kass!!!!!! ohh my godd u were right futaba's palace is so fun... ive been meaning to dm u & shriek about it for like Days now unfortunately work + classes have been a bitch lately hhjsdkfd!!!

anyway i DO. i DO. i think my Biggest theory at this point is that igor + the velvet room are doing the classic "mentor who the protag assumes is good but is the twist big bad guy at the end who has to be defeated through the power he himself taught him" thing. that's my big conjecture i think at this point it would be wild to assume that the velvet room is just a skinned game mechanic with no plot relevance. if it is ill be mildly distressed.

kasumi i LOVE kasumi. shes so cute im obsessed with her. and also mildly concerned because i also thought akechi was a nice chill guy who didn't raise any red flags. and well ummm.

SAME GOES FOR MARUKI, ACTUALLY. i instinctively distrust him because i also distrust any given school therapist but like... he seems nice. he also makes me pause & hesitate a sec with all the shit about fixing someone's heart, being able to physically interface with that mental/emotional aspect. maybe he's just a chill guy with some interesting research!!!!! nevertheless!!! he's also giving me vaguely similar to akechi 'nice unassuming guy who sometimes has the feel that he Knows Too Much. although it would be insane if there was Another person who knew about the metaverse at shujin.

+AKECHI.... GOD. i cant stop thinking about the handful of conversations w/ the siu director about how Someone is doing really good about the phantom thieves. he has to be doing something else other than being a teen celebrity-- has to be doing something genuinely useful if he's still there. HATE that he's friends with sae. wondering how that's going to pan out re: the interrogation. also nevertheless even if he was just a kid celebrity id feel soo bad for him he 100% has license to kill. imagine being seventeen (eighteen? he's a year above akira, no?) & being famous & also asked genuinely intellectual and thoughtful questions about current events on live tv that u have to answer in a pleasing manner. + also HOW DOES HE KNOW. HOW. there's no fucking WAY that some gay little teenager just. FIGURED IT OUT on his own before anyone else. i know he knows. also oh my fucking god. aquarium date. sorry aquarium normal hanging out with the boys. can't get over the all his suspicious ass behavior. hate that im obsessed with him because i know like. Everyone is obsessed with him unfortunately he's such a compelling character.

[foxymoxynoona]

foxy.... i'm absolutely SICK to my stomach. the last chapter of MM.... i'm going to commit a capital crime. jungkook you immature little shit!!!! when sasha leaves you again because she gets tired of your shit, i won't defend you!!! he's absolutely punishing her for breaking up with him and i don't think this is going to end up okay like, it's really doing to blow up on his face and it will actually be his fault. i still think jimin and tae should've just told him straight up what they thought but i don't think he would've taken it seriously. for me, jungkook is the type of person that doesn't like to hear he's wrong. no one likes that but he's stubborn to the point that he can't see reason because it doesn't fit his narrative. i absolute hated him when he asked if she had seen dr. kim like boy ?????!!!!!! sasha might be emotionally stunt and closed off but she's way more mature than you and can be a reasonable person 😭

this time he fucked up and she was 100% right in asking him to choose another artist and the fact that his "friend" called her a bitch and he didn't care ???? i would hang him from a very tall building and watch him fall

sasha, my little snowstorm, i hope it will get better some time soon for her 😭 all my baby does is suffer because of the choices of men and i need to see my girl happy. yeah, she broke up with him but not because she didn't love him or because he did something but it was because of her own trauma. she really is a survivor but how much can she take? and she sounded so defeated on the voicemail and the call, "yeah, do whatever you want because if you don't get your way, i'm gonna lose you and you're going to resent me otherwise."

how much angst are we getting in the next few chapters? cause i know that naoko took a picture and she's absolutely going to do something petty and mean with it and i need to get emotionally ready for the fallout because i know sasha is going to blame herself somehow and jungkook, if he continues to ask like this, is just going to be watching around like it's not that big of a deal and do something what will hurt sasha. again.

anyway, even if it doesn't seem like it, i absolutely adored the new chapter. the story is so realistic when it comes to characterisation and relationships. like, it really feels like i'm reading about two real people. thank you for sharing your writing with us. have a good day or night 🩷

The "did you talk to your therapist about this" is one that haunts meeee when I've been asked that in real life. Isn't it funny how something that could be intended as an innocent question can actually cut so damn deep 😭

There are so many layers at play here, it's really fun for me seeing which things people dig into as the part that makes it "that bad" for them. Everyone is very mad about him not reacting to Sasha getting called a bitch though that seems pretty unanimous 🤣

The reaction to it all is soooo fun, I'm glad you enjoyed it even if it made you rage!

[backpackingspace]

okay were getting deep oversharing with the internet times bc I'm going to react to dw through my trauma lense. Specifically hell bent and heaven sent here we go.

So far so good.

Listen will I be grateful if these episodes no longer trigger me to hell and back. Will I also be pissed that I've spent years being triggered by this show when the original trigger episodes no long trigger me? Yes. Yes I will be.

Never mind there will be no deeper meaning sound here the doctor is trying to dry his doc martins up right and laced up and its annoyed me so much it's all I will associate with this episode now.

The doctor talking himself into being brave o.o baby. Also me. Talking myself into doing anything with heights.

Sprays last thought like a cat no bad. Making me based comparisons is how this whole mess got started

Oh. Yep there it is. Being forced to relive the things that scares you on purpose forever. "I'm scared and I'm alone" ha ha yah fuck

Okay listen self. If the doctor being forced to relive his wrost fears on purpose is torture than you being forced to relive your worst fear is torture. I know we don't want to accept that don't want to accept its that bad but it is.

Oh hey the losing time thing too?? Haha yah

The sleep deprivation

"Maybe I'm in hell" "how long do I have to be here? Forever?" Yah it sure did feel that that.

"Asking a skull if it's still scared" yah passively contemplating death so I didn't have to be scared anymore. That sure was a thing.

"There's something I'm missing and I think it's something terrible" literally shut the hell up

Im actually finding this really helpful to be able to go through and label my emotions and thoughts about my situation might show this to the brand new shiny therapist I now have.

"I'm playing someone else's game I cannot stop and everyone else has lost" man if we're taking ever line as a metaphor for what was done to me. This therapist had a deal with a school man. It literally terrifies me to think of how many kids she's messed up like she messed me up. Both before and after because let me tell you. She was so fucking good at messing you up. Took literally 3 sessions to get you dependent on her and going insane.

The clinging feeling of desperation that you just have to get through this it gets worse before it gets better.

"The I can't keep doing this rant"

the way he's just sitting defeated against the wall? Yah I saw that expression everyday for years. That hits hard.

Okay not trauma related but the doctor saying I remember it all everytime when we've been lead to believe he doesn't like talk about a hell. Talk about good story writing. I've never caught that before!!

The way the doctor looks so tired. Yah that's framilar too. Also the having to be strong as your body gives up you that sure was a thing too.

Okay but literally this episode is so good. I fucking love the doctors dying speech in this it's only one of my favorite episodes of tv ever. Which is in part of why losing it hit me so hard.

hey if the rooms revert how come the shovel has dirt on it and the clues stays and the clothes are drying?? Finally some good old plot holes.

Also where is the food coming from like???

Okay but the sequence of the Shephards boy says is fucking fire

I want to know how long each time lap is

....thinking about how the tardis was left alone for 4.5 billion years.

Okay no because I should have been able to trust the therapist and the doctor should have been able to trust the time dial!! They were tools meant to HELP HEAL TURNED INTO PAIN AND TRUAMA

[gamora-borealis]

You are lucky you have not seen the bad takes about Gamora. It's rough out here. And some of it is real ugly. Like pour yourself a glass of wine and vodka and some rum and pass out like Peter in vol 3 ugly. I wish they had just stopped at vol 2 ugly. I'm joking but also kinda not.

Dang, that's not good. That sucks you're feeling like that anon 💖 My instinct is to say that our own interpretations are valid and to ignore the haters, but I know that can be hard when it's something that you care so deeply about and you feel like people are invalidating your opinions and feelings (sometimes unintentionally even). I very well could be in the same place, but I've become trained at this point to ignore MCU tags for the most part and just interact with my mutuals who I love and respect, for my own sanity. I remember what it was like after Infinity War, I can't go back there again.

I was feeling defeated like that about some twitter discourse recently (unrelated) but was forced to take a huge break (delete the app for a month) so I could focus on graduating, and it (plus some wise words from my therapist) really helped reset my brain and realize that just because some opinion you can't stand is getting tons of positive engagement from people in your community doesn't mean it's good or right. Sometimes it's good to pushback, sometimes it's better to just move on for your own sake. It's a hard balance to find. But trying to curate a positive experience through whatever means you can seems to be one of the best things to do.

On the other hand, the way that I've seen so many asks and posts referencing a similar frustration is also sort of encouraging. It shows that there really are those of us out there that truly love Gamora and want her to be respected and happy in her story. And that so many of us are concerned with how women (of color) and victims of abuse are treated in media (which I've seen being discussed). This kind of critical thinking and discourse is an important skill to cultivate so we can be better advocates when it comes to issues of marginalization.

And for those of us Starmora warriors, we are just celebrating love and want that to continue in the media we go to for comfort. Writing fic about Gamora and Peter finding their way back to each other eventually is more fun than being like "it's over because it didn't happen in the movie" in my opinion. People can be boring and sad if they want to I guess (and maybe it's them projecting too idk) 🤷‍♀️