#like baby i have mental illnesses there aren’t even names for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hana-no-seiiki · 2 years ago

Text

WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 1)

YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER

A lil’ platonic yanderes harley and joker in the mix too hehe

gender neutral reader.

cw/tw: mentally ill reader. reader has schizophrenia. reader has a massive fear of abandonment. harley and joker only feed to that. a r s o n among other crimes. gaslighting. manipulation. implied r*pe (by reader im so sorry you guys) reader is interested in all genders.

summary: meet jinx, gotham’s loudest, most explosive villain. no one knows who they really are, or if jinx is really even their name. but one thing’s for sure — they’ve got a lot of people chasing after them and their reasons aren’t so noble.

status: unedited

[ ACT TWO OUT NOW ]

Considering Jinx was inspired by Harley Quinn. You’re probably her protégé. Her darling little child with Joker.

YOUR ORIGINS:

She saw you in the aftermath of the explosion. Cold and alone. Fire roaring behind you despite the heavens pouring its heart out, as if it was desperately trying to wash your tears and pain away.

She saw your bruises and a girl a little older than you walk away.

Her heart ached for you. No child deserved to be put in that kind of position, so she stepped in and made herself known.

“ I . . . I only wanted to help . . . Don’t leave me . . . Don’t . . .

You muttered.

Joker, who came here to marvel at the chaos such an explosion would present smiles maniacally.

You. You were the one that did this.

This beautiful wreckage and an equally beautiful child.

You were practically begging to be moulded into a weapon.

You charged at them both as they got closer, and while Harley was ready to defend her man - even hurt you if she has to - they did not expect what came next.

You just, held unto Joker’s right leg.

“ She’s not my sister . . . No . . . if she was she wouldn’t leave me . . . “

You were far too emotional for his liking. But nonetheless. A boon can always be found in a curse. That is, your desire for revenge.

He takes one look at Harley before picking your small body into his arms.

“ Who cares about fools like them, little one? They don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

His smile never stopped widening, yet even as a kid you never saw it as creepy or unnerving. In fact, it only reminded you of the smiles you used to draw on your nail bombs.

“All we ever truly have is ourselves. “

“So, smile. Don’t let your tears bring you down.”

Moulding you into the perfect weapon was easy.

Having a psychiatrist as a partner did help a lot in your development.

All it took was a few reminders of that fateful day before you began obediently following their rules and instructions.

You were a genius and since Harley kept protesting against it. You weren’t baptized into a vat of acid like the couple was.

Now, Harley and Joker are the worst possible parents you can ask for. So unlike Arcane’s Jinx. You are way way more unhinged. Not to mention, horny and materialistic.

As you grew up, you began to take interest in intentionally hurting people just for the sake of it. Stealing things was just a normal Tuesday for you. Being successful in your endeavors for once, and having bigger stacks of cash felt exhilarating.

The women and men were amazing. Your pseudo parents being who they were, didn’t really care if you were a sexual deviant or a pervert. When your hormones started kicking in they let you do whatever you want. Even giving you some of the people he held hostage as a toy to play with. If you have the capability of getting someone pregnant/or getting pregnant yourself they wouldn’t really care about the baby but you knew them well enough to know they’d use the kid as a way to manipulate you so you were careful in that aspect anyhow.

Harley noticed that when laying with women you’d often call out your sister’s name or call them sis by itself.

Sick. Disgusting. Is what a normal mother would think after finding out such a fact.

But to her you were just growing up so quickly. She had convinced Joker to go ahead and kill your sibling a long time ago behind your back and was growing anxious with the thought of you hating her and ruining this happy family dynamic (she had in her head)!

So she starts bringing you to more heists in disguise. Always keeping a close eye on you so that if any of those stupid heroes and vigilantes get any close, and you too far. She’d know as soon as possible.

It’s safe to say you grew up pretty spoiled, but even then you were hungry for more.

You see, even if they (Harley and Joker) weren’t careful with their “parenting” approach. They were careful with keeping you hidden from the Dark Knight himself.

Not that they were scared you’d get hurt. They could always nurse you back up again. Harley actually enjoyed the times you’d gotten in the cross fire. More time to take care of you in her arms.

They were mostly scared of the Dark Knight stealing you. Afraid that he’ll take you away and turn you into a goody-two-shoes they wouldn’t recognize anymore.

So as much as you were more involved it still felt like they were babying you.

It was your situation with you family all over again

But this time, this time you’ll show them…

You weren’t weak. And it’ll do them good to remember that.

YOUR RIVALRIES:

You made your debut at around the time Tim was still Robin.

You were his very own Joker. A menace to deal with. A person that only cared for the thrill that came with hurting and killing masses.

You were terrible. Evil. A demon he had to exorcise from this world.

A demon he fell hopelessly in love with.

He didn’t know how his feelings came to be. It may have been the amount of stress and pressure he was facing coupled with having to deal with your ass every damn day whether directly or indirectly. But he found himself yearning to see you at times. Getting warm when he thought of you. He felt solace knowing that no matter how many times he’d attempt to tear you down completely, you’d still come back to face him once again.

He was so guilty of his feelings. How could he fall for someone as heinous as you? You were the worst of the worst. But somehow that made things so much more better.

You were a taboo. A vice he couldn’t have. The thought of entering such a forbidden relationship excited him just cause it was just that — forbidden , a temptation that should always stay like that.

He somehow manages to gain the self control to stay away from you for a while.

But then came Damian and he was set to replaced. Just like that.

“Wow there Timmy Boy. You look like shit.”

“J-Jinx?! Why are you here? How do you know my name?!” He asked as if he didn’t know every single detail about you himself.

“I have to know my little birdie well don’t I?”

“What kind of archnemesis would Jinx be to their little Robin if they didn’t do a lil’ research?” You spoke in a higher, cutesy voice as if you were your handgun that you’ve affectionally named Zapper.

“Right you are Zapper! I would be a terrible rival. That wouldn’t do for a hero as great as Timmy!”

He thought that all his work was all for naught. All the hours he spent trying to prove himself was gone so fast.

But you reminded him of his place in this world. Of his position as a hero. Your rival.

The warmth in your eyes when you looked at him sealed the deal. There was no coming from this. He was yours as you were his.

“Only I can hurt you like this, toots. Don’t forget that.”

Little did you know that Tim took those words to heart and never let anyone else hurt him (and stay alive).

“Big Bat can replace you but you’ll always be the Robin in my heart !” You winked at him, signaling with one of your manicured fingers for him to smile. Which ended up almost scratching your cheeks.

Tim was confused (incredibly flustered, not to mention har—), why were you so kind to him all of a sudden. He knew you were the playful type but you were usually ruthless when it came to battle. You weren’t one to play with food for too long. For you to excuse him, much less help him in such a state.

Who were you and what did you do to his Jinx?

“OW hEy! I swear if you put that there Pow-Pow— I’ll—“ Tim heard you screeching out of view.

Scratch his doubts. Yep, you were definitely still his Jinx.

The Dark Knight knew who you were from the beginning.

He had his suspicions even before you came into the scene. With your knack to tag everything with neon spray-paints.

At first he thought you were a simple thug that Joker and Harley picked up. But the way they were sheltering you made it seem otherwise.

The regret he felt knowing that you were basically a child in their filthy hands and was now far too gone to save was immense.

If only he knew. You wouldn’t be in this situation.

While he was “dead” he found himself looking into you more. About the death of your biological parents and the way your sister abandoned you to Harley and Joker.

He felt pity for your childhood and a sense of kinship. Sure the incident may have been your fault but you were a child. How could you have known your actions would have such terrifying consequences.

If only you knew him when you were younger.

If only.

He was sure you’d be one of the greatest vigilantes alive.

“I knew you were alive.”

You looked down at Batman, staring while both of you were being doused by the rain. Thunder accompanying the sound of conversation.

He takes a defensive stance.

“I’m not going to fight ya, that’s Joker’s thing. And I know he’ll grill my ass if I stole his archnemesis.”

“What a loser!”

“Hey! He took us in. We should be more grateful!”

Bruce looked at you as you talked with a new, rather large, shark shaped gun. He had memorized the names of all your “companions” by now and was oddly excited and slightly unnerved by the new one.

“So, why’d you leave? Was it . . . was it on purpose?”

“No.”

��Then come back.”

He almost dropped all his plans with the way you told him that.

“Tim needs you . . . and your other sons too or whatever.”

“Come with me.”

“You crazy, old bat? Why would I—“

“I know what it feels like to have no family. Harley doesn’t love you. Joker doesn’t love anyone.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“Well tough luck man. I don’t give a shit about love.”

You dropped down to his level. A thud resounds, loud enough to cut through the rainfall and thunder.

“Cause love never gave a shit about me.”

“We’ll have to refuse. Just get back to your sons, hero!”

“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough—

— I don’t think you have a choice in this matter, [Y/N].”

You like my writing? Follow my blog and maybe take a look at the fic linked below!

WHAT’S UP DANGER : Yandere Batfam x Miles Morales! Reader

2K notes · View notes

tonight-i-may-see · 9 months ago

Text

"Burn." Preview (Rossi!Unsub!Reader Chapter 1)

preview under the cut (word count: 750)

chapter cws: graphic descriptions of: murder, general physical harm other cws for: disturbing thoughts, grief, parental trauma, mental illness, unreliable narrator, canon divergent plot (in terms of Krystall Richards), reader is Krystall's son, male!reader

(Note: I will post a series cw list once the first chapter is done along with individual ones for each chapter. Also if you think I need to add any cws please feel free to comment and I'll get them added!)

moodboard

It got easier, the more he did it.

Whether it was his strength improving, or muscle memory, he wasn’t sure. But still here he is now, a year into this endeavour. The first time was an accident, he’d told himself, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. Deep down he’d craved for years to get revenge on the man who had ruined him- who had left him with no chance because he wasn’t the one he wanted. He shouldn’t have survived, so he was going to make his life hell in return.

The grave he’d stood at was small, kept in a garden with other tiny plaques and memorial pebbles- anything that could fit a name and one date on it. 28 years. An older brother that he never met, and yet for all 25 of those 28 years he’d lived through, he’d been reminded that brother was everything he’d never be-

“Richards.” A voice ripped him from his thoughts, a bored and uninterested tone accompanying the tired look on his coworker’s face. He stares blankly, clearly there was a question he hadn’t heard, and was about to hear again. “I asked how your weekend was.”

A shrug is the only answer she gets. Not that that was anything new, he wasn’t the talkative type, which was precisely why he worked on a tech team. Less people, less interaction, less annoyance. In the time it had taken him to raise and drop his shoulders, the woman across from him had started up her daily rant about her husband and how he refused to pull his weight around the house, how she hated him but not enough to leave him because of the kids. Richards scoffed slightly, earning a pause from the unhappy wife. Fathers were a constant thought in his mind, something he both despised and craved, like picking open the same wound over and over again till it scars so deep you’re changed forever. Not some pigmented reminder of the past, but a deep, ragged fissure that goes almost to bone. Something that can’t be hidden. That’s what his father had done to him, and he wasn’t even there.

So was it better to lose a father who was useless when he was there? Or never have one and live knowing you aren’t wanted? Does it hurt less to look him in the eye when he chooses to take no responsibility?

Well, he thought it was better to save those kids the trouble. It was better to watch the panic in their eyes, watch the pain and tears and hear their pleading, suddenly so ready to be a father now it was life or death. They’d thank him one day, he was sure of it, and one day he’d get to see that panic in the eyes of the man who made him this in the first place- who had written so many times of sons scorned by fathers that turned to pain and death to cope, not once thinking of the baby boy he’d abandoned before he even got the chance to live happily. This was his fault. Those men could’ve lived, those kids would have had a chance too, but he was selfish. How unfortunate, truly.

The rest of the work day drags disgustingly slowly until finally he’s in his car, scanning the lot to watch his coworker get into her shitty beat up minivan. The licence plate was scribbled on a note in his pocket, having taken it down this morning, all he’d have to do is send it to one of his…friends…and they’d get him her address with the right payment. Soon enough that worthless piece of shit she’d married would be gone. If she knew his plans, she’d thank him. That’s what he told himself. Every single time.

#leowrites #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x male reader #david rossi #rossi!unsub!reader #rossi!reader #unsub!reader #leopreviews

63 notes · View notes

anonymocha · 8 months ago

Note

Medbleu headcanon medbleu because you made me like this one more (Ex Balloon Party Baby Blue believer)

Baby Blue is KLS representation (I think) how cool. It's a very rare condition where people get so tired all of the time and will be asleep from weeks to months basically. Her way with living and coping with her illness has made Medicine Pocket a lot less morbid about their own condition and enjoy life more.

Baby Blue is more calm while Medicine Pocket is more limbic. Even though Baby Blue struggles between reality and her unending dreams, she has sleep-talked Medicine Pocket out of doing all kinds of awful things to themselves by slowly repeating back their answer to 'what are you doing'. Medicine Pocket wants to be someone she can depend on; they are more careful and steady when thinking of Baby Blue

Medicine Pocket, in turn, keeps Baby Blue safe when she is unaware of her surroundings. It was really crude at first but after they figured out it was impossible to change her condition they became more protective rather than bothered by the constant dreaming.

Baby Blue has a hundred nicknames/petnames for them. Medicine Pocket isn't confident with coming up with these names but she gets so happy whenever they come up with a new one. Blue's favorite name for them is 'Puppy'.

very wholesome..... Baby Blue requires Medicine Pocket to sleep with her for at least 6 hours a day. She can be little a clingy when Medicine Pocket comes home.

also also Blue mistook Medicine Pocket for a wonderlandshark at first and after she presumed them as such they had to step out of the room to try not to cry and explode thats True love .

📣Good Night USA

This is so important to me you have no idea ooouuuhhh 😭😭😭😭😭 I never thought of a proper proper wholesome dynamic between them to this extent and now I am enlightened…

This is a LONG post you have been warned. The MedBlue brainrot is SUPER REAL.

OK I CAN IMAGINE BABY BLUE CALLING THEM PUPPY IN THE SWEETEST SOFTEST SLEEPY VOICE EVER FULL OF GENTLE LOVE AND ADORATION… IM GONNA CRYYYYY AND MELT AND EXPLODE… Mental support Baby Blue is real (both in a meta and metaphorical sense).

I also like how she’s, in her own way, helping to keep the researcher in check. Someone has to keep her safe, therefore they also should keep themself safe so that they can be there for her. Yes, they love their job and the delightful dangers it brings with it. But they also have a person dear to them waiting for them. Also, in my headcanon, Medicine Pocket shelters a lot of supposed-to-be-experiment dogs at Laplace so they got to get it together for their pups, too (I imagine Baby Blue napping together with their puppies at the Laplace fields occasionally… Puppy tea party… Somft…). They want to take care of her and their pups, be dependable, and protect them. They used to think that this protection comes at the cost of their own wellbeing but NUH UH. Baby Blue's presence and words remind them that there are dangerous thresholds that they don't need to cross, no matter how 'logical' it seems.

She wants them to sleep with her an adequate amount of hours, therefore they cannot fuck up their sleep schedule by pulling impulsive all-nighters (I’m guilty of this too whoops). These two would get! Cozy! And Baby Blue would softly sleeptalk nonsensical but calming tales from her wonderland to help them sleep. I assume bedtime stories aren’t a very common thing in their childhood, especially when they got taken away with the beagles. So Baby Blue's whimsical, imaginative antics would be like taking back tiny but meaningful pieces of their lost childhood, stolen by a life of cold, clinical, and dangerous research. After they started sleeping with Baby Blue, her warmth and comforting stories allowed the researcher to get not only much-needed sleep, but also sating a yearning. A yearning for coziness and unconditional peace they likely brushed aside for a long, long time through the span of their childhood to teenhood.

On Baby Blue, a lot of people likely gave up on her. Doctor after doctor after doctor shook their heads and raised their hands after examining her condition. Teachers, friends, and even strangers are bewildered by her, calling her crazy, and treating her as more of a 'case study' or 'phenomenon' than an actual person. Those who did stick around her for a while couldn't stand her constant dreamings and tendencies to isolate, they either took it to heart or found themselves drifting away from her. It took her a while but she convinced herself that she was used to it, wonderland and its dwellers were her true friends after all. But at the same time, I feel like she would still realize that she's living in two worlds, and recognizes her loneliness in one of them. She tried to not think about it for a while but it likely bit at her some nights. Medicine Pocket may be the only doctor insistent enough to stick with her for longer than many others before them thanks to their stubbornness and curiosity. That's enough to get her attached to them, to say the least.

I WOULD LOVE TO SAY MORE THINGS ABOUT THESE TWO (such as her wonderland and their research on it, Baby Blue getting curious on Medpoc's research which led to them infodumping, more Baby Blue interactions with Medpoc's pups, Medpoc protecting Baby Blue from weirdo doctors at Laplace, etc etc) BUT I MAY NEED TO SLEEP GOODNIGHT INDONESIA 🔊THANK YOU ANON FOR THE ASK FEEL FREE TO SEND ME MORE OMG THE MEDBLUE BRAINROT IS REAL!!! I want to write a fic abt these two SO BAD. I want them to BE HAPPY!!!

#medblue #babypocket #Baby Blue #Medicine Pocket #mochasks #thank you anon #oh i actually also like the dynamic between Balloon Party and Baby Blue i thought of them before….#ouuhhh Baby Blue you are the character ever #reverse 1999 #the medblue fic im writing rn is TOXIC i boutta do a u-turn

23 notes · View notes

lifblogs · 2 years ago

Text

Gonna be honest for a second, and tbh, I’m not even sure why. Maybe holding this in hurts, and irl, I can only talk about it with my brother.

I’m waiting to hear about some test results that are… very intense, and could be life-changing. Not anything deadly or extremely harmful. But mentally it’s a lot.

I can’t remember the name of the illness I’m being tested for, but it’s an illness that causes miscarriages. I, for some unknown reason, want to have a baby someday. I know adoption is an option and all that, but I want the experience of being pregnant and having my own baby (totally need to get a handle on the fibro and hypermobility before then). So having this hanging over my head and not knowing really hurts. One reason I’m being tested is because I had a miscarriage in 2019. A lot of people in my life outside the internet don’t know this actually. I’m too ashamed to tell them I was pregnant, and too ashamed to say how it happened. I feel like their view of me would be tarnished, ruined. Guess that’s why I’m sharing this here.

These test results aren’t the most difficult thing I’m dealing with right now, but damn, it’s a lot.

#personal #miscarriage #miscarriage mention #here’s that really personal post i mentioned

11 notes · View notes

ajwinter-is-a-nerd · 2 years ago

Text

Le Chat Et Le Serpent - Chapter 54

Please note that the entirety of this story is a ****TRIGGER WARNING***** - mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, alcohol use, mental health, suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm - basically a constant blow of pain towards the characters - as well as some "steamier" moments.

This is an additional trigger warning - this chapter goes over Luka's past which includes self-harm, overdose, suicide attempts/ideation, and additional mental illness facets.

Chapter Summary:

Our boys are starting to fall apart.

The chapter song is Nightmares by All Time Low (included in body)

Digging up old memories

Always used to be the one to let it go

Got my fears in a suitcase

I locked them away

In a place they wouldn't find

They still haunt me

Nightmares by All Time Low

Siren’s reflected off Luka’s glasses as he watched the sparking of his lighter. It kept spitting thin lines of fire, refusing to flame against the tip of his cigarette.

“Here,” Jagged cupped his hand around his lighter as he brought it to Luka’s smoke.

Inhaling, Luka stared into the bright light that offered him solace.

The fire didn’t feel hot as it crackled before his eyes. He set his hand out, inches from it, the fire was erasing what had happened. Never again would he be strangled in his sleep from the memories of his blood stained sheets.

Screams were distant in the background.

What if he went into the fire? Would it take the rest of it away?

They sounded like they were yelling his name, but he couldn’t tell for certain.

Anarka’s screams surrounded Luka as she picked the boy off the ground.

Even within her embrace, she still felt distant.

Luka rubbed his temple as he backed away from the flame, taking a deep inhale.

“I’m sorry, Luka. I really am.” Jagged stared at his own smoke in his hand. He hated that the boy was following in his steps. He had such a light in him, and Jagged knew he helped to ruin it.

“Whatever. Just don’t tell the Captain.” Luka bit his nicotine stained thumb, the irony not lost on him.

“Dad?” Luka didn’t like this house. Everyone was falling and the music was too loud. “Jagged Stone?”

He continued to push through the crowd.

“Hey, Little Man!” A strange woman kneeled in front of Luka. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad brought me.” Little Luka rubbed his arm as he stared down to his feet. The floor was sticky with liquor and ash.

“Oh shit, you’re Jagged’s kid, aren’t you?” Her lilac lips grinned at him.

“Y-yeah. Have you seen him?” His baby blue eyes were watering.

“How old are you?” She scanned the party. A group was around a table sharing a bag of coke, at least three different women wore nothing but a thong, and the room was thick with smoke.

“Almost seven.” His voice croaked.

“ALMOST SEVEN! Oh, you’re nearly a man! We need to find your dad, Little man.” She grabbed his hand. She’d known Jagged for a bit now, but she never thought he could do something like this. Why the fuck did he bring his kid here? “YO! ANYONE KNOW WHERE JAGGED IS?”

The only thing the room could agree on was that no one knew.

“Is your sister here, too?” The woman turned towards him, worried there could be another seven year old running around in this cesspool.

“No, she’s sick.” Luka tightened his grip around her hand.

“Thank god.” She mumbled as she scribbled along a piece of paper. “Let’s get out of here, Little Man. Are you hungry?”

Luka’s face was covered in chocolate ice cream as he snored along the booth. But when morning came, she had to leave; she had her own emergencies to attend to. Gazing back towards the sleeping boy, she prayed that Jagged saw her note. The boy would be so heartbroken if he woke up all alone.

His stomach hurt as he woke up, the unfamiliar girl was gone. He sat there with no idea what to do, so he waited. The waitstaff kept bringing him little activities and snacks, but he stayed nearly completely still. He stared out the window and watched people pass.

“Luka, my boy!” The restaurant clamoured around the rock idol.

Luka watched as he gave every guest more individual attention than he’d ever received from his father. Finally, Jagged made it to his table, gaining a temporary girlfriend.

“Who’s the kid?” She asked as she bit at his neck.

“That’s my kid!” Jagged smiled in pride as Luka stared out the window.

“What’s wrong with him?” She grimaced at the kid with dark hair and oversized cerulean eyes.

His teeth clenched at his mention, but he watched as a woman in a peacoat walked past the diner. It was easier to do that than to acknowledge he was coherent to the fact that the fan girl was sliding under the table.

Jagged was terrible at saying no.

The whole ride home, Luka kept his head straight. He never wanted to say anything to his father again.

“Listen, I know I messed up. How can I make it up to you?”

The boy’s face didn’t even flinch.

“Please, we can do anything! The sky’s the limit!”

The silence grew thicker between them.

“Why don’t I take you and Juleka for a week to LA? They have the best amusement parks and you guys can go to bed whenever you want!”

“I don’t want you ever near me again.” Luka finally spoke.

“Luka, I know I’m lame, but-,”

Flame burst from the boy’s steeled eyes as he screamed. “NO. YOU CARE MORE ABOUT SEX AND DRUGS THAN MY LIFE. DON'T EVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!”

“Wh-what about Juleka? What about your mom?” Jagged stuttered, the fear of completely losing his family palatable.

Luka resumed his cold stare.

“Please, Luka. Please don’t tell the Captain.”

He never did.

Jagged never reached out to him again.

Anarka started to realise something was seriously awry with Luka when he started asking who his Dad was. His father had never been a large presence in their life, but this was the first time she saw the broken look in his eyes.

When she took him back home from the hospital after he set the fire around his eleventh birthday, she stood outside his door, listening to him play. It was a joyous and upbeat tune. He had an elated energy. Over his playing, she could hear Luka laughing. The psychiatrists said he’d been talking about strange dreams.

“Can you believe I had a dream that our dad was Jagged Stone?” Luka’s laugh was sweet, but the reality that Anarka had tried to ignore was devastating.

Jagged lowered his head at the comment. He was certainly no longer the boy he’d lost at a party.

“Did they give you anything in there?” Jagged asked, not realising that his sentiment of concern wasn’t going to be taken that way.

“What? Jagged Stone can’t get his own shit?” Luka snorted before taking another drag.

“That’s not what I meant! For your head, kid!” Jagged aggressively tapped at his own head.

“Our ride’s here.” Luka pointed towards the blacked out vehicle driving towards them.

“Listen,” Jagged stomped out his smoke before seizing the collar of Luka’s leather jacket, “I know I fucked up as a parent. Royally fucked up. And I had no fucking idea how bad you were struggling. I wasn’t there. But we were getting better. You were getting better. You had a better head on your shoulders than anyone your age when fucking Butterfly Demon guy brought you back to me. We were talking. If I set up the same therapy session we had back home, will you come? I hate seeing you like this. You might not believe it, but I love you Luka. We’ve come so far in the past seven years and it fucking kills me to see you killing yourself like this.”

“Fucking Gabriel.” Luka shook his head as he opened the door to the car, still sliding over for Jagged.

“You know, you might not remember it, but I did still try to be there! I,” Jagged reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, “I always kept every birthday photo from you two. I made sure you guys got into the good schools. I was on the phone with Anarka every time you tried to kill yourself, Luka. I didn’t know what to fucking do. The moment you asked me if I was your dad, my whole life changed. It meant I finally got to actually be here for your hard moments! I love you Luka. Please. Don’t follow my shitty lead.”

Against what his angry heart wanted to do, Luka shifted his eyes towards the pictures. He’d forgotten how much Juleka loved her red hair. He tried to remember why she ever switched to purple, but the memory was just out of reach.

Everything felt light. He knew he was dreaming. Juleka was crying as she was tying a dishcloth over his wrist. Didn’t she know it was only a dream? It was amazing, how the blood so elegantly spiralled down his finger.

He lifted his arm, watching the material around the knot seep scarlet.

“Jules,” Luka smiled towards her, “it matches your hair.”

Juleka’s face faded to white as Luka held it next to her head.

“Luka, come on.” Juleka tried to tug at his unmarred arm while balancing bile and terror.

“Don’t worry Juleka, I’ll wake up soon.

“What is your lead? I’m here because I fucking need to be. You didn’t have to leave us. You wrote about how awesome it is to be without your family. I write about how much I miss him.” Luka pulled another smoke out of his pack and pushed down the mini ashtray between him and Jagged.

“Luka, you’ve always loved with your whole heart. You took after your mom in that way. I remember her calling me when that fucking older guy broke your heart. I wanted to break his goddamn legs.” Jagged lit Luka’s smoke once again. “Do I need to break Adrien’s legs?”

The trouble, with no one knowing the whole story, is that Luka was merely a boy who had his heart broken, and was running around the world to forget him. It infuriated him. That people would tell him that ‘whoever broke his heart must be an idiot’. He would shrug it off. Jagged, however, was not just anyone.

Adrenaline surged as Luka’s fist collided into Jagged’s face. “NO - I AM FUCKING DOING EVERYTHING I CAN TO KEEP HIM ALIVE!”

His fist barely hurt as he recoiled it, even though the flesh around his knuckles were raw. He’d left a sickeningly dark purple mark that already started to crawl up Jagged’s cheek.

“Jesus! You have a hell of a right hook m’boy!” Jagged rubbed the point where his jaw and skull met, trying to make sure it was still intact.

Jagged looked back towards Luka, seeing his own reflection both in the glasses and the seething boy behind them. “How is overdosing keeping him alive, Luka? Do you die and then he gets to live? Made a deal with the devil?”

“What do you say?” He ran a pill across his lips.

The man aptly called the pill ‘the brick’, both because of its ashy red shade and the way it nearly knocked you out. Luka hadn't quite listened to the explanation, he didn’t fully understand the strength of the drug that was running against the man’s lips. Besides prescriptions, Luka had always managed to steer clear of narcotics; he knew from his dad how much they could tear lives apart. But he didn’t hear the warnings, he couldn’t think of his dad, all he could think of was the fact that there was something that could take his pain away rubbing against thin pink lips in front of him.

Luka ran his hands through the man’s thin bleached hair. His eyes were a forest green as they glimmered to Luka, waiting for his answer. Instead of vocalising it, Luka brought his lips to his. They were dry, but at least something sweet came from them. Relaxation.

Falling onto the bed, Luka pulled him closer. “Adrien,” he whispered towards the man.

“Oh, um,” Luka pressed his lips against the fake Adrien’s so that he wouldn’t have to hear him correct his namesake.

Stretching back, it was still too clear. His eyes were too dark. Luka swung his hand off the side of the bed, reaching for the neck of his Jamesons bottle. “Give me another one.”

“Luka, you need to be careful oh well, you’re just really going for it aren’t you?” Fake Adrien watched as Luka slid three more pills past his lips. Maybe if Fake Adrien had said it was ‘oxycodone’, or if Luka had asked, he would have been more cautious.

Instead of words, Fake Adrien opened his mouth to ask for more. Luka passed back the ziplock bag housing the discontinued pills, waiting for the pain to stop. He’d taken entire bottles of pills and still came out the other side before… surely a few red pills could not do more.

Nathalie had requested Sass’s presence on her current mission, leaving him completely alone. He thought that he’d be fine. But all he could think about was Adrien, about seeing him again. He’d done everything he was supposed to, so whenever he finally got his chance to go back, Adrien was going to hate him. What made it worse, is that Luka didn’t have a cure for him. He was going to see the rage and hurt in Adrien’s eyes, and then it will all be over.

The lines of reality continued to blur, but it didn’t feel any stronger than anything Luka had experienced from his own neurodivergent rollercoaster.

With an inebriated smile, Nearly Adrien passed back the baggie. Luka bent over the edge of the bed, seemingly putting his bottle down, while he grabbed another two pills. Just a couple more and maybe he could truly believe this was Adrien.

His body started to warm as his face went numb. He looked over at the blonde boy. A surge of contentment pulsed through his body.

“You okay, baby?” Fake Adrien ran his hands along Luka’s face.

Tears trickled against Luka’s cheeks as he nodded, “Now that you’re here.” He kissed the man’s wrist before holding it back against his own face. “I missed you.”

Luka pulled the man against his chest and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t fucking mean to.” Luka just wanted to feel like Adrien was back. That everything was going to be okay. How did he end up being the damn Bella Swan out of the two of them?

“Luka, don’t take fucking pills you know nothing about! And I thought this,” Jagged waved his smoke in the air, “was the vice you took over opioids, isn’t that what you said?”

“I KNOW! I KNOW!” Luka took off his glasses as he pulled himself into a ball. “I just, I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know why. I don’t understand. It just never stops.”

“Hey,” Jagged took the smoke that was quivering from Luka’s hand and, along with his own, put it out. He soothed his hand on Luka’s back. “I’ve been there. Don’t let it ruin you like it ruined me. Please.”

I gotta say it’s hard to be brave

When you’re alone in the dark

I told myself that I wouldn’t be scared

But I’m still having nightmares

(I’m wide awake, I’m wide awake)

Nightmares by All Time Low

The buzzer of the intercom rang through the apartment. Adrien hated it. He hated that she forced him to reinstall it. He wanted that noise to stop. Every time the buzzer went off he was at the hospital. Every time the buzzer went off, Luka left him all over again.

It can’t be her. Adrien thought. If it was her, I wouldn’t be able to control myself from letting her in.

“Who do you think it is?” Plagg asked from his perch on Adrien’s shoulder.

“I don’t know. But I want that noise to stop.” Adrien’s chest heaved as he stared at the intercom. “Plagg, what the fuck magic is this?” Adrien grit his teeth watching the Kwami out of the corner of his eye.

“Are - are you sure it’s not just a little bit of trauma from the hospital? Maybe seeing your parents rings triggered something?” Plagg hated lying like this to the boy, but he was worried what a fight against Marinette would look like with only him. It seems no matter what it would end in damnation, in the form of death or servitude.

Infuriated, Adrien walked to the medicine cabinet and stuffed one of the small circular pills in his mouth. He may not believe that they were the proper medication for him, but at least they numbed the torture of constantly living under Marinette’s control.

The buzzer kept going. Over and over. Adrien tore a mug from the cabinet and whipped it against the wall.

Plagg turned to the intercom and pressed it himself. He couldn’t ask who was there, but he could let them in.

When the elevator dinged, Adrien was clasping to the counter. If he didn’t have to let them in, would it work as a loophole?

Alya came out of the elevator, slowly treading through the doors Plagg had propped open for her. She gasped at the state of the house before turning to Adrien. It appeared as if a tornado ran through it. If anything was breakable, it was littered over Adrien’s floor. However, the most horrific was the blood stains that had been left to crust along the walls.

“What’s up, Alya?” The friendly phrase was raspy.

She slowly stepped forward, her hormones making the fight to not break down into tears considerably more challenging. She wanted to brush Adrien’s face, but the degree that his cheeks had sunken was too terrifying to touch. His face was a powder white with imperial purple bags under his eyes.

Forcing herself to stay strong, she pushed out the words she’d been looking for. “I came… I came to ask you for help.”

“What do you need?” His movements were languid as he rested his elbows on the counter to help support his weight.

“I.. Um… I want to talk to Felix for the Ladyblog, but they’re only letting family see him. Will you come with me?”

Before agreeing, Adrien stepped forward, testing to see if there was anything preventing him from this excursion. “Yeah, let’s go.” Adrien immediately started walking towards the door, scared that if Marinette found out before he went, he wouldn’t be able to go.

“Right now? Oh, okay!” Alya scampered after him, trying her best to ignore the haunting state of his house.

Adrien pressed his head against the window as he longingly watched as cars drove past. He wanted that back, that feeling of freedom he felt the first time when he got out of the hospital and drove his Mini.

“Are you nervous?” Alya watched him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t know what she was allowed to say.

“Something like that.” Adrien tousled his hair. He hated its current state. Marinette suggested that he get the same one from high school, and of course, he couldn’t resist. It was a far messier version, especially since the sides were still about half an inch shorter than the hair on the top.

As Adrien fidgeted, Alya could see the various shades of pink along his palm.

“What happened to your hand, Adrien?” Alya debated slowing down even more, just to make their trip a little longer.

Adrien gripped his fist shut. Some scars were from his nails, some were from whatever thing he broke in his hand while he tried to resist whatever order Marinette gave him.

“The speed’s 110, Alya.” Adrien ignored her question, getting irritated at how slowly she drove. He always drove fast.

“Does Marinette live with you now?” Alya couldn’t imagine how bad it would be for him if she lived there all the time.

“She comes over twice a week.” Adrien’s bit his lip in frustration that she came over at all.

Sensing Adrien’s unease, Alya decided to divert topics. “So, do you think Lila ever actually watched Felix Akumatize someone?”

His face was so ashen it somehow looked dirty as he laughed. “It is hard to believe! Felix had a rough patch for sure, but she was there ! I don’t know how she’s so much worse!”

“I mean, you’d think since she can basically piss anyone off that she’d be the perfect replacement!” Alya snorted as they turned into the prison parking lot.

“I think it’s because we need traits that match with our Kwamis to actually be strong. Being able to understand and influence emotions, besides solely anger, is something I don’t think Lila has.” Adrien theorised as they made their way to the entry.

Felix and Adrien had never perfectly mirrored each other so much in their life. They were both dishevelled and exhausted beyond comprehension.

Felix’s eyes glimmered as he saw his guests, immediately bringing a bounce to his step.

“Ugh, this is gonna be rough.” Adrien dropped his forehead in his hands. “It’s never good when he has that look.”

Felix dropped to the table in front of them as his grin grew. “You look gorgeous , Adrien. Bet you’re regretting not taking my deal now.” He tapped his fingers along the table between them.

“That’s not what we’re here to talk about.” Adrien leaned back in his chair, unsettled by Felix’s joy.

“It’s what she’s here to talk about.” Felix’s eyes turned to Alya and lowly whispered, “I won’t tell you shit about the rings unless he’s not at the table.”

The hairs on the back of Alya’s neck prickled. She wasn’t sure what she had been anticipating, but it definitely wasn’t hearing those words.

“Adrien,” Alya turned towards him, “can you give us a minute?”

Scoffing, Adrien stood from the table. “It’s fine, I needed to go to the bathroom anyway.”

“Pretty ballsy still letting him hold that Miraculous. Before you know it, we’ll have an entirely new super villain duo.” Felix raised an eyebrow to Alya, as if inviting her to play a game.

“Kid, are you okay?” Plagg hovered by Adrien’s face as he clung onto the edges of the sink.

“Do I look okay, Plagg? I must be fine, I’ve been taking my meds haven’t I? That’s the magical solution to all my made up , insane fucking problems.” Adrien seethed as his arms started to buckle under his rage.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m sure that we can work stuff out. You know, maybe you could ask Alya to take you back to the hospital?” Plagg thought at least he wouldn’t have to follow her orders there.

“One evil for another. Either way I’m being controlled, away from the people I love, a fucking living breathing ghost.”

“I love you, Adrien.” Plagg smoothed some of the hair out of Adrien’s face; his attempts did not stay considering he was working against gravity.

“There will always be someone ready to destroy themselves. I’m sure you’ll find a new holder without a damn problem.” Adrien’s knuckles whitened as his anger flowed through his fingers onto the ceramic.

“Not one like you.” Plagg nuzzled into the crook of Adrien’s neck. Snake Boy better come back soon.

“Thanks, Plagg.” Adrien forced himself to say as tears fell to the sink. “Why- why doesn’t it ever stop?”

Still clinging to the edge, Adrien squatted to the ground, heaving through sobs.

Adrien had barely sat down before the buzzer acknowledging the end of visitor time went off.

Fucking god damn buzzers. Go to hell.

“Sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat, cousin . I really do wish you the best.” Felix clicked his tongue as he was lifted from his seat. As one final piece of discomfort, Felix winked towards Alya as he said, “Give me a call if you ever get tired of your Turtle.”

Alya’s blood chilled, Adrien’s brother had done his homework. She had a feeling, this wouldn’t be the last they saw of Felix, especially with the Miraculous still missing.

“What did you two talk about?” Adrien dragged his feet as they walked towards the exit, not wanting to go back ‘home’.

“Oh, pretty much just said everything we already thought. He went on about how you guys would have been an amazing power wielding duo.” A truth hidden within a lie. Both her and Felix agreed until Alya was told otherwise, it was best to follow Bunnyx’s ruling. Until Luka came back, they wouldn’t risk trying to get Adrien to sneak off his own ring; if he erred in any way it could quickly lead to his death.

Author's Notes:

This chapter literally meant so much to me. Out of all the chapter's this is the one that speaks the most from the heart. I have written Luka as experiencing BPD the way that I experience BPD. It may be important to note that there are some crossovers within myself (such as possible schizotypal). No one's experience with any mental illness will be the same. Through Luka, though, I get to show how this stuff feels and looks to me.

If we were to pull out the DSM-5 and determine why Luka has BPD...

Borderline personality is often associated with abandonment at a young age. There are a lot of other factors and disorders that derive from childhood trauma, but BPD is often associated with abandonment.

It is something that will never be fully “cured” but you can continue to treat it to make it manageable. Ex. Sass is the “stress case”, but the calmest, because he had to learn it.

BPD can include blurring of reality and disassociation/depersonalization; impulsive and risky behaviour; lack of self regard; depersonalization; the need to be loved while siamotainously, neverendingly, working to fuck up your life.

The opioids were an important one to mention because it’s not that Luka suddenly decides, “heroin sounds like a great idea.” It’s the not fully considering or understanding the weight of your actions. Myself, and other people close to me, have dealt with similar situations of impulse control. When you come out of that current swing you’re looking at yourself like, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

This kind of works as an awareness to others and to the actions of characters. We are always responsible for the havoc we cause, but understanding why is important.

Also - trauma blocking is pretty common for all humans (to my understanding). I don’t think it would be quite the level of forgetting your dad was related to you, but it is a defence mechanism your brain will pop up to help you get through shit.

I did a lot of research to make sure I found a red pill. Just happened to be ‘lucky’ that it was oxycodone. Luka did take a lethal amount, and the pills were (according to the website I was on, anyway) discontinued. It is important to also understand that, in regards to opioids, Luka is showing abuse instead of addiction. The addiction is taking form in alcohol.

And Adrien continues to fall further. His weight? When Adrien gets overly stressed he has problems eating. Since he’s freaking the eff out, he’s really not doing well in every form of health.

- We also see the dramatic irony from the last chapter come into play, we know that the ring came off Gabriel’s finger … buuuuut…. ‘Twas Felix grabbing his own ring.

What did you guys think? Luka’s was a newer addition, but the prison visit has been there since the initial storyboard. Im interested to hear what this walk down “everybody is fucking falling apart” lane has been life for everyone!

Oh - random little point. Fake Adrien gives Luka a pill in his mouth. Luka refuses to give a pill directly to him, but will only pass the bag. Just a little, very deliberate, tid bit there.

Another fun little piece- I did want to find a red pill for Luka, because the pills Adrien takes different red pills Adrien takes are also red. Very different , but both red.

Hope everyone is doing well! Thank you for reading!!!

0 notes

lex-munro · 2 years ago

Text

[Suicide Squad Scrap] Princess pt. 15

self-indulgent batjokes-flavored SS/BvS/JL, snippet #15.

sorry, darlings, I forgot that the whole point of this was to give you my unfinished thoughts, not to slavishly complete the narrative. x_x without further delay, a tiny bit of plot and a tiny bit of mission exposition.

Ratcatcher is the rogue who keeps putting max points into UMD. isaidwhatisaid

the piece as a whole is rated Mature for pervasive language, varying degrees of violence, use of controlled substances, sexual references, questionable ethics, and themes of mental illness. set from Flag’s POV, with references to Birds of Prey, but not compliant with The Suicide Squad.

***

So Flag sneaks Joker’s phone out of the confiscated locker.

1 new text message from Darling 1 new multimedia message from Darling

He unlocks the phone on his second guess: 8181, H-A-H-A. His first guess was 4242, but that’s apparently a little too obvious.

Darling 08:39 watch his hands [embedded video] Warning, attachments may contain malware.

Flag clicks the video.

A Belle Reve guard shoved Joker into a chair and strapped him down. ~Better hope Daddy doesn’t get wind of this rough treatment.~ The guard unconcernedly started inserting a feeding tube into one nostril. ~Who? Oh, yeah, the delusions. Well, a few more doses should put a stop to those.~ Joker’s hands shook, then clenched. He snarled at the guard, but couldn’t move enough to bite. ~Here we go… Don’t you worry, now—these drugs are amazing. Soon, you’ll be saying, ‘Batman who?’~

Flag focuses on the hands.

Flap, flail, twitch.

It could be Morse, in which case…

He rewinds.

trap. stay away. ily. gb ily ily ily Gradually, the movements slowed and stopped. White fingers went lax. ~Theeeere,~ said the guard, patting one thin hand. ~Better, right? Cloud nine. No need to think about nutcase vigilantes. No worries at all for our little princess. You just do what Waller says, and you’ll keep getting these niiice drugs.~ Joker was slack in his restraints, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Another opiate, maybe? ~Pretty thing, aren’t you? For such a basket case, anyhow. Such long eyelashes, like a baby doll… Dress you up and pose you. Not like you’ll know or care, with this stuff. Enough doses, and even somebody with your resistance will break right down. Forget everything, not a care in the world.~

Flag grinds his teeth and feels like a fool for buying any of Waller’s lies.

He jumps when his own phone buzzes, hurries to see—

2 new text messages from Satan This time you’re retrieving a pris…

He swipes it open and reads. Retrieval from a LexCorp facility. Dossier says it’s a martial arts specialist named Ben Turner. No known meta-human abilities, favored weapon bronze clawed knuckles. Intel says surface security shoots to kill. Drones have scanned thoroughly enough to pinpoint the facility’s entrance below the building housing their main control hardware. The entrance and central computers will require some hacking—Flag hopes like hell his gang is up to it, because he can’t stand Brainiac or Egghead or any of the other likely candidates in Waller’s bag of tricks. Maybe he can requisition some nice automated toys; Ratcatcher is pretty handy with any kind of tech, after all, and Joker managed to disarm Harley’s nano-charge…

He texts Waller, preemptively nixing the addition of a dedicated tech expert and citing the combined volatility of Ratcatcher (who tends to bite strangers) and Joker (who might let a stranger walk over a landmine for fun).

The analysts will prep a care package, she says.

Flag goes to see the Geeks—they explain the logic of their selections and tell him they loaded a tablet with the inventory list and corresponding user manuals.

“All pretty self-explanatory for anybody with a three-digit IQ,” Economos tells him.

“Good. I finally have a team I don’t hate; I don’t want ‘em all dropping dead on me for lack of computer gizmos.”

~*~*~

Joker is red-eyed and coltish as he steps onto the tarmac. Better than he was the day before, but it’s worrying, all the same. Guy’s supposed to have their backs in a fight, come up with their plans, maybe hack some shit.

“Welcome back, Jay,” Flag says, just watching.

The clown looks at him, then starts digging in his trunk. “Where’s my goddamn makeup?” he mutters.

“The fuck is she playing at,” Lawton grumbles under his breath. “Fucking him up like this when we got an op scheduled…”

Joker glares at them both as he brushes smokey green eyeshadow into place. “My ears are burning, boys. I may not be looking my best, but I’m more than capable of handling myself.” Next is bright, bloody lipstick with just the slightest overpaint. Knives, holsters, sidearms, coat. “Where’re we headed?”

Flag lifts his chin. “Coast City. Industrial district. Run-down, dirty, medium foot-traffic at the best of times. We’re retrieving somebody from a top secret LexCorp lab, which may result in people wanting us dead if we make too much noise or leave too much evidence.”

“Ahhh, Lexy,” Joker muses as he watches Digger load up on boomerangs. “Y’know, he once called me a ‘deranged fanboy with more evil impulses than sense.’ I told him I was flattered, but taken. He winked at me, so I warned him I kill people who try to spoil the game.”

“Game?” Ratcatcher asks, shoving a spoonful of peanut butter into her mouth.

“Guessing the mask my lovely hides behind in daylight,” Joker replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I think I know who it is, but there’s plenty of time to eliminate possibilities.”

“Man’s the world’s greatest detective,” Lawton points out. “You think he don’t know how to hide shit like that?”

“Only so much you can hide from the guy you stick your dick in on a regular basis.”

The boys all jeer and complain about mental images while Ratcatcher laughs so hard she snorts peanut butter up her nose.

Flag heaves a deep sigh. “If you’re done choking on your snack, this crate is full of doohickies Waller’s analysts thought might help us out. Have a gander, gadget-girl.”

She starts digging through the gear. “Skeleton key, very nice…self-cloning RFID card…ooh, a jackhammer!”

“What?” Lawton says, looking deeply perturbed.

She waves a thick computer tablet at him. “Brute-force code-breaker. Plug it in, it digs around until it figures out where to go to gain admin access, and then it does what computers do best: making really shitty guesses really quickly. Here, see—” She turns it to show him the label the techs have put on it. “—not suitable for systems with brickware, can overcome dictattack blockers. Huh, and apparently not compatible with Apple systems…”

“Gimme the intel pack,” says Joker, holding out a hand and wiggling his fingers.

Flag gives it to him and sees him flipping through maps and blueprints. Good; he can still do his job.

“Three roving patrols, three sniper nests, single elevated indoor guard post overlooking the building the scans claim hold the computers, right above the entrance to the facility. Infrastructure implies an underground complex entered through a shielded door in the basement levels…”

“Dodge the patrols, hit the snipers?” Flag offers.

“Split up, first. Better chance to sneak up on ‘em. Then we need somebody to poke around downstairs to verify that door while somebody else pokes the central computers.”

“Croc and Boom, me ‘n Deadshot, Arcee ‘n Jay. Let’s go, kids.”

.End.

#fanfic #scraps #Suicide Squad #CANON DIVERGENCE #universe alteration #fic series: princess

1 note · View note

goron-king-darunia · 2 years ago

Photo

Eggtober Retrospective by @goron-king-darunia Well, there they are. Every egg-related piece I drew in October, along with the behind-the-scenes or in-progress pictures, including bonus art. Individual links will be at the end of the post. I’m gonna get sappy here, but first, a poem to tie this whole thing off before I get into the details some may want to skip. Poem for an Egg An egg is such a simple thing. Child of beasts of scale and wing. Let from this verse my praises ring, A poem for an egg. Yolk of gold in chest of white Armor crackling, feather-light. Wet albumen shining bright From a calcium-cast keg. Coated tongue with holy wine Protein and rich fat combined Sunlight nectar so divine To stain the humble bread. Toothsome sponge of firming yield, Heated skillet firmly sealed. Poached from out the plundered field, Plucked from feathered bed. Broth of life in fragile cradle, Font of youth of myth and fable, Decadent and smooth like sable, Anointed and alone. Nourishment of king and peasant Harvested from hen or pheasant. Such is nature’s oldest present To nourish flesh and bone. An egg is such a precious thing From which my inspirations spring And for the world I’ll proudly sing This poem for an egg.

Now, a little on what eggs and Eggtober mean to me as an artist. Eggs are symbolic of a lot of things. But I’ll go over the particular symbolism that felt relevant and inspiring to me. Youth - Obvious on the face of it. One way or another, baby organisms of any sort of complexity start as an egg. Baby chickens come from eggs. Fairly direct symbolism. But for me, Eggtober was connecting to a younger time in my life, where art was just something natural. Where I wasn’t pressured by my own expectations or burdened by a lot of the fetters that come with visual art. It was about connecting with that feeling of whimsy. Even my personal projects started carrying a weight of expectation to them, even though I swore to myself that the quality didn’t matter. The level of skill I achieved with art had me in that sort of Valley of Despair in the whole Dunning-Kruger graph. I knew enough to know that I had so much growing left, and my confidence fell through the floor. But Eggtober was a chance to connect with the confidence of youth, and grow the skills I’ve been nurturing that went to atrophy over nearly a decade of no (or very little) art. To just draw what felt right, learn, examine, look, tweak, practice, and grow. No external judgements. No internal judgements. Just making. And I think that’s helped me a lot.

Looking Beneath the Surface - I’ve been forced to do a bit of introspection recently. As is the human condition, I inevitably end up harming people I care about. And while a certain amount of that is unavoidable, the stuff that is avoidable stems, in part, from unaddressed self-esteem issues. Through a combination of examining my own writing, discussing with friends, and examining things that have hurt me when they ought not (i.e. I burst into tears for “no reason” because a Hershey bar had the phrase “treat for me” on the back as part of its marketing) I’ve realized that I... kind of hate myself. I have this deep-seated unease about facets of myself that I’m ashamed of. Things I think people wouldn’t accept, fears I have that I know aren’t true, anxieties about my own interests, doubts about my own capabilities. Things about myself that don’t really hurt anyone, that don’t need to be changed, upset me.

It got to the point where I was inadvertently hurting people in a desire to medicalize my own idiosyncrasies to validate them because as a psychology student, I’d internalized a pretty unhealthy “If I can name it, I can fix it” mentality. “If I can just associate this thing I hate about myself with a known disease, disorder, or mental illness, I can totally just get rid of it with the right treatment (that I don’t have access to for a variety of reasons)” And that’s not a healthy way to think about myself. Especially not about things that don’t hurt anyone. Doubly especially when those are just little things I enjoy in fiction. Things that don’t really indicate anything about me on their own.

That festering self-hatred probably stems from a lot of external sources, but ultimately, it’s the fact that it’s sitting inside me, unaddressed, that it’s become a problem. I internalized a lot of external influence meant to hurt me and decided that because others wanted to hurt me, that I deserved to be hurt. I decided that instead of examining any of that, to just accept it wholesale and that instead of changing things (which I didn’t want to change and don’t need to be changed because, again, these things don’t hurt anyone) I decided to cope with self-deprecation. Like putting on a red shirt before going on stage, expecting tomatoes. “You can’t hurt me more that I’m already hurting me. If I tell you I already know there’s something wrong with me, you can laugh with me and not at me.” Needless to say, I know that stuff isn’t healthy, and I’m more aware now that it hurts other people, not just me. For a variety of reasons, I can’t get professional help right now. But knowing at least one root of the behavior that hurts me and hurts others means I can address it. And being able to look inward will be key to growing as I move forward. Just as an egg holds a white and a yolk, my body houses a mind and its thoughts. Being able to look within and see what’s there, like candling an egg, will help me root out things that hurt others and affect my quality of life. Food and Community - I wanted to stick with an edible theme, partly because I like food, but also because food means community. Unless you’re a hermit living alone in the mountains and living off wild berries and roots, it’s basically impossible to eat something that hasn’t involved other humans in the process. Even if you cook your own food and eat all by yourself, someone picked those veggies, gathered those eggs, butchered that meat. And usually, eating isn’t something you do alone. There are reasons that going out to eat is a common activity to do with friends and dates and family and why food is a part of special occasions. Eggtober, as a challenge, was something we did together. Whether you only participated once or twice, whether you just watched, whether you did an egg every day like @quezify. It was a uniting factor. And even though lots of people have decided the plague is over, it really isn’t. And even if it was over, those years of isolation and limiting togetherness for the good of the community was rough on a lot of people. Doing something together is just nice.

Can I offer you a nice egg in this trying time? - I’ve always been an absolute slut for pink Pokemon. And while I characterize myself as more of an Audino, I really vibe with Blissey for this. “Blissey senses sadness with its fluffy coat of fur. If it does so, this Pokémon will rush over to a sad person, no matter how far away, to share a Lucky Egg that brings a smile to any face.” “Anyone who takes even one bite of Blissey's egg becomes unfailingly caring and pleasant to everyone.” More than anything, I want to live a life of kindness and making others happy. I’m not always able to live up to that. But I strive for it. Various media characterize various things as nourishing and nurturing. And while the poster-child food for that in the USA seems to be Chicken Soup, the egg is only a degree or two removed from that. And while the best known pop-culture reference on this site which uses the egg as a short-hand for affection has been memed to hell and back, I think it has more sincere implications in my art. Even if it’s only one person, I just want to make this world a little better for someone. I want to be kind, patient, nurturing. I want to embody love. I know I’m only human. I know it can’t always be unconditional. And I know I can’t always be the best me every moment of every day. But I hope if there’s a stat sheet at the end of life that my metric for kindness, compassion, and love is my highest stat.

Final Thoughts: Eggtober’s been an artistic adventure. I learned a lot about the raw mechanics of making art, trained my eyes, my hands, refined my process. But it’s also been emotional. I’ve been crying writing some of this. Growth is a series of small steps and consistent choices, and I’d like to think I’ve come out the other side of this month a markedly better person than I was before, in more ways than one. I’m no stranger to sadness and depression. In fact, in terms of Pixar’s Inside Out, I’d pretty soundly say I’m “Captained by Sadness,” as the visual metaphor goes. But even with things outside my control, even with the crying, even with the concretely bad day, October was a good month. In no small part due to drawing for Eggtober. I’m a characteristically weepy bitch, so not all of these tears are sad tears. But there’s definitely a melancholy setting in. It’s been nice doing all this, and it’s a little sad for it to be over. But there’s also relief. I can get back to a few other projects I put on the backburner. I can free up brainspace for other creative pursuits and I can be a bit more spontaneous. There’s also an overwhelming joy that comes with being able to see I completed something. Just putting everything together into one collage to see all I’ve made was an emotional endeavor. Being able to put something out there in the world and say “I made something. Something that didn’t exist before exists now, because of me.” I’m trying not to cry because it’s over. I’m trying to smile because it happened. We all did something great together. I don’t think I’ve had a happier month, even with everything. Thank you to everyone who participated. This was a wonderful experience. My askbox is open for anyone that might want to put in an egg request, even if Eggtober is over now. If you all have any favorites, I’ll consider setting up shop and running prints if you want to support me. But until then, I hope you all are safe, fed, warm, and loved. All Eggtober Art, in order, Left to Right, Top to Bottom: Eggtober 1 - Fried Egg Eggtober 2 - Deviled Eggs Eggtober 3 - Toad in the Hole Eggtober 4 - Eggs Benedict Eggtober 5 - Hard Boiled Eggs 3 Ways Eggtober 6 - Poached Egg Eggtober 7 - Soft-Boiled Eggs Eggtober 8 - Scrambled Eggs Eggtober 9 - Mushroom and Cheese Omelet Eggtober 10 - Bibimbap Eggtober 11 - Tonkotsu Ramen with Egg Eggtober 12 - Avocado Toast Eggtober 13 - Çilbir or Turkish Poached Eggs Eggtober 14 - EGGxperiment (Naked Egg) Eggtober 15 - Scotch Egg Eggtober 16 - Tamago Nigiri Eggtober 17 - Ikura Nigiri Eggtober 18 - Egg Salad Eggtober 19 - Mooncake (Featuring Salted Egg Yolk) Eggtober 20 - Minimalist Shakshuka Eggtober 21 - Huevos Rancheros Eggtober 22 - Impressions of Broccoli Quiche Eggtober 23 - A Cube of Egg Casserole Eggtober 24 - Tamago Kake Gohan Eggtober 25 - The Imposter or “The Egg Plant” Eggtober 26 - Century Egg or “Beyond Reach” a Starbot Fanart Eggtober 27 - Soy Grilled Quail Eggs Eggtober 28 - Pickled Egg with Radish Slices Eggtober 29 - Cloud Egg Eggtober 30 - Halloween Meringues Eggtober 31 - Cadbury Screme Egg

Eggtober Bonus 1 - Intermission Collaboration Eggtober Bonus 2 - Sushi Eggs Eggtober Bonus 3 - Zucchini Egg Casserole Behind the Scenes 1 - Bibimbap, But Just the Veggies (Under Cut) Behind the Scenes 2 - Avocado Toast, Emphasis on the Tomato (Under Cut) Behind the Scenes 3 - Starbot Fan Art without Pixelation (Under Cut)

#Eggtober 2022 #Eggtober Retrospective #my art #my writing #poetry #It's been a hell of a ride #trying to take what I learned this month with me moving forward #both the art stuff and the self-reflection stuff

69 notes · View notes

lorenfangor · 3 years ago

Note

I heard that #40 was super homophobic :/ so I skipped it. But now your fic is making me want to give it a try. How problematic is it? Are the characters worth it?

Okay.

Let’s talk about #40.

The plot of The Other (a Marco POV) is that Marco sees an Andalite on a video tape sent in to some Unsolved Mysteries-esque TV show, and he assumes it’s Ax and hauls ass to save him from being captured. Ax, being Ax, has videotaped the show, and they pull it up and Tobias uses his hawk eyes to figure out that it’s not Ax, it’s another Andalite - one without a tailblade. Ax is appalled at the presence of this vecol (an Andalite word for a disabled person) and we find out that he and others of his species have deep ingrained prejudices against at least some kinds of disabled people.

Despite this, Marco and Ax go looking for the Andalite in question because he’s been spotted by national TV, and they meet a second one, named Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad. The vecol is Mertil-Iscar-Elmand, a former fighter pilot with a reputation and Gafinilan’s coded-gay life partner. The two of them have been on Earth since book 1; they crashed their fighters on the planet and have been trapped there thanks to the GalaxyTree going down. Gafinilan has adopted a human cover, a physics professor, and they’ve been living in secret ever since.

Thanks to that tape, Mertil has been captured by Visser Three, and he’s not morph-capable so he can’t escape. Gafinilan wants to trade the leader of the “Andalite Bandits” to the Yeerks to get his boyfriend back; he can’t fight to free Mertil because he’s terminally ill with a genetic disorder that will eventually kill him, and (it’s implied that) the Yeerks aren’t interested in disabled hosts, even disabled Andalite ones. Despite Ax’s ableism, the Animorphs agree to work with Gafinilan and free Mertil, and they’re successful. Marco ends the book talking about how there are all kinds of prejudices you’ll have to face and boxes that people will put you in, and you can’t necessarily escape them even if they’re reductive and inaccurate, but you can still live your life with pride.

So now that I’ve explained the plot, I’m gonna come out the gate saying that I love this book. I love it wholeheartedly, I love Marco’s narration, I love Ax having to deal with Andalite society’s ableism, I love these characters, and as a disabled lesbian I don’t find these disabled gays to be inherently Bad Rep.

that’s of course just my opinion and it doesn’t overshadow other issues that people might have? but at the same time, I don’t like the seemingly-common narrative that this book is all bad all the time, and I want to offer up a different read.To that end, I’m going to go point by point through some of the criticisms and common complaints that I’ve seen across the fandom over the years.

“Mertil and Gafinilan were put on a bus after one appearance because they were gay!”

this is one I’m going to have to disagree with hardcore. I talked about this yesterday, but in Animorphs there are a lot of characters or ideas that only get introduced once or twice and then get written off or dropped - in order off the top of my head, #11 (the Amazon trip), #16 (Fenestre and his cannibalism), #17 (the oatmeal), #18 (the hint of Yeerks doing genetic experiments in the hospital basement), #24/#39/#42 (the Helmacrons’ ability to detect morphing tech), #25 (the Venber), #28 (experiments with limiting brain function through drugs), #34 (the Hork-Bajir homeworld being retaken, the Ixcila procedure), #36 (the Nartec), #41 (Jake’s Bad Future Dream), and #44 (the Aboriginal people Cassie meets in Australia) all feature things that either seem to exist just for the sake of having a particular trope explored Animorphs-style or to feature an idea for One Single Book.

This is a series that’s episodic and has a very limited overall story arc because of how children’s literature in the 90s was structured - these books are closer to The Saddle Club, Sweet Valley High, Animal Ark, or The Baby-Sitters’ Club than they are to Harry Potter or A Series of Unfortunate Events. Mertil and Gafinilan don’t get to be in more than one book because they’re not established in the main cast or the supporting cast, I don’t think that it’s solely got anything to do with their being gay.

“Gafinilan has AIDS, this is a book about AIDS, and that’s homophobic!”

Okay, this is… hard. First, yes, Gafinilan does have a terminal illness. Yes, Gafinilan is gay. No, Soola’s Disease is not AIDS.

I have two responses to this, and I’ll attack them in order of their occurrence in my thought. First, there’s coded AIDS diseases all over genre fiction, especially genre fiction from that era, because the AIDS epidemic made a massive impact on public life and fundamentally changed both how the public perceived illness and queerness and how queer people themselves experienced it. I was too young to live through it, but my dad’s college roommate was out, and my dad himself has a lot of friends who he just ceases to talk about if the conversation gets past 1986 or so - this was devastating and it got examined in art for more reasons than “gay people all have AIDS”, and I dislike the implication that the only reason it could ever appear was as a tired stereotype or a message that Being Queer Means Death. Gafinilan is kind, fond of flowers, and fond of children - he’s multifaceted, and he’s got a terminal illness. Those kinds of people really exist, and they aren’t Bad Rep.

Second off, Soola’s Disease? Really isn’t AIDS. It’s a congenital genetic illness that develops over time, cannot be transmitted, and does not carry a serious stigma the way AIDS did. Gafinilan also has access to a cure - he could become a nothlit and no longer be afflicted by it, even if it’s considered somewhat dishonorable to go nothlit to escape that way. That’s not AIDS, and in fact at no point in my read and rereads did I assume that his having a terminal illness was supposed to be a commentary on homosexuality until I found out that other people were assuming it.

“Mertil losing his tail means he’s lost his masculinity, and that’s bad because he’s gay! That’s homophobic!”

so this is another one I’ve gotta hardcore disagree with, because while Mertil is one of two Very Obviously Queer Characters, he’s not the only character who loses something fundamental about himself, or even loses access to sexual and/or romantic capability in ways he was familiar with.

Tobias and Arbron both get ripped out of their ordinary normal lives by going nothlit in bad situations, and while they both wind up finding fulfillment and freedom despite that, it’s still traumatic, even more for Arbron I’d say than for Tobias. And on a psychological level, none of the main cast is left unmarked or free of trauma or free of deep change thanks to the bad things that have happened to them - they’re no less fundamentally altered than Mertil, even if it’s mental rather than physical. And yes, tail loss is equated with castration or emasculation, but that doesn’t automatically mean Mertil suffering it is tied to his homosexuality and therefore the takeaway we’re intended to have is “Being gay is tragic and makes you less of a man”. This is a series where bad shit happens to everyone, and enduring losses that take away things central to one’s self-conception or identity or body is just part of the story.

Also, frankly? Plenty of IRL disabled people have to grapple with a loss of sexual function, and again, they’re not Bad Rep just because they’re messy.

“Andalite society is confusingly written in this book, and the disability aspects are clearly just a coverup for the gay stuff!”

Andalite society is canonically sexist, a bit exceptionalist and prejudiced in their own favor, and pretty contradictory and often challenged internally on its own norms. In essence, it’s a pretty ordinary society, and they’re really realistic as sci-fi races go. It makes sense from that perspective that Andalites would tolerate scarring or a lost stalk eye or a lost skull eye, but not tolerate serious injuries that significantly impact your perceived quality of life. Ableism is like that - it’s not one-size-fits-all. I look at Ax’s reactions and I see a lot of my own family and friends’ behaviors - this vibes with my understanding of prejudice, you know?

“Mertil and Gafinilan have a tragic ending, which means the story is saying that being gay dooms you to tragedy!”

Mertil and Gafinilan have the best possible ending that they could ask for? They are victims of the war, they are suffering because of the war, they get the same cocktail of trauma and damage that every other soldier gets. But unlike Jake and Tobias and Marco, unlike Elfangor, unlike Aximili? Their ending comes in peace, in their own home. Gafinilan isn’t dying alone, he’s got the love of his life with him. Mertil isn’t going to be as isolated anymore, he’s got Marco for a friend. Animorphs is a tragedy, it’s not a happy story, it’s not something that guarantees a beautiful sunshine-and-roses ending for everyone, and I love tragedy, and so I will fight for this story. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it deserved better. But it’s not less meaningful just because it’s sad. Nobody is entitled to anything in this book, and it’s just as true for these two as it is for anyone else.

“It’s not cool that the only canonically gay characters in this series don’t get to be happy and trauma-free and unblemished Good Rep!”

This is one I can kind of understand, and I’ll give some ground to it, because it is sucky. The only thing I’ll say is that I stand by my argument that nothing that happens to Mertil and Gafinilan is unusual compared to what happens to the rest of the cast, and that their ending is way happier than Rachel and Tobias’s, or Jake and Cassie’s. But it’s a legitimate point of frustration, and the one argument I’ll say I agree has validity.

(Though, I also want to point out that I think there are plenty of equally queercoded characters in the story who aren’t Mertil and Gafinilan - Tobias, Rachel, Cassie, and Marco all get at least one or two moments that signal to me that they’re potentially LGBT+, not to mention Mr. Tidwell and Illim in #29 and their long-term domestic partnership. There’s no reason to assume that the only queer people here are those two aliens when Marco’s descriptions of Jake exist.)

“Marco uses slurs and reduces Gafinilan’s whole identity to his illness!”

Technically, yes, this is true, except putting it that way strips the whole passage of its context. Marco is discussing the boxes society puts you into, the ones you don’t have a choice about facing or escaping. He’s talking about negative stereotypes and reductive generalizations, he’s referring to them as bad things that you get inflicted upon you by an outside world or by friends who don’t know the whole story or the real you. The slurs he uses are real slurs that get thrown at people still, and they’re not okay, and the point is that they’re not okay but assholes are going to call you by them anyway. He ends by saying “you just have to learn to live with it”, and since this is coming from a fifteen-year-old Latino kid who we know is picked on by bullies for all sorts of reasons and who faces racism and homophobia? He knows what he’s talking about. He’s bitter about what’s been said and done, he’s not stating it like it’s a good thing.

Yes, absolutely, this speech is a product of its time, but it’s a product of its time that speaks of defiance and says “We aren’t what we’re said to be,” and in the year this was published? That’s a good message.

tl;dr The Other is good, actually, and Mertil and Gafinilan are incredible characters who deserve all the love they could possibly get.

#animorphs #animorphs meta #mertil/gafinilan #mertil #gafinilan #mertil-iscar-elmand #gafinilan-estrif-valad

321 notes · View notes

scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

What's One More?

WC: 3204

Rated: M

Tags: brief mentions of crime/mental illness/child abuse and neglect/substance addiction/theft, fluff, family dynamics, mentions of aging, mentions of difficult pregnancy, softness, anxiety attack

🧠

The harsh vibrating of a phone on the nightstand breaks your slumber. Still half asleep you toss your arm back to thump against your sleeping husband's side. With a groan he answers. You try to settle back into your pillow and the warmth of the blanket. Whoever has the balls to call at this hour has another thing coming - but later because your priority is going back to sleep.

He can't have been on the call more than fifteen seconds before he sits up in bed suddenly, turning on the bedside lamp; his movements grab your attention. You roll over. The light blinds you and you rub at your eyes to adjust. You can't make out what's being said. Looking at the clock to see that it's barely 4 am you know something bad has happened. Quietly you slip out from the covers.

Making your way down the hall you peek into your daughter's room, grateful that she's still fast asleep. Her soft snores punctuate the calm. Your nerves abate knowing she’s safe. By the time you get back to the bedroom Laszlo is up and getting dressed. "What's going on?"

He doesn't answer at first. You wait until he's finished buttoning his shirt to ask again. "Sara was called to consult on a triple homicide case - she's asked for me to come down to the police station. I don't know much yet, but it's something involving a young boy and she wants me to speak with him."

“Did he…?”

“No. He was not directly involved, that much we know.”

You nod, leaning against the door frame. This wasn't the first time that Laszlo had been called in by law enforcement and social services to assist with children and teens that needed psychological help. He had become more active around the time you graduated with your doctorate. After Sophia was born Laszlo helped fund an after school program for kids that focused on support for mental health and behavioral issues. He was so passionate about being able to help these kids. But it was never at this ungodly hour. "You'll call or something when you know what's up?" you ask through a yawn.

"Of course, Bärchen." He gives you a chaste peck. Gently he guides you back towards your bed and sits you down. "Go back to sleep, there's no need to worry. I love you." With that he left.

Your sleep is fitful with him gone. You worry over things that you aren't even aware of, over who is hurt, over how severe a situation it could be to have been called in the middle of the night, over the poor boy that needs Laszlo’s help. When your daughter tiptoes into the room around 6 you welcome her into the bed with open arms.

"Why are you up, baby bug?"

"Where's Papa?" She climbs up on his side of the bed and rubs his cold pillow. On her face is a deep frown.

"He had to go help some very important people early this morning. He'll be back to see you soon, I promise."

"I miss him. He always helps me with my shoes."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face. "I know, baby. But it's still early so let's take a nap before we have to get ready, hmm?" The two of you snuggle under the covers. With her curled into your side you do find rest, even for the short time before your alarm chimes.

The day moves sluggish as you wait for word from your husband. Little work was to be done today at the museum, so there wasn't much to keep your mind off the wondering. You considered calling. You considered texting. But you knew that when the time was right he would let you know. No news is good news, you think.

Finally the day came to a close. You picked up Sophia and stopped by the store on the way home to grab supplies for dinner. She insisted that she carry one of the bags inside - little miss independent that she was. “Careful not to drop it, okay? Use those muscles of yours to hold the bag tight.”

“Mama I know, I help Papa carry all the time,” she explains matter-of-factly.

The townhouse is quiet as you begin to unpack. You do a quick glance into the dining room and parlor to no avail. "Laz, honey? You home?" A few seconds later you hear movement from the stairs.

Your husband rounds the corner into the kitchen, swooping down to scoop your daughter into his left arm, peppering her face in exaggerated smooches. Her giggles light up the room from the dim atmosphere. He perches her on his hip. “How was your day my little dove?”

“So good Papa - I practiced my counting today at school. I can get the biggest in the class! Mommy said I must be the most smartest," she prattles on.

“Wunderbar!” he praises her before turning to you. “I didn't hear you come in." Laszlo kisses you.

Pinning him with a look you say "you also didn't call me today? You said you would and I've been worried all day."

Sophia crosses her arms and harrumphs from her father's hip; "me too Papa." He quirks an eyebrow at her before speaking.

"Yes… there is something I wished to speak with you on but didn't think it was suitable for the phone." You raise your own brows but continue to put away groceries. "I do not wish to discuss certain aspects of the case in present company-" he nods towards Sophia minutely "-but we do have a houseguest for the foreseeable future."

"Oh?" Your brows dip in confusion. This is not what you were expecting.

Laszlo peeks around the doorway and calls out "Stevie, would you come join us in the kitchen please."

Stevie? You don't know a Stevie...

A moment later a lanky boy with scruffy dark blond hair shuffles into the room. He can't be anymore than 15. His clothes are too big on him and his shoes are worn beyond belief; nevertheless he gives you a slight smile. “This is Stevie Taggert, he’s going to be staying here with us in the guest room for now.”

“Good evening Mrs. Kreizler,” the boy says nervously, his voice cracking.

You spare a look at your husband before turning to the teenager with a smile. “Ah, no need for that, kid. You can just call me by my name instead. And welcome to our home. You like spaghetti?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Awesome! And I’m certainly not old enough to be a ma’am,” you give him a wink. You set up a pot to boil the water for the pasta. Laszlo excused himself to spend some time with Sophia, leaving you and Stevie in the kitchen.

He clears his throat behind you. “Would um… is there anything I can do to help?”

"I would love that, thank you."

The two of you get to work on making dinner. Stevie doesn’t say too much, but he is very polite and does his best to be useful. Once the food is nearly finished your family has returned ready to eat. You send Stevie and Sophia to set the table.

“Should I be worried?” you ask Laszlo quietly, watching the doorway the two left through.

“I don’t think so. I just felt that I would rather he have a familiar face to adjust with instead of being placed in a group home like many end up.”

You study his face. “You’ve taken a liking to him haven’t you?”

“Well…" his face reddens at your question. "He reminds me a bit of myself when I was his age.” The conversation is cut short by the kids returning.

The rest of dinner and the evening goes smoothly. You make it a point to not bring up any questions that could trigger the teenager, especially before you’ve spoken with Laszlo about the situation at hand. When Stevie nearly eats his weight in pasta you say nothing, wondering how long it's been since he's had a good home cooked meal. He insists on helping clean up the dishes afterwards. Without even knowing what the boy has gone through your heart aches for him.

You set him up in the small renovated basement downstairs while Laszlo puts Sophia to bed. Handing him one of your husband’s old Harvard t-shirts to sleep in you tell him “I’m sorry you’ll be down here by yourself, but if you need us for anything don’t be afraid to come get us - no matter what time it is, okay? And if you get cold there’s an extra blanket right here for you. I know it's July but….” you shrug. “Tomorrow after I get home from work we can go to the store and get you some stuff to use, some more clothes, that kinda thing.”

“Yes ma’am.” At the teasing look you give him his ears burn red with his mumbled “right sorry.”

“Alright Stevie. We’ll see you in the morning, sleep well.”

Laszlo is in bed reading when you enter the room. Nothing is said as you ready yourself for bed. Slipping under the covers you face him. He sighs and closes his book.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I became caught up in the day and only arrived home with Stevie maybe half an hour before you did.” He sighs a second time. “Most of the case I cannot talk about, but what I can say is he was living with his mentally ill father, whom was also an addict. He missed the last few weeks of the school year and has been regularly stealing food to get by. He has no other family. I just… it didn’t feel right to let him process his experiences away from someone properly trained to deal with these sorts of things, in addition to how traumatic entering foster care at his age can be. I spoke with those in social services and was granted temporary custody until we find another more permanent solution.”

“Of course.”

He takes hold of your hand. “You aren’t upset with me?”

“I mean it would’ve been nice to have a bit more warning… but I get it. He can stay as long as he needs to. He’s a sweet kid,” you reassure him. “I told him that I would take him shopping after work tomorrow, so if you could pick up Soph from preschool that would be great.”

“Perhaps instead we can all go? I was thinking that I would bring him to the university with me so that he’s not alone all day. You could get her and then we could meet somewhere, get dinner afterwards?”

You lean closer to him to curl around his arm and rest your head on his shoulder. He always thought so much about others, especially children. Laszlo had such a heart of gold and it honestly left you in awe of just how much he was willing to give so that others could find peace and happiness. Like the older he got the more he had to give. The thought warms you. “How are you literally the best person I know? And to think you used to be so worried about being able to be a good father and now you’re the best of all of us.” He huffs a little as you nuzzle into his chest.

“I have you to thank for that, Bärchen.” He drops a kiss to your head. “But it’s getting late and I’ve been up all day. We should get some sleep.”

Soon after you're both dreaming.

___

Stevie had been with you for three weeks. It only took him a few days to start to settle in, and you discovered that he was quick with his wit and far smarter than he let on. He was a little bit of a sarcastic smart-ass at times, but all in good nature. He was endlessly entertaining. Laszlo sat down with him almost everyday to talk about what he was feeling, the things he experienced, and ways to deal with the loss of his family. Already you both saw improvement.

Even Sophia got on well with him. Most teenage boys wanted nothing to do with little kids, let alone a 4 year old that loved playing 'spaceship barbie'. But not Stevie. On his fifth day you'd found him sat on the floor playing with her and going along with her childlike imagination. When she insisted he play the barbie that needed saving he went along with it, high pitched voice and everything. He even encouraged her to pick up her toys before bed - a feat you and your husband struggled with at times. It struck you how much Stevie became a big brother of sorts to her.

Laszlo grew even more fond of the boy. He wasn't really one for TV, but every evening he sat and watched some show on Netflix about racing with the teen and didn't complain once. Laszlo had tried to explain the role of adrenaline in racing drivers as a psychological function, but Stevie just brushed it off and said it was the driving so fast that made it "cool".

The two did bond over an unlikely subject - punk rock. When you got home from work two weeks into his stay and heard the music blasting in the parlor you worried someone had broken in. Whipping into the room you saw Laszlo in his chair tapping his foot to the intense guitar and singing; Stevie nodded along to the music as he held an old album cover. It didn't take long for Sophia to start jumping along to the music too.

"What is this?" You yelled out over the bass - you couldn't recognize it and it clearly wasn't English.

"Die Toten Hosen, a band I listened to growing up in Germany. Stevie found the record and asked to listen."

"Listen? I think you mean blow out your eardrums!" Even with needing to shout to be heard you had to laugh at the situation. How your husband had a secret love for German punk you'll never know; yet you would never let him live it down.

And when Stevie came and woke you both up in tears three nights ago you made him hot chocolate while Laszlo sat down with him. He confessed that he had never been treated or cared for like he was in your home. How he wished he could stay because he felt wanted. Your heart broke for the boy. To be so young and so lost, craving someone to simply be there for him.

Yet everyday he grew more open. He broke out of his shell. He had goals and ambitions; he wanted to amount to something bigger than he had thought he ever could. It almost shocked you at how much fire was within him.

At how much he fit in with your little family.

At how it was like he was meant to be there.

___

Laszlo was oddly quiet when you got home. Sophia had run off to find Stevie, and you tracked your husband down to his office. He listened as you talked about your day for a good ten minutes; he said almost nothing the whole conversation.

You move closer to him. Placing the back of your hand to his forehead you check to see if he's feverish or sick. He didn't feel warm. "Laz, are you feeling okay?"

He gently pulls your hand down and leaves a kiss on your palm. "The department of social services called this morning to inquire about what we want to do with Stevie. This would be the third time they have asked."

He hadn't mentioned it to you at all that they were calling already. "Okay. What do you think we should do?" You pause for him to continue.

"I told them I would need to speak with you before any further decisions were made regarding him…" His fingers tap against the wood of his desk. "I'm not sure I have an answer for them. Nor for you." He swallows. "I'm afraid of what might become of him should he go into the system. Or that he will not get the support he needs given his past. Any option involving allowing him to stay for a bit longer is a commitment I won't make without your full support, of course. I could never ask that of you." As he speaks you can hear the frustration pouring from him, feel the irritation radiating through the room. "I refuse to give up on him- I- I just don't have the answers on what to do without them hounding me and he deserves better than this, dammit."

"He does… Do you remember on your 50th birthday, what you told me?" Laszlo looks up at you confused. "You said that you had wished you were ten years younger so you had the energy and time to do all of it again. That if you were younger we would've had a whole gaggle of kids - brothers and sisters for Sophia."

"Wishing I was younger doesn't make a difference in helping Stevie-"

"Laszlo - let's adopt him." Your words stop him in his tracks. You had decided not to have any more after your daughter was born. Laszlo was nearing 50 and the pregnancy had been hard on you. But regardless you knew that you both had the means and the love to give another child, probably five or ten more children if you really wanted to. So why not start with one that's already wormed his way in to the family? "I've seen how fond you are of him already. You've taken him under your wing as if he was your own. And how good he is with Sophia? Hell I couldn't ask for a better older sibling for her - and she loves him already. And honestly, Laz, I do too."

"You think we should adopt Stevie?"

"I think we should ask, yeah. He deserves a good home and a strong father figure that's going to put him first. He looks at you like you hung the stars, Laszlo. He needs us, and truthfully I think we need him. So yeah - what's one more added to this little shindig we've got going for us?"

"Have you-"

"-thought it through? Yes. Completely."

You can see the smile he fights to hold back. "We should call tomorrow and see what the protocol is for stating our intent to adopt and getting the paperwork."

"Um…" You shuffle your feet. Nose scrunched, you confess "I may have already called them. On the way from work I asked about what would need to be done if we wanted to pursue that route, but since they already know who we are from you working with them for years it can be fast tracked." You pull him out of his chair to stand before you. "All we have to do is say 'go'."

He has no hesitation.

"Go."

Laszlo doesn't hold back his smile or his laughter as he spins you around his office floor. You're certain your children downstairs can hear your giggles.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

124 notes · View notes

albakore · 3 years ago

Text

Little ways they protect you

Synopsis: The little actions they take to shield you from the world. It’s just another form of showing their love.

Characters: Kaeya, Diluc (gn!reader)

Warnings: mentions of injuries (nothing graphic), minor allusion to drinks getting drugged in Diluc’s

Kaeya

Kaeya knows better than most people in Teyvat just how harmful and cruel the world can be

I mean hell the cryo gemstone quote is literally “"Sorry... to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world. Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn? Then burn away the old world for me."

I doubt he’d want even his worst enemies to have to endure the same kind of emotional pain he’s gone through

So obviously he’d never want the person her cares about most dearly to either.

It doesn’t matter to him if you’re the most innocent and naive soul to walk this earth or if you’ve gone through just as much as he has

He still tries his hardest to keep the world from harming you any further while you’re with him

This shield comes in many forms: quickly shutting down any rumors people try to spread about you, keeping creeps at the bar from staring at you by blocking the view of your body with his own, keeping tabs on the people you keep dear to you

Not in a gross or controlling way of course, he just wants to make sure you’re not surrounding yourself with any people who have ill-intent towards you

Also has this sort of “secretly evil” narrative written for himself in his head. You can see it his ‘the ends justify the means’ mentality and how he refers to himself (and Diluc) as “anti-heroes”

That is to say, he would absolutely not mind doing your dirty work for you. You’ve got a lot of work? Well, let Kaeya get in touch with one of his “contacts” who can maybe help make a few of your jobs easier

Never asks for any sort of payment, even when it’s obvious that your mysteriously disappearing workload is his doing. He does it because he cares! If you insist he’ll just dodge your demand or brush it off by saying you can repay him with your attention and affection

“Oh, you want to repay me? How cute. Unfortunately, I only take my payment in the form of kisses. Think you can spare a few?”

Diluc

Much like Kaeya, he understands how cruel the world can be.

He’s had too much taken from him. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t constantly think about the possibility of the archons stealing you from him as well

Not to mention Diluc already has it ingrained in his mind that he has to protect all of Mondstadt, to be the person the knights could never be, to be the one that stops other kids from losing their parents as well

So he goes out every day and monitors the activity of all hostile and potentially dangerous life around Mondstadt. The Abyss, the Fatui, hilichurl camps, you name it. He keeps an eye on it all.. or at least tries to, he is only one man after all

And on days when he notices more activity than normal he extends his workday into the night and keeps watch so that no particularly brave abyss mages wander into the city under the veil of darkness and disguise that the nighttime offers

But when it comes to you?

Oh boy he doubles down on his vigilante duties

Each swing of his claymore, each new enemy defeated

In his mind, the difference between defeating his opponents and not is your potential guaranteed safety walking home later that night

But he knows just as well that it’s not just hilichurls that can be brutal. Humans aren’t without their fair share of hostility

So he doesn’t just protect from the shadows at night, but also at the tavern when you get up to use the bathroom and he watches your drink carefully because even though he’s almost certain that the patrons he attracts at the Angel’s Share are well respected enough not to pull any stunts, “almost certain” isn’t good enough for him. not when it comes to your safety

If you two are in any sort of established relationship, platonic or romantic, he will absolutely offer to walk you home

Also, if you adventure or anything of the sort he will monitor your injury level. That is to say, he will scold you if you come in with more scrapes and bruises than normal. He’ll tell you that you should’ve requested that he accompany you if you knew it was going to be a tough commission.

If he notices it’s happening more and more frequently, he’ll have a serious discussion with you about your safety and recklessness. He’s also not above going to your supervisor and requesting more safety measures be put in place for you. He’s not requesting that you be babied or anything of that nature of course, just something like moving your area of focus or sending more people to accompany you. He’ll even offer again to accompany you himself just to make sure that you’re not putting yourself in more danger than is necessary

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to join you on your adventures tomorrow — just to ensure your safety, that’s all. I know you’re a perfectly capable adventurer, but your injuries are becoming more frequent by the day. Please be more careful in the future.”

#diluc headcanons #diluc #diluc x reader #kaeya #kaeya headcanons #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader

250 notes · View notes

eddsworld-headies · 3 years ago

Note

Live up to your name. Head headcanons.

Alright bitch, challenge accepted

Excluding Matt cause I already did his

Edd

-Edd doesn't really have a diagnosed illness. He had body issues for a while. Ate a lot. Gets kinda anxious sometimes, but nothing his therapist tries digging into to find deeper meaning.

-but he's been with the gang for so long that he's kinda the mom of the group.

- "Tom! Tord! Did you take your meds??" "What??" "Your Paxil and Divaproex! Come take it!" "In a minute!" "Not in a minute! Come take it now!"

-Has the big mom purse thing stuffed with sensory toys for Everybody and has a lingering suspicion that Tord had ADHD

-tries to get Tom to stop drinking cause it lessens the effects of his medication.

-if you have a mental illness, he's probably got something in his bag for it.

-CLING.

-Never wanna leave your side baby

-He heavy. The hot kind (which probably doesn't give you much information cause any kind of heavy can be the hot kind)

- he's like a bean bag

- purposefully leaves his hoodie around for you to take.

- loves cooking and your terrible at it.

-does art commissions as a job and it's fun but sucks cause it's mostly hentai and gets very few good commercial jobs

Tord

-He's got the BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) since last night, I've been looking into some illnesses and this fits very well.

-i genuinely believe that Tord didn't leave with the intent to raise an army. He really did go to the big city to become a mechanic/big time engineer.

-one of my theories is that he left before anyone else could leave him, since some people with BPD have an intense fear of abandonment.

- And they tend to have rocky relationships and these symptoms get intense the younger you are.

-Tom and Tord were best friends when they grew up. Even dated for a little bit before things got rocky. Mostly Tord having aquired feelings that Tom would begin to hate him or become cruel, which lead to a large falling out between them.

-he's got speration anxiety, but after coming back to get his giant robot (and then proceeding to Chicken out) he keeps it at bay and stays silent, seeing as some of the group hasn't forgiven him for leaving.

- if he's having Abandonment Paranoia, he'll stress in silence.

-he also happens to be very impulsive, seeing as he made the last minute decision to leave the red army after seeing his friends once more, the same symptom that cause him to switch his passion for creating to world domination.

- might have ADHD: likes fidget toys and is constantly in movement. Also has a difficult time trying to focus on things he hates.

-he likes things that go 'click'

-back in middle school, he had two ball magnets that were meant for the fridge but took them everywhere because they attracted to each other and made a good noise.

-he likes when you wear dangly jewelry

-will take your dangle bracelets and jingle them around

- Don't like being alone but constantly locks himself in his room to work on commissions for machines

- machines mostly include automated cosplay, specific contraptions like automatics doggy doors, and sometimes even prosthetics.

-sharp canines. He looks like a puppy. Or a cat, whichever you prefer.

- possessive

- he's not afraid of affection

Tom

-Avoidant Personality Disorder

-but in a really weird way.

- tried to combat his shyness with alcohol. No one will bother him if he looks like a drunken slob, right?

- oversensitive to criticism (mostly from Tord) tries to fight it with aggression

-really bad self image

-also has ADHD so he's a little all over the place.

-stim chee necklace that he's totally destroyed

-maladaptive daydreamer

-can stare at a wall for hours and keep himself entertained.

-sharp teeth. He bites, it looks like a bear mauling.

- doesn't know exactly why you want him, but he'll take what he gets and your fucking awesome.

- fire. Save you or Susan? He'll give Susan to you and throw you both out the window. Self sacrifice.

- sensitive to light.

-eyes aren't voids, just black. When there's something wrong with your kidney, it can turn the white part of your eye slightly blue, so his kidney is fucked.

#ew tom #ew tord #edd ew #edd x reader #tord x reader #tom x reader #borderline personality disorder #ADHD #avoidant personality disorder #headcanons #eddsworld

129 notes · View notes

genderqueerpositivity · 3 years ago

Text

I finished Irreversible Damage this weekend.

(All the TWs below)

I took notes in a tumblr post draft as I went, and it's a long mess that I'm not sure anyone wants to read. It might clean it up and post it as a review if anyone is interested.

Overall, it's a terrible book. There were a few passages that hit like a gut punch, but for the most part it wasn't a difficult read...because Shrier is so disconnected from the reality of what it is to be a transmasculine person. That book is not representative of the transmasculine experience, I'm not represented in the pages of that book.

It's about us, without us. (And no, I don't--and won't--count Buck Angel as representation of the average transmasculine experience.) Apart from a few cherry picked words from trans Youtubers and a handful of detransitioners, this book is led by the stories of anti-trans parents--this book isn't about the transmasculine experience, it's about the transphobic parent experience.

It's anti-transmasculine propaganda...and worse, the further into the book you read, the more obvious it is that the book is intended to function as a guide for parents to practice DIY conversion therapy. This is literally a guidebook on how to abuse your trans child.

Isolate them (literally move across the country if needed, states without laws that protect trans people are strongly recommended), separate them from their trans friends or other affirming people in their lives, prevent them from having access to phones or internet, never ever use their correct name or pronouns, force them to do manual labor or physical activity if possible, take away or destroy their gender affirming clothing or binders, and make the home "private" again (in other words, never let anyone find out that your child is trans or what you are doing to your child because of their transness).

If there is anyone who believes that transmasculine people don't experience a very distinct and specific form of transphobia, I would ask them to read this book.

The kind of transphobia that trans men and transmasc people face intersects heavily with ableism and sexism. Transmasculine people are heavily infantilized; it's shocking (but not surprising) how...paternalistic an attitude this book takes towards both teenage girls and women and transmasculine people, including trans people who are legally adults. It is clear that Shrier does not think highly of teenage girls and young women...they are easily misled and easily confused, lonely and desperate and self-hating, incapable of separating emotion from reality, easily influenced by social media and peers.

Shrier encourages parents to exert as much control over the lives of their legally adult trans children as possible, and to use any potential leverage available to manipulate trans adults into stopping their transition. It's obvious that Shrier doesn't view trans adults as actual adults at all, but as childish individuals who are mentally/emotionally/neurologically underdeveloped. Any neurodivergence, mental illness, or history of trauma adds tax, and is proof that a person isn't mentally competent to transition.

It is also obvious that the potential future fertility of any transmasculine person is valued more greatly than our personhood, bodily autonomy, or mental health. At no point is it ever stated that child-bearing or motherhood are optional. The possible loss of fertility is the "irreversible damage"...and whether that potential fertility is even wanted by the trans person in question isn't relevant.

There are some other WTF moments in this book too. Shrier doesn't believe that spiritual abuse is real, rather it is nonsense invented by "gender ideologues" in order to accuse Good Christian parents of abuse. Shrier comes across as anti-therapy and anti-mental health medication; she downplays depression as "the blues" and anxiety as "nerves", and goes on to suggest that those who take antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications are looking for an easy way out and simply trying to medicate away normal human emotions. She openly opposes conversion therapy bans that prevent the practice of conversion therapy against trans people, and she opposes school anti-bullying programs that teach LGBT+ acceptance.

This book is also anti-queer, anti-pansexual, anti-asexual, and to a point anti-bisexual. Shrier is clearly obsessed with the amount of sex that trans people (including minors, there are some really gross statements in this book) are or aren't having; because so many trans people identify as asexual, at one point she refers to the trans community as a "cult of asexuality". Bisexuality is considered a phase of normal teenage exploration on the way to developing an either straight or lesbian/gay identity. And if you think that lesbian/gay teens and young adults get a break in this book, you're wrong: Shrier discourages parents from affirming their gay and lesbian teens and she is clearly against GSA's in schools.

I could keep going for a long time, but I won't.

Anyway, after reading that fucking disaster, I've just started Detransition, Baby and I'm waiting and hoping for it to get good; the first ~60 pages are kind of slow-moving, more words than plot. I am interested to see where it goes though!

#transphobia tw #conversion therapy tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #transphobic abuse tw #misgendering tw #sexism tw #ableism tw #irreversible damage #abigail shrier #op #pregnancy tw #not a positivity post #not positive

77 notes · View notes

wolfstar-in-color · 3 years ago

Text

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that.

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him.

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things.

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation.

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit.

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do).

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster.

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

#wolfstar #disability in fandom #disabled remus #crip remus #please write me some crip remus #I beg of you #fandom meta

111 notes · View notes

alixdelcourt · 4 years ago

Text

You're way too precious to me

Ft. Katsuki Bakugou, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari x female reader

Genre : angst, deep and dark angst (I had hard time writing this) and slight comfort in the end

WC and warnings : 2.7 k / Angst, dark mood, hurt feelings, depression, emotional burn out, light mention of self-harm, crying and feeling down. Please be careful reading this, and skip it if you're insecure or having mental troubles, I struggled writing this and felt hurt myself, so please be careful.

Note : I hope that I achieved your request okay, @d3nk1x, and that it's what you requested for. I discovered that I am not that comfortable with angst... I definitely prefer fluff or smut. This isn't for me... So maybe it's not well writen. Please let me know.

Dating katsuki Bakugou is quiet a big deal, and not always an easygoing relationship. All the anger, frustration and brutality he bottles inside of him prevents bakugou from being a perfect boyfriend. But, whatever ! Who needs perfection anyway ? When you felt in love with him, you were aware of all these matters. You love him just the way he is. After all, love is for the better and for the worse, so you always find your way forgiving his roughness and harsh attitude.

But, lately, you find yourself patching up your own feelings and emotions because of him. You have more and more trouble taking the blows, and some wounds of yours refuse to heal. So you slightly change, trying to give him hints of your unhappiness, of your insecurities. But in vain…

Today has been particularly tough, and you just feel… down. You need whatever comfort you can find, and you’re craving for your boyfriend affection. But today hasn’t been a good day for him as well. He lost all his training sessions to Kirishima and Deku, and he’s pissed off. So when you came up to him and asked for a few caring, he just… erupts. You were a sadness soused combustible, and his fury sparks caught fire on you so well. He poured all of his raging emotions on you, and the words he spat to you were like sharp knives cutting your skin and letting all of the pain seep deep into you.

… You just wanted some cuddles. Was it too much to ask ? Just a pinch of affection to sprinkle on your illness. An ounce of empathy. And here you are, buried under your blanket, fist clenched, closed eyes crying, and all your body shaking because of the your hurted feelings. His words keep streaming in your mind, destroying you a little more every time they start again.

“Stop clinging at me like you do ! Look at you, you seem so miserable right now… It really pisses me off.

“Please… Katsuki… I need you… I need your-”

“ F*ck off ! You’re always so whiny ! Such a crybaby ! Stop being so dependant and clingy ! I am not your baby-sitter !”

“But… But…”

“I said f*ck off! Get the hell away, and leave me alone ! I can’t stand crybabies like you !”

The message has been perfectly received. It’s printed in capital letters behind your eyelids.

You felt asleep, exhausted from crying, and when you wake up, you couldn’t tell how much time did you spent laying there. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t feel able to get out of your bed, so you just stay here, in the warm fluffy embrace. Whenever you feel some thought triggering your mind, you bite your flesh hard and the concentrate on the pain ‘til you forgot why you started doing this. After a few times, you couldn’t even think of a straight complete sentence.

When the blanket was roughly removed from over you, you didn’t even blink. With a quite long delay, you realize that you should feel the cold air, the disturbing noise and even his touch on your skin… But you’re like under anesthetic. Which makes Bakugou freaks out. He tries to make you react, slaps you, screams your name, while shouting for someone to help him. You’re conscious, but you can’t feel anything. You should probably answer him, but why would you do ? seeing him shouting at you, you think that he’s still mad at you… Why did he come for you then ? If he doesn’t want you anymore, why is he here ? You don’t understand what’s happening.

Maybe because you don’t realize that from his point of view, you seem… dead. Your body is cold and your eyes are empty. The other students called for Aizawa, and recovery Girl came to auscultate you as well. But you didn’t notice, lost in the fog inside your head.

And when you “woke up” from this choc state, you was kind of surprised by a caring boyfriend of yours, who hugs you tight and cuddles you all day long, apologizing and whispering to not ever do this to him again. And when you asked “do what ?”, he goes like “nevermind”, before holding you close. It’s Kirishima that told you what happened. You went through an emotional burn out for a few days, and Bakugou was literally freaking out and feeling guilty because of what he told you. He didn’t mean to hurt you like this, he was mad and didn’t think of the consequences of what he said. He promised he won’t act like this again. He felt like he lost you, and it was unbearable. You’re way too precious for him.

Your relationship with Eijirou Kirishima is based on routines. You both like the fact that you follow a settled pattern that time made up for you. Just small little things that remind you two of the love and affection you share. For example, you wait for him in the morning to go to your classes together, and he waits for you to tidy up your things after class before reaching the cafeteria. He kisses you for goodnight, and you play with his hair for him to fall asleep.

Loving him is easy and sweet. And even if you have arguments, because every healthy relationship goes through some arguments, both of you try to find a way or a solution to deal with it. And lately these times, you just feel so in love with him, you literally can’t help but kissing him all day, spinning around him like a light feather carried by the breath of love between you two.

It’s quiet late at night, and you were in his room. You always end up in his room after dinner for some cuddles and maybe watch a movie together. Then you two just do your own things until you’re getting sleepy and head to bed with the goodnight routine of yours. Like chilling, each one on his own but together. Doesn’t makes a lot of sense, but it works for you two, so you just don’t mind. Tonight, you two had to study for the next math exam that was coming. And it was difficult. Math gives you headache, and hopefully Eijirou is a patient tutor. He kept repeating for you until you got the point. You’re proud of you, and so is he, but you ended the study session a little bit delayed, and he was late to his online gaming sessions with Denki and Sero. He let you finish the last exercise on your own and connect quickly to catch up with the boys.

You read a book, but can’t concentrate with all the math in your head. You can hear your boyfriend gaming and he looks way too attractive to you with his hair flattened by his headphones, tongue sticking out because he’s focused on his game. You smile before reaching his lap. You comfortably sit on it and hug him to express your affection. This is a way better position for reading.

But you still can’t concentrate. Not with your body pressed against him, with you’re *ss on his crotch, with all the dirty thoughts running in your mind. You throw away your annoying book, and start kissing the redhead’s neck. He smells so good… A mix of his wooden scent gel shower and the bitter fresh scent of his aftershave. You get pretty excited, imagining this perfume ruined by his sweat while pounding you. Picturing all these thoughts and imagining Eijirou’s lips on your, you’re getting really needy, aren’t you ? You can’t help but move your hips and rub your lower part on his. Maybe this will get him hard and he’ll be just as needy as you. Maybe you could sleep over here tonight…

But no. Your moving just annoys him. He can’t focus properly on what he’s doing while you wriggle around and sigh on his skin. He can’t hear you moan, he can’t see the desire in your eyes, nor notice the excitation you’re in. He tries to push you off his lap, but you keep trying to get him out of his play. Game over appeared in bloody letters on his screen, and he removes his headphones. When you try to frame his cheeks in order to kiss him, he pushes you away.

“You’re really annoying, you know that ?”

“You say that only because you lost… Come here, let me comfort you”

“No. Not when you’re the reason why I lost. Anyway, I am not in the mood.”

He keeps avoiding your touches and attempts to lay him on bed.

“What is it, babe ? Why don’t you want me to touch you ?”

“I just don’t want to right now. Can’t you understand it ? Or do I need to keep repeating myself like for everything else ?”

This was like a cold shower. It cancelled every single drop of excitement you had. You clench your teeth.

“Okay. I get it.”

And you reach you own room, without any of you wish each other good night. While turning in bed, you couldn’t tell if you’re angry, or disappointed, or sad, or furious, or… You’re hurt. This was an emotion injury you couldn’t explain. And you had no clue even after thinking about this all night. You didn’t manage to sleep, and you were totally depressed and out of your plate on the morning. Like totally lost. You did nothing right. Since breakfast, you kept trudging and having trouble answering even basic questions like “Can you please hand me the butter ?”. This day has passed at a maddening speed, and you can’t tell what happened most of the times. For example, you know that you took an exam today, but you can’t say if it was difficult or not, if you completed it or not. Basically, today you were a zombie.

You desperately needed some sleep. So, in the middle of the dinner, while Momo was pouring you some tea she made for you because you seemed tired, you stood up and went to your room, mumbling a good night by habit. You just crumble on your bed.

“Pebble… Pebble, are you okay ?”

You didn’t even notice that Eijirou followed you, really worried about you. He snugs in the bed with you and hold you close. You two have a difficult conversations when you tell him about all the confusion and the pain you feel. He apologizes and hold you close all night long. And he’ll never act like this again, because the way you were today was definitely not okay for him. From missing his morning kiss to looking like a zombie, nothing was okay. He will watch his mouth to not hurt you anymore because you’re way too precious to him.

Denki has an outgoing personality, no doubt on it. You two are like day and night, you complement yourselves pretty well. He was a loud troublemaker and you are a quite and peaceful person. And these differences are precious to you, but sometimes it’s too complicated to handle.

He’s a loving boyfriend, but he can’t help himself. Always too cheerful, too playful, with anyone. He gets really flirty with any girl that talks to him, even if you’re right there, watching. He tells you to don’t mind, because he doesn’t do this on purpose. It’s just like… like a game. He gets female and even male’s attention, and he feels confident acting out like that. So you just accept it. Have you even got the choice ?

You don’t notice it anymore. His random smirks to Mina, his winks to Jirou, “innocent” sexual implied comments to Toru… Daily, there’s always someone to flirt or to tease with. And it’s the same with random strangers.

Like today. Well… You have to admit that this waitress is really pretty with her bright shiny smile and her disheveled hair buns. And, yeah, maybe she was attractive when she was wrapping this loose lock of her hair around her finger, shyly blushing when Denki was complimenting her and obviously undressing her with his gaze. And of course you can’t deny the fact that she is sexy. Certainly, all this shit is true. But today was supposed to be your day.

Denki and you are on date, he brought you to this fancy place to celebrate your date anniversary. This is all about you and him being in love. So, just for once, you want him to concentrate this flirty attitude of his on you. Was it too much to ask ? But you accept it, once again. He did all the conversation during the meal, and you barely enjoyed the dishes. You just wait for the end of this date to leave the place and the waitress behind.

But your patience has its owns limits. That were crossed far away when the b*tchy waitress, who purposely ignored you all the time, bent over and touched your boyfriend’s lap, giving him the dessert’s menu. You see red all over you, furious and mad, expecting Denki to react, but he just chuckles and light touches her forearm. What was this ? He never allowed anyone to act like this with him. Or maybe you just didn’t know…

“Thank you, miss, but I think that we don’t need you anymore. We’re leaving, could you bring the bill ?”

She stutters a bit, looking at Denki, who was too chocked to react.

“Aren’t we eating the dessert ? Why do you want to leave ?”

“I don’t feel comfortable, I just wanna go home please”

“And I want a dessert, could you please wait ?”

“No, I can’t. I am leaving. You can have a dessert if you want, you can even have the waitress with it as well, I don’t care.”

“Okay, see you later, then. I’ll try to have fun and enjoy, since you don’t know how to do so”

You furiously grab your handbag and run out the restaurant. You don’t stop running until you’re home. Your shaking hands and teary eyes had some trouble opening the door. You crumble against the stubborn closed door and cry yourself out. You can’t hold it. Long sobs, breathless coughs and heartbreaking screams. All this noise brought your neighbor, Sero, to check out what’s happening.

“(Y/N) ?! Are you hurt ? What happened ? What’s wrong ?”

You couldn’t tell him, your anxious cries preventing you from talking straightly. He assured himself that you’re not injured and helped you get in your bedroom. You can’t tell what he was doing around you, your cries slowly turning into a huge panic attack. Curled in your bed, you rock yourself back and forth, cutting yourself out from reality. You couldn’t hear Sero calling Denki and asking him to come home. You couldn’t hear your boyfriend freaking out when he heard you crying like that on phone. You couldn’t know that he was running towards home, feeling guilty and culpable, his sunshine having a mental breakdown because of him.

“Sunshine ? Sunshine! Look at me ! I am right there”

Denki’s voice find its way to your ears, to your mind, to your heart. You hold on to him like a lifeline, trying to calm down. He thanks Sero, who left, before joining you on bed. He breaths heavily for you to focus on his chest going up and down slowly. You imitate his breaths until you can think straight.

“Thank you, Denki… I am sorry, I-”

“I am the one who have to apologize. I acted like a piece shit back there. I am sorry, I didn’t know you were jealous. I shouldn’t act like this, I am sorry. You know, babe, that you’re the one and only. You know it, right ?”

“No… I don’t…”

“I don’t care about anyone else. You’re the one that I love. And if it makes you feel insecure, I’ll stop flirting like that, okay ? It hurts me to see you like this. I don’t want you to be hurt, you’re way too precious to me, babe.”

________________________________

Hey ! I don't have much to say... Hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to request anything else (angst is still okay but I don't handle it well so prepare yourself to be disappointed ^^')

145 notes · View notes